Mrs. Penton stood at the door in her excitement, with the letter in her hands. Her tall figure was more erect, her head borne higher than usual. When she saw the girls running from different directions she turned and went in-doors, and presently Walter appeared in answer to another summons, walking quickly up to the door. Young Rochford, standing under the poplar looking at them, felt ridiculously “out of it,” as he said. It would have pleased him to feel that he had something to do with the family, that their consultations were not entirely closed to him. He had been so much mixed up with it—all the details of their future means, every bit of land which they relinquished, every penny of that which they got as compensation, would pass through his hands. He had been feeling of late as if he really had a great deal to do with the Pentons. But here arose at once a matter with which he had nothing to do, upon which he could not intrude himself, to which he was left as much a stranger as though he did not know exactly what their income would be next year. He went slowly into the book-room, with feelings that were utterly unreasonable, though not without the excuse of being natural. The book-room, that was his place, and Mr. Penton and the formal business. But he must not even ask what was the other business which was so much more interesting, the letter which had been sent to Mrs. Penton, which the young ones had been called in such excitement to hear, and no doubt to give their opinions on. He had certainly no right to have an opinion on the subject, whatever it might be. He was only the solicitor managing an external piece of business—and treated with great civility and kindness—but nothing more. How could he be anything more?
CHAPTER XV.
THE INVITATION.
Mrs. Penton was in a condition of excitement such as had never been seen in her before. She could not lay down the letter. She could not speak. She went at length and seated herself in the high chair—in the chair which her husband occupied at any great domestic crisis, when a council of the whole family was called. As her usual seat was a low one, and her usual aspect anything but judicial, there was no change which could have marked the emergency like this. It was apparent that in Mrs. Penton’s mind a moment had arrived at which some important decision had to be come to, and for which she herself and not her husband was the natural president of the family council. The young ones were a little awed by this unusual proceeding. There was not a stocking, nor a needle, nor even a reel of cotton within reach of her. She had given herself up to the question in hand. It might be supposed that the decision about Penton, which she took her share in powerfully, while considering all the time how to do that darning, was as important a matter as could come within her ken; but in her own opinion the present issue was more exciting. She had taken that calmly enough, though with decision; but about this she was excited and anxious, scarcely able to restrain herself. The girls ran in, saying, “What is it, mother?” but she only motioned to them to sit down and wait; and it was not till Walter had followed with the same question that Mrs. Penton cleared her throat and spoke.
“It is a letter I have just had,” she said—“I have not even talked it over with your father. You were the first to be consulted, for it concerns you.”
And then she stopped to take breath, and slowly unfolded her letter.
“This,” she said, “is from Mrs. Russell Penton. It is an—invitation; for two of you: to go to Penton upon a visit—for three days.”
There was a joint exclamation—joint in the sense that the sound came all together, like a piece of concerted music, but each voice was individual. “An invitation—to Penton!” cried Anne. “From Cousin Alicia?” said Ally; and “Not if I know it!” Walter cried; from which it will be seen that the one quite impartial, and ready to consider the matter on its merits, was Anne alone.
“Don’t come to any hasty decision,” said Mrs. Penton, hurriedly; “don’t let it be settled by impulse, children, which is what you are so ready to do.”
“Surely,” said Walter, “when it’s a mere matter of amusement, impulse is as good a way of deciding as another. I say ‘Not if I know it,’ and that is all I mean to say.”
“And, unless you say I’m to go, mother, I think like Wat,” said Ally, with unusual courage.