“And I to you,” I answered emphatically.
“You remember that I told you to look out for me in the sporting papers; but I never dreamt that when you did see me mentioned in a paragraph, it would be as the victim of a ‘shocking accident in the hunting field.’ It was not really the horse’s fault, though he has a hot temper. Another woman was riding jealous—she actually rode at me! She crossed us at a fence. He jumped wildly, and fell—fell on me, on stones. I put up my hands (as I always do) to save my face; but in his struggles he kicked me in the back. You say I shall get better. No, my dear Cousin Gwen, I’m going to let you into a horrible secret—I shall get worse. I feel it. Every day I am more loglike and powerless. Oh, I am so sorry for the poor, poor pater. He and I always hunted in couples, always went everywhere together. Gwen, you will have to be a daughter to him and take my place.”
Dolly’s sad presentiment came true; all that winter, spring, and summer, she never left her bed, and I nursed her. At length there was a shade of improvement, and we took her abroad by easy stages, and remained there for months. She is no longer bedridden, or a helpless invalid, or chained to her sofa always.
This she declares she owes to me; but that is only a way of saying that she is fond of me. Her own patience, fortitude, and cheerful disposition did more for her than our assiduous care and foreign baths. She will never, alas, be able to walk, to dance, to mount a horse again! She will be a cripple, more or less, as long as she lives. Nevertheless, she takes a vivid interest in life—life, in which my pretty, vivacious, warm-hearted Cousin Dolly can be but a bystander and spectator. She takes a keen interest in Everard and me. We have been engaged to be married for some time—with the full approval of both families.
Yes, Lady Hildegarde paid a three days’ visit to the Chase when we returned from Germany, ostensibly to inquire for Dolly, and judge of her progress with her own eyes; but in reality to ask me (to command, exhort, and entreat, me) to be her son’s wife.
For, strange as it may appear, it will be my hand, and not poor Dolly’s, that alone can join the great Chalgrove fortune to the impoverished Somers estates!
I am mistress of a splendid establishment, with an admirable housekeeper as viceroy. And I “fell into the ways of the place,” as she expressed it, with extraordinary ease.
I suppose there was something in belonging by blood to the race that had lived there for generations! Ideas, instincts, tastes, manners, are surely hereditary! Who would believe that I had spent so many sighs and tears over a much smaller domestic budget, or with what an anxious eye I had scanned the butter (salt butter) and the candles, in order to measure their consumption? Who would imagine that I knew far better than my own scullery-maid the cheap parts of meat; and that once an unexpected deficit of two and fourpence half penny had cost me a sleepless night!