But the lesson was a hard one to her fastidiousness. It could not be said even now that Ethel Trelawny had found her work in life, but notwithstanding she worked hard. Under Mildred's loving tuition she no longer looked upon her poorer neighbours with aversion or disgust, but set herself in many ways to aid them and ameliorate their condition. True the task was uncongenial and the labour hard, and the reward by no means adequate, but at least she need no longer brand her self with being a dreamer of dreams, or sigh that no human being had reason to bless her existence.
A great yearning took possession of her as she stood in her gleaming silks, looking round that happy domestic circle. Mr. Lambert had not as yet stolen back to his beloved study, but sat in the bay-window, discussing parish affairs with Dr. Heriot. Richard had challenged the curate to a game of chess, and Chriss had perched herself on the arm of her brother's chair, and was watching the game. Polly, in her white dress, was striking plaintive chords with one hand and humming to herself in a sweet, girlish voice.
'Check-mate; you played that last move carelessly, Marsden. Your knight turned traitor!' cried Richard. His handsome profile cut sharply against the lamplight, he looked cool, on the alert, while Hugh's broad face was puckered and wrinkled with anxiety.
'Please do not let me interrupt you!' exclaimed Ethel, hurriedly, 'you look all so comfortable. I only want to say good-night, every one,' with a wave of her slim hand as she spoke.
Richard gave a start, and rose to his feet, as he regarded the queenly young creature with her pale cheeks and radiant dress. A sort of perfumy fragrance seemed to pervade him as she brushed lightly past him; something subtle seemed to steal away his faculties. Had he ever seen her look so beautiful?
Ethel stopped and gave him one of her sad, kind smiles.
'You do not often come to see us now, Richard. I think my father misses you,' was all she said.
'I will come—yes—I will come to-morrow,' he stammered. 'I did not think—you would miss me,' he almost added, but he remembered himself in time.
His face grew stern and set as he watched her in the lamplight, gliding from one to another with a soft word or two. Why was it her appearance oppressed him to-night? he thought. He had often seen her dressed so before, and had gloried in her loveliness; to-night it seemed incongruous, it chilled him—this glittering apparition in the midst of the family circle.
She looked more like the probable bride of Sir Robert Ferrers than the wife of a poor curate, he told himself bitterly, as he watched her slow lissom movements, the wavy undulating grace that was Ethel's chief charm, and yet as he thought it he knew he wronged her. For the man she could love, Ethel would pull off all her glistening gewgaws, put away from her all the accessories that wealth could give her. Delighting in luxury, revelling in it, it was in her to renounce it all without a sigh.