In her own heart, nevertheless, Frances was by no means free from misgiving, though in these first happy days she would not for worlds have suggested anything to mar the fresh brightness.
And they were happy days, even to Frances herself. There came to her almost at once the reward of her self-effacement, aided no doubt by her resolutely refraining as yet from dwelling on the mortification which at first had seemed to her so well-nigh unendurably bitter. Horace had but a short time to spare, two or three days at most, and then came the good-bye, not a very melancholy one, as he was only rejoining as yet the depot of his regiment. He was to pass through London on his way thither, for Frances, the only one whom he thought it well to consult on the point, agreed with him that it was better that his news should be communicated to his mother by word of mouth than by letter. Mr Morion entered into no practical details, the state of his own nerves occupying him sufficiently for the present—a circumstance which, considering his own uncertainty as to his plans, Horace could scarcely regret.
“I am very sanguine about it all,” he said to Frances the evening before he left. “There is no doubt as to my mother’s great liking for Betty.”
Frances smiled.
“Yes,” she said demurely, “she likes her much the best of us, I know; it is not Betty personally that she will object to, of course.”
“As soon as I get on to definite ground with her,” Horace continued, “I will try to come down here again, and go into things with your father, who will have got accustomed to the idea by then, I hope. You don’t think I have any reason to feel uneasy on that score, do you? Mr Morion has not even spoken against India, so far.”
Frances hesitated in her reply.
“I don’t think he has taken in the possibility of Betty’s going to India,” she said. “Indeed, I don’t think his mind has gone into any details, though I fancy both he and mamma have some vague idea that you may have to go out for a time in the first place.”
Horace’s face fell.
“That would never do,” he exclaimed. “I should not have a moment’s peace of mind if I went back there alone. And I don’t see that that need be anticipated. Heaven knows I don’t want to take her out there, but plenty of girls, even delicate girls, do go and are none the worse for it, for a short time, and my mother would not like me to be so far away indefinitely. It might be the best thing—to bring her to her senses,” he was going to have added, but the expression jarred on him. “I cannot think that your father would really object to it.”