Mr. Mitchelson was too polite, and too politic also, to give offence to one in whom he recognised considerable powers of mischief. He answered, with much tact, that no one but Miss Chatterton herself would think of pleading her years as an excuse for avoiding a gathering of the kind, especially when her daily activities amongst the poor were taken into consideration.
Miss Chatterton looked pleased. "You are very good to allude to them; a person of my years, and with comparatively small means, can do but little. Still, the 'willing mind,' you know—I declare, here come the Priory people. Not at the gate yet—" for the master of Rathlands gave a little forward movement. "They are only just entering the drive, but thanks to some new eye-glasses, I can see as far as other people to-day. Perhaps even farther than some people," she added, with a knowing look. "What a pity our Mr. Gilmour is not back! I am afraid our pretty Miss Elsie's thoughts will be wandering 'to Norroway, to Norroway,' instead of being kept within even the wide bounds of Rathlands. But I ought not to tell secrets, only I did happen to be in the lodge when the young clergyman went from the Priory gate, poor fellow! And cast such longing, lingering looks at the fair damsel who—"
"I really must be excused, Miss Chatterton; my guests are coming in quite rapidly," said Mr. Mitchelson; and once more Miss Chatterton was left without a listener, though by no means ill-satisfied at the result of the shaft she had already let fly.
She had a good deal of the wisdom of the serpent, and knew the effect of hinting at much, and absolutely revealing very little.
For once, however, Miss Chatterton had made a grand mistake. Mr. Mitchelson had never for a moment thought of Elsie Manning as a future mistress for Rathlands. The very fact of her likeness to his dead wife would have stood in the way, even had his affections been perfectly free; but even in the few short weeks since his arrival at Rathbury, he had found a magnet which drew him to the Priory.
The magnet was the elder sister, not Elsie, and Mr. Mitchelson was taking every opportunity of finding out whether the mind and disposition of Mrs. Manning's second daughter corresponded with the fair exterior which had so attracted his attention. He wanted not merely a mistress for his house and a graceful hostess to sit at the head of his table, but one who should help him to turn to good account the wealth of which God had made him a steward. For the first time since the death of his young wife, a new image had stolen into his heart, but on that day no observer could have guessed this.
Courteous and attentive to all his fair guests, Mr. Mitchelson was most careful to do nothing which might gratify prying eyes or give food for gossiping tongues to occupy themselves upon.
There were some things which even Miss Chatterton's new eye-glasses did not permit her to see, some persons into whose thoughts she was unable to glance, and whose intentions she had utterly mistaken. Her blunder was only the beginning of the little chapter of misunderstandings which commenced on that day, and which might have spoiled the future happiness of several lives.
To the astonishment of everybody, Mr. Gilmour arrived at the Park rather late in the day, and quite unexpectedly. The fishing had been unsuccessful, owing to bad weather, heavy rains, and flooded rivers; his friend had been summoned home, and, as only a few days remained of the term of absence originally agreed on, they determined to return together.
Uncle Edward, who had stolen away from Rathlands Park to enjoy an interval of refreshment, was dozing in his easy chair at the Priory when Mr. Gilmour was announced. The kind old gentleman's eyes beamed at the sight of his favourite, who began to apologise for having disturbed his nap.