‘I think I’d better go,’ said Lord Will, rising from his chair. ‘It’s true they have been sitting upon me, though what for I can’t tell—any more than I can tell why this’—he paused a little with the impulse to say little girl, but thought better of it—‘this young lady should be grateful to me; for I have done neither good nor harm that I know of. But now I think I’d better go.’
‘Have I said anything wrong? Is it I that have broken up the talk?’ cried Mab in consternation, coming to her mother’s side.
‘Well,’ said the Rector cheerfully, ‘perhaps we can scarcely go on with a business matter just now; but if Lord William Pakenham will do me the pleasure to come to the Rectory, which is close by——’
‘I’m not a business man,’ said Lord Will. ‘Swinford, you brought me into it, can’t you get me out of it?—and be hanged to you,’ he said in an undertone.
‘I am afraid you have broken up the consultation, Mab: but perhaps it is as well.’ Lady William held out her hand to the young man, who stood dangling his cane, and eager to get away. ‘I think we must have something to thank you for,’ she said, with a smile. ‘Of course, a piece of business is not settled by a friendly visit. I shall hear, no doubt, from the lawyers about what you have told me, or my brother will communicate with them for me. Thank you for the information, and for bringing it yourself. Good-bye.’
He had been standing ready to tell her, as he took his leave, with a tone that might convey some of the suspicions that were in his mind, that the lawyers would communicate with her further. But in taking the words out of his mouth, Lady William took all the courage out of his mind. He stared at her for a moment with those heavy blue eyes, which she did not now think were so like Mab’s, and touched the hand she held out with a cold momentary touch, as if he were afraid it might sting him. Mab stood by looking on with an astonishment which slowly grew into consternation, and which burst forth as her cousin made her a stiff and slight bow.
‘What is the matter?’ she said, following him out. ‘Are you not my cousin after all? Why, you were very nice last night, and I was delighted to know somebody that belonged to me on my father’s side. And they all said we were so like each other. What has gone wrong? Are you not my cousin after all?’
She went out after him as she spoke into the garden, where a little while before she had greeted him so heartily, filled with astonishment and dismay, yet with a sense of absurdity also. And the young man, who had made so abrupt an exit, was in fact rather sore in heart, feeling that he had not done himself any credit, and that he had been snubbed and ‘sat upon,’ as Mab said. Her frank surprise and regret gave him a little consolation. He turned round when they both came out into the garden from the narrow doorway. ‘I am just the same,’ he said, still somewhat sullenly, but melting, ‘as I was last night.’
‘But then,’ cried Mab, ‘why did you call me “this young lady”? and why did you look at mother so, and let her hand drop as if it had been a frog, and do like this to me?’ Mab was not a mimic, like her cousin Florence, but the imitation she made of his stiff and angry bow was so ludicrous that he could not but laugh—stiffly. And Mab, who did not know what it was to be stiff, laughed out with all her heart, with a half childish cordial crow, which sounded into the fresh air with the most genuine tone of innocent mirth. ‘You had better shake hands with me after that, Cousin Will,’ she said.
‘You are making peace, Miss Mab,’ said Leo Swinford, who had followed them out.