Lady Bell, in her brief season of security (for after the first few days, she had confided absolutely in Mrs. Siddons), and of mental enlargement and delight, had not looked farther than the day. She was so astounded and heartstricken by the tidings of her dismissal, that her pride was in abeyance for a moment. “Are you going to send me away from you, madam?” she asked, her eyes widening, her pouting lips drooping with distress and affright. “Oh! is not this too great a punishment for letting my money be stole?”
“My dear Miss Barlowe,” repeated Mrs. Siddons, in remonstrance, “you make a great mistake. I have no right to punish your carelessness in letting your money go. I am planning for your good. Even if it were not so,” she added immediately, with the candour which was always in excess of her conciliatory qualities, “I have no room for you, or any call for a companion at Bath. I own, with pleasure, that I have already got fond of you, but you must see, unhappily, it is a fondness which I cannot afford to indulge, when I have my children to think of, in the first place,” and she turned and caressed her little Henry.
Mrs. Siddons urged the plea as if it admitted of no contradiction. She urged the same plea many a time from youth to age, in trampling down generosity, and even justice, till the very world that worshipped her genius, was outraged by her family selfishness. In like manner, women urge it still, without doubt or stay, as if family selfishness becomes a divine right in the breasts of mothers.
By this time Lady Bell had recovered herself. “Very well, madam, it is a question for you to decide,” she said, steadying her mobile face and trembling voice, by a force put upon them, which obtained Mrs. Siddons’s approbation. She could almost have wished that Miss Barlowe had gone on the boards, but then, though she had emitted no other spark of histrionic ability, she might have grown, what with her fresher, more tender youth, the mystery of her concealed rank, and her unmistakable air of distinction, a dangerous rival. The woman who knew her own genius was too great to be morbidly vain and jealous, but she had extortionate children.
CHAPTER XVI.
COMPANION TO MISS KINGSCOTE.
“Will you be so good as to tell me the arrangements which you have made for me?” requested Lady Bell, remembering that as her money was lost, it was out of her power to undo these arrangements.
“With all my heart, my dear,” replied Mrs. Siddons cordially. She was thankful to have discharged an ungracious task, though she had not for a moment been uncertain of her obligation, so that her serenity had only been slightly ruffled. “The lady who wishes a companion at so vastly opportune a moment, that we ought to be grateful for the chance, and I see that you have the sense to regard it in that light, is Miss Kingscote, of Nutfield, three miles from here. She had come in to see the play on Friday night, and spoke of the opening to Mrs. Bunbury, who mentioned it to me.”
“Do you know anything more?” asked Lady Bell, feigning curiosity to hide how dispirited she was.
“Yes, sure; I have made every inquiry on your account,” said Mrs. Siddons readily. “I took the opportunity to ride out to Nutfield when you were engaged with the trimming of the pink train, yesterday. It is a nice sort of country place, though I must explain that the family were thrown back in the world by the villany of an uncle, and are only working their way forward again, which is greatly to their credit. I thought it better that you should not know of the proposal till it was all settled, which it is, with your consent.”
“I should like to hear what my duties will be.”