“And we will send the baby down the last day before we go to Ryde, with Preston and Butts to take care of her. We can’t spare him to take them down, till we shut up the house. It is so much easier for us to go to Portsmouth from hence.”
The lurking conviction was that one confidential talk with Ethel would cause the humming-bird to break the toils that were being wound invisibly round her. Ethel and her father knew nothing of the world, and were so unreasonable in their requirements! Meta would consult them all, and all her scruples would awaken, and perhaps Dr. Spencer might be interrogated on Sir Henry’s life abroad, where Flora had a suspicion that gossip had best not be raked up.
Not that she concealed anything positively known to her, or that she was not acting just as she would have done by her own child. She found herself happily married to one whom home notions would have rejected, and she believed Meta would be perfectly happy with a man of decided talent, honour, and unstained character, even though he should not come up to her father’s or Ethel’s standard.
If Meta were to marry as they would approve, she would have far to seek among “desirable connections.” Meantime, was not Flora acting with exemplary judgment and self-denial?
So she wrote that she could not come home; Margaret was much disappointed, and so was Meta, who had looked to Ethel to unravel the tangles of her life.
“No, no, little miss,” said Flora to herself; “you don’t talk to Ethel till your fate is irrevocable. Why, if I had listened to her, I should be thankful to be singing at Mrs. Hoxton’s parties at this minute! and, as for herself, look at Norman Ogilvie! No, no, after six weeks’ yachting—moonlight, sea, and sympathy—I defy her to rob Sir Henry of his prize! And, with Meta lady of Cocksmoor, even Ethel herself must be charmed!”
CHAPTER XX.
We barter life for pottage, sell true bliss
For wealth or power, for pleasure or renown;
Thus, Esau-like, our Father’s blessing miss,
Then wash with fruitless tears our faded crown.
Christian Year.
“Papa, here is a message from Flora for you,” said Margaret, holding up a letter; “she wants to know whom to consult about the baby.”