“My dear, you have yet to learn the gentle uncharitableness of prejudice. It is the prevailing notion that my married life was a career of dissipation. Ah! if they only knew!”
“The drag is round,” said Mrs. Duncombe’s voice at the door, in all its decisive abruptness, making both start.
“Just ready,” called Lady Tyrrell; adding, in a lower tone, “Ah! she is startling, but she is genuine! And one must take new friends when the old are chilly. She is the only one—”
Cecil’s kiss was more hearty than any she had given at Compton, and she descended; but just as she came to the door, and was only delaying while Frank and Captain Duncombe were discussing the merits of the four horses, the Compton carriage appeared in the approach, and Raymond’s head within. Lady Tyrrell looked at Cecil, and saw it was safe to make a little gesture with the white skin of her fair brow, expressing unutterable things.
Mrs. Duncombe lost no time in asking if any steps were being taken for improving the drainage; to which Raymond replied, “No, that was not the business in hand. This was the architecture of the town-hall.”
“Splendour of municipality above, and fever festering below,” said Mrs. Duncombe.
“Wilsborough is not unhealthy,” said Raymond.
She laughed ironically.
“The corporation have been told that they have an opportunity,” said Raymond; “but it takes long to prepare people’s minds to believe in the expedience of such measures. If Whitlock could be elected mayor there would be some chance, but I am afraid they are sure to take Truelove; and as things are at Wilsborough, we must move all at once or not at all. Individual attempts would do more harm than good.”
“Ah! you fear for your seat!” said the plain-spoken lady.