Then did they live for some days separated for a second time, each taking her meals in her own room; and Mrs. Richards, the owner of the lodgings, went again to Mrs. Bluestone, declaring that she was afraid of what might happen, and that she must pray to be relieved from the presence of the ladies. Mrs. Bluestone had to explain that the lodgings had been taken for the quarter, and that a mother and daughter could not be put out into the street merely because they lived on bad terms with each other. The old woman, as was natural, increased her bills;—but that had no effect.
On the 15th of May Lady Anna wrote a note to Daniel Thwaite, and sent a copy of it to her mother before she had posted it. It was in two lines;—
Dear Daniel,
Pray come and see me here. If you get this soon enough, pray come on Tuesday about one.
Yours affectionately,
Anna.
"Tell mamma," said she to Sarah, "that I intend to go out and put that in the post to-day." The letter was addressed to Wyndham Street. Now the Countess knew that Daniel Thwaite had left Wyndham Street.
"Tell her," said the Countess, "tell her—; but, of what use to tell her anything? Let the door be closed upon her. She shall never return to me any more." The message was given to Lady Anna as she went forth:—but she posted the letter, and then called in Bedford Square. Mrs. Bluestone returned with her to Keppel Street; but as the door was opened by Mrs. Richards, and as no difficulty was made as to Lady Anna's entrance, Mrs. Bluestone returned home without asking to see the Countess.
This happened on a Saturday, but when Tuesday came Daniel Thwaite did not come to Keppel Street. The note was delivered in course of post at his old abode, and was redirected from Wyndham Street late on Monday evening,—having no doubt given cause there for much curiosity and inspection. Late on the Tuesday it did reach Daniel Thwaite's residence in Great Russell Street, but he was then out, wandering about the streets as was his wont, telling himself of all the horrors of an idle life, and thinking what steps he should take next as to the gaining of his bride. He had known to a day when she was of age, and had determined that he would allow her one month from thence before he would call upon her to say what should be their mutual fate. She had reached that age but a few days, and now she had written to him herself.
On returning home he received the girl's letter, and when the early morning had come,—the Wednesday morning, the day after that fixed by Lady Anna,—he made up his mind as to his course of action. He breakfasted at eight, knowing how useless it would be to stir early, and then called in Keppel Street, leaving word with Mrs. Richards herself that he would be there again at one o'clock to see Lady Anna. "You can tell Lady Anna that I only got her note last night very late." Then he went off to the hotel in Albemarle Street at which he knew that Lord Lovel was living. It was something after nine when he reached the house, and the Earl was not yet out of his bedroom. Daniel, however, sent up his name, and the Earl begged that he would go into the sitting-room and wait. "Tell Mr. Thwaite that I will not keep him above a quarter of an hour." Then the tailor was shown into the room where the breakfast things were laid, and there he waited.
Within the last few weeks very much had been said to the Earl about Daniel Thwaite by many people, and especially by the Solicitor-General. "You may be sure that she will become his wife," Sir William had said, "and I would advise you to accept him as her husband. She is not a girl such as we at first conceived her to be. She is firm of purpose, and very honest. Obstinate, if you will, and,—if you will,—obstinate to a bad end. But she is generous, and let her marry whom she will, you cannot cast her out. You will owe everything to her high sense of honour;—and I am much mistaken if you will not owe much to him. Accept them both, and make the best of them. In five years he'll be in Parliament as likely as not. In ten years he'll be Sir Daniel Thwaite,—if he cares for it. And in fifteen years Lady Anna will be supposed by everybody to have made a very happy marriage." Lord Lovel was at this time inclined to be submissive in everything to his great adviser, and was now ready to take Mr. Daniel Thwaite by the hand.
He did take him by the hand as he entered the sitting-room, radiant from his bath, clad in a short bright-coloured dressing-gown such as young men then wore o' mornings, with embroidered slippers on his feet, and a smile on his face. "I have heard much of you, Mr. Thwaite," he said, "and am glad to meet you at last. Pray sit down. I hope you have not breakfasted."
Poor Daniel was hardly equal to the occasion. The young lord had been to him always an enemy,—an enemy because the lord had been the adversary of the Countess and her daughter, an enemy because the lord was an earl and idle, an enemy because the lord was his rival. Though he now was nearly sure that this last ground of enmity was at an end, and though he had come to the Earl for certain purposes of his own, he could not bring himself to feel that there should be good fellowship between them. He took the hand that was offered to him, but took it awkwardly, and sat down as he was bidden. "Thank your lordship, but I breakfasted long since. If it will suit you, I will walk about and call again."