The old housekeeper put forth a hint that Alice was “flighty,” and her mistress was meditating a little improving conversation, when this as well as all other considerations were put out of her mind by the dangerous illness of her father-in-law.
The illness was very sudden and very short, and before his son and his brother could reach Kingsworth all was over. This brother was a clergyman of some reputation, and had recently been appointed to a canonry of Fanchester, the cathedral town of the county in which Kingsworth was situated. His presence was a great comfort and help, especially to Mrs Kingsworth, who was very fond of him. James did not arrive till the day before the funeral; the letter had followed him abroad, he said, and had been delayed. He was shocked and subdued, and George was very busy, so that there was not much opportunity of conversation between them; but late in the evening as Mary was sitting in the drawing-room by herself, James came in and said with hesitation, “Mary, you have always been a very kind sister to me: I wonder if you will be equally kind to—my wife?”
“Oh, James, I hope so!” she said, with sudden colour. “But won’t you tell me something about her?”
“Hasn’t George told you? Didn’t you know I was married?” he said quickly.
“Yes, but—”
Poor Mrs Kingsworth stammered and hesitated, but James went on in a half joking tone which yet had an under current of appeal in it.
“I don’t see why my father should object. I assure you it’s a chance for me! But ah, I forgot. Was he very violent, Mary, when he understood all about it?”
“I don’t know, George did not tell me. I should like to hear all about her.”
“I have written to George. Of course it’s not a good match, but she is very respectably connected. Her mother keeps a school and she was a governess. I knew nothing that I did would be well received at home, and so I said nothing about my marriage.”
“What is her name?” asked Mary.