‘I’m afraid I understand that my brother’s habits are not what they should be.’
‘That is a very hasty conclusion, and shows that you certainly have not understood me. If I must speak so very plainly——’
‘I do not wish to interfere with him,’ said Eleanor, with a shade of hauteur; but she was uneasy, and an anxious colour had begun to burn on either cheek. She had come hither against her will. She had disliked Magdalen from Otho’s talk of her, had disliked her more on seeing and conversing with her, and had descended to subterfuge, to find out her thoughts about her brother. She was pure of any wish to be a missionary to Otho, which was evidently what Magdalen had gathered to be her object; but she had unwittingly called forth an indirect characterisation of her brother—and that from one who evidently knew him well, and was tenacious of her hold on him—which roused her deepest uneasiness. After the last words there was a pause, and then Eleanor said slowly, and wishing the while that she had not begun the conversation—
‘And I have no doubt that you know far more about him than I do.’
‘You credit me with a great deal of very important knowledge,’ said Magdalen, coldly and sweetly. ‘All I can say is, that if I possessed that knowledge to the full, I should not think of imparting it to you—not for a moment. And let me remind you that, whether he be good or bad, I am not your brother’s keeper. I think he is quite competent to take care of himself.’
‘I was not dreaming of assuming any such office,’ Eleanor said, fully convinced from Magdalen’s tone that she did feel herself to be Otho’s keeper, in a sense; that she liked the proprietorship, and meant to fight for her possession of it, if it were disputed. The idea of entering the lists with her filled Eleanor with disgust. Her impressions, could she have reduced them to their simplest form, were that Otho was not what he ought to be in the matter of conduct, and that Magdalen knew a good deal more about him than she chose to tell. Miss Wynter, however, seemed to consider the subject at an end, and to assume that Eleanor had found out her mistake. She herself began with a new subject.
‘How came you to know Michael Langstroth?’ she inquired, with her sweetest smile.
‘Oh, I don’t consider that I know him. Did you not hear what I said to Otho? He got into the carriage I was in, at a station near Tebay. He seemed in a great hurry, and jumped in as the train was setting off——’
‘Just like him!’
‘A porter at Tebay had told me that the station after this one at which Mr. Langstroth got in would be Bradstane, so I was collecting my things, and I suppose he saw from that label on my bag where I was really going; for he said, “Are you getting out at Cotherstone?” Then, of course, I explained, and he explained, and it was all right. He got out at Cotherstone, and I came on to Bradstane.’