“I’m obliged to, my dear,” said the visitor, taking a trembling hand in hers, and kissing it; “but don’t you cry and fret, though it’s very good of you, and I know you loved the sweet, gentle darling. Ah, it was all a terrible mistake, and I’ve often lain awake, crying without a sound, so as not to wake Mr Wilton and make him cross. Of course you know Mr Wilton settled that Claud was to marry her, and when he says a thing is to be, it’s no use for me to say a word. He’s master. It’s ‘love, honour, and obey,’ my dear, when you’re a married lady, as you’ll find out some day.”
“No, Mrs Wilton, I shall never marry.”
“Ah, that’s what we all say, my child, but the time comes when we think differently. But as I was telling you, I thought it was all a mistake, but I had to do what Mr Wilton wished, though I felt that they weren’t suited a bit, and I know Claud did not care for her. I’d a deal rather have seen him engaged to a nice little girl like you.”
“Mrs Wilton!” said Jenny, indignantly.
“Oh, dear me, what have I said?” cried the lady, smiling. “He’s wilful and foolish and idle, and fond of sport; but my boy Claud isn’t at all a bad lad—well, not so very—and he’ll get better; and I’m sure you used to like to have a talk with him when you came to the Manor.”
“Indeed I did not!” cried Jenny, flushing warmly.
“Oh, very well then, I’m a silly old woman, and I was mistaken, that’s all. But there, there, we don’t want to talk about such things, with that poor child lying at the bottom of the lake; and they won’t have it dragged.”
“But surely she would not have done such a thing, Mrs Wilton,” cried Jenny, wildly.
“I don’t know, my dear. They say I’m very stupid, but I can’t help, thinking it, for she was very weak and low and wretched, and she quite hated poor Claud for the way he treated her. But I never will believe that she eloped with that young Mr Dasent.”
“Neither will I,” cried Jenny, indignantly. “She would not do such a thing.”