The parson looked round, to be sure the door was quite closed, and replied, in a whisper: “I mean, that I fear William Mainwaring loves, not Lucretia, but Susan.”
The scissors fell from the hand of Mrs. Fielden; and though one point stuck in the ground, and the other point threatened war upon flounces and toes, strange to say, she did not even stoop to remove the chevaux-de-frise.
“Why, then, he’s a most false-hearted young man!”
“To blame, certainly,” said Fielden; “I don’t say to the contrary,—though I like the young man, and am sure that he’s more timid than false. I may now tell you—for I want your advice, Mary—what I kept secret before. When Mainwaring visited us, many months ago, at Southampton, he confessed to me that he felt warmly for Susan, and asked if I thought Sir Miles would consent. I knew too well how proud the poor old gentleman was, to give him any such hopes. So he left, very honourably. You remember, after he went, that Susan’s spirits were low,—you remarked it.”
“Yes, indeed, I remember. But when the first shock of Sir Miles’s death was over, she got back her sweet colour, and looked cheerful enough.”
“Because, perhaps, then she felt that she had a fortune to bestow on Mr. Mainwaring, and thought all obstacle was over.”
“Why, how clever you are! How did you get at her thoughts?”
“My own folly,—my own rash folly,” almost groaned Mr. Fielden. “For not guessing that Mr. Mainwaring could have got engaged meanwhile to Lucretia, and suspecting how it was with Susan’s poor little heart, I let out, in a jest—Heaven forgive me!—what William had said; and the dear child blushed, and kissed me, and—why, a day or two after, when it was fixed that we should come up to London, Lucretia informed me, with her freezing politeness, that she was to marry Mainwaring herself as soon as her first mourning was over.”
“Poor, dear, dear Susan!”
“Susan behaved like an angel; and when I broached it to her, I thought she was calm; and I am sure she prayed with her whole heart that both might be happy.”