‘See you! We must always be seeing you of course. Let me think. I’ve got three weddings and a funeral to-morrow, and Simpson coming about the meeting. Come to luncheon—all of you. Mrs. Fordyce will be delighted, and so will somebody else.’
There was no doubt about the somebody else, for Anne’s feet were as nearly dancing round Emily as public propriety allowed, and the radiance of her face was something to rejoice in. Say what people will, Englishwomen in a quiet cheerful life are apt to gain rather than lose in looks up to the borders of middle age. Our Emily at two-and-thirty was fair and pleasant to look on; while as for Anne Fordyce at twenty-three, words will hardly tell how lovely were her delicate features, brown eyes, and carnation cheeks, illuminated by that sunshine brightness of her father’s, which made one feel better all day for having been beamed upon by either of them. Clarence certainly did, when the good man turned back to say, ‘Which hotel? Eh? That’s too far off. You must come nearer. I would see you in, but I’ve got a woman to see before church time, and I’m short of a curate, so I must be sharp to the hour.’
‘Can I be of any use?’ eagerly asked Martyn. ‘I’ll follow you as soon as I have got these fellows to their quarters.’
We had Amos with us, and were soon able to release Martyn, after a few compliments on my not being as usual the invalid; and by and by he came back to take Emily to inspect a lodging, recommended by our friends, close to the beach, and not a stone’s throw from the Rectory built by Mr. Fordyce. As we two useless beings sat opposite to each other, looking over the roofs of houses at the blue expanse and feeling the salt breeze, it was no fancy that Clarence’s cheek looked less wan, and his eyes clearer, as a smile of content played on his lips. ‘Years sit well on her,’ he said gaily; and I thought of rewards in store for him.
Then he took this opportunity of consulting me on the chances for Frith, telling of the original offer, and the quiet constancy of his friend, and asking whether I thought Emily would relent. And I answered that I suspected that she would,—‘But you must get well first.’
‘I begin to think that more possible,’ he answered, and my heart bounded as he added, ‘she would be satisfied since you would always have a home with us.’
Oh, how much was implied in that monosyllable. He knew it, for a little faint colour came up, as he, shyly, laughed and hesitated, ‘That is—if—’
‘If’ included Mrs. Fordyce’s not being ungracious. Nor was she. Emily had found her as kind as in the old days at Hillside, and perfectly ready to bring us into close vicinity. It was not caprice that had made this change, but all possible doubt and risk of character were over, the old wound was in some measure healed, and the friendship had been brought foremost by our recent sorrow and our present anxiety. Anne was in ecstasies over Emily. ‘It is so odd,’ she said, ‘to have grown as old as you, whom I used to think so very grown up,’ and she had all her pet plans to display in the future. Moreover, Martyn had been permitted to relieve the Rector from the funeral—a privilege which seemed to gratify him as much as if it had been the liveliest of services.
We were to lunch at the Rectory, and the move of our goods was to be effected while we were there. We found Mrs. Fordyce looking much older, but far less of an invalid than in old times, and there was something more genial and less exclusive in her ways, owing perhaps to the difference of her life among the many classes with whom she was called on to associate.
Somersetshire, Beachharbour, and China occupied our tongues by turns, and we had to begin luncheon without the Rector, who had been hindered by numerous calls; in fact, as Anne warned us, it was a wonder if he got the length of the esplanade without being stopped half-a-dozen times.