The attitude had all Mrs. Jepps's logic in it; it was unassailable. Very reluctantly old Mr. and Mrs. Dormer gave in to it—they would go round by the King's highway, longer though it was. Bertram Ware, lawyer and politician, stole round the difficulty—and along the park road—by adopting a provisional attitude; until more was known, he felt justified in using—and in allowing Mrs. Ware to use—the road. He reserved liberty of action if more facts condemnatory of Jenny should appear.
The Aspenicks remained—to whom the road was more precious than to any of the others. Sir John would have none of Ware's provisional attitude—it was not what he called "straight"; but then he had a prejudice against lawyers, and held no particularly high opinion of Bertram Ware.
"Make up your mind," he said to his wife. "Either we use it or we don't. But if we use it, it's taking a favor from her, and that may be awkward later on."
Now Lady Aspenick wanted to use the road very much indeed—and not merely the road for her tandem, so sadly famous in history, but also the turf alongside it for her canters. But in the first place Lady Aspenick was herself a model of propriety, and in the second—it was an even weightier consideration—she had a growing girl; Eunice Aspenick was now nearly sixteen—and rode with her mother. Supposing Lady Aspenick and Eunice used the road, supposing Jenny were guilty of enormities, came back guilty of them, and discovered Lady Aspenick, with Eunice, on the road! Lady Aspenick's problem was worse than Mrs. Jepps's—because of Eunice on the one hand, and of Lady Aspenick's remarkably strong desire to use the road on the other.
This question of the road—work on the Institute at a standstill—no more parties at Breysgate (what of the Flower Show next summer?)! Verily Jenny was causing endless inconvenience!
It would not be just to say that this difficulty about the road—and Eunice—determined Lady Aspenick's attitude toward Jenny; it is perhaps permissible to conjecture that it led her to reconsider it. After the lapse of a fortnight she came out on Jenny's side, and signified the same by calling on Chat at Breysgate Priory. Chat and I sometimes consoled one another's loneliness at afternoon tea; I was present when Lady Aspenick arrived.
We had our lesson pat—so long as we were not cross-examined. Jenny was wintering abroad; Chat's health (this was our own supplement) had made traveling inadvisable for her, and Jenny had found other companions. Lady Aspenick was most affable to the story; she admitted it to belief at once. Sympathy with Chat, pleasure at not being deprived of Chat's society, kind messages through Chat to Jenny—all came as easily and naturally as possible. Not an awkward question! It was with real gratitude that I conducted Lady Aspenick to her carriage. But she had a word for me there.
"I didn't want to talk about it to that poor old thing," she said, "but have you any—news, Mr. Austin?"
"None, except what I've told you. She isn't a great letter-writer."
"They're saying horrid things. Well, Sarah Lacey would, of course. I can't see any reason for believing them. I'm on her side! One may wonder at her taste—one must—but she has a right to please herself, and to take her own time about it. Of course that night journey—!" Lady Aspenick smiled in a deprecating manner.