"Give her a week," said her father; "she'll want a new white muslin gown, I daresay; young women always do when they are going visiting."
"Now, pray don't let her trouble herself about anything of that kind; my maid shall see to all that sort of thing. We will make her look her best, depend upon it. I mean this visit to be a great event in her life, Mr. Lovel, if possible."
"Don't let there be any fuss or trouble about her. Every one knows that I am poor, and that she will be penniless when I am gone. Let her wear her white muslin gown, and give her a corner to sit in. People may take her for one of your children's governesses, if they choose; but if she is to see society, I am glad for her to see the best."
"People shall not take her for one of my governesses; they shall take her for nothing less than Miss Lovel of Arden. Yes, of Arden, my dear sir; don't frown, I entreat you. The glory of an old house like that clings to those who bear the old name, even though lands and house are gone—Miss Lovel, of Arden. By the way, how do you get on with your neighbour, Mr. Granger?"
"I do not get on with him at all. He used to call upon me now and then, but I suppose he fancied, or saw somehow or other—though I am sure I was laboriously civil to him—that I did not care much for his visits; at any rate, he dropped them. But he is still rather obtrusively polite in sending me game and hot-house fruit and flowers at odd times, in return for which favours I can send him nothing but a note of thanks—'Mr. Lovel presents his compliments to Mr. Granger, and begs to acknowledge, with best thanks, &c.'—the usual formula."
"I am so sorry you have not permitted him to know you," replied Lady Laura. "We saw a good deal of him last year—such a charming man! what one may really call a typical man—the sort of person the French describe as solid—-Carré par la base—a perfect block of granite; and then, so enormously rich!"
Lady Laura glanced at Clarissa, as if she were inspired with some sudden idea. She was subject to a sudden influx of ideas, and always fancied her ideas inspirations. She looked at Clarissa, and repeated, with a meditative air, "So enormously rich!"
"There is a grown-up daughter, too," said Mr. Lovel; "rather a stiff-looking young person. I suppose she is solid, too."
"She is not so charming as her father," replied Lady Laura, with whom that favourite adjective served for everything in the way of praise. To her the Pyramids and Niagara, a tropical thunderstorm, a mazourka by Chopin, and a Parisian bonnet, were all alike charming. "I suppose solidity isn't so nice in a girl," she went on, laughing; "but certainly Sophia Granger is not such a favourite with me as her father is. I suppose she will make a brilliant marriage, however, sooner or later, unattractive as she may be; for she'll have a superb fortune,—unless, indeed, her father should take it into his head to marry again."
"Scarcely likely that, I should think, after seventeen years of widowhood.
Why, Granger must be at least fifty."