‘Mr. Wellfield’s last wish would be to hurry or incommode you,’ continued Somerville, again turning to Sara, ‘but if Miss Wellfield could be ready by the time I mention——’
‘Miss Wellfield will be quite ready when she is required to go home,’ said Sara, with crushing coldness; her pride in mad rebellion at what she called to herself the insolence of this strange man in telling her, of all persons, what were Jerome Wellfield’s wishes in respect to his sister.
‘Here is Miss Wellfield herself,’ she added, as Avice came in, and she introduced her to Somerville. Avice looked and felt cold and constrained, though Somerville’s charm of manner soon removed her objections to him personally. He began to talk to her, pointedly going into details about her brother, and his great desire to see her and have her with him again, which details soon began to interest Avice exceedingly. Sara writhed (mentally) at this conduct, yet she could not speak, for from all Somerville’s demeanour she came to the conclusion that, however friendly Jerome might have been with him, he had not confided to him the fact of their engagement. It was therefore perfectly natural that the priest, if he were unaware of this, should look upon the sister as more interested than the friend, and should turn to her with all his remarks and details.
Somerville himself saw it all, and his own reflections were:
‘Mon Dieu! A rare piece of pride and beauty, I must own. He might well turn upon me in the way he did when I suggested his marrying the little Bolton heiress. This is a prize not lightly to be resigned, though I think his hold upon it now is loose enough. How she chafes at the treatment she has had lately, and what would not this other man give if he could carry her off? Well, perhaps his wish may be gratified. I am sure I have every desire to further it.’
By-and-by Ellen brought in coffee, and while they were drinking it, Wilhelmi and his daughter called. Introductions and explanations followed, given by Sara in the coldest of cold tones; but Wilhelmi, seeing only some one in some way connected with his favourite pupil, invited Somerville to spend the evening at his house, and Luise, perceiving an opportunity of maintaining her self-respect by captivating a stranger, added the prettiest entreaties, and the invitation and the entreaties were accepted by the object of them. Sara steadily refused to leave her own home until after Avice had gone, and Luise, her attention diverted by Somerville’s appearance on the scene, was less insistent than usual when her will was crossed.
Then they all went away in a body, not without Somerville’s having observed that Falkenberg lingered behind the rest to touch his hostess’s hand, and look earnestly and inquiringly into her face. His lynx-eye saw the faint, sorrowful smile which answered that look; and as he went away, he said triumphantly in his heart:
‘The way is clear, friend Wellfield. Surely you would not be so selfish as to stand between her and such a marriage as is waiting to be accepted by her!’
