“Alicia,” he said, “we have been thinking a great deal about it, my wife and I.”
“Yes, you must naturally have thought about it. Mrs. Penton”—here the speaker paused, grew red, hesitated a little, and then went on—“she must wish to have everything decided about the removal, and to know what furniture will be wanted, and a great deal besides. If you would like to bring her to see for herself, and judge what is necessary—I hope you understand me—my husband and I will give every facility.”
“My dear, your cousin knows all that,” said Russell Penton, not without impatience.
“It was something else I wanted to say. My wife—is a woman of great sense, Alicia.”
Mrs. Russell Penton made a slight bow of assent. She had nothing to do with his wife. She did not like to hear of her at all, the woman who was now Lady Penton, and yet was a woman of no account, an insignificant mother of a family. This description, which the person to whom it belongs is generally somewhat proud of, is often to women without that distinction a contemptuous way of dismissing an individual of whom nothing else can be said. Edward Penton’s wife was no more than that. Sense! Oh, yes, she might have sense, so far as her brood and its wants were concerned.
“She always thought—an opinion which, however, she did not express till very lately, and in which I did not agree—that this house, which you and my poor uncle kept up so splendidly—”
Alicia gave an impatient wave of her hand. She could not see why Sir Walter should be called poor because he was dead.
“Yes,” said Sir Edward, “it has been splendidly kept up; nothing could be more beautiful, or in better taste. You always had admirable taste, Alicia; and my poor dear uncle—”
“Don’t,” she cried; “what is it you want to say? I beg your pardon, Edward, if I am impatient. For Heaven’s sake come to the point.”
“I know,” he said, with a compassionate look, “grief is irritable. My wife has always been of opinion that for us, with our large family, the possession of Penton would be no advantage. We could not keep it up as it has been kept up. The entailed estates by themselves are not—you must have a little patience with me, my dear Alicia, or I never can get out what I have to say.”