Meg raised her head from the sofa-cushions: “He w-would say it was n-not at all the th-thing!”
“Very well, and why should he not?” said Kitty, refusing to share in her hostess’s unseemly mirth. “If you were to hear of such a thing’s happening, you would think it most improper, now, wouldn’t you?” A sudden thought occurred to her, and she choked, and said, in an uncertain tone: “As a matter of fact, he said that Lochinvar sounded to him like a d-dashed loose-screw!”
A wail from the depths of the cushions proved to be too much for Kitty’s command over herself. Both ladies then enjoyed a very hearty laugh; after which they embraced, and parted company for the night without exchanging any further confidences.
The following day passed uneventfully, the only excursion undertaken by two rather weary ladies being a walk to Mount Street, whither they went to take leave of Lady Legerwood, who was conveying the nursery-party to Margate that day. As this included Fanny and her governess, her ladyship’s own maid, and two damsels hired to wait on the nursery and the schoolroom, it was an impressive cortege which set out from London, Lady Legerwood carrying Edmund in her own post-chaise; Miss Kendal and the two unmarried daughters of the house following in a second chaise; and Nurse, with the attendant abigails, and a mountain of baggage, bringing up the rear in a large travelling-coach. Lord Legerwood, who was escorting his family, and remaining with them for a few days, had taken one look at the pile of invalid comforts destined for the chaise that bore his ailing youngest son, and had said that he preferred to ride.
Lady Legerwood, although flustered by all the bustle of departure, found time to sit for a few minutes with the visitors, enquiring anxiously after Meg’s state of health, giving her a great deal of good advice, charging Kitty to take care of her, and loading both young ladies with conflicting admonitions on what they shduld do in the event of accident. She said worriedly that she very much disliked being obliged to leave them unprotected, but derived a certain modicum of comfort from the reflection that it would not be many days before Lord Legerwood was back in town.
“Meanwhile, my love,” said his lordship, taking snuff, “you may safely leave them in Freddy’s care.”
These bland words caused his heir, who had joined the party, very natty in a new coat of blue superfine and pantaloons of a delicate dove-shade, to eye him with acute suspicion. Perceiving it, he laughed, and said: “Pray do not look at me as though I were a coiled snake, Freddy! I am sure you will take excellent care of the girls. My dear, I do not wish to hurry you, but it is time we were setting forward.”
Everyone then went out to where the carriages waited; a footman was sent to fetch another rug for the invalid; Nurse and Miss Kendal dissuaded her ladyship from unpacking a valise to assure herself that Edmund’s medicine had not been forgotten; farewells were spoken, kisses exchanged, and at last the steps of the carriages were let up, and the doors shut. Kitty, who could never see Lady Legerwood without suffering a smart of conscience, and was particularly discomposed by having received a very kind embrace from her, found that Lord Legerwood was at her elbow, and was thrown into still worse confusion by his holding out his hand to her, and saying, with s smile: “For the present, goodbye, my child. I look forward to having you under my own roof at no very distant date now.”
A blush flooded her cheeks; she stammered she knew not what; and cast an almost frightened look up into his face.
“Don’t run away, will you?” he said quizzically. “I like Freddy’s engagement very well, you know. It has done him a great deal of good.”