It was with intense mortification, almost exceeding that with which he had heard her first address him as a man who might be her father, and afterwards repel with disgust his clumsy blandishments, that Mr. Trevor discovered Trevor Court was lost on Lady Bell.
She saw in it only a better sort of prisonhouse. She was not grateful for the change from the wreck at St. Bevis’s. At St. Bevis’s there had still been something like freedom and hope. Trevor Court signified slavery and despair.
Lady Bell was not nearly old enough, or mercenary enough, to weigh with appreciation the substantial evidences of respectability and comfort. Her burdened heart and soul were not free to admit a sense of beauty.
Lady Bell looked round her with lacklustre eyes. No comment of satisfaction or word of praise dropped from her tightly-locked lips.
“Welcome, your honour! Welcome, madam, and long life and prosperity! Many happy returns of the day! Hoorah! hoorah!” broke the stiff, oppressive silence. The greeting burst in set form, and simultaneously, from the pliant dependants and consequential old servants in quilted gowns like Mrs. Kitty’s, in worsted stockings, and worsted lace setting off their livery, in gardeners’ green aprons and countrymen’s round hats, which were at that moment waved lustily in the air.
The worst was to come; for resentment and anguish at fifteen are very liable to merge into petulance, alternating with heaviness. Lady Bell received the demonstration haughtily and cavalierly. She was the mistress of these folks, in spite of herself, and against her will. Their making merry provoked her when she did not desire their service.
It had been right that she should put the best face upon matters while she was in other people’s houses; but since she had come home, if home meant anything, and as Squire Trevor’s marriage had been too unpremeditated to admit of the assistance of strangers in the “home-coming,” she need make no farther pretence.
She declined to drink her own health, not to say Squire Trevor’s, in the ale which had been broached, and the claret which had been drawn. She was forced to pledge her household in return; but she only touched the flagon with her lips. She was compelled, too, to take the Squire’s arm, and walk, accommodating her steps to his pursy gait; but she walked like a naughty child, with as few smiles and curtseys as she could bestow between the rows of retainers. She clutched her skirt and riding-gloves, to prevent any willing hand freeing her from the encumbrances.
There was something pathetic as well as ludicrous in the forlornness of the unmagnanimous behaviour that showed both singleness of heart and extreme youthful folly in the friendless girl; but it incensed Squire Trevor beyond measure.
Without the indiscretion, he might have felt inclined, as he had carried his point and gained his end, to be in good humour with his bride and the rest of the world.