‘To countenance—what?’ Mrs. Hayward grew pale with astonishment and wrath.
‘But I assure you,’ cried this lady, ‘no one blames you. We quite understand how you have been led to do it to please him and for the sake of peace. We don’t think one bit the less of you, dear.’
‘The less—of me!’
‘Rather the more,’ said the mistress of the house, giving her bewildered guest a hasty kiss; and then she was hurried off to receive some new-comers. Mrs. Hayward stood and stared round her for a minute or two, neglecting several kind advances that were made to her, and then, without any leave-taking, she walked out of the room and out of the house. She was in a whirl of anger and astonishment. ‘Don’t blame—me! don’t think the less—of me!’ This was the most astounding deliverance that had ever come to Elizabeth’s ear. She was not in the habit of supposing that any one could think less than the highest of her. The assertion was the profoundest offence. And what could it mean? What was the cause?
Coming down the hill she was met by the Thompsons’ big resplendent carriage, which stopped as she drew near, and Lady Thompson leant out, holding forth both hands. ‘Oh, how is the poor dear?’ said Lady Thompson, beginning to cry: ‘I am sure you ’ave too much heart to forsake ’er whatever happens. Oh, how is the poor dear?’
‘I don’t know whom you mean, Lady Thompson. I never forsake anybody I am interested in—but I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’re a good woman. I’m sure you’re a real lady,’ Lady Thompson cried.
Mrs. Hayward walked away from the side of the carriage. Her head seemed turning round. What did it mean? She? Who was she? Utter perplexity took possession of her. She was so angry she could scarcely think: and Lady Thompson, notwithstanding that warm unnecessary expression of confidence, was, with her blurred eyes and eager tone, almost more incomprehensible than the rest. She walked quickly home to avoid any further insinuated confidence, to think it over, to make out what it meant. Who could tell her what it meant? She saw Mrs. Sitwell at a little distance, and concluded that she would be the most fit interpreter; but the parson’s wife saw her too, and quickened her steps, hurrying away. ‘It is her doing,’ Mrs. Hayward said to herself. At last she came to her own door. Some one was there before her, standing in the porch waiting till the door should be opened. He turned round at the sound of her step, and stood aside to let her pass, holding out at the same time his hand.
‘Captain Bellendean! it is a long time since we have seen you.’
‘Yes, a long time. I have been a fool. I mean I have been—busy. I hope you are all well, Mrs. Hayward. My dear old Colonel, and——’