Robert looked across the room at Mellicent with an expression which made that young person tremble in her shoes.
“All right, young lady, I’ll remember you!” he said quietly. “I’ve warned you before about repeating conversations. Now you’ll see what happens. I’ll cure you of that little habit, my dear, as sure as my name is Robert Darcy—”
“The Honourable Robert Darcy!” murmured a silvery voice from the other side of the fireplace. Robert turned his head sharply, but Peggy was gazing into the coals with an air of lamb-like innocence, and he subsided into himself with a grunt of displeasure.
The next day Mrs Saville came to lunch, and spent the afternoon at the vicarage. As Maxwell had said, she was a beautiful woman; tall, fair, and elegant, and looking a very fashionable lady when contrasted with Mrs Asplin in her well-worn serge, but her face was sad and anxious in expression. Esther noticed that her eyes filled with tears more than once as she looked round the table at the husband and wife and the three tall, well-grown children; and when the two ladies were alone in the drawing-room she broke into helpless sobbings.
“Oh, how happy you are! How I envy you! Husband, children,—all beside you. Oh, never, never let one of your girls marry a man who lives abroad. My heart is torn in two; I have no rest. I am always longing for the one who is not there. I must go back,—the major needs me; but my Peggy,—my own little girl! It is like death to leave her behind!”
Mrs Asplin put her arms round the tall figure, and rocked her gently to and fro.
“I know! I know!” she said brokenly. “I ache for you, dear; but I understand! I have parted with a child of my own—not for a few years, but for ever, till we meet again in God’s heaven. I’ll help you every way I can. I’ll watch her night and day; I’ll coddle her when she’s ill; I’ll try to make her a good woman. I’ll love her, dear, and she shall be my own special charge. I’ll be a second mother to her.”
“You dear, good woman! God bless your kind heart!” said Mrs Saville brokenly. “I can’t help breaking down, but indeed I have much to be thankful for. I can’t tell you what a relief it is to feel that she is in this house. The principals of that school at Brighton were all that is good and excellent, but they did not understand my Peggy.” The tears were still in her eyes, but she broke into a flickering smile at the last word. “My children have such spirits! I am afraid they really do give more trouble than other boys and girls, but they are not really naughty. They are truthful and generous, and wonderfully warm-hearted. I never needed to punish Peg when she was a little girl; it was enough to show that she had grieved me. She never did the same thing again after that; but—oh, dear me!—the ingenuity of that child in finding fresh fields for mischief! Dear Mrs Asplin, I am afraid she will try your patience. You must be sure to keep a list of all the breakages and accidents, and charge them to our account. Peggy is an expensive little person. You know what Arthur was.”
“Bless him—yes! I had hardly a tumbler left in the house,” said Mrs Asplin, with gusto. “But I don’t grieve myself about a few breakages. I have had too much to do with schoolboys for that!—And now give me all the directions you can about this precious little maid, while we have the room to ourselves.”
For the next hour there the two ladies sat in conclave about Miss Peggy’s mental, moral, and physical welfare. Mrs Asplin had a book in her hand, in which from time to time she jotted down notes of a curious and inconsequent character. “Pay attention to private reading. Gas-fire in her bedroom for chilly weather. See dentist in Christmas holidays. Query: gold plate over eye-tooth? Boots to order, Beavan and Company, Oxford Street. Cod-liver oil in winter. Careless about changing shoes. Damp brings on throat. Aconite and belladonna.” So on, and so on. There seemed no end to the warnings and instructions of this anxious mother; but when all was settled as far as possible, the ladies adjourned into the schoolroom to join the young people at their tea, so that Mrs Saville might be able to picture her daughter’s surroundings when separated from her by those weary thousands of miles.