“Then, it is a very disagreeable way,” said Edgar. “I wish poor little Jeanie could have escaped, though I don’t wish any harm to Miss Pimpernel.”
“No, my dear,” said Miss Somers; “fancy my calling you ‘my dear,’ as if you were my own sister! Do you know I begin now to forget which is a gentleman and which a lady—me that was always brought up—— But what is the good of being so very particular?—when you consider, at my time of life. Though some people think that makes no difference. Oh, no, you must never wish her any harm; but a little foolish, flighty—with nothing in her head but croquet you know, and—— Young Mr. Denbigh has so fallen off. He used to come and talk quite like—— And then he would tell my brother what he should do. My brother does not like advice, Edgar. Doctors never do. They are so used, you know—— And then about these German baths and everything. He used to tell my brother—— and he was not nice about it. Sometimes he is not very nice. He has a good heart, and all that; but doctors, you know, as a rule, never do—— And then your cousin—do you think he meant anything?—— I once thought it was Clare; but then these people are rich, and when a man like that is poor——”
“I don’t know what he meant,” said Edgar; “but I am sure he can’t mean anything now, for he has left the Pimpernels.”
“And I suppose he is going to you?” said Miss Somers, “for he can’t stay in the Arden Arms; now, can he? He is sure to be so particular. When men have no money, my dear—and used to fine living and all that—— And I don’t believe anything is to be had better than a chop—— Chops are greasy in such places—— And then Arthur Arden is used to things so—— But my dear, I think not, if I were you—on account of Clare. I do think not, Edgar, if you were to take my advice.”
“But I fear I can’t help myself,” said Edgar, with a shadow passing over his face——
Miss Somers shook her head; but fortunately not even the gratification of giving advice could keep her long to one subject. “Well—of course Clare is like other girls, she is sure to marry somebody,” she said—“and marriage is a great risk Edgar. You shouldn’t laugh. Marriage is not a thing to make you laugh. I never could make up my mind. It is so very serious a thing, my dear. Suppose afterwards you were to see some one else? or suppose—— I never could run the risk—though of course it can’t be so bad for a gentleman—— But, Edgar, when you are going to be married—vows are nothing—I wouldn’t make any vow—but,—it is this, Edgar—it is wrong to have secrets from your wife. I have known such trouble in my day. When a man was poor, you know—and she would go on, poor thing, and never find out—and then all at once—— Oh, my dear, don’t you do that—tell her everything—that is always my—and then she knows exactly what she can do——”
“But I am not going to be married,” said Edgar with a smile, which did not pass away as common smiles do, but melted over all his face.
“I hope not,” said Miss Somers promptly, “oh, I hope not—after all this about the Pimpernels—and—— But that was your cousin, not you. Oh, no, I hope not. What would Clare do? If Clare were married first, then perhaps—— But it would be so strange; Mrs. Arden—Edgar, fancy! In my state of health, you know, I couldn’t go to call on her, my dear. She wouldn’t expect—but then sometimes young ladies are very—— And perhaps she won’t know me nor how helpless—— I hope she’ll be very nice, I am sure—and—pretty, and—— Some people think it doesn’t matter—about beauty, you know, and that—— It’s a long, long time since I took any interest in such things—but when I was a young girl, it used to be said—— Now I know what you are thinking in yourself—how vain and all that—but it is not vanity, my dear. You like to look nice, you know, and you like to please people, and you like—of course, you like to look nice. When I was young there were people that used to say—the little one—they always called me the little one—or little Letty, or something—— I suppose because they were fond of me. Edgar, everybody is fond of you when you are young.”
“And when you are old too,” said Edgar; “everybody has been fond of you all your life, I am sure—and will be when you are a hundred—of course you know that.”
“Ah, my dear,” said Miss Somers, shaking her head. “Ah my dear!”—and two soft little tears came into the corners of her eyes—“when you are old—— Yes. I know people are so kind—they pity you—and then every one tries; but when you were young, oh, it was so—— There was no trying then. People thought there was nobody like—— and then such quantities of things were to happen—— But sometimes they never happen. It was my own fault, of course. There was Mr. Templeton and Captain Ormond, and—what is the good of going over——? That is long past, my dear, long past——”