"It is the thing I can least forgive Dick—his treating his mother practically in the same way as Edward treats her—as if she were of no account. It doesn't promise well for the happiness of this Lady George, or whoever he does come to marry."
"Let's hope for her own sake that she won't make Nina's mistake."
"You mean——"
"Oh, Nina laid herself down to be trampled on from the very first. She had plenty of character. She could have stood out. Now, whatever character she has has been buried under a mountain weight of stolid stupidity. She can't call her soul her own."
"I think she would act—and against Edward—if she saw her way to act effectively."
"She would be laying up a pretty bad time for herself if she did act against Edward in any way."
"Oh, but she wouldn't mind that if she thought it was her duty."
"Well, she can try. And she might put that idea of mine to Dick. Let him promise not to marry the lady for a year. He has been a bachelor for thirty-five or so, and he can stand another. I believe it might be the solution. I suppose we had better be going down now."
It was an unusually large party for Kencote that assembled at dinner. The Squire took in Lady Aldeburgh, who must have been five-and-forty if a day, but either by a special dispensation of Providence, or by mysterious arts marvellously concealed, was still enabled to present herself to the world as eight-and-twenty. The Squire did not quite approve of this, but the illusion was so complete that he found himself talking to her as if she were a girl. She was beautifully gowned in blue and silver, and wore the Aldeburgh diamonds, which sparkled on the clear white skin of her neck, on her corsage, and in the smooth ripples of her hair. She was attractive enough to the eye to make it possible for her to indulge in moods for the heightening of her charm. Sometimes she was all childish gaiety and innocence; sometimes the deep melancholy of her soul looked out of her violet eyes, which were so good that they had to be given their chance; sometimes she was ice. This evening she had begun on a pouting note, which she had often found effective with elderly gentlemen, but finding the Squire impervious to its appeal and plainly puzzled by it, remembering also that she had on her diamonds, she had exchanged it for the air of a grande dame, humanised by maternal instinct.
"Mother is telling Mr. Clinton how she has devoted herself to my bringing-up," whispered Lady Susan to Humphrey. "Is he likely to be impressed at all, do you think?"