Willingly would the curate have stayed here overnight to show his daughter the great cathedral city, which she had never seen, had not two good reasons prevented—first, his poverty, which could not bear the expense; secondly, the anxiety of the wife and mother at home to see her long-absent daughter, which, he knew, could not tolerate the delay.
“Some day we will return to see this ancient city, my dear; but to-day we must hurry home to your mother,” he said as he led her into the waiting-room to stay till their train should be ready to start.
There the “little angel” awoke in no angelic temper, but impatient to be nursed.
Jennie took her into the dressing-room, where she attended to all her needs, and presently brought her back smiling and good-natured to the arms of her grandfather.
“I foresee what an idol the grandmother will make of this little one,” he said as he received her.
“The idea of calling my pretty young mamma a grandmother! It is well she is not a woman of fashion, or she would be disgusted,” said Jennie, laughing.
“As it is, she will be delighted,” said her father, looking curiously at his child. He was very pleasantly disappointed in Jennie. He had feared to meet in her a heartbroken woman—a forsaken wife, whom none of her “old blessings” of father and mother, home and family affection, could possibly console—and he found a daughter who had let go the unfaithful husband and comforted herself with her unoffending babe, and meant even to enjoy herself with her parents at the parsonage in the performance of every filial, maternal and domestic duty. And that this disposition was not forced, but was natural, might be seen and heard in her contented countenance and frequent laugh. Even now, if the thought would recur that the curate’s temporary parish lay in the manor of Haymore, and the reigning or pretending squire was Kightly Montgomery, still, upon later reflection, she felt so much confidence in the wisdom and goodness of her father that she dismissed all dread of any fatal or even serious result of his meeting with her husband. And for one circumstance Jennie felt glad and grateful, namely, for the change of residence from Medge, where everybody had known her from childhood, and might, therefore, wonder and ask questions why the curate’s married daughter should return home to live without her husband—since it was clear from her dress that she was not a widow.
No such wonder could be excited at Haymore; no such questions asked. The people were strangers. They had taken their temporary pastor upon well-merited trust, and his family history was unknown to them.
As for the other matter connected with Kightly Montgomery, she would tell her father everything, and he would know what to do.
Kightly Montgomery, she knew, never by any chance entered a church, so her father would never see him there.