“Waking, and sometimes in my dreams, that question worries me confoundedly. I’m at the cross-roads. For the moment, I suppose, I must mark time. Dash it!” he continued, with rare irritability, “how can I pester Lady Selina with my pet schemes when she is absorbed with anxiety about her son?” Had he been absolutely truthful, he would have added: “And how can I run the risk of hostilising the mother of the girl I love?”
“Yes, yes; God help all these poor mothers.”
For a season the nettle was dropped, to be grasped firmly later on.
To make matters more difficult for a perplexed and unhappy man in love with a young woman apparently predestined to be the bride of another, Lady Selina had followed her son’s advice, and was being consistently civil and kind, a much easier task than she had anticipated inasmuch as Cicely was absent from home. Grimshaw enjoyed some rough shooting, and found so many snipe in the bog behind the village that he reconsidered the propriety of draining it. Tired by his day’s work, snug in a big arm-chair, he was sorely tempted to let things drift. But every morning, after his cold tub, fighting instincts reasserted themselves. The gorgeous possibility of capturing mother and daughter rose with the sun and illumined his heaven. Two birds to one shot—a notable right and left! Meanwhile Mrs. Rockram had become his devoted slave. To talk to Mrs. Rockram about Cicely would be indiscreet; to listen to her chatter on the same fascinating subject was another matter. Indeed, what news he got of Cicely generally filtered through this loyal old retainer. From her he learned that Wilverley had left the Court and was living with his agent. The big house was handed over to my lord’s married sister, apparently a formidable person, bristling, like her brother, with restless activities. Cicely, it seemed, went to bed each night nearly foundered!
“I ain’t one to gossip,” remarked Mrs. Rockram as November drew to a close. “I’ve never done it, never!”
“Oh, Mrs. Rockram! What a difference between us! I love a bit of gossip. What is gossip? A kindly indication of interest in the affairs of others.”
“Well, sir, that’s as may be. And the housekeeper at the Court is a particular friend of mine, and not one to carry a foolish tale.”
“Out with it, Mrs. Rockram. What tale does she wag?”
Mrs. Rockram answered cautiously:
“It ends happily, sir, as tales should do—with the wedding bells.”