“You don’t make any one miserable,” said Innocent. “Few that I have ever seen do. But she does. And Frederick——”
“I don’t wish to say anything to you against your cousin,” said Vane, very gravely; “but Innocent, you must not think too highly of Frederick Eastwood. He is not so perfect as you suppose. Remember that it is entirely his own fault that he has such a wife; you must not make a hero of Frederick. The less you see of him, also, the better for your own sake——”
Innocent looked at him wonderingly with vague consternation. Did she understand what he said? Certainly not the inference conveyed in his words—the more serious meaning. But she had no time to reply, for the short drive was over, and the High Lodge in sight. It was a curious old straggling house, with an old chapel standing detached, but connected by a covered way with the house. The grounds were large and well kept, and the quaint little lattice windows showed their several clusters of faces peeping out. The door stood open, flooded with evening sunshine. Great feathery branches of the clematis which had done flowering, and was now all cottony with seed pods, hung about the porch. The wall was one mass of creeping plants; late roses were flaunting out of reach high up about the clustered chimneys and gables; and the flower borders about the house were bright with asters and scarlet geraniums, and all kinds of autumn flowers. The chapel bell began to tinkle as they drove in at the gate, and from all the corners of the irregular old house appeared groups of women and children. Even Innocent was roused into curiosity by the strange sight. In the slanting afternoon light, with that background of old wall, matted all over with interlacing wreaths of jessamine, clematis, honeysuckle, and roses, and pierced with twinkling casements, each looking out as with so many eyes through the little diamond panes—the sight was a very pretty one. One or two women in the dress of Sisters lent an additional quaintness to the picture; the children were of various ages and of various dress, fluttering like flowers along the trim and well-kept walk. John Vane laughed as men laugh who are half-amused, half-affected by the scene before them.
“Now we shall see Letty in all her glory,” he said.
This sight, which was so unusual and so little expected, had actually driven from Innocent’s mind for the moment all recollection of herself, and all thoughts of the meeting with another stranger which was about to follow. She woke up with a start to find herself lifted out of the carriage, and taken suddenly with a rapid salute into some one’s arms. The new figure was that of a little woman with very bright eyes, and a very alert and lively aspect, who kissed Innocent in a business-like manner, and then turning, raised her cheek to her brother, who was about three times as tall as she was.
“So here you are,” said Miss Vane, “fifteen minutes late, as that train always is. Quick, come in, Reginald, there is tea in the parlour. I have only time to say a word to you before chapel. This way, my dear, follow me; the passage is rather narrow, and there are two steps, just at the most unlikely places—but you will get used to it in time.”
Thus talking she led them in to a large low room, with great beams across the roof, and a multiplicity of small windows, deeply recessed in the thick old wall. There was a great open fireplace, with a few logs of wood burning on the hearth, and a little white-covered table with tea, standing before it; this table, and the easy chair, and a number of books, were the only modern things in the room. It was panelled with dark oak, and had, consequently, nothing of the brightness of the modern English rooms which Innocent knew; neither was it like the spare and lofty magnificence of those Italian apartments which had once been familiar to her. There were some small but rare pictures on the walls, and some portraits. Vane looked round it with the familiar satisfaction of one who returns to an old home.
“Thank heaven, whatever you have done to the rest of the house, Letty,” he said, “you have spared my mother’s old room.”
“Yes,” said Miss Vane, “I am far from perfection yet, if I ever attain to it. I don’t expect I shall. It is not the drawing-room now, it is only the parlour; but beyond that sacrifice I can’t go any further, which is contemptible. So this is Gilbert Vane’s daughter? Innocent, my dear, you are very welcome. I like you for your name. Reginald and I had a sister Innocent. You must try to like me and be happy here as long as your aunt will let you stay. Sit down and pour out some tea for yourself and him;—I must go off to chapel. You are excused to-day, as your train is late. Take care of the child, Reginald, and see she has some tea. I must be off or else I shall be late as well. Very glad to see you both. Au revoir in half an hour.”
She went on talking till she reached the door, when she disappeared, still talking and waving her hand. Her brother followed her with his kind eyes.