"I think it nice, myself," said Penelope, "to see people so content to be happy in their own way, and so indifferent to the world's idle talk. It is idle talk, Amelia. When two people find each other's company desirable, are they not foolish to give it up for fear that somebody else will laugh? How much would that somebody else do to make either of them happy? And how little he could do. Perhaps you do not know, Amelia, that Mr. Bunce is our cousin, and therefore we feel bound to like him. At the same time he is your rector, of course, while you are living at St. Euphrase, and I admit your right to criticise him."
And here the clerical pair coming through a window from the drawing-room descried the party in the shade and joined them, which changed the conversation; at the same time the crunching gravel gave notice of other arrivals. First, a waggonette carrying Jordan, Considine and Ralph; and before these had time to alight and join the rest, a rockaway, with the family from La Hache. Mrs. Martha Herkimer, who had been enjoying the heat and the coolness and the buzz of talk in a large lounging chair, with her fan drooping listlessly in her hand, and her pose indicating enjoyment of the quiescent if not somnolent kind, roused herself, shook out her skirts, and sat down again bolt upright, ready to become acquainted with the French people her husband so wished to know, as soon as possible.
Madame Rouget led by her lord, hat in hand, and followed by her daughter, all smiles and sweetness, fluttered through the window to the grass, where her hostesses met her and exchanged salutations eked out with gesture, in which gloves a little brighter and eyebrows a trifle more arched than the Anglo-Saxon pattern bore an important part. Madame's English was not fluent; the Misses Stanley, with the backwardness of their nation, did not venture to use French, and there was some obscurity and delay in the opening phrases, during which M. Rouget stood benevolently by, still uncovered and regardless of sun and sunstroke. In time they reached the grateful shade of the hemlocks, where the newcomers inhaled the perfumed coolness with infinite relish, after the glare and dust of their recent drive; and then there came presentations of the lately come neighbours, with profuse explanations from Madame, "that her English so difficile had made her delay, till she was so comblée of confusions, that---- Ah, well! she prayed the ladies to excuse;" and she smiled very graciously, and pressed the hands of Amelia and Martha, lisping hopes to be better acquainted; meaning, no doubt, as with Penelope and her sister, the exchange of half-yearly visits, which, in view of differences of church as well as language, was as much as could be expected. That church counted for a great deal became evident when "Mrs. Bunce, the wife of my cousin the rector," was next presented. The smile died out of Madame's face, and the empressement faded from her manner as she bowed more deeply than before with eyes fastened on the ground. "The bêtise," as she said to her daughter afterwards, "of those English! To introduce the wife of one of their married priests to me, the niece of My Lord the Archbishop!"
"But he is of their family, we must recollect, my mother," replied this judicious young person. "And perhaps they do not know of my great uncle the Archbishop. At least the ladies intended to be kind, and Monsieur Gerald Herkimaire, and Monsieur Randolphe are both trés comme il faut?" On which Madame patted the precocious utterer of so much wisdom--she was not yet sixteen--with her fan, and laughed heartily. But this did not occur till the following morning.
Penelope was not slow to perceive that the last presentation had not been a success, and came promptly to the rescue, by asking Mrs. Bunce a question, while Matilda drew off the attention of the others by asking Mademoiselle if she would not join the young people, and leading her away, while the mother and the rest fell into conversation with the gentlemen.
The young ones by this time had sent Pierre to the house with their flowers, and were lingering on Muriel's croquet ground until Miss Martindale should persuade herself that she was not too grown up to play, a conclusion which she speedily arrived at on the appearance of the new comer, who was quite as advanced as herself and seemed eager to begin.
"How your niece is most gracieuse, and so prettee!" said the Frenchwoman to Matilda when she rejoined the elders.
"Yes, indeed!" said Mrs. Martindale, "she is one of the very nicest little girls I know; and so clever. You should hear her play. It is more like a grown person's performance than a child's. And to think she should never have had any governess but dear Matilda here! I call it quite remarkable."
"Ah!" said Madame sympathetically. It is always a safe observation to make, especially in reply to what has not been very clearly understood, and the inflection of the voice can make it stand for so many things, that if it is only uncertain it will mean whatever the hearer likes best.
"It is a loss to society that women like you should be independent, Matilda," said Amelia. "What a governess you would have made! You need not shrug; it is a compliment, and one which very few people can claim. If you knew the troubles of governess-ridden mothers, you would understand me; so few are worth much, and those few keep one in constant dread of their growing dissatisfied and leaving, till the mother's life becomes a burden. I am so glad my family consists only of a boy, and it is Jordan's business to think what is to become of him," glancing at the croquet players.