"Are you, now? Well, I'm glad of it," said Mrs. Dobbs heartily. She knew this was a distinction which would give her friends pleasure.
"Yes; Bassy is to accompany the young lady's songs on the piano. Mr. Cleveland Turner will not accompany;—or, at least, not anything of a tuneful sort. He doesn't like it. Well, you know, there's no accounting for tastes, is there? Most people think strawberries delicious. But I have known a person who couldn't touch them—invariably produced a rash!"
With which lucid illustration Mrs. Simpson rose, and declared she must positively be going. After an effusive leavetaking—in the course of which the old tabby leaped on to the back of Mrs. Dobbs's chair, where she sat arching her spine and growling—the good lady set forth on her way down the little garden-path in front of the house. But scarcely had she reached the gate, when she turned and tripped back again with a girlish step, which neither increase of years nor flesh had much sobered. "I never delivered my message," she said; "and really it is an extraordinary instance of my absence of mind, for that was the chief reason why I came at all at this hour. I was at Mrs. Bransby's about four o'clock, and left our dear Miranda there."
Here she paused so long that Mrs. Dobbs replied, "Yes; I knew May was going to call there."
"Now I dare say you will scarcely credit it," said Amelia, with her head on one side, her spectacles glistening, and an arch smile illumining her countenance, "but, for the moment, I had totally forgotten again what I was going to say!"
"Lord bless the woman!" muttered Jo Weatherhead, in a tone not, perhaps, quite so inaudible as politeness required.
"But I have it now. This is the message; our dear Miranda begged me to tell you that she will remain at Mrs. Bransby's for afternoon tea, and come home in the cool of the evening. Mrs. Bransby—indeed, all the family—are most kind to her. Of course I don't mean to say that after the brilliant scenes of London society it can be any particular treat to her, although anything more truly elegant than Mrs. Bransby's new cream broché I never beheld in my life. However, they pressed our dear Miranda to stay. And she remarked to me that 'Granny would not be left alone, for she knew Mr. Weatherhead was coming.' And now"—looking at her watch—"I must fly, or I shall be too late for tea; and then what would Bassy say?" She tripped once more down the garden path, stopped at the gate to wave her hand, and at length finally departed.
CHAPTER III.
Meanwhile, May was playing with Mrs. Martin Bransby's children, in the delightful old walled garden; and Mrs. Martin Bransby herself was looking on from the shade of a trellised arbour. These two had become very good friends. Whether Mrs. Bransby was or was not aware of her stepson's rejected suit, May had no means of knowing; but she felt instinctively that Mrs. Bransby was not likely to be super-sensitive on her stepson's behalf, nor to bear her a grudge for having refused him. Theodore's absence was not lamented in his own home. His young half-brothers and sisters openly rejoiced at it; and even his father felt that life went on more pleasantly without him.