Lady Ombersley was strongly of the opinion that these remarks were quite unsuited to her daughters’ ears, but she saw no way of stemming them. Selina, still delving to the roots, asked, “Why cannot your papa be married until you are, Sophy?”
“On account of Sancia,” replied Sophy readily. “Sancia says she does not at all wish to be my stepmama.”
Lady Ombersley was smitten to the heart. “My poor child!” she said, laying a hand on Sophy’s knee. “You are so brave, but you may confide in me! She is jealous of you. I believe all Spaniards have the most shockingly jealous natures! It is too bad of Horace! If I had known this! Is she unkind, Sophy? Does she dislike you?”
Sophy went off into a peal of laughter. “Oh, no, no, no! I am sure she never disliked anyone in all her life! The thing is that if she married Sir Horace while I am still on his hands everyone will expect her to behave to me like a mama, and she is much too lazy! Then, too, with the best will in the world, I might continue to manage Sir Horace, and his house and everything that I have been accustomed to do. We have talked it over, and I can’t but see that there is a great deal in what she says. But as for jealousy, no indeed! She is much too handsome to be jealous of me, and much too good natured as well. She says that she has the greatest imaginable affection for me, but share a house with me she will not. I do not blame her. Pray do not think I blame her!”
“She sounds a very odd sort of a woman,” said Lady Ombersley disapprovingly. “And why does she live in Merton?”
“Oh, Sir Horace hired the prettiest villa for her there! She means to live retired until he comes back to England. That,” said Sophy, with a gurgle of mirth, “is because she is excessively idle. She will lie in bed until the morning is half gone, eat a great many sweetmeats, read a great many novels, and be perfectly pleased to see any of her friends who will give themselves the trouble of driving out to visit her. Sir Horace says she is the most restful female of his acquaintance.” She bent to stroke her little dog, which had all the time been sitting at her feet. “Except Tina here, of course! Dear ma’am, I hope you do not dislike dogs? She is very good, I promise you, and I could not part with her!”
Lady Ombersley assured her that she had no objection to dogs, but was by no means partial to monkeys. Sophy laughed, and said, “Oh, dear! Was it wrong of me to bring him for the children? Only when I saw him, in Bristol, he seemed to me to be just the thing! And now that I have given him to them, I daresay it will be difficult to persuade them to give him up.”
Lady Ombersley rather thought that it would be impossible, and as there did not seem to be anything more to be said on that subject, and she was feeling quite bemused by her niece’s various disclosures, she suggested that Cecilia should escort Sophy up to her room, where she would no doubt like to rest for awhile before changing her dress for dinner.
Cecilia rose with alacrity, ready to add her persuasions to her mother’s if it should be necessary. She did not suppose that Sophy wished to rest, for the little she had seen of her cousin had been enough to convince her that a creature so full of vitality rarely stood in need of rest. But she felt herself strongly drawn to Sophy and was anxious to make a friend of her as soon as possible. So when it was discovered that Sophy’s maid was unpacking her trunks in her bedchamber, she begged Sophy to come to her own room for a chat. Selina, finding that she was not to be admitted to this tête-à-tête, pouted, but went off, deriving consolation from the reflection that to her would fall the agreeable task of describing to Miss Adderbury every detail of Sophy’s conversation in the Blue Saloon.
Cecilia’s disposition was shy, and although her manners lacked the forbidding reserve which distinguished those of her elder brother, they were never confiding. Yet within a very few minutes she found herself pouring into her cousin’s ears some at least of the evils of her situation. Sophy listened to her with interest and sympathy, but the constant recurrence of Mr. Rivenhall’s name seemed to puzzle her, and she presently interrupted to say, “I beg your pardon, but this Charles — is he not your brother?”