They were well out of sight, and Meta only answered by a good tight squeeze of his kind hand between both her own. Tom, suddenly recovering from his displeasure at being thrust aside, whisked round, dropped on a footstool before Meta, looked up in her face, and said, “Hallo!” in such utter amazement that there was nothing for it but to laugh more uncontrollably than was convenient. “Come along, Tom,” said Harry, pulling him up by force, “she does not want any of your nonsense. We will not plague her now.”
“Thank you, Harry,” said Meta. “I cannot talk rationally just yet. Don’t think me unkind, Tom.”
Tom sat in a sort of trance all the rest of the evening.
Lord Cosham talked to Norman, who felt as if he were being patronised on false pretences, drew into his shell, and displayed none of his “first-rate abilities.”
Dr. Spencer discussed his architecture with the archdeacon; but his black eyes roamed heedfully after the young gentleman and lady, in the opposite corners of the room; and, as he drove home afterwards with the youths, he hummed scraps of Scottish songs, and indulged in silent smiles.
Those at home had been far more demonstrative. Dr. May had arrived, declaring himself the proudest doctor in her Majesty’s dominions, and Ethel needed nothing but his face to explain why, and tell her that dear old June’s troubles were over, and their pretty little Meta was their own—a joy little looked for to attend their foundation-stone.
The dreaded conference with Lord Cosham had proved highly gratifying. There might be something in the fact that he could not help it, which assisted in his ready acquiescence, but he was also a sensible right-minded man, who thought that the largeness of Meta’s fortune was no reason that it should be doubled; considered that, in the matter of connection, the May family had the advantage, and saw in Norman; a young man whom any one might have pleasure in bringing forward. Oxford had established confidence both in his character and talents, and his speech had been such as to impress an experienced man, like Lord Cosham, with an opinion of his powers, that prepared a welcome for him, such as no one could have dared to expect. His lordship thought his niece not only likely to be happier, but to occupy a more distinguished position with such a man as Norman May, than with most persons of ready-made rank and fortune.
The blushing and delighted Dr. May had thought himself bound to speak of his son’s designs, but he allowed that the project had been formed under great distress of mind, and when he saw it treated by so good a man, as a mere form of disappointed love, he felt himself reprieved from the hardest sacrifice that he had ever been called on to make, loved little Meta the better for restoring his son, and once more gave a free course to the aspirations that Norman’s brilliant boyhood had inspired. Richard took the same view, and the evening passed away in an argument—as if any one had been disputing with them—the father reasoning loud, the son enforcing it low, that it had become Norman’s duty to stay at home to take care of Meta, whose father would have been horrified at his taking her to the Antipodes. They saw mighty tasks for her fortune to effect in England, they enhanced each other’s anticipations of Norman’s career, overthrew abuses before him, heaped distinctions upon him, and had made him Prime Minister and settled his policy, before ten o’clock brought their schemes to a close.
Mary gazed and believed; Margaret lay still and gently assented; Ethel was silent at first, and only when the fabric became extremely airy and magnificent, put in her word with a vehement dash at the present abuses, which grieved her spirit above all, and, whether vulnerable or not, Norman was to dispose of, like so many giants before Mr. Great-heart.
She went upstairs, unable to analyse her sentiments. To be spared the separation would be infinite relief—all this prosperity made her exult—the fair girl at the Grange was the delight of her heart, and yet there was a sense of falling off; she disliked herself for being either glad or sorry, and could have quarrelled with the lovers for perplexing her feelings so uncomfortably.