“I hope then for your sake,” said Durant, “that there are a great many balls at Underhayes.”
“No, indeed. It requires to be some public thing, like the Volunteers. I have seen dances in the houses on the Green; but then we were not asked, and it was dreadful to stand and look in at the windows, and hear the music. I am sure there were plenty of people there that were not a bit better than we were. That girl that teaches the little Smithards—a bit of a governess. Mamma said it was ridiculous having her, and not us—a little bit of a governess! Now we have never been required to do anything for our living. We have always been kept at home, and have had everything we wanted. That makes a deal of difference; don’t you think it does, Mr. Durant?”
“I am not very clever in such subjects. I have to work very hard for my living, Miss Sarah Jane.”
“Have you now? I should not have thought it, you look so like a gentleman. I suppose it is the clothes,” said Sarah Jane thoughtfully. “But even then,” she added with magnanimous indulgence, “that is quite different; men may work without losing caste, mamma says, but not women. And we have always been kept at home. I would not be a governess for the world.”
“I do not suppose it can be a pleasant occupation,” said Durant.
“No, indeed. What are you, Mr. Durant? You don’t teach, do you? I wish you had been in the army; I do so like officers, their manners are so nice. Here we are at home already, I declare. What a pity, we have had such a nice walk. Mamma, here’s Mr. Durant,” she said, rushing into the little parlour; “and oh! look here, he is come to say that Arthur ain’t at all rich—and that Nancy won’t be my lady—and that it’s all a mistake.”
“What are you saying, Sarah Jane? Shut the door, can’t you, and not shriek like that in the passage; should you like the girl to hear? I wonder at you, child. Good evening, Mr. Durant,” said the mother, stiffly. She did not hold out her hand to him, or ask him to sit down, with the effusive hospitality of last night, but her daughters were more kind; Matilda lifted the paper with all her materials off the sofa to make room for him, and Sarah Jane dragged forth the most comfortable chair.
“This is the coolest place, Mr. Durant,” she said. “Oh, isn’t it warm here, with such a big fire? and it is quite a lovely morning, though there is a breeze; and Mr. Durant and I have had the most delightful walk!”
The former speech made the mother cold and Matilda kind; this had the reverse effect—Matilda froze and Mrs. Bates began to thaw. The gentleman who had taken a delightful walk with her youngest daughter, was not a man to be frowned upon. Who could tell what might come out of such a beginning? Mrs. Bates was governed by a different code of laws from those which move the careful mothers of other spheres. She was not afraid of delightful walks, or those meetings which are not always accidental; besides, was not the stranger Arthur’s friend, and consequently no stranger at all?
“I am sure it is very good of Mr. Durant to take the trouble of talking to a little scatterbrain like you,” she said; “but girls will be girls; we can’t put old heads on young shoulders; and indeed, poor things, why shouldn’t they be light-hearted? We haven’t got much more than good spirits and good constitutions to give them, Mr. Durant.”