While this conversation was going on, Lady Curtis, who had walked down the length of the avenue to look for Lucy, met Mrs. Arthur coming over the stile, and stopped to talk to her.
“I see you have got some lovely leaves again; are you going to draw them? You must have quite a genius for art-work.”
“Oh, no, no genius for anything,” said Nancy, with the swift flushes of sudden change going over her face which Lady Curtis always called forth. She was more at her ease when there was nobody looking on. She had the feeling that she must be supposed to be “currying favour” with Lady Curtis when there was a third person present. “No genius; it has been always my ruin that I am so stupid,” said Nancy, with a serious air, which looked very piquant and amusing in conjunction with such words.
“Your ruin, my dear? I hope you are far from ruin anyhow; and I don’t think it could possibly come on that score,” said Lady Curtis, with a smile.
“Ah!” said Nancy, with her whole heart in the sigh that came from her red lips, “no one can tell another’s troubles. I have had many; but they have all come because I was so stupid; though after I have said a wrong thing, I always feel that it is wrong, and know what I ought to have said; but it is too late then, it only makes it worse,” she breathed forth with a long sighing breath.
“Well,” said Lady Curtis, still smiling, “I don’t know what wrong things you may have done; but that is the best that can happen to you, for you will remember next time to say, not the wrong thing, but the right.”
“Ah!” said Nancy again, with great serious eyes; “but that is exactly what I cannot learn to do! It is not badness, it is stupidness. I make the same mistakes, and do the same faults, and speak as I ought not to speak.”
“Poor girl!” said Lady Curtis, touched by the tears that came while Mrs. Arthur spoke. “This is a sad experience for you. I hope it is not so serious as you seem to think. I am a great deal older than you are,” she went on, still more touched as a big tear fell, locking like a small ocean on Nancy’s black sleeve, “and if I can help you, or give you any advice, I should be glad to do so. Our experience is not worth much unless we can help younger people with it; and though I do not know you, I take an interest in you.”
“Oh, you are kind, very kind,” cried Nancy, a brilliant flush darting all over her face. “I never thought anyone could be so kind; but my troubles are all of my own bringing on,” she added quickly; “and the worst is, I can’t do anything. No, no one could do anything. Did you mean really you would like the pattern?—those poor natural things?” there was a wistful look in her eyes, but she tried to laugh, and shook off the tears, “they don’t seem worth the attention of a lady like you.”
“I am afraid you are a little goose,” said Lady Curtis, patting Nancy’s hand with her own. It was the only way she could show the sympathy which rose so warmly within her, she could scarcely tell why. “Nature is as much worth a queen’s attention as a beggar’s. And yes, indeed, I should like the pattern. Will you really make it for me? But you must come to the Hall and see my work; and Sir John wants very much to make your acquaintance. It was you, was it not, that opened the gate for him?”