Lady Augusta came in with a disturbed countenance and traces of anxiety on her brow. She was alone, and though her good heart, and another pleader besides, had impelled her to take this step, she was a little doubtful as to the wisdom of what she was doing, and a little nervous as to the matter generally. She had her character for prudence to keep up, she had to keep the world in ignorance of the danger there had been to Gussy, and of all the pain this business had cost her. And yet she could not let the poor boy, who had been so disinterested and so honourable, go without a word from her—without once more holding out her hand. She said to herself that she could not have done it, and at all events it was quite certain that Gussy would have given her no peace, and would have herself done something violent and compromising, had her mother resisted her determination. “I will be very good,” Gussy had said. “I will say nothing I ought not to say; but he was fond of me, and I cannot, cannot let him go without a word!” Lady Augusta’s heart had spoken in the same tone; but the moment she had yielded, the other side of the question appeared to her, and a hundred fears lest she should compromise her child had taken possession of her mind. It was this which had brought her alone to the library door, leaving Gussy behind. She came forward, almost with shyness, with an air of timidity quite unlike her, and held out both her hands to Edgar, who for his part could scarcely repress an exclamation of disappointment at seeing her alone. “I am so glad to see Mr. Fazakerly with you,” Lady Augusta said, taking prompt advantage of this fact, and extending her hand graciously to the lawyer. “I do hope you have dismissed that incomprehensible story you told me altogether from your mind.”
“Don’t be angry with me,” said Edgar, gazing at her wistfully; “but was it with that idea you came here?”
She looked at him, and took in at a glance the change in his appearance, the pathetic look in his eyes, and her heart was touched. “No,” she said, “no, my poor boy; it was not that. We came to tell you what we felt—what we thought. Oh, Mr. Fazakerly, have you heard this dreadful story? Is it true?”
“I decline to say what is and what is not true,” said Mr. Fazakerly, doggedly. “I am not here to define truth. Your ladyship may think me very rude, but Mr. Arden is behaving like a fool.”
“Poor boy!” said Lady Augusta; “poor boy!” Her heart was bleeding for him, but she did not know what to do or say.
“You said we,” said Edgar. “Some one else came with you. Some one else had the same kind thought. Dear Lady Augusta, you will not take that comfort from me now.”
Lady Augusta paused, distracted between prudence and pity. Then she drew herself up with a tremulous dignity. “Mr. Fazakerly has daughters of his own,” she said. “I am not afraid that he will betray mine. Yes, Mr. Arden, Gussy has come with me. She insisted upon coming. There has never been anything between them,” she added, turning to the lawyer. “There might have been, had he not found out this; but the moment he discovered——, like a true gentleman, as he is——” Here Lady Augusta had to pause to stifle her tears. “And my Gussy’s heart is so warm. She would not let him go without bidding him good-bye. I told her it was not prudent, but she would not listen to me. Of course, it must end here; but our hearts are breaking, and we could not let him go without one good-bye.”
She stopped, with a sob, and once more held out her hand. Poor woman! even at that moment it was more herself than him she bewailed. Standing there in his strength and youth, it did not seem possible to believe that the world could go very badly with him; but how unfortunate she was! Ada first, and then Gussy; and such a son as he would have been—somebody to trust, whatever happened. She held out her hand to him, and drew him close to her, and wept over him. How unfortunate she was!
“And Gussy?” said Edgar eagerly.
“I put her into the little morning-room, Clare’s room,” said Lady Augusta. “Go to her for a few minutes; Mr. Fazakerly will not think it wrong of me, I am sure. And oh, my dear boy, I know I can trust you not to go too far—not to suggest anything impossible, any correspondence—Edgar, do not try my poor child too far.”