Trevor Court was not out of count in its neighbourhood, but, except in doing his duty to society by keeping up rounds of visits on special occasions, Mr. Trevor did not care for going into or receiving company. He liked to know himself monarch of all he surveyed, and to be deferred to in like manner—heights of regard which he could hardly attain off his own land.
Above all, Mr. Trevor objected to presenting an open door to the country, or to availing himself of other open doors, so soon as he had discovered that Lady Bell, after long abstinence from the society of young people like herself, could, when restored to it, abate her exclusiveness, and even relax into faint dimpling smiles. “By George!” he swore, “if she can’t smile on me and my honest household, she shan’t on a parcel of idle young rakes and impudent hussies in their questionable surroundings.”
It was not unlikely that Squire Trevor had some reason in his decision. The standard of morals was low everywhere a century ago. There were many instances then of country houses in remote districts, as there are to-day of agricultural cottages in similar circumstances, which were more woefully corrupt than the worst town houses.
But Lady Bell was incapable of comprehending such justification. She regarded the deprivation enforced on her as an additional injury and insult. And she was determined that if Mr. Trevor kept her a prisoner at Trevor Court, he should look on her face as that of a prisoner directed to her jailer.
CHAPTER X.
THE SUNDONS AND THE WALSHES.
Church was nearly the only place where Lady Bell saw the world, if seeing the world it could be called, when she was shut securely into a high moth-eaten brown pew, with Squire Trevor seated by her side, and his servants ranged in rows behind her. However, Lady Bell’s wandering eyes contrived to peep over the board, to seek out and rest on a lady and gentleman in the only other pew which was on an equality with Squire Trevor’s, in the little parish church.
The lady was only a few years older than Lady Bell, who thought the stranger very handsome. She had one of those striking profiles which readily catch the eye. Her face was long and oval, with clearly cut, distinguished nose and chin, the under part of the face projecting very slightly. The fine face belonged to a fine figure. The white cardinal cape and little chip hat and plume of feathers had more of an air of fashion than Lady Bell had noticed in such articles since her happy days with the best society at Lady Lucie Penruddock’s.
The lady’s companion was young like herself, as Lady Bell remarked wistfully, though after the fashion of most of the young Englishmen of rank whom she had seen, his face lacked the freshness of youth. Still it was a pleasant prepossessing face in its suspicion of haggardness and exhaustion, and was in conjunction with a good person and the easy manner of a cultivated man of the world.
The couple used the same Prayer-Book,—that is, he looked on hers when he used a book at all. She admonished him with a reproachful smile and shake of the head, when he yawned and closed his eyes during the service. He led her out of church when the congregation were dismissed, and handing her into a landau, drove off talking and laughing with her. They were a very pretty couple, surely near and intimate relations, and they quite took Lady Bell’s fancy.
“Who are the handsome lady and gentleman?” she inquired on the first opportunity of the vicar’s wife.