“It’s all arranged,” said Charlotte, opening her mouth with a loud yawn. “Lady Godolphin wrote to Verrall, and the arrangements have been agreed upon amicably. Lady Godolphin foregoes a certain portion of rent, and we go out immediately. I am very glad, do you know. I had made my mind up not to stay. As to the Verralls, it may be said that they virtually took leave of the Folly long ago. Uncommonly glad I shall be to leave it,” repeated Charlotte with emphasis.
“Why?”
“Who’d care to stay at Prior’s Ash, after all this bother? You and George will be leaving it for London, you know—and I hope it won’t be long first. You must make me useful up there, Mrs. George. I’ll——”
“Who told you we were going to leave for London?” interrupted Maria in astonishment.
“Nobody told me. But of course you will. Do you suppose George Godolphin will care to stop amongst this set? Not he. He’d see Prior’s Ash go promenading first. What tie has he here, now Ashlydyat’s gone? Verrall talks of buying a hunting-box in Leicestershire.”
“Does he?” replied Maria mechanically, her thoughts buried elsewhere.
“Buying or hiring one. I should hire; and then there’s no bother if you want to make a flitting. But Verrall is one who takes nobody’s counsel but his own. What a worry it will be!” added Charlotte, after a pause.
Maria raised her eyes. She did not understand the remark.
“Packing up the things at the Folly,” exclaimed Charlotte. “We begin to-morrow morning. I must be at the head of it, for it’s of no use trusting that sort of work entirely to servants. Bon jour, petite coquette! Et les poupées?”
The diversion was caused by the flying entrance of Miss Meta. The young lady was not yet particularly well up in the Gallic language, and only half understood. She went straight up to Mrs. Pain, threw her soft sweet eyes right into that lady’s flashing black ones, rested her pretty arms upon the moiré antique, and spoke out with her accustomed boldness.