Here she had been twice defeated this morning! The dowager had routed her at The Poplars, and “that artful little minx” had presumed to poach upon her manor—was actually making love to Master Tom, whom she had designed for her own Carry. It was absolutely startling! She did not know what to do. Fortunately, she thought, no one had observed the pleasant little episode in the garden—so indelicate!—but herself, as her daughters, riding on the front seat, had had their backs turned at the time, so she would keep it to herself, and determine what was to be done.
One thing, at all events, she resolved to do, and that was to speak to the Reverend Herbert Pringle privately, and in confidence, about his sister. He was a most gentlemanly young man, and could not be offended at her mentioning the subject, especially as she would put it to him, since she was old enough to be his mother—at least, his mother-in-law!
Fortune favoured the old campaigner in her object. Our friend, the incumbent, having visited and cheered his poor people, by asking affably as to their healths, returned homewards by way of Laburnum Cottage, to see the Inskips, determining to himself that that was the shortest way round, although it was at least five miles out of his way.
Lady Inskip only arrived a few moments before him, and so he caught her when she was red hot on the subject just then rampant in her heart.
When she had flattered him sufficiently, and after he had basked in the sunshine of Laura’s smiles, he rose to leave, and Lady Inskip accompanied him herself to the door, and on to the grass plot beyond, and the gate, where stood his dapple-grey pony with his reins flung over the post to keep him from straying. When the girls saw their mother follow Clericus without, they made up their minds that she was going to “ask his intentions,” and much did the lively Carry chaff her sister therenent. The campaigner’s motive was, however, a very different one.
“You will excuse me, Mr Pringle, I’m sure, but I am an old woman, you know, and I take such a motherly interest in you—(very motherly!)—that you will forgive me for asking you a question?”
Poor Clericus, himself, trembled at this introduction, as I believe his idea of what was coming was very similar to those of the girls inside.
“Oh, certainly, Lady Inskip, certainly!” he said, with a sort of dead-alive alacrity.
“Is your sister engaged to Mr Tom Hartshorne?” said the old campaigner; and Pringle was immensely relieved.
“Oh dear, no!” he responded, this time cheerfully enough. “Oh dear, no, Lady Inskip, what made you suppose so?”