“I think you will always be young,” he said tenderly; then added after a pause, “Was it a quarrel about—the woman?—” He blushed himself as he said so, feeling the wrong to her—yet only half knowing the wonder it was in her thoughts, the double pain it brought.
“I think so. They were both fond of her; and Walter ought not to have been fond of her. John—was quite free. He was in no way engaged to any one. He had a right to love her if he pleased. But Walter interfered, and he was richer, greater, a far better match. So I suppose she wavered. This is my own explanation of it. They met then when their hearts were wild against each other, and there was a struggle. Ah, Geoff! Has it not cost John Musgrave his life as well as Walter? Has he ever ventured to show himself in his own country since? And now their poor little children have come home to Mary; but he will never be able to come home.”
“It is hard,” said Geoff thoughtfully. “I wish I knew the law. Fifteen years is it? I was about six then. Could anything be done? I wonder if anything could be done.”
She put her hand on his shoulder with an affectionate caressing touch, “Thanks for the thought, my dear boy—even if nothing could be done.”
“You take a great deal of interest in him, Cousin Mary?”
“Yes,” she said quickly; “I told you we were all young people together; and his sister was my dear friend. We were called the two Maries in those days. We were thought—pretty,” she said with a vivid blush and a little laugh. “You may have heard?”
Geoff kissed the pretty hand which had been laid on his shoulder, and which was perhaps a little fuller and more dimply than was consistent with perfection. “I have eyes,” he said, with a little of the shyness of his years, “and I have always had a right as a Stanton to be proud of my cousin Mary. I wonder if Miss Musgrave is as beautiful as you are; I don’t believe it for my part.”
“She is far prettier—she is not stout,” said Lady Stanton with a sigh; and then she laughed, and made her confession over again with a half-jest, which did not make her regret less real, “and I have lost my figure. I have developed, as people say. Mary is as slim as ever. Ah, you may laugh, but that makes a great difference; I feel it to the bottom of my heart.”
Geoff looked at her with tender admiration in his eyes. “There has never been a time when I have not thought you the most beautiful woman in all the world,” he said, “and that all the great beauties must have been like you. You were always the dream of fair women to me—now one, now the other—all except Cleopatra. You never could have been like that black-browed witch—— ”
“Hush! boy. I am too old to be flattered now; and I am stout,” she said, with that faint laugh of annoyance and humiliation just softened by jest. Geoff’s honest praise brought no blush to her soft matronly cheeks, but she liked it, as it pleased her when the children called her “Pretty Mamma.” They loved her the best, though people had not always done so. The fact that she had grown stout did not affect their admiration. Only those who have known others to be preferred to themselves can realize what this is. After a moment’s hesitation, she added in a low voice: “I wonder—will you go and see them? It would have a great effect in the neighbourhood. Oh, Geoff, forgive me if I am saying too much; perhaps it would not be possible, perhaps it might be wrong in your position. You must take the advice of somebody more sensible, less affected by their feelings. Everybody likes you, Geoff, and you deserve it, my dear; and you are Lord Stanton. It would have a great effect upon the county; it would be almost like clearing him—— ”