Violet explained how short the distance was; but Lady Martindale seemed not to know how to let her go, nor how to relinquish the thought of seeing her grand-daughter. At last she said, as if it was a great resolution, lowering her voice, ‘I wonder if I could walk back with you, just to see her.’
She took Violet into her room while she put on her bonnet, much as if she feared being found out; and in passing the drawing-room door, gathered her dress together so as to repress its rustling.
Wonder of wonders, to find Lady Martindale actually on foot by her side! She went up at once to the nursery, where the children were asleep. At Johnnie she looked little, but she hung over the cot where lay the round plump baby face of little Helen. Though dreadfully afraid of being missed, she seemed unable to turn away from the contemplation.
‘My dear,’ said she, in an agitated voice, as they left the nursery, ‘you must not keep these children here in London. You must not sacrifice their health. It is the first consideration. Don’t let them stay in that hot nursery! Pray do not.’
‘We shall be in the country soon,’ said Violet.
‘Why not at once? Does expense prevent you? Tell me, my dear, what it would cost. I always have plenty to spare. Would £100 do it? and you need tell no one. I could give you £200,’ said Lady Martindale, who had as little idea of the value of money as any lady in her Majesty’s dominions. ‘I must have that dear little girl in the country. Pray take her to Ventnor. How much shall I give you?’
Much surprised, and more touched, Violet, however, could not accept the offer. She felt that it would be casting a slight on Arthur; and she assured Lady Martindale that she hoped soon to leave London, and how impossible it was for her to move house without Arthur. It seemed to be a great disappointment, and opened to Violet a fresh insight into Lady Martindale’s nature; that there was a warm current beneath, only stifled by Mrs. Nesbit’s power over a docile character. There seemed to be hopes that they might love each other at last! In the midst there was a knock at the door, and Lord Martindale entered, much surprised, as well as pleased, to find his wife there, though put in some perplexity by her instantly appealing to him to tell Violet that it was very bad for the children to remain in town, and asking if it could not be managed to send them to the sea-side. He made a grave but kind reply, that he was sorry for it himself, but that Violet had assured him it would not be for long; and Lady Martindale (who did not seem able to understand why the lady of the house could not make everything give way to her convenience)—now becoming alive to the fear of her aunt’s missing her, and taking to heart her stolen expedition—hurried him off with her at once. It was not till after their departure that Violet discovered that he had been trying to atone for deficiencies, by costly gifts to herself and her children.
All this time Theodora had been in her own room, packing, as she said, but proceeding slowly; for there was a severe struggle of feelings, and she could not bear that it should be seen. In the pain of parting with Violet, she shrank from her presence, as if she could not endure to prolong the space for last words.
They came at last. Theodora sat ready for her journey, holding her god-daughter in her arms, and looking from her to Violet, without a word; then gazing round the room, which had been the scene of such changes of her whole mind.
At last she spoke, and it was very different from what Violet expected,