“Mr. Darrell—TO-DAY—HOW could you let him come? Oh, Lionel, how thoughtless you are! You should have some respect for your mother—I am your mother, sir.”
“Yes, my own dear mother—don’t scold—I could not help it. He is so engaged, so sought after; if I had put him off to-day, he might never have come, and—”
“Never have come! Who is Mr. Darrell, to give himself such airs?—Only a lawyer after all,” said Mrs. Haughton, with majesty.
“Oh, mother, that speech is not like you. He is our benefactor—our—”
“Don’t, don’t say very more—I was very wrong—quite wicked—only my temper, Lionel dear. Good Mr. Darrell! I shall be so happy to see him—see him, too, in this house that I owe to him—see him by your side! I think I shall fall down on my knees to him.”
And her eyes began to stream.
Lionel kissed the tears away fondly. “That’s my own mother now indeed—now I am proud of you, mother; and how well you look! I am proud of that too.”
“Look well—I am not fit to be seen, this figure—though perhaps an elderly quiet gentleman like good Mr. Darrell does not notice ladies much. John, John, makes haste with those plants. Gracious me! you’ve got your coat off!—put it on—I expect a gentleman—I’m at home, in the front drawing-room—no—that’s all set out—the back drawing-room, John. Send Susan to me. Lionel, do just look at the supper-table; and what is to be done with the flowers, and—”
The rest of Mrs. Haughton’s voice, owing to the rapidity of her ascent, which affected the distinctness of her utterance, was lost in air. She vanished at culminating point—within her chamber.