“Oh no, he would not mind! He is only too kind and indulgent. He would have liked me to spend the winter with my sister in Hans Place, where there would have been gaieties of all kinds; but I don’t want to go into society while Martin is away. It would not make me happy.”
“But if it made some one else happy—if it made other people happy to see you there?”
“Oh, but it would not matter to anybody! I am a stranger in the land. People are only kind to me for my husband’s sake.”
“Your modesty becomes you as the dew becomes a rose. I won’t gainsay you—only be sure you will be missed if you don’t go to the ball. And if you do go—well, it will be an opportunity of making nice friends. It will be your début in county society.”
“Without my husband? Please don’t say any more about it, Lord Lostwithiel. I had much rather stay at home.”
He changed the conversation instantly, asking her what she thought of Glenaveril.
“I think the situation most lovely.”
“Yes, there we are all agreed. Mr. Crowther had the good taste to find a charming site, and the bad taste to erect an architectural monstrosity, a chimera in red brick. There was a grange once in the heart of that wood, and the Crowthers have the advantage of acorns and chestnuts that sowed themselves while the sleepy old monks were telling their beads. How do you like Miss Crowther?”
“I hardly know her well enough to like or dislike her. She is very handsome.”
“So was Rubens’ wife, Helena Forman; but what would one do in a world peopled with Helena Formans? There are galleries in Antwerp which no man should enter without smoke-coloured spectacles, if he would avoid being blinded by a blaze of red-haired beauty. I am told that the Miss Crowthers will have, at least, a million of money between them in days to come, and that they are destined to make great matches. Perhaps we shall see some of their soupirants at the ball. Since the decay of the landed interest, the chasse aux dots has become fiercer than of old.”