More than a week passed in this manner; Mrs. Barnaby becoming every day more convinced that, although every sensible woman ought to marry a lord, if she can get one, yet, nevertheless, that an active, intelligent, obliging friend, full of admiration, and obedient to command, was an excellent substitute for everything else during an interregnum between the more violent attachments by which the career of all distinguished women must necessarily be marked. And Mr. Morrison, as he on his side remarked how freely the lady hired her flies and her hackney chariots,—how little she thought of the price of tickets for plays, operas, and that realization of all her dreams of elegant festivity, Vauxhall,—how liberally wine and even brandy flowed at the savoury little dinners in her drawing-room,—as he remarked on all this, he could not but reason with himself on the greatly superior felicity of being the husband of such a lady, and living without any trouble at all upon her fortune, to the remaining a bachelor in Red Lion Square, under the necessity of working whenever work could be had in order to pay his rent, settle his tailor's bill, and find wherewithal to furnish commons for himself and his one domestic.
It is certain, however, that up to this time no serious idea of marrying Mr. Magnus Morrison had entered the widow's head; on the contrary, she was fully determined that, as soon as she had seen London "well," she would see Paris too, and was not without a vague notion that there might be something very elegant and desirable in becoming the wife of a French grandee. But these ruminations interfered not at all with the amiable amenity of her demeanour to her assiduous attendant.... Agnes was as little in their way as it was possible she could be ... the weather was remarkably fine ... and, on the whole, it may be doubted if any lady of thirty-seven ever made her first debut in the metropolis of the united kingdoms with more perfect satisfaction to herself.
Mrs. Barnaby reached London on a Thursday evening; the first Sunday shewed her the Foundling, all the little children, and a popular preacher, which together constituted one of Mr. Morrison's favourite lions. The Sunday following, being the last, according to her own secret determination, that she would pass in England, she was left during the early part of the day to her own devices, Mr. Morrison having a deed to draw, which could no longer be safely postponed; and she therefore obligingly asked Agnes if she should not like to go to church with her. Agnes willingly assented, and they went to the morning service at St. James's. In returning thence our gaily-dressed widow, full of animation, and the hope of finding Mr. Morrison ready to take luncheon with her previous to their projected walk in Kensington Gardens, remarked, as she gracefully paced along the crowded pavement, that one individual among the many who eyed her appeared to follow her movements with particular attention. Mrs. Barnaby was never stared at without feeling delighted by the compliment she thought it implied, and simpered and frolicked with her parasol in her best manner, till at length, having no one else to whom she could point out the flattering circumstance, she said to Agnes, as they turned down Half-moon Street ... into which the admiring individual turned too.... "Do look at that man, Agnes.... He has never ceased to follow and stare at me since we left the church.... There, now, he is going to pass us again.... Is he not an impudent fellow?"
"Perhaps he knows you, aunt," said Agnes, raising her eyes as the man passed them.... "I think I have seen him at Cheltenham."
This suggestion heightened Mrs. Barnaby's colour so considerably that it was perceptible through all her rouge.
"You have seen him at Cheltenham?... Where, pray?"
"I do not well remember; in a shop, I think."
Mrs. Barnaby asked no more questions, but knocked rather hastily at the door of her lodgings; but though the person had crossed the street, and in doing so passed close to her, he made no attempt to speak to her, but passed on his way, not, however, before he had so refreshed her memory respecting her Cheltenham debts as to make her suddenly decide upon leaving London on the morrow.
She found Mr. Magnus Morrison waiting for her, as well-looking and as devoted as ever; so she did all but quite forget her recent alarm, its only effect being, when Agnes, as usual, declined her invitation to go out with them, to say in a whisper to her in the window recess farthest removed from her waiting gentleman, "I think I shall leave London to-morrow night, so you may employ yourself in getting everything ready for packing, Agnes...." She then turned gaily to her escort, and they set off together.
During the whole of this tedious week Agnes had used every means within her very limited power to ascertain what her aunt's plans were for the future; and this not only to satisfy her own natural curiosity on the subject, but also that she might have sufficient information to justify her writing another letter to Lady Stephenson. But all her inquiries had been so vaguely answered, that she was quite as ignorant of what her next movement might be as when she arrived, and was living in a very torturing sort of suspense, between hope that fate by some means or other would oblige her to return to Cheltenham, and fear lest the mystery that veiled the future might only be elucidated when too late for her to obey the command which, in case of the worst, was to send her there.