SHARSLEY, its spreading park, and somewhat neglected gardens, had been partly closed for years; the owner merely visiting it spasmodically, with lively parties for shooting or hunting. The situation was isolated with regard to other seats: it being the one great house of a poor and insignificant neighbourhood. When Blagdon married, people hoped that a new era was about to dawn; a pretty girl of good family would be warmly welcomed as the social queen, and the immediate residents hastened to wait upon the bride.
First, came those known as ‘the small fry’ or the village; these included the two Miss Jessops—maiden ladies of gentle birth, churchy, poor, and kindly; Captain and Mrs. Howard, retired Army people, agreeable and middle-aged—who had seen the world; Mr. Byng, an Indian Civilian and keen politician, with two pretty daughters who bicycled after the hounds and kept prize poultry, and others of the same standing. But these were not the class of visitors that Blagdon desired to entertain, and his rudeness was insufferable and undisguised.
When the Jessops, in their best bonnets, arrived to make a first and formal call, and were ceremoniously conducted into the grounds, where tea was laid in the shade, the instant Blagdon beheld these ladies approaching, he sprang to his feet and hastily departed in the opposite direction. Truly this was a bad moment for the bride! However, with many blushes and in halting sentences, she assured the Misses Jessop that her husband had suddenly remembered an important engagement; but Letty was a very poor liar, and her embarrassment, and her explanations, merely aggravated the situation.
With a lofty air the ladies declined tea. Blagdon’s snub had been too gross, and what, after all, was he? The grandson of a collier, and they the granddaughters of an Archbishop! They were sorry for the poor child, his wife, talked to her condescendingly of flowers and the weather, and presently effected a stately departure.
When Captain Howard drove up with his wife to make their first call at Sharsley, the windows being open, they heard a beautiful soprano singing ‘Love Not.’
“Ah, she’s in,” said Mrs. Howard. “I’m so glad!”
But an impassive footman who received their cards uttered a sonorous and decisive ‘Not at home,’ and they drove away, deeply mortified—the fate of many.
Later, as Blagdon stood turning over the card-tray one afternoon, Letty adventured a timid expostulation.
“Now look here,” he said impatiently, “I’m not going to have gossiping women, and sponging old men, running in and out of this house, sniffing about for what they can get—amusement, shootin’, and good dinners. I have my own friends, and I don’t want their society. You can just send round your cards by a footman,—and let that end it. Of course, the County is another affair,” still examining the cards as he spoke. “Viscount and Viscountess Lyndham, Sir Cosmo and Lady Alice Danvers—yes, these sort of people are all right. By the way, I see the Duchess hasn’t honoured you yet—she’s taking her time. The old girl wanted to saddle me with one of her ugly daughters, so she won’t be very keen upon you, Mrs. Blagdon!”
The expected ‘County’ now came day after day rolling up the Avenue to visit Sharsley; and the shy bride, seated alone in a magnificent new landau, drove about the country, returning calls, and inwardly praying that her hostesses might be out! being secretly afraid of the solid, important matrons, among whom she now took rank—as Mrs. Blagdon of Sharsley. She noted the merry bicyclists who sped by in couples, the happy good-looking pair, evidently lately married, driving in a high tax-cart, he with his arm round the girl’s waist, their faces radiant with smiles,—a sheep their fellow-passenger.