And on the whole, Evelyn’s sentiments agreed with her mother’s, though she could not help sighing in private when alone with Mrs Raynsworth over the downfall of her castle-in-the-air.
“I shall not care to go to Mr Gresham’s in the least without Phil, even if he asks us now,” she said, disconsolately. “I suppose I must write to tell him that Duke is really coming, as I promised I would. And, of course, I will tell him that my sister is going abroad. But ten to one before the winter is over we shall hear he is going to be married; men are just like that, even when they do fall in love at first sight, as I shall always firmly believe he did.”
“Still, anything is better than for Philippa to get out of health in any serious way, or to lose her spirits and nerve,” said Mrs Raynsworth. “And there is no doubt, Evey, that that wild affair has had a strange effect upon her; it seems to have been almost a shock to her to realise how wild and rash it was, and how disastrous its consequences might have been. I doubt very much, Evey, if she would have agreed to go to Mr Gresham’s.”
“It would have been very absurd of her to have been afraid of it,” said Evelyn, impatiently. “He never saw her at Wyverston, she allows that herself. And as for the other one—Michael Gresham—I don’t suppose his cousin has him very much at Merle; they did not seem very specially friendly. Besides, he only saw her in the railway, and with those horrid spectacles on. One does not remember every person one meets in a railway carriage. Phil will get quite morbid if she is so fanciful.”
“That is why I am so glad for her to have this complete change,” said Mrs Raynsworth, quietly.
Chapter Fifteen.
Maida at Fault.
So, after all, the hobgoblin of a visit to Merle melted into thin air, as often happens with the things we dread the most. Not that, in this case, there was do element of disappointment to Philippa mingled with the very relief she was so grateful for. She had a distinct curiosity about Evelyn’s hero, and a decided wish to see him again, and when, some two months or so later, a letter with the date of “Merle-in-the-Wold,” reached her in her wanderings with her father, she felt it undoubtedly regrettable that she could not, without misgiving, look forward to joining the Headforts in their next visit there, as her sister alluded to.
“You cannot think what a perfect place this is,” wrote Evelyn. “Duke was not very eager to come, so soon after arriving and before he had settled down at all, he said. He is such an old bachelor; he has fallen back into all his fussy methodical ways with being two years away from scatter-brained me. But now he is quite as much in love with it all as I am, and is talking of looking out for a little house somewhere hereabouts, if he decides on leaving his regiment. And he likes Mr Gresham very much; at least he says, as everybody must, what a charming host he is, though I don’t know that he appreciates him quite as much as I do. But he likes talking to him about Wyverston and the Headforts. And oh, by-the-by, the old squire has written so cordially to Duke, as soon as he heard of his arrival. We are to go up there for a week whenever the worst of the winter is over, etc, etc.”
And in a postscript she had scribbled: “Michael Gresham is not here, and his cousin says very little about him. I always told you that I was sure they were not so very intimate. Mr Gresham has just begged me to say that the next time we come he hopes you will accompany us, though he scarcely dares flatter himself that you can remember him.”
Philippa smiled a little as she read the last words.