And Mrs. Eastwood was taken up-stairs, and what with infinite pity, what with unspeakable relief and ease of mind, cried so over Amanda’s deathly beauty, that Batty and his humble sister-in-law were flattered and comforted beyond expression. She was a real lady, they both said—no pride like the other Eastwoods, or the rest of that sort, but with a feeling heart, and showing such respect as was Amanda’s due. She made a conquest of both, and the household put itself at her feet when, with red eyes and a voice tremulous with emotion, she came down-stairs. She was just in time to receive Miss Vane, who, driving from the High Lodge in fulfilment of her promise to reclaim Innocent and pay a visit of ceremony to Mrs. Frederick, discovered to her consternation what had happened, and was anxiously questioning the servants about Innocent when Mrs. Eastwood came down-stairs.
“Went away in the middle of the night?” said Miss Vane. “Pardon me for speaking out. What a very strange thing to do?”
“She is a strange girl,” said Mrs. Eastwood. “She was shocked and frightened beyond measure. The only thought in her mind was to get home.”
“It was very odd all the same, very odd, in the middle of the night, and when she might have been of use. I must write to my brother Reginald, and let him know she has left me. He will be surprised. I am glad she is safe in your hands,” said Miss Vane pointedly; “a girl that does such things is dangerous to have about one.”
“Indeed, you mistake poor Innocent,” said Mrs. Eastwood. “She is not like other girls——”
“Ah, that is evident,” said Miss Vane. “I liked her too; there were many things in her that I liked; but a girl that acts so on impulse—I ought, however, to condole with you, Mrs. Eastwood. How very sad for—your son.”
“It is a great shock,” said Mrs. Eastwood. She was so much excited and agitated, that on the smallest inducement she was ready to cry again.
Miss Vane regarded Frederick’s mother with eyes of somewhat severe criticism. No doubt a certain decorum was necessary; but for the relations of a man who had made so unfortunate a marriage to pretend to grieve over the death of the objectionable wife seemed to her absolute duplicity. She eyed poor Mrs. Eastwood severely, making mental commentaries upon her red eyes, which were very little to her favour. “I had never the advantage of seeing Mrs. Frederick Eastwood,” she said, drily. “She was very handsome, I have always heard.”
Then there was a pause; neither of the ladies knew what to say to each other. That she should be found here, doing as it were the honours of Batty’s house, was not a position pleasant to Mrs. Eastwood, and she realized it for the first time now when her mind was relieved in respect to Innocent. But what could she say? She could not explain her horror of fear, her painful mission, to this representative of Innocent’s family, who already looked suspicious and disapproving both at herself and at the strange conduct of the poor girl whom no one understood. When the pause had lasted so long that it was necessary to break it, she said hurriedly, “If poor Innocent had not been so much startled and shocked—so overcome, in short, by what happened before her eyes—I am sure she would have asked me to explain to you. But she is so young, and had never seen death before, and such a sensitive, imaginative——”
“Do you think she is imaginative? She looks it certainly—but I found her matter-of-fact,” said Miss Vane, determined to give no countenance to these wild proceedings. Mrs. Eastwood was thus driven upon another tack.