“Not make a stranger of you! and what else? Not make any difference for you! I’m thinking you’d look very glum if I were to set you down to beans and bacon, my grand young London madame. Dear me, but she is changed! She cannot stir without a sound of rustling; and the price of one of her rings would build a new barn!”
Meanwhile, Harry and his mother went round the garden as desired, hand-in-hand. He could talk very plainly for his age, and trotted along by her side, considerably thawed in manner. This process was due to a lovely ball she had unexpectedly produced, a gay picture-book, and a packet of candy. He chattered away in a most friendly style, and showed her the pigeons, the bees, and where the lark was buried—in fact, all what he considered the lions of the place; and every moment unfolded to his delighted companion some additional marvel and charm.
By the time that one-o’clock dinner was ready, the couple were on excellent terms, and he had even gone so far as to kiss her, and to put his little holland-clad arms round her neck of his own accord. The sensation was extremely pleasant.
After dinner—not consisting of beans and bacon—Mrs. Holt and her guest had a long tête-à-tête. The condition of Harry’s health was first disposed of, then the state of his wardrobe came under discussion.
“I should tell you, ma’am, since you ask, that all the lovely frocks and pelisses you sent from France are just laying there. Mr. Wynne won’t allow him to wear one of them, nor anything you gave him.”
“And why not, pray?” demanded the young lady with considerably heightened colour.
“He told me quite serious, one day,” said Mrs. Holt, now speaking with ill-suppressed satisfaction, “that what he had worn and was wearing, as you gave him, he might wear out; but no new things were to be accepted, as you had nothing to do with the child now. So I put them all by, just as they came, in the front room wardrobe, and there they are.”
“What does he mean?” asked Madeline, in a sharp key.
“I’m sure, ma’am, you know better than I do; he said as he had no objection to your seeing the child, now and then, but that was all. I expect Mr. Wynne can be real stiff and determined,” smoothing out her apron with an air of solemn disapproval, not of him, but of her visitor.
Madeline said nothing, but she felt a good deal. Mrs. Holt, from her manner more than from her words, sat in judgment upon her. She, this wife of a common farmer, actually dared to criticise the beautiful and admired and spoiled Miss West.