These words made that bête noire, John Mervyn Fulmort, nearly as much a child of her own as his brother and sister; for they were in a tone of self-blame—not of resentment.
She was sufficiently afraid of him to respect his reserve; moreover, he looked so ill and harassed that she dreaded his having an attack, and heartily wished for Phœbe, so she only begged him to rest till after her early dinner, when she would convey him back to Beauchamp; and then left him alone, while she went to look her undertaking in the face, rather amused to find herself his last resource, and surprised to find her spirit of enterprise rising, her memories of Alps, lakes, cathedrals, and pictures fast assuming the old charm that had erst made her long to see them again. And with Phœbe! Really it would be almost a disappointment if the scheme failed.
When she again met her unwonted guest he plunged into plans, routes, and couriers, treating her as far more completely pledged than she chose to allow; and eating as heartily as he dared, and more so than she thought Phœbe would approve. She was glad to have him safe at his own door, where Phœbe ran to meet them, greatly relieved, for she had been much disturbed by his absence at luncheon.
‘Miss Charlecote! Did you meet him?’
‘I went after her’—and Mervyn boyishly caught his sister round the waist, and pushed her down into a curtsey—‘make your obedience; she is going to look after you all.’
‘Going with us!’ cried Phœbe, with clasped hands.
‘To see about it,’ began Honor, but the words were strangled in a transported embrace.
‘Dearest, dearest Miss Charlecote! Oh, I knew it would all come right if we were patient; but, oh! that it should be so right! Oh! Mervyn, how could you?’
‘Ah! you see what it is not to be faint-hearted.’ And Phœbe, whose fault was certainly not a faint heart, laughed at this poor jest, as she had seldom laughed before, with an abandon of gaiety and joyousness. The quiet girl was absolutely thrown off her balance, laughed and cried, thanked and exclaimed, moved restlessly, and spoke incoherently.
‘Oh! may I tell Bertha?’ she asked.