"Indeed I would not object: I should like to wear it. I will order——" and there the state of the case occurred to me, and I sat down in consternation.
I had not a shilling in the world. I had no money, either for mourning or for my wedding clothes. The exceeding incongruity of this order of affairs with my position as the future Lady Chandos, struck on me with shame and dismay. What would they all think of me? What reflections of meanness might even the servants not cast upon me? Tears of mortification filled my eyes, nearly dropped upon my burning cheeks.
"What's the matter, Anne?"
"I have no money."
Sir Harry laughed. "Don't cry over that, my darling. You'll have so much soon, you wont know what to do with it. Tell my mother of your dilemma."
I did not. Perhaps he did. In the afternoon Hill came to my room with Lady Chandos's dressmaker; and in two days my black things were home.
The first visitor we had at the house—and he arrived the day I put my mourning on—was Monsieur de Mellissie, looking very ill. Of course he had come after his wife, having started the instant he was able to travel. A somewhat stormy interview ensued between them; but she spoke like one accustomed to have things her own way, and he appeared rather meek beside her. He had arrived with the view of taking her back to France; she vowed and protested that she was not going home yet awhile—that all the steamers plying between the two countries should not drag her; her mamma was about to spend some time at Brighton or Scarborough, as might be agreed up on, and she purposed accompanying her: she wanted recruiting as well as other people.
Lady Chandos stepped forward to the rescue, her compassion awakened for the poor, sick, evidently suffering man. The first thing, he must go to bed and be nursed, she said; they would talk of plans afterwards. Monsieur de Mellissie was really too ill to dispute the mandate; neither did he feel inclined to do it: after his hurried journey from Paris, bed seemed as a very haven of rest.
They left the room, followed by Lady Chandos, and the next to appear was the agent, Mr. Dexter. He came in, rubbing his hot face as usual. Not that the weather put him into a heat to-day, but the news he brought.
Mr. Edwin Barley had gone away. Mr. Edwin Barley's servant had called upon him with a cheque for a twelve-month's rent and taxes, and an intimation that his master would not occupy the house again. Mr. Dexter might make what use he pleased of it. If there were any dilapidations for which Mr. Edwin Barley was legally responsible, they would be paid for on the amount being sent to him at the Oaks.