The cause of this change was very soon explained. Blanche had found another officer. She had been introduced to him at a friend's house, and she very soon managed to bring him to the Vicarage.
When he had nothing in the world to do, it was amusing enough to lounge away a morning, flirting with Blanche. This was worse than the other annoyance to Margaret.
It was bad enough to hear incessantly of the absent lover; but now, you had not only to hear of him all day long in his absence, but to bear his presence, at least, three days in the week. And Blanche would insist upon Margaret's keeping her company.
"Don't run away, my dearest creature," said she; "it looks so odd; it really seems as if you thought the man wanted to propose to me."
Margaret had began to enjoy her walks in the pretty garden and quiet meadows of the Vicarage. It was a bright, fresh October. She was always alive to the beauties of the country; but how could she enjoy the mossy walks and tall rustling trees with the constant fear of being joined by that tiresome Mr. Compton. And then, if she sat, Blanche would insist on sitting too. If she said she felt chilly and began to walk again, up started Blanche and her cavalier, and they all three set off walking together.
And this Mr. Compton was afflicted with the most boundless and uncultivated spirits. His laugh was a shriek. He would spring up in the air like a stag; he would fall on the grass, to give vent to his mirth; he talked incessantly, and always the most extravagant nonsense. He would practice dances with Blanche, while poor Margaret played to them; and then, at every mistake, there were fresh fits of laughter, which made him stamp about the room until they subsided.
Margaret at first thought him deranged, and was very much afraid of him; but she afterwards found he was only silly; which is a much milder form of lunacy. Indeed, he was much more silly than his predecessor; for in due time, Blanche managed to receive his hand, and became Mrs. Compton, whether he liked it or not; but this was after Margaret had left them. Perhaps, Margaret would have endured him more cheerfully, had she been able to foresee the finale of his visits. It would have been unkind, indeed, to murmur at the tedious hours which he spent at the Vicarage, which proved a source of such intense delight to Blanche, and such comfortable calculation to her mother.
"Has he not eyes!" exclaimed Blanche, as the door closed upon him after a waltz of two hours.
Margaret (who had officiated as pianiste during that time) admitted that he possessed that feature in the plural number, and knelt down before the fire to warm her hands.
"I have ascertained," said Mrs. Somerton, looking up from her worsted work, "that he is the son of Mr. Compton of Lincolnshire—the second son, it is true, but I understand the mother's property is settled on him; if that is the case, it may do, but I will write to Mrs. Stacey, she knows all about the Comptons. You know he mentioned Mrs. Stacey as having been staying at his father's."