‘That couldn’t have been Lady Merrifield,’ persevered Miss Hacket. ‘She lamented to me herself that she had been out of England for so many years that she had scarcely seen Mrs. Maurice Mohun.’
‘Well, there were the Miss Mohuns and all the rest!’ said Constance. ‘Why, Dolores has only once been at the family place. And her mother had a brother, an author and a journalist, a very clever man, and the Mohuns have always regularly persecuted him. He has been very unfortunate, and Mrs. Maurice Mohun has done her utmost to help him, writing in periodicals and giving the proceeds to him. Wasn’t that sweet? And now Dolores feels quite cut off from him; and she is so fond of him, poor darling for her mother’s sake.’
Tender-hearted as Miss Hacket was, she had seen enough of life to have some inkling of what being very unfortunate might sometimes mean.
‘I should think,’ she said, ‘that Lady Merrifield would never withhold from the child any letter it was proper she should have, especially from a relation.’
‘Yes, but I tell you she did keep back a letter on the festival day till she had looked at it. Poor Dolores saw it come, and she saw a glance pass between her and Miss Mohun, and she is quite sure, she says, her Aunt Jane had been poisoning her mind about this poor persecuted uncle, and that she shall never be allowed to hear from him.’
‘I don’t suppose there can be much for him to say to her,’ said Miss Hacket. Then, after a little reflection, ‘Connie, my dear, I really think you had better not interfere. There may be reasons that this poor child knows nothing about for keeping her aloof from this uncle.’
‘Oh! but her mother helped him.’
‘She was his sister. That was quite another thing. Indeed, Connie,’ said Miss Hacket, more earnestly, ‘I am quite sure that you will use your influence—and you have a great deal of influence, you know—most kindly by persuading this dear child to be happy with the Merrifields and submit to their arrangements.’
‘You are infatuated with Lady Merrifield,’ muttered Constance. ‘Ah! how little you know!’
Here the first warning note of the bell ended the discussion, and Constance did not think it necessary to tell her sister of the offer she had made to Dolores. In her eyes, Mary, who was the eldest of the family, had always been of the dull, grown-up, authoritative faction of the elders, while she herself was still one of the sweet junior party, full of antagonism to them, and ready to elude them in any way. Besides, she had promised her darling Dolores; and the thing was quite romantic; nor could any one call it blame-worthy, since it was nothing like a lover—not even a young man, but only a persecuted uncle in distress.