“Yes, sir,”—and she told him about her husband and Sally.
“Really,” he said, when she had finished, surveying the frail little woman with admiration, “you seem to have more than your share of this world’s burden, and I respect you, madam, for the way in which you bear it.”
“Not a bit, sir,” she answered cheerily; “while it pleases God to give me my health, I wouldn’t change places with the Queen of England and all her glory.”
“I admire you still more, Mrs. Bird,” he answered, as he bowed himself out politely; “I wish that everybody could face their trials so cheerfully.” But within himself he said, “Poor Joan! no wonder she was wretched, shut up in this dreadful little house with deaf-and-dumb folk for companions. Well, I have done all I can for her now, but I wish that I had begun earlier. Oh! if I could have the last twenty years over again, things would be very different to-day.”
Mrs. Bird was delighted with Mr. Levinger. Never before, as she explained presently with much gesticulation to Jim, had she met so charming, so handsome, so thoughtful, and so liberal an elderly gentleman.
“But,” gesticulated Jim back, “if he is all this, why didn’t he look after Joan better before?”—a question that his wife felt herself unable to answer, beyond saying that Joan and all connected with her were “most mysterious, my dear, and quite beyond me.”
Indeed, now that she came to think of it, she saw that whereas she had given Mr. Levinger every information in her power, he had imparted none to her. To this moment she did not know what was the exact relationship in which he stood towards Joan. Though there were many dissimilarities between them, it had struck her, observing him, that his eyes and voice were not unlike Joan’s. Could he be her father? And, if so, how did it come about that he had allowed her to wander to London and to live there unprotected? Like the rest, it was a mystery, and one that after much cogitation Mrs. Bird was forced to give up as insoluble, though on the whole she came to the conclusion that her visitor was not a blood relation of Joan.
Mr. Levinger duly carried out his programme, and on the morrow escorted his daughter and Ellen back to Bradmouth. He did not, however, think fit to tell them the true cause of his visit to London, which he accounted for by saying that he had come up to bargain with a dealer in curiosities about some ancient British ornaments that were on the market. Nor, oddly enough, did Ellen chance to mention that she had seen Joan selling mantles at Messrs. Black and Parker’s; the fact being that, as regards this young woman, there reigned a conspiracy of silence. Neither at Rosham nor at Monk’s Lodge was her name ever mentioned, and yet she was seldom out of the minds of the members of either of those households. Ellen, when the preparations for her approaching marriage allowed her time for thought, never ceased to congratulate herself upon her presence of mind in preventing the recognition of Joan by Henry. It was clear to her that her obstinate brother had begun to settle down and to see matters in a truer light, especially as regarded Emma; but it was also clear that had he once found the missing Joan there would have been new troubles. Well, he had not found her, so that danger was gone by. And Ellen rejoiced accordingly.
Mrs. Bird kept her promise, writing and telegraphing regularly to Mr. Levinger to inform him of Joan’s progress. Indeed, for some time the messenger from the Bradmouth post-office arrived almost daily with a yellow envelope at Monk’s Lodge. One of these telegrams Emma opened by chance, as her father happened to be out and the boy said that it required an answer. It ran: “Patient had serious relapse last night. Doctor proposes to call in——” [here followed the name of a very eminent authority on such cases] “do you sanction expense? Reply, Bird.” Emma was naturally quite unable to reply, and so soon as he came in she handed the telegram to Mr. Levinger, explaining why she had opened it. He read it, then said, with as much severity as he ever showed towards his daughter:
“I wish, my dear Emma, that in future you would be so kind as to leave my letters and telegrams alone. As you have opened it, however, and your curiosity is doubtless excited, I may as well tell you that this is a business cypher, and has to do with nothing more romantic than the Stock Exchange.”