“Did I?” he said, colouring a little, and not altogether pleased at so much having been repeated by Eugenia to her friend. “It is a little hard upon one to have to explain all one’s expressions at all sorts of times, you know. Of course what I said referred entirely to what my friends may think of it—Gertrude for instance—the imprudence and all that sort of thing. Of course till Gertrude sees Eugenia, it is natural for her to think a good deal about the outside part of it—prospects and position, you know. There is the strong prejudice against Wareborough and places of the kind, in the first place.”
In saying this he forgot for the moment whom he was speaking to; or if he thought of her at all, it was as Mary Pevensey, not as Mrs Dalrymple, the wife of the Wareborough mill-owner. She looked up quickly, but she had long ago learnt indifference to such allusions on her own score. Eugenia’s position, however, might be more open to discomfort therefrom.
“Then I advise Gertrude to get rid of all such prejudices at once,” said the Wareborough lady, somewhat sharply.
Captain Chancellor did not reply. He might have smoothed down the little awkwardness by some judicious hint of apology, but he was not inclined to take the trouble; he was beginning to think he had had quite enough of his old friend for the present. She had shown a somewhat undesirable readiness to place herself in loco matris towards Eugenia, one of whose attractions, to his mind, lay in the fact that marriage with her entailed upon him no Wareborough or other matron in the shape of mother-in-law.
He got up from his chair and strolled to the window. “It looks very like rain,” he observed amiably. “May I see Miss Laurence now, Mrs Dalrymple?”
Mrs Dalrymple looked uneasy—it was quite as bad as, or rather worse, she thought, than, if her twelve-year-old Minnie were grown up! In that case, at least, she could feel that the responsibility was a natural and unavoidable one, and, if she behaved unwisely, no one would have any right to scold her but Henry; but in the present instance—suppose Mr Laurence took it in his head to blame her for allowing matters to go so far without his consent? On the other hand, her soft heart was full of compassion for Eugenia, and eagerness to see her happy. Captain Chancellor read her hesitation.
“You need not feel any responsibility about it,” he said. “To all intents and purposes I assure you the thing is done. I have already written to Mr Laurence,” he took a letter out of his pocket and held it up to her, “and really it is too late to stop my seeing Eugenia. My chief reason for wishing to do so is to clear up the extraordinary misapprehension you told me of. It is only fair to me to let me put all that right. And it would be only cruel to her to leave things as they are. She is not strong, and I can’t bear her to suffer any more.” The genuine anxiety in the last few words carried the day.
“I didn’t think of not explaining things to her,” said Mrs Dalrymple, rising irresolutely from her seat as she spoke. “I could have done that. However, I daresay it is better for you to see her yourself.”
“I am quite sure it is,” said Captain Chancellor. “And to confess all my wickedness to you, had you prevented my seeing Miss Laurence here openly, I should, I assure you, have done my best to see her some other way. You could not have put a stop to either of us walking in the gardens, for instance?”
He smiled as he paid it; there was a little defiance in the smile. Mrs Dalrymple sighed gently, and shook her head.