All these dreams had now come to an end, and the Major felt that there were few women in the world he hated as he did Mrs Fortescue. He would have given a great deal not to meet her, but he suddenly found himself face to face with her in the little High Street. She came up to him sorrowfully. She was the sort of woman who could never, under any circumstances, imagine herself de trop, and she certainly believed herself to be irresistible to all men.
“Ah, Major!” she said. “What a blow—what a terrible blow we have received! and where is your dear boy? I pity him from my heart.”
“My son has left Langdale,” said the Major freezingly. “I will not detain you any longer, Mrs Fortescue. I am going for a brisk walk, and the morning is too chilly to stand still long in the street.”
He raised his hat and walked on. He looked very stiff and disagreeable.
“Old curmudgeon!” whispered Mrs Fortescue under her breath. “What a selfish person! he has no thought for the poor girls themselves; or for me, or for any one but just himself and that conceited puppy, Michael.” Mrs Fortescue continued her morning shopping, and eventually found herself in the neighbourhood of the Grange. Surely there, at least, she would receive all possible sympathy. When had Susie turned an unwilling ear to any one’s grief? She—Mrs Fortescue—would show herself this morning in the most amiable light, suffering with the penniless girls and not thinking of herself at all. It would be very forgiving of her, too, to call at the Arbuthnots’ after the Colonel’s visit to her. It would show, that she at least bore no ill-will to any human being on earth.
Accordingly, she paused before the well-known door. She would be obliged to ask Colonel Arbuthnot before long for a reference, and would like to smooth the way by means of an interview with Susie first.
When the servant answered her summons she inquired, therefore, if Miss Arbuthnot was within. She was replied to in the affirmative, and was shown into the parlour looking out on the street. There Susie was performing all kinds of useful arts. It was not at all a pretty room—as pretty rooms go: it was made for use, not for ornament. The table in the centre was an old deal one—in fact, nothing better than a large kitchen table, and at this moment Susie was busy finishing the marmalade which she and Florence had begun.
She looked up when Mrs Fortescue appeared. Her eyes were a little red, as though she had been crying: otherwise, her face was quite cheerful, it even wore a jubilant expression.
“How do you do?” she said in her kind voice. “You will forgive me if I go on cutting my oranges. All this supply of marmalade has to be boiled early to-morrow morning, and the orange peel must soak for a certain time.”
“Yes, yes,” said Mrs Fortescue; “I quite understand. There are so many recipes for marmalade.”