“Things must come right for them both,” thought the mother to herself. “They are really so good! Very few girls would make themselves happy in so monotonous and isolated a life.”
For even Mrs Harrowby had gone to stay with her own relations in London for a time; and Rosy Milward, who had come over to Pinnerton now and then on guild business, had taken flight, like the rest of the world.
The charms of outside nature, the peace and quiet happiness of their own home, and a fair amount of interesting occupation, made the next few weeks pass pleasantly. Afterwards, Blanche felt glad that it had been so. There was a satisfaction in looking back upon this little space of time as bright and cheerful.
“I really think,” said Stasy one day, when she and Blanche were walking back together from Blissmore, “that we are getting acclimatised at last, Blanchie, or rather I should say, I am, for I’m sure you’ve never been anything but contented. I can look forward now to going on living here with mamma and you for—oh! for ever so long, even if nothing more exciting comes into our lives.”
“I’m so glad,” said Blanche heartily. “Yes, we’ve been very happy lately, haven’t we?”
“But some day,” Stasy went on again, “some day, Blanchie, you must marry. Though I can’t, even in my wildest dreams, picture anyone good enough for you. But you are far too pretty to be an old maid!”
“I can’t imagine marrying,” said Blanche musingly; “that’s to say, I can’t imagine any one caring enough for me, or my caring enough for any one! And I can’t imagine marrying without plenty of caring.”
“Of course not,” said Stasy. They walked on in silence for a little, till almost in sight of their own gate.
“I thought mamma would have come to meet us, perhaps, as she often does,” said Blanche. “But let’s hurry on a little, Stasy, and make her come out in the wood before tea.”
“And we might have tea in the garden, don’t you think?” said Stasy. “We’ve not had it out of doors once this week, the afternoons have been so showery.”