She stopped there, as if that were sufficient explanation of her loneliness.
The listener replied in a tone of curious mortification and irritation, as of a vain man petted to the sensitiveness of a girl on the oddest points.
“A daughter of mine! madam—my lady, I crave leave to tell you that I have not the honour to have a daughter, nor a son neither, for that matter, whether bantling or young lady or gentleman.” He paused, with a shade of shame at the ridiculousness of his annoyance. “No matter, you are Lady Bell Etheredge, and you are staying with Squire Godwin,” he repeated, settling and shaking his double chin dogmatically in his cravat; “that is queer enough, since he is an old political ally of mine. It is business with him which brings me now to this part of the country, and I thought I should like to look in on Lord Thorold’s party in the by-going—the better for you, Lady Bell—the better for you, and we’ll hope not the worse for me in the long-run,” he told her emphatically.
He went on again, as if pondering over and digesting her statement, not without an accent of satisfaction. “Your father the Earl, and your mother the Countess, are dead a number of years ago, I knew that, of course, and Lady Lucie Penruddock—I think I have heard of her as a lady of repute and discretion. And so you have taken up your quarters—cold quarters, eh?—at St. Bevis’s.”
Lady Bell would have been not merely affronted, but mortally offended, by the freedom of the last words, had they not been spoken abstractedly, like the words of a man accustomed to lead an autocratic, solitary life, and to speak to himself for lack of a qualified audience.
He wound up by stretching out his hand to take that of Lady Bell and by making the proposal—“Come, Lady Bell, I shall lead you back to your guardians, and renew my acquaintance with Squire Godwin.”
Lady Bell submitted, and when she reached the spot where she had left her aunt, she found Mrs. Die with Mrs. Kitty in high dudgeon, declining so much as to give an account of their stewardship to Mr. Greenwood, who was looking about in consternation for Lady Bell.
As for Squire Godwin, he was lolling against a tree a little apart, his arms folded, his chin in the air, his eyes half closed; if he had not been standing he might have been fast asleep.
Lady Bell’s companion, Mr. Trevor, of Trevor Court, stepped up to Mr. Godwin, and saluted him pointedly, “Your servant, sir. I hope you’ve not forgotten me, since I have come to the neighbourhood on purpose to transact a piece of business with you, and I have brought back your niece, Lady Bell Etheredge, who has strayed and nearly come to grief in this crowd.”
“I am obliged to you, Mr. Trevor; I remember you perfectly.” Mr. Godwin acknowledged both the man and the favour with the utmost suavity and the least interest.