“That is just what I should have said,” she answered after that brief pause. “But now, understanding all it involves, I confess I don’t want Mollie and Bride to be in a hurry to follow your example. I want them to have five or six years of free happy girlhood before all the deeper joys and cares begin. Of course we can’t choose, and for you and Mr. Denmead, who have no real home, no near relations, very likely it is the best and happiest way. I am glad you told me about it, and you must promise if ever you need anyone to help you, to come to me. I suppose you can hardly make a confidant of Lady Mactavish?”
“No,” said Evereld, half laughing, half crying. “They are all so horrid about Ralph. When I am one and twenty and we can really be engaged of course they must all know, but to tell them this could do no good and might do great harm.”
“Sir Matthew did not insist then on your altogether breaking with your friend when he was sent away?”
“No,” said Evereld, “I don’t think anyone troubled to think about it until last Christmas. Then when I met him and told Sir Matthew about it, he did say something of the sort, but I told him I couldn’t leave off being Ralph’s friend, and he was very kind and did not forbid my writing to him in the holidays. If Ralph succeeds on the stage I believe Sir Matthew will be rather proud of him after all. He does so like people who succeed. I suppose we may still write to each other now and then.”
“Oh, I think as long as there is nothing underhand about it you may continue to write,” said Mrs. Hereford. “You will write as friends, not as lovers; you must deny yourselves that luxury until you come of age. I am not preaching what I haven’t practised, dear, for we had four years of that sort of thing before I was actually engaged. There are great drawbacks but I think some advantages.”
“Surely many advantages,” said Evereld. “And I am much more alone in the world than you were. You had brothers and sisters.”
“Yes, and a profession which was very absorbing,” said Mrs. Hereford, suppressing a sigh. “Oh, I do think it is a very great gain for you, only I want you to realise that it is the sort of life that needs no end of patience and courage and strength. There will be days when all will not be so bright as you fancy. But I won’t croak any more. You are likely to be much better at waiting than I was, for impulsiveness is the bane of all Irish folk.”
“And you will talk to Ralph?” pleaded Evereld, knowing how much he would value the sympathy and counsel of such a woman, and secretly longing that Mrs. Hereford should know him and appreciate him better.
“Yes, to be sure,” said her hostess, with the smile that had won so many hearts. “We will collogue together after breakfast.”
She was true to her promise and while Macneillie was amusing everyone with stories of various contretemps of stage life, she contrived to carry off Ralph to see the invalided patriot; after which they had a cosy little talk in the drawing-room with no one but Baby Donal, a sturdy little man of three, to keep them company.