“Only by the merest chance and exception,” she answered, surprised at his surprise; “what is there to enjoy?”
The peculiar-looking clergyman might have seemed more likely to ask such a question than the beautiful girl, but he looked at her anxiously and said, “Don’t nourish morbid dislike and contempt, my dear Lena, it is not a safeguard. There are such things as perilous reactions. Try to weigh justly, and be grateful for kindness, and to like what is likeable.”
At that moment, after what had been an interval of weary famine to all but these two, host and hostess appeared, the lady as usual, picturesque, though in the old black silk, with a Roman sash tied transversely, and holly in her hair; and gaily shaking hands—“That’s right, Lady Rosamond; so you are trusted here! Your husband hasn’t sent you to represent him?”
“I’m afraid his confidence in me did not go so far,” said Rosamond.
“Ah! I see—Lady Tyrrell, how d’ye do—you’ve brought Lena? Well, Rector, are you prepared?”
“That depends on what you expect of me.”
“Have you the convinceable spot in your mind?”
“We must find it. It is very uncommon, and indurates very soon, so we had better make the most of our opportunity,” said the American lady, who had entered as resplendent as before, though in so different a style that Rosamond wondered how such a wardrobe could be carried about the world; and the sporting friend muttered, “Stunning! she has been making kickshaws all day, and looks as if she came out of a bandbox! If all women were like that, it might pay.”
It was true. Mrs. Tallboys was one of those women of resource whose practical powers may well inspire the sense of superiority, and with the ease and confidence of her country.
The meal was a real success. That some portion had been procured, ready dressed, at Backsworth, was evident, but all that had been done at home had a certain piquant Transatlantic flavour, in which the American Muse could be detected; and both she and her husband were polished, lively, and very agreeable, in spite of the twang in their voices. Miss Moy, the Captain and his friend, talked horses at one end of the table, and Rosamond faltered her woman’s horror for the rights of her sex, increased by this supposed instance.