"I did not hear him," said Margaret.
"I think it was to-day; I am sure I wish he never had any duty!" said Blanche with a sigh. "He has very little, I should think," said Margaret.
"He gets out of every thing he can, you may be sure," said Blanche, "there—who is in that gig. Only Charles Hollingsworth, I do believe! The greatest bore in England; sometimes he pretends to be ill, and goes out hunting."
"Who, Mr. Hollingsworth?" said Margaret, quite at a loss to know why he should take that trouble.
"No—Compton—there he really is; let us go to the gate and meet him."
Then when he came, there was nothing but uproar and confusion for some hours; Blanche's spirits were easily excited, and what with laughing, waltzing, rushing over the garden after his dogs, and pelting the plums from the trees, and racing about and throwing them at each other, she became quite as noisy as her lover. Mrs. Somerton looked on, scolding them both gently and playfully; it was quite a family picture. All this clamour was not very amusing to Margaret, but it drew her thoughts insensibly away from herself, she even became interested in the game. She speculated upon Blanche's chance of success. Her stake was not deep enough to make it a matter of painful anxiety. She would have regretted Mr. Compton, just as much as she had regretted Mr. Watkins; perhaps a few days longer, for he was decidedly the more attractive of the two. He had not a red nose, he did not drink, he was only foolish and extravagant, and very noisy. He treated Margaret with that total disregard to the usual courtesies offered in society to a lady, that may be observed in young men, especially officers, when they are occupied by another woman: but this gave her neither concern nor displeasure. She had long observed that his head was not capable of holding more than one idea at a time, and as Blanche was his idea at present, it was not likely that he should recollect to open the door for Margaret, or to set down her tea-cup.
But she began to look with anxiety towards a more settled home—the society here was not to her taste. She saw very little of Mr. Warde, and she was not allowed to pass her time in his library; she was always wanted to be present with Blanche and Mr. Compton. She longed for quiet, for study; for a life that should replace that which she had lost.
CHAPTER XIX.
No more endure to weigh
The shame and anguish of the evil day
Wisely forgetful! O'er the ocean swell
Sublime of Hope, I seek the cottaged dell
Where Virtue calm with careless step may stray;
COLERIDGE.