Mr. Prichard bowed his acknowledgments and departed.
And now the old baronet sat down to ponder in his mind the reasons for so strange an event as a visit in the forenoon from Lady Hester. “What can it mean? She can't want money,” thought he; “'t is but the other day I sent her a large check. Is she desirous of going back to England again? Are there any new disagreements at work?” This last thought reminded him of those of whom he had been so lately hearing, of those whose narrow fortunes had drawn them nearer to each other, rendering them more tolerant and more attached, while in his own family, where affluence prevailed, he saw nothing but dissension.
As he sat pondering over this not too pleasant problem, a tall and serious-looking footman entered the room, rolling before him an armchair. Another and not less dignified functionary followed, with cushions and a foot-warmer, signs which Sir Stafford at once read as indicative of a long interview; for her Ladyship's preparations were always adopted with a degree of forethought and care that she very rarely exhibited in matters of real consequence.
Sir Stafford was contemplating these august demonstrations, when the solemn voice of an upper servant announced Lady Hester; and, after a second's pause, she swept into the room in all that gauzy amplitude of costume that gives to the wearer a seeming necessity of inhabiting the most spacious apartments of a palace.
“How d'ye do?” said she, languidly, as she sank down into her chair. “I had not the least notion how far this room was off; if Clements has not been taking me a tour of the whole house.”
Mr. Clements, who was still busily engaged in disposing and arranging the cushions, blandly assured her Ladyship that they had come by the most direct way.
“I'm sorry for it,” said she, peevishly, “for I shall have the more fatigue in going back again. There, you 're only making it worse. You never can learn that I don't want to be propped up like an invalid. That will do; you may leave the room. Sir Stafford, would you be good enough to draw that blind a little lower? the sun is directly in my eyes. Dear me, how yellow you are! or is it the light in this horrid room? Am I so dreadfully bilious-looking?”
“On the contrary,” said he, smiling, “I should pronounce you in the most perfect enjoyment of health.”
“Oh, of course, I have no doubt of that. I only wonder you didn't call it 'rude health.' I cannot conceive anything more thoroughly provoking than the habit of estimating one's sufferings by the very efforts made to suppress them.”
“Sufferings, my dear? I really was not aware that you had sufferings.”