“Oh, Clare! Clare is a great lady, and not dependent upon anybody’s pleasure. When one is mistress of Arden, and has everything one’s own way——” Here, apparently, it occurred to Gussy that she was expressing herself too frankly, for she stopped short, and laughed and blushed. “I mean, when one is one’s own mistress,” she said, “and not one of many, like us girls—it is quite different. If Clare chose to go to Siberia, instead of going to town, I think she would have her way. I am sure you would not oppose.”
“I never oppose anybody,” said Edgar; and it was curious how strongly inclined he felt to laugh and blush just as Gussy had done, and to ask her whether she would like to be mistress of Arden? “Why shouldn’t she, if she would like it?” he felt himself asking. It seemed absurd not to give her such a trifle if it really would make her so much more comfortable. Edgar, however, felt a little disposed to reason with her, to demonstrate that the position was not so very desirable after all. “But it is not so easy as you think,” he said, “for Clare finds it very difficult to manage me. I don’t think she ever had so hard a task. She has no time to think of town or the season for taking care of me.”
Gussy’s eyes lighted up with fun and mischief. “I wonder if I could manage you—were I Clare,” she said, laughing, and not without a little faint blush of consciousness. Perhaps Lady Augusta heard some echo of these last words, for she came and sat down by Edgar, entirely breaking up their tête-á-tête. Lady Augusta was very kind, and motherly, and pleasant. She inquired into Edgar’s plans with genuine interest, and gave him a great deal of good advice.
“If I were you, I should take Clare to town,” she said. “I think it would do her good. To be sure, she is still in mourning, but she ought to be beginning to think of putting her mourning off. What is the use of it? It cannot do any good to those who are gone, and it is very gloomy for the living. To be sure, it suits Clare; but I think, Mr. Arden, you should take her to town. Besides, you ought not to shut yourself up at your age in the country all the year through; it is out of the question. My girls are grumbling at the short season we shall have. I daresay Gussy has told you. You must not mind her nonsense. She is one of those who say not only all, but more than they really mean to say.”
“Then I wish there were more of such people in the world, for they are very charming,” said Edgar heartily; and he thought so, and was quite sincere in this little speech. Lady Augusta was very friendly indeed as she shook hands with him. “Don’t forget that we expect to see you in town,” she said, as he went away. “He will be with us before ten days are over,” she said to Mr. Thornleigh, in confidence, with a nod of satisfaction: but her conclusion was made, unfortunately, on insufficient grounds.
CHAPTER XXII.
The first of June was very bright and warm. The summer had set in with great ardour and vehemence, not with the vacillation common to English summers. There had been no rain for a long time, and the whole world began to cry out for the want of it. A long continuance of fair weather, though it fills an Englishman with delight out of his own country, is very embarrassing to him at home. He gets troubled in his mind about the crops, about the grass, about the cattle, and tells everybody in the most solemn of voices that “we want rain;” whereas when he has crossed the Channel it is the grand subject of his self-congratulations that you need not be always speculating about wet days, but can really believe in the weather. The weather had been thoroughly to be trusted all that month of May, and all the rural world was gloomy about it; but Edgar had not yet acquired English habits to such an extent, and he was glad of the serene continuous sunshine, the blue sky that made a permanent background to his fine trees. It was the first time that he had been able to give hospitality, and it pleased him. When he had made sure that his sister did not object, he anticipated Lord Newmarch’s visit with a certain pleasure. There would be novelty in it, and some amusement; and it was natural to him to surround himself with people, and feel about him that flow and movement of humanity which is necessary to some spirits. The Ardens could do without society as a general rule. They had stately feasts now and then, but for the greater part of their lives the stillness of the park that surrounded them, the gambols of the deer, or the advent of now and then the carriage of a county neighbour coming to pay a call, was all that was visible from their solemn windows. This was not at all in Edgar’s way; and accordingly he was glad somebody was coming. It would have been a pleasure to him to have filled his house, to have put himself at everybody’s service, to have felt the tide rising and swelling round him. To Clare it might be a bore, but it was no bore to her brother. Lord Newmarch drove out from Liverpool, where he had been attending the great social meeting, between five and six in the afternoon. Edgar saw him from a distance, and hurried home to meet his guest. “Newmarch is coming, Clare,” he cried as he came into the little drawing-room in which Clare sat very demurely, with the silver and china shining on the little tea-table beside her, and her embroidery in her hand. It was not an occupation she cared for, but yet it was good for emergencies, and especially when it was necessary to take up that dignified position as the lady of the house. “Very well, Edgar; but you need not be excited about it,” said Clare. What was Lord Newmarch that any one should care about his coming? She sat in placid state to receive her brother’s visitor, secretly fretting in her heart to see that Edgar was not quite as calm as she was. “Can it be because he is a lord?” she said to herself, and shrank, and was half ashamed, not being able to realise that Edgar’s fresh mind, restrained by none of the Arden traditions, would have been heartily satisfied to receive a beggar, had that beggar been pleasant and amusing. To be sure Lord Newmarch was not amusing; but he was instructive, which was far better—or at least so some people think.
Clare’s placidity, however, vanished like a dream when she raised her astonished eyes and saw that two people had come into the room, and that one of them was Arthur Arden. The sudden wonder and excitement brought the blood hot to her cheeks. She gave Edgar a rapid angry look, which fortunately he did not perceive, and then her cousin’s voice was in her ear, and she saw dimly his hand held out to her. She had known, of course, that they must meet, but she had expected to have time to prepare herself, to put on her finest manners, and receive him in such a way that he should feel himself kept at a distance, and understand at once upon what terms she intended to receive him. But there he stood all at once before the dazzled eyes which were so reluctant to believe it, holding out his hand to her, assuming the mastery of the position. Clare’s high spirit rose, though her heart fluttered sadly in her breast. She got up hastily, stumbling over her footstool, which was an admirable excuse for not seeing his offered hand. “Mr. Arden!” she exclaimed. “Forgive me for being surprised; but Edgar, you never told me that you expected Mr. Arden to-day.”
“I did not know,” said Edgar, with anxious politeness; “but he is very welcome anyhow, I am sure. We did not settle anything about the day.”
“Newmarch drove me over,” said Arthur. “I have been at Liverpool too, going in for science. At my age a man must go in for something. When one ceases to be interesting on one’s own merits—— But Miss Arden, if I am inconvenient, send me off to the Arden Arms. There never was man more used to shift for himself than I.”