Down she went, and at luncheon devoted herself to the captivation of Mr. Parsons; afterwards insisting on going to the schools—she, whose aversion to them was Honora’s vexation at home. Strangers to make a sensation were contrary to the views of the Parsonses; but the wife found her husband inconsistent—‘one lady, more or less, could make no difference on this first Sunday;’ and, by and by, Mrs. Parsons found a set of little formal white-capped faces, so beaming with entertainment, at the young lady’s stories, and the young lady herself looking so charming, that she, too, fell under the enchantment.
After church, Miss Charlecote proposed a few turns in the garden; dingy enough, but a marvel for the situation: and here the tacit object of herself and Phœbe was to afford Robert an opportunity for the interview on which so much depended. But it was like trying to catch a butterfly; Lucilla was here, there, everywhere; and an excuse was hardly made for leaving her beside the grave, silent young man, ere her merry tones were heard chattering to some one else. Perhaps Robert, heart-sick and oppressed with the importance of what trembled on his tongue, was not ready in seizing the moment; perhaps she would not let him speak; at any rate, she was aware of some design; since, baffling Phœbe’s last attempt, she danced up to her bedroom after her, and throwing herself into a chair, in a paroxysm of laughter, cried, ‘You abominable little pussycat of a manœuvrer; I thought you were in a better school for the proprieties! No, don’t make your round eyes, and look so dismayed, or you’ll kill me with laughing! Cooking téte-à-tétes, Phœbe—I thought better of you. Oh, fie!’ and holding up her finger, as if in displeasure, she hid her face in ecstasies of mirth at Phœbe’s bewildered simplicity.
‘Robert wanted to speak to you,’ she said, with puzzled gravity.
‘And you would have set us together by the ears! No, no, thank you, I’ve had enough of that sort of thing for one day. And what shallow excuses. Oh! what fun to hear your pretexts. Wanting to see what Mrs. Parsons was doing, when you knew perfectly well she was deep in a sermon, and wished you at the antipodes. And blushing all the time, like a full-blown poppy,’ and off she went on a fresh score—but Phœbe, though disconcerted for a moment, was not to be put out of countenance when she understood her ground, and she continued with earnestness, undesired by her companion—‘Very likely I managed badly, but I know you do not really think it improper to see Robert alone, and it is very important that you should do so. Indeed it is, Lucy,’ she added—the youthful candour and seriousness of her pleading, in strong contrast to the flighty, mocking carelessness of Lucilla’s manners; ‘do pray see him; I know he would make you listen. Will you be so very kind? If you would go into the little cedar room, I could call him at once.’
‘Point blank! Sitting in my cedar parlour! Phœbe, you’ll be the death of me,’ cried Cilly, between peals of merriment. ‘Do you think I have nerves of brass?’
‘You would not laugh, if you knew how much he feels.’
‘A very good thing for people to feel! It saves them from torpor.’
‘Lucy, it is not kind to laugh when I tell you he is miserable.’
‘That’s only proper, my dear,’ said Lucilla, entertained by teasing.
‘Not miserable from doubt,’ answered Phœbe, disconcerting in her turn. ‘We know you too well for that;’ and as an expression, amused, indignant, but far from favourable, came over