By-and-by she heard some one coming upstairs, and, starting, rose to steal away to her own room, afraid to meet the stranger again; but no light made its appearance, and Law put in his head at the door, then seeing something moving against the window, came to her, and threw himself down on the window-seat. “They’re going on so downstairs, that I couldn’t stand it,” said Law; “it’s enough to make a fellow sick”—and then, after a pause, “Well! I told you what was coming, but you wouldn’t believe me; what do you think of it now?”
“Oh, Law, what does it mean?—Are we not dreaming? Can it be true?”
“True! of course it is true. I told you what was going to happen.” Then his tone softened. “Poor Lottie, it’s you I’m sorry for. If you could only see yourself beside her! And where were his eyes, that he couldn’t see?” Here Law paused abruptly, wondering all at once whether the difference would be as marked between his sister and the girls whom he too liked to spend his evenings with. He was sure that Emma was not like that woman; but still the thought subdued his indignation. “I say,” he added hastily, “I want to give you a bit of advice. Just you give in to her, Lottie. Fighting is no good: she has got a tongue that you couldn’t stand, and the things she would say you wouldn’t understand. I understand her well enough; but you wouldn’t know what she meant, and it would make you angry and hurt you. Give in, Lottie. Since the governor’s been so silly, she has a right. And don’t you make any stand as if you could do it—for you can’t. It is a great deal better not to resist——”
“What do you mean by resist? How can I resist? The house is papa’s, I suppose?” said Lottie. “The thing is, I don’t understand it. I can’t understand it: that somebody should be coming to stay here, to be one of us, to be mixed up in everything—whom we don’t know——”
“To be mistress,” said Law, “that’s the worst—not to be mixed up with us, but to be over us. To take everything out of your hands——”
“Do you think I care for that? I do not mind who is mistress,” said Lottie, all unaware of her own characteristics. Law was wiser than she was in this respect. He shook his head.
“That’s the worst,” he said; “she’ll be mistress—she’ll change everything. Oh, I know Polly well; though I suppose, for decency, I mustn’t say Polly now.”
“How is it you know her so well? And how did papa know her?” said Lottie. “I should have thought you never could have met such women. Ah! you told me once about—others. Law! you can’t like company like that; surely, you can’t like company like that! how did you get to know her?” Law was very much discomfited by this sudden question. In the midst of his sympathy and compassion for his sister, it was hard all at once to be brought to book, when he had forgotten the possibility of such a danger.
“Well, you know,” he said, “fellows do; I don’t know how it is—you come across some one, and then she speaks to you, and then you’re forced to speak back; or perhaps it’s you that speaks first—it isn’t easy to tell. This was as simple as anything,” Law went on, relieved by the naturalness of his own explanation. “They all work in the same house where Langton lives, my old coach, you know, before I went to old Ashford. I don’t know how the governor got there. Perhaps it was the same way. Going in and out, you know, day after day, why, how could you help it? And when a woman speaks to you, what can you do, but say something? That’s exactly how it was.”
“But, Law,” she said, grasping his arm—all this conversation was so much easier in the dark—“Law, you will take care? she said she was not quite sure whether it was to be the father or the son. Ah! a woman who could say that, Law——”