I made no answer. I was piqued at Mr. Osborne’s mockery; but I wondered over what the other had said—what did he mean by the drawing-room making a mark in his life. Had it made any mark in mine? why should it? and why was he walking along so quietly by Mr. Osborne’s side, without the least intention of going away? I saw that he kept his eyes away from me, as carefully as I kept mine from him; but how I observed him for all that. His walk was rather slow and steady—he was not quick and impetuous as I was—I wanted to hasten on, for I was embarrassed a little, not knowing anything about “society,” and being quite at a loss to know whether I was acquainted with this stranger or not; but, of course, Mr. Osborne continued his leisurely pace, and so did his young companion. They made me impatient and almost irritated me; they went on so quietly.
When we came to the door, I opened it hastily, for it was an old-fashioned, unsuspicious door, and opened from the outside. Then in my awkwardness I went down the two steps which led from it, and stood below in the door, waiting for Mr. Osborne. I was in a little tremor of expectation—what was he going to do?
“I think I may presume on your father and yourself, Hester, so far as to ask my young friend to come in with me,” said Mr. Osborne, “for we have some business together. This is Mr. Harry Edgar, Miss Southcote—will you admit him within your precincts.”
Of course I had to make a little awkward bow to him, and I do not think his was much more graceful; and then I hurriedly led the way into the house. Mr. Osborne went directly to the library, and I called Alice to show Mr. Edgar up-stairs, then I ran to my own room to take off my bonnet. Must I go to the drawing-room where he was sitting alone—I thought it was very unpleasant—I felt extremely confused and awkward, yet I smoothed my hair, and prepared to go.
When I went into the room, he was looking at the pictures—those dark, hard panel portraits on the wall, and with some interest as I thought—though when I came, he, too, grew a little embarrassed like me. I went to my work-table immediately to look out some work, for I could not sit idle and talk to him. There were countless little bits of work lying half completed on my work-table, I had no difficulty in finding occupation, and when I had selected one, I sat down by the window and wished for Mr. Osborne. He ought to know better, than to leave me alone here.
There was nothing at all to keep us from the necessity of talking to each other, for he immediately gave up looking at the portraits, and the room was in fatal good order, and all the books put away. After the first awkward pause, he said something about the pictures: “they were family portraits, no doubt.”
“No,” said I, “that is, they are not Southcotes; they are portraits of grandmamma’s family, I suppose; but we always count our family on the other side.”
Then we came to another dead pause, and Mr. Edgar advanced to the window where I sat.
“How fresh and green your garden looks,” he said, after the fashion of people who must say something, “what a good effect the grass has—are there really blossoms on the trees? how early everything is this year!”
“We are well sheltered,” said I, in the same tone. “Our trees are always in blossom before our neighbors’.”