“There must be more in him than I thought,” she said, in high good-humour; and then Harry felt bold to make his request.
“The sister,” he said, toning down the superlatives in which he felt disposed to speak of that peerless being, with an astuteness of which he felt half-ashamed, half-proud, “is rather lonely, I should think, in that poky little place; and she has a nice little girl about Molly’s age.” (This was a very wild shot, for Harry had about as much idea of their relative ages as he had about the distances between two stars). “They don’t know any one, and I don’t think she’s very strong. Without asking them formally, Aunt Mary, don’t you think you might have her and the child up to luncheon or something, to see the conservatories and all that? it would be a little change for them. They looked rather dismal in Mrs. Sims’ parlour, far from everything they know.”
“How considerate and kind of you, Harry!” cried Lady Mary. “I am ashamed of myself for not having thought of it. Of course, poor thing, she must be lonely—nothing to do, and probably not even any books. The Scotch all read; they are better educated a great deal than we are. To be sure, you are quite right. I might drive down to-morrow, and fetch her to lunch. But, by-the-by, I have Herr Hartstong coming to-morrow, who is to give the botany lecture—”
“An extra lady and a little girl would not hurt Herr Hartstong.”
“There is no telling,” said Lady Mary, with a laugh, “such a pretty creature as she is. But I think he has a wife already. I only meant I could not go to fetch her. But to be sure she’s a married woman, and I don’t see what harm there would be. You might do that.”
“With the greatest pleasure,” cried Harry, trying with all his might to keep down his exultation, and not let it show too much in his face and voice.
“Then we’ll settle it so. You can take the ponies, and a fur cloak to wrap her in, as she’s delicate; and Herr Hartstong must take his chance. But, by the way,” Lady Mary added, pausing, turning round and looking at him—“by the way, you are of a great deal more importance. You must take care she does not harm you.”
“Me!” said Harry, with a wild flutter at his heart, forcing to his lips a smile of contempt. “I am a likely person, don’t you think, to be harmed by anybody belonging to the country doctor? I thought, Aunt Mary, you had more knowledge of character.”
“Your class exclusivism is revolting, Harry,” cried Lady Mary, severely. “A young man with such notions is an anachronism; I can’t understand how you and I can come of the same race. But perhaps it’s just as well in this case,” she added, gliding back into her easier tone. “Your mother would go mad at the thought of any such danger for you.”
“I hope I can take care of myself by this time, without my mother’s help,” said Harry, doing his best to laugh. He was white with rage and self-restraint; and the very sound of that laugh ought to have put the heedless aunt, who was thus helping him on the way to destruction, on her guard. But Lady Mary’s mind was occupied by so many things, that she had no attention to bestow on Harry; besides the high confidence she felt in him as an unimpressionable blockhead and heart-hardened young man of the world.