“For I thought if Lucy thought it was the right thing to do, you must have thought so, dear Lady Curtis; and of course you know better than I do. There is something very strange about them. The married one is quite different from the other. I am sure she is a most accomplished person, very handsome. I should think she must be something very artistic, and perhaps she has been on the stage. Oh, no, she did not say anything to make me think that; but there is something about her;—very handsome, with such a lovely complexion, and fine eyes and hair. But the other is quite homely, a nice sort of little friendly woman. My own opinion, if you ask me,” said Mrs. Rolt, mysteriously, “is that she’s not a widow. I should say Mr. Arthur, whoever he may be, is no better than he should be; and he has broken his poor wife’s heart, and driven her away from him. That’s my idea. Sam says ‘Fudge!’ but then he is always saying ‘Fudge.’ I wish I knew the rights of the story; and you will see, it will turn out something like what I say.”
“On the stage—was the young woman on the stage? I hope she will not introduce any taste for that kind of thing in the village,” said Sir John, who had come in as usual for his cup of tea.
“Oh, dear no—no, I did not mean that. She is only the kind of mysterious, lovely young creature—so superior, and yet with such a homely sister; and so handsome—and all alone, you know—that might have been on the stage, as you read in books; something quite romantic, and so interesting, like a novel,” cried Mrs. Rolt.
“I hope it may come to the third volume and entertain us all,” said Lady Curtis. “We want a little amusement this rainy weather. Perhaps the husband will turn up, and prove to be handsome and superior too: or perhaps she will hear of his death—what is the matter, Lucy? You have spilt your tea over my crewels!”
“No, I only scalded my fingers a little. I don’t like to hear you settling all about the husband, as if we were quite sure he was the one to blame.”
“Ah, well,” said Lady Curtis, with a sigh. It brought another story to her mind, as no doubt it had done to Lucy’s; and after this no more was said. To be sure, Mrs. Rolt said to herself, as she drove home in the brougham which Lady Curtis (always so kind!) insisted upon having out for her—it was not, perhaps, right to talk of anything that could recall poor Arthur’s sad circumstances. But then this was evidently so different, such an interesting young creature; and dear Sir John had been quite amused.
The next bright day after this, Lady Curtis and her daughter were both in the village. After the first outburst of autumn rains, a bright day is very tempting; and the walk down the avenue was pleasant, and the village basked in the sunshine with genuine enjoyment, as if the old red houses knew how expedient it was to make the most of the little warmth and brightness which remained possible. Lady Curtis sat at Cousin Julia’s window while she waited for Lucy, and looked out, not without satisfaction, upon the village, tranquil as it was. To see the women at their doors, curtseying to the Rector as he passed, and the children getting out of his way, and the cart with baskets, conducted by two hoarse and strident tramps, which was at that moment making a triumphal progress through the street, was a change from the sodden green of the park, as seen from the long windows of the morning-room. She was a woman whom it was easy to amuse, and this simple variety pleased her. She was looking out with a smile on her face at this rural scene, when the sudden appearance of two unknown figures surprised her; and when Bertie stopped to speak to them with much appearance of cordiality and interest, Lady Curtis was interested.
“Who are these?” she asked, with the ready curiosity of a great county lady, almost affronted that any new individual unknown to her should appear, as it were, in the very streets of her metropolis without her leave. “I never saw Bertie so eager before; he looks as if he had forgotten for the moment that he himself must be the first person to be thought of. Who is she, Julia?” cried Lady Curtis.
Mrs. Rolt came hastily from the other end of the room, where she had been making the tea.
“Oh, that is the mysterious stranger—that is Mrs. Arthur—that is the lovely creature I told you so much about. Don’t you think she is very handsome—don’t you think she is interesting? I am so glad you have seen her! Yes, Bertie is very civil to them. He is going back to their door with them; but they never ask him in. I must say there never was anything more prudent. They never encourage him to come; and though he is the Rector he is a young man, you know, and agreeable. I should certainly say Bertie was agreeable, if my opinion was of any weight.”