Mrs. Eastwood and Nelly looked at each other with secret feminine indignation, thus relieving their minds; but the mother replied, with a composure which she was far from feeling,—
“There are more ways of going wrong than making a foolish marriage. That is very wrong, Heaven knows; when you consider how much the very character of the family and its standing in the world depends upon the wife whom a young man may marry in a sudden fancy——”
“If you are referring to me, mother,” said Frederick, catching fire, “you may make yourself perfectly easy. I look upon Innocent as a mere child. It seems to me a kind of insult to suppose for a moment that I could be capable——”
“Of running away with Innocent?” said his mother, looking him calmly in the face. “Be comforted, Frederick; I never imagined that you were likely so to compromise yourself. The danger I warned you against was of a very different kind.—But we need not return to that. Nobody can say you have been too kind to her to-night.”
“I am not sentimental,” he cried, getting up from his chair, and glad of the excuse for being angry, and withdrawing from unpleasant discussion. He went off, whistling an opera air, to show his perfect indifference, and was heard next moment pitching coals on the fire in the library, and wheeling the chairs about violently, to get himself the most comfortable place. This Sunday night was not so peaceable as a Sunday night ought to be in a respectable English household, which strove to do its duty. Dick came in immediately after Frederick’s withdrawal, with muddy boots, and rain on his rough coat, but his cheeks pink with the cold air outside, and the serenity of an easy mind in his good-natured countenance. Dick seldom wrangled, and never allowed any event to disturb him very deeply. His honest matter-of-fact character was always a comfort, whatever went wrong.
“So she has come back?” he said; “that’s a blessing. I went as far as Piccadilly without seeing anything of her. I say, weren’t they making a row in that little chapel in the road—groaning as if they’d groan their heads off. Had Innocent gone after Frederick, as the maids say? or where had she been?”
Dick was much amused when they told him the facts of the case, and saw great possibilities of laughter in the idea.
“I say, what jolly fun!” he cried—“thought they were going to kill her? Oh, oh, oh! What a stupid I was not to go in. Poor little soul though, I hope you didn’t scold her—not more than you could help, mamma! I suppose it’s right to scold—to a certain point—but she’s so scared and so bewildered.”
“And you are my own good Dick,” cried his mother, giving him a kiss, which the boy did not understand.
“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” he said, with a brightening of pleasure, “though hang me if I know why. Ain’t I muddy, rather! You never saw such a night. Honest fog is a joke to it. Drizzle, drizzle for ever; and the sky is so low you could touch it. I’m glad she’s in all right, and safe in bed; and I hope you didn’t whip her. If I am to be up at seven to those dear mathematics,” Dick added, making a face, “I suppose I had better go to bed too——”