Alas! the Thornleighs were by no means done with sensation in this genre. Two days after these events, before Edgar had come back, Harry came early to the house one morning and asked to see his mother alone. Lady Augusta was still immersed in patterns, and she had that morning received a letter from her husband, which had brought several lines upon her forehead. Mr. Thornleigh had the reputation, out of doors, of being a moderate, sensible sort of man, not apt to commit himself, though perhaps not brilliant, nor very much to be relied upon in point of intellect. He deserved, indeed, to a considerable extent this character; but what the world did not know, was that his temper was good and moderate, by reason of the domestic safety-valve which he had always by him. When anything troublesome occurred he had it out with his wife, giving her full credit for originating the whole business.
“You ought to have done this, or you ought to have done that,” he would say, “and then, of course, nothing of the kind could have happened.” After, he would go upstairs, and brush his hair, and appear as the most sensible and good-tempered of men before the world. Mr. Thornleigh had got Mr. Tottenham’s letter informing him of the renewed intercourse between Edgar and Gussy; and the Squire had, on the spot, indited a letter to his wife, breathing fire and flame. This was the preface of a well-conditioned, gentlemanly letter to Mr. Tottenham, in which the father expressed a natural regret that Gussy should show so little consideration of external advantages, but fully acknowledged Edgar’s excellent qualities, and asked what his prospects were, and what he thought of doing.
“I will never be tyrannical to any of my children,” Mr. Thornleigh said; “but, on the other hand, before I can give my sanction, however unwillingly, to any engagement, I must fully understand his position, and what he expects to be able to do.”
But Lady Augusta’s letter was not couched in these calm and friendly terms; and knowing as she did the exertions she had made to keep Edgar at arm’s length, poor Lady Augusta felt that she did not deserve the assault made upon her, and consequently took longer to calm down than she generally did. It was while her brow was still puckered, and her cheek flushed with this unwelcome communication, that Harry came in. When he said, “I want to speak to you, mother,” her anxious mind already jumped at some brewing harm. She took him into the deserted library, feeling that this was the most appropriate place in which to hear any confession her son might have to make to her. The drawing-room, where invasion was always to be feared, and the morning-room, which was strewed with patterns and girls, might do very well for the confession of feminine peccadilloes, but a son’s ill-doing was to be treated with a graver care. She led Harry accordingly into the library, and put herself into his father’s chair, and said, “What is it, my dear boy?” with a deeper gravity than usual. Not that Harry was to be taken in by such pretences at severity. He knew his mother too well for that.
“Mother,” he said, sitting down near her, but turning his head partially away from her gaze, “you have often said that my father wanted me—to marry.”
“To marry!—why, Harry? Yes, dear, and so he does,” said Lady Augusta; “and I too,” she added, less decidedly. “I wish it, too—if it is some one very nice.”
“Well,” said Harry, looking at her with a certain shamefaced ostentation of boldness, “I have seen some one whom I could marry at last.”
“At last! You are not so dreadfully old,” said the mother, with a smile. “You, too! Well, dear, tell me who it is. Some one you have met at your Aunt Mary’s”? Oh! Harry, my dear boy, I trust most earnestly it is some one very nice!”
“It is some one much better than nice—the most lovely creature, mother, you ever saw in your life. I never even dreamt of anything like her,” said Harry, with a sigh.
“I hope she is something more than a lovely creature,” said Lady Augusta. “Oh! Harry, your father is so put out about Gussy’s business; I do hope, dear, that this is something which will put him in good-humour again. I can take her loveliness for granted. Tell me—do tell me who she is?”