"I know. I shall never forget that." And she felt as she went to her own room that he had made her a solemn and very comforting promise.
[CHAPTER XVII]
To Mrs. Walbridge's surprise and relief, Oliver Wick made no sign for several days, although she herself had written to his mother on some pretext and mentioned the engagement in a casual reference that she regarded as very dishonest, though necessary, and probably useful. The morning of New Year's Eve an answer to her note had come from old Mrs. Wick, and she read it several times.
"Dear Mrs. Walbridge,—Thanks very much for your note telling me of the engagement. I am sure you will be glad to know that that queer son of mine is not coming to 'Happy House' at present. He's very unhappy, less I think because he has given up hope of marrying Grisel, than because he is disappointed in her for becoming engaged to a man he is convinced she does not love. I can tell you this quite frankly because he is so fond of you that I am sure you know him well and will understand.
"He is as much like a fussy old mother as a lover in his attitude towards your daughter. He does so resent her knowing and liking people he despises, such as that poor Mr. and Mrs. Ford, for instance, and the Crichells. I met Mrs. Crichell the other day at the Leicester Galleries. She's certainly very pretty, but as I saw from your face that you dislike her, I don't mind telling you that I do too. There's something very unpleasant about her. However, it's very rude of me to abuse your acquaintances, so I'll stop.
"Jenny will be seeing your son New Year's Day, as she's going to accompany him in some songs at Mrs. Gaskell-Walker's, so we hope to hear good news of you all then.
"Yours sincerely,
"Frances Wick."
Oliver carried out his intention, and nothing was seen of him at "Happy House" for some time. Things went very smoothly. Grisel seemed happy, and Sir John's devotion to her seemed to her mother exactly what it should have been—neither slavish nor domineering, without that touch of patronage, so often seen in old men, however much they may be in love, towards their young sweethearts. He had never again referred to their early acquaintance, and Mrs. Walbridge was conscious of a sincere regret that, do what she would, she could not recall him as a youth to her memory.
He was very kind to every one of the family, and Walbridge very often lunched with him at his Club in the City, and spoke vaguely of good things he had been put on by his prospective son-in-law. Walbridge never lost sight of the joke of his (Ferdinand Walbridge) being father-in-law to a man of Barclay's age. But he seemed very disposed to make every possible use of Barclay's experience and kindness.
One day, towards the end of January, Mrs. Walbridge sat by the fire in the drawing-room, working hard at her new book. It was bitterly cold, so cold that she had been obliged to come down from her study in the attic.