CHAPTER II THE RESULT
The Lamberts as a rule took things easy in the morning. Breakfast was at any time that was suitable to the convenience and appetite of each individual; the things were generally cleared away by half-past eleven or twelve, a matter of half an hour lost in the forenoon made little difference in the revolution of their day.
At half-past ten on the morning of Miss Hancock's descent upon her, Fanny was seated at the breakfast-table. It was a glorious day, filled with the warmth of summer, the scent of roses, and the songs of birds. A letter from her father lay beside her on the table; it had arrived by the morning's post, and contained great news—good news, too, yet the goodness of it was not entirely reflected in her face.
The worries of life were weighing on Miss Lambert; James Hancock's unanswered letter was not the least of these. She had laughed on receiving it, then she had cried. She had written three or four letters in answer to it, beginning, "Dear Mr Hancock," "My dear Mr Hancock," "Please do not think me horrid," etc.; but it was no use, each was a distinct refusal, yet each seemed either too cold or too warm. "If I send this," said she, "it will hurt him horribly, and he has been so kind. Oh dear! why will men be so stupid, they are so nice if they'd only not worry one to marry them. If I send this it will only make him think that I will 'have him in the end,' as Susannah says. I wish I were a man."
Besides love troubles household worries had their place. James had gone very much to pieces morally in the last few days. He had taken diligently to drink, the writing and quoting of poetry, and the pawning of unconsidered trifles; between the bouts, in those fits of remorse, which may be likened to the Fata Morgana of true repentance, he had expended his energy on all sorts of household duties not required of him: winding up clocks to their destruction, smashing china, and scattering coals all over the place in attempts to convey over-full scuttles to wrong rooms and in the face of gravity. The effect upon Susannah of these eccentricities can be best described by the fact that she lived now most of her time with her apron over her head. Housework under these circumstances became a matter of some difficulty.
It wanted some twenty minutes to eleven when the "brougham with celluloid fittings," containing Miss Hancock, drove up the drive and stopped before "The Laurels."
Miss Hancock stepped out and up the steps, noticing to the minutest detail the neglect before and around her.
She gave her own characteristic knock—sharp, decided, and business-like; she would also have given her own characteristic ring, but that the bell failed to respond, the pull produced half a foot of wire but no sound, and the knob, when she dropped it, dangled wearily as if to say, "Now see what you've done! N'matter, I don't care."