“I will follow your advice faithfully, as you give it in good faith, Sir Ludovic,” said Randal, “if I can do so; but I warn you frankly that I will never be happy till I have told her what is in my heart.”
“Oh yes, it needs no warlock to see what’s coming,” said Sir Ludovic, shaking his head; “and there’s Jean’s nephew, that young haverel of an Englishman—and probably two or three more, for anything I can tell. But let her alone, let her alone, Randal, I beseech you, till the poor little silly thing comes to herself.”
It would be impossible to describe what hot resentment against such a disparaging title mingled with the softened state of sentiment and amiable friendliness with which Randal felt disposed to regard all the world, and especially this paternal brother, who was so much more like a father. “I will remember what you say, and attend to it—as far as I can,” he said.
“That means, as far as it may happen to suit you, and not a step farther,” said Sir Ludovic, once more shaking his head.
Margaret was not visible when they got to the Grange. She was supposed to be in her own room, and unable to see any one; and, what was more extraordinary, Miss Grace was actually in her own room, and unable to see any one—having wept herself blind, and made her nose scarlet with grief, over the separation of the two lovers, and all the domestic tragedy that had occurred, as Mrs. Bellingham declared, entirely by her fault. If ever there was a woman to whom the separation of true lovers was distressful and terrible, Grace Leslie was that woman; and Jean said it was all her fault! “When I would give my life to make darling Margaret happy!” cried the innocent offender. “They should have my money, every penny; I would not care how I lived, or what I put on, so long as dearest Margaret was happy!” and she had retired speechless and sobbing, feeling the calamity too cruel. As for Mrs. Bellingham, she was in sole possession of the drawing-room, where the gentlemen found her, walking about and fanning herself, bursting with a thousand things to say. The sight of an audience within reach calmed her more than anything else could have done.
“What have you done with that woman, Ludovic?” she said. “She was an impertinent woman; but I’m sorry for her if you walked her all that way to the station as you walked me. Did ever anybody hear such a tongue—and the temper of a demon! But I hope I have some Christian feeling; and after the young man was gone, if you had not been in such a hurry, as she is a Fife woman, and a tenant, I would have ordered her a cup of tea.”
“I told her so,” said Sir Ludovic; “but she is comfortable enough at the station, and I ordered the people at the inn to send her one.”
“I would have done nothing of the kind,” said Jean; “a randy, nothing but a randy; and just as likely as not to enter into the whole question, and make a talk about the family. And the way news spreads in an English village is just marvellous! Fife is bad enough, but Fife is nothing to it! So you have come back, Randal Burnside—oh yes, you young men are always missing your train. There’s Aubrey would have been here with me and of some use, but that he could not get out of his bed soon enough in the morning. I am very glad Aubrey’s coming; he will be a change from all this. And I never saw a young man with so much tact. Are you going up by the next train, Randal, or are you going to stay? Oh well, if you will not think it uncivil, I am glad for one thing that you’re going; for I came away in such a hurry, and forgot one of the things I wanted most. If you would go to Simpson’s—not Simpson’s, you know, in Sloane Street, nor the one in the Burlington Arcade, but Simpson’s in Wigmore Street, the great shop for artificial flowers—”
“You need not be at so much trouble to conceal our family commotions,” said Sir Ludovic; “Randal knows all about it better than either you or me.”
“Then I would just like to hear what he knows!” said Mrs. Bellingham. “I don’t know anything about it myself, and I don’t think I want to know. Randal, what time is your train? Will you be able to stay till dinner, or can I give you some tea? The tea will be here directly, but dinner may be a little late for Aubrey, who is coming by quite a late afternoon train. He said he had business; but you young men you have always got business. To hear you, one would think you never had a moment. And, Ludovic, just sit down and be quiet, and not fuss about and put me out of my senses. Now I will give you your tea.”