But it was quite right,—it was as matters should be, she thought; and she hastily dashed away the tears, little thinking that letter after letter had been sent to her, to be smiled over by Mrs Marter and Max, as the latter redirected them to the sender, telling Mrs Marter the while that she was doing an act of kindness and thoughtfulness towards the motherless girl looking to her for protection.
In fact, Max Bray most carefully flattered the self-esteem of Mrs Marter, till the foolish little woman felt herself to be a perfect paragon of matronly greatness and virtue. Mr Marter, too, was taken into their confidence upon this matter of Charley Vining’s attentions to Ella.
“Of course, Mr and Mrs Marter, you can act as you please; for you see, bai Jove! it would ill become me to be offering advice upon such a matter; but for my part, I should never let him write to her, or see her for a moment. It’s a great pity, bai Jove it is, that the young men of the present day have not better aspirations.”
“Quite agree with you, Mr Bray—I do indeed!” said Mr Marter, while his lady smiled her approbation.
“You see, bai Jove! it hardly becomes me, as a near neighbour, to say anything against Vining: but I know as a fact that he worried the poor girl till she was obliged to leave Mrs Brandon’s, the lady’s, you know, where she went to last; and when a man has behaved, bai Jove! shabbily to another man’s own sister, bai Jove! it’s enough to make another man speak!”
“Very true, Mr Bray—very true. I quite agree with you,” said Mr Marter, in a satisfied air.
“But, there, bai Jove! don’t let me come hyar dictating to you. It’s like my dooced confounded impudence to say a word. I’m only too grateful to find a welcome, and a little refined female society; for to a man situated as I am, London is a very dreary place. One can get amongst set after set of fellows, and into plenty of inane fashionable drawing-rooms; but, bai Jove! Mr Marter, that isn’t the sort of thing, if I may be allowed to say so, that a man of soul thirsts after. He wants something to satisfy his brain—something that when he’s spent an evening, he can go and lay his head down upon his pillow, bai Jove! and say to himself, ‘Look here, bai Jove! old fellow: you’ve been out this evening; you’ve been in refined and improving society; and, bai Jove! here you are, just as you ought to be at the end of another day—a better man, bai Jove!’”
“Ah, Saint Clair,” sighed Mrs Marter, “if you could only say that of a night!”
“To be sure,” said Max, “mai dear fellow, you’ve no idea how much better you feel—you haven’t indeed; but, bai Jove! we must change the conversation.”
With all due modesty on his part, Max changed the conversation; for just then Ella, in obedience to orders, entered the room, playing pianoforte piece after piecer till the hour for Mr Bray’s departure, when—was she deceived? or was that a quiet firm pressure of the hand he was bestowing upon her at parting?