“Of course—what else have I been saying this half-hour?”
“To take the position of lady of the house?” said she, not deigning to notice his question.
“Just so, Madam.”
“I declare, sir, bold as the step is,”—she arose as she spoke, and drew herself haughtily up,—“bold as the step is, it is not half so bold as your own courage in coming to tell of it. What the Chief Baron had not the hardihood to communicate in writing, you dare to deliver to me by word of mouth,—you dare to announce to me that my place, the station I ought to fill, is to be occupied by another, and that whenever I pass the threshold of the Priory, I come as the guest of Lucy Lendrick! I do hope, sir, I may attribute to the confusion of your faculties—a confusion of which this short interview has given me proof—that you really never rightly apprehended the ignominy of the mission your friend intrusted to you.”
“You 're right there,” said he, placing both his hands on the side of his head; “confusion is just the name for it.”
“Yes, sir; but I apprehend you must have undertaken this office in a calm moment, and let me ask you how you could have lent yourself to such a task? You are aware, for the whole world is aware, that in living apart from the Chief Baron I am yielding to a necessity imposed by his horrible, his insufferable temper; now, how long will this explanation be valid, if my place in any respect should be occupied by another? The isolation in which he now lives, his estrangement from the world, serve to show that he has withdrawn from society, and accepted the position of a recluse. Will this continue now? Will these be the habits of the house with a young lady at its bead, free to indulge all the caprices of ignorant girlhood? I declare, sir, I wonder how a little consideration for your friend might not have led you to warn him against the indiscretion he was about to commit. The slight to me,” said she, sarcastically, and flushing deeply, “it was possible you might overlook; but I scarcely see how you could have forgotten the stain that must attach to that 'large intellect,—that wise and truly great man.' I am quoting a paragraph I read in the 'Post' this morning, with which, perhaps, you are familiar.”
“I did not see it,” said Haire, helplessly.
“I declare, sir, I was unjust enough to think you wrote it. I thought no one short of him who had come on your errand to-day could have been the author.”
“Well, I wish with all my heart I 'd never come,” said he, with a melancholy gesture of his hands.
“I declare, sir, I am not surprised at your confession. I suppose you are not aware that in the very moment adopted for this—this—this new establishment, there is something like studied insult to me. It is only ten days ago I mentioned to the Chief Baron that my son, Colonel Sewell, was coming back from India on a sick-leave. He has a wife and three little children, and, like most soldiers, is not over-well off. I suggested that as the Priory was a large roomy house, with abundant space for many people without in the slightest degree interfering with each other, he should offer the Sewells to take them in. I said nothing more,—nothing about ménage,—no details of any kind. I simply said: “Could n't you give the Sewells the rooms that look out on the back lawn? Nobody ever enters them; even when you receive in the summer evenings, they are not opened. It would be a great boon to an invalid to be housed so quietly, so removed from all noise and bustle.' And to mark how I intended no more, I added, 'They would n't bore you, nor need you ever see them unless you wished for it.' And what was his reply? 'Madam, I never liked soldiers. I 'm not sure that his young wife would n't be displeasing to me, and I know that his children would be insufferable.'