and it was a little hard to have a son whose genius and virtue took this turn. But De Vaux was the product of the age.
The countess hit on a new device. She would have young people about the house. It might be that De Vaux, though he was too kind and long-suffering to own it, even to himself, found his home a little slow, shut up, as he was, with a couple of elderly people, one of the two growing more and more infirm every day. No doubt the unequal association told on the boy’s spirits—even his dog Carlo looked dull. A disadvantage like that was enough to confirm De Vaux in those mooning, moping habits—his one fault, and which somebody had frightened her by foreboding might end in valetudinarianism; citing Lord Paulet, who had not been beyond his own park for years, though he was not over forty, and Sir Charles Ridley, who could not face a stranger to save his life.
She would begin by having girls, since it would be rather a delicate matter, and have the air of an act of interference on her part, if she were to bring young men about the place who were not even of De Vaux’s old quad or college, and were certainly not of his selection and invitation.
It showed the extent of the countess’s secret alarm on her son’s account, and of her unselfish devotion to his welfare, when she fixed upon getting girls to the castle to entertain him. Good woman as she was, she had not loved to contemplate her successor, and she had been tempted to keep her boy to herself as long as she could. But she would encounter the danger, and even bring herself to make the sacrifice cheerfully, because of the true mother’s love which she bore him.
De Vaux had an utter aversion to loud, fast girls, and two or three even nice girls, with their incessant claims on his attention, might be too much for him and Carlo—might serve to bore rather than enliven him. But there was one quiet little girl, the daughter of a favourite cousin of her ladyship and of a brother peer, held in especial esteem by her husband, and who my lady thought would be the very material for a first experiment. Accordingly, Lady Margaret was invited to spend a little time at the castle, and the invitation was accepted.
De Vaux had made no objection when he heard of the probable guest. He thought a young woman’s company for a few weeks might be a boon to his mother, and though he was becoming every day more of a hermit, and more averse to the slightest exertion out of the ordinary routine, he would not interfere with his mother’s pleasure, and he too would bear a little on his mother’s account.
When Lady Margaret arrived she did not look like a person who would be in anybody’s way, and even Carlo did not insist on sitting at attention, and refusing in a melancholy manner to be at home in her company. She was a very quiet, very shy, very young girl—on first acquaintance almost too quiet, shy, and young for the countess’s purpose, she feared. Lady Margaret required to be drawn out herself in place of drawing out De Vaux; and she was hardly even pretty, for her fair hair had been cut out on account of an illness, and was only half-grown and thin; while she was as thin as her hair, and so pale, that she resembled a wan, washed-out little ghost. My lady felt disappointed.
If the countess and De Vaux had known it, poor Lady Margaret was undergoing a severe ordeal, and was suffering, without any sign, agonies of mauvais honte and of incipient home sickness. It was the first time that she had been away among strangers without either her mother or her governess. She was naturally timid, and she had only recently recovered from a bad illness which had shaken her nerves. Everything was strange and overwhelming to her; even the sound of her own titled name startled her, seeing that she was accustomed to be called Peggy at home.
The countess was very kind, and De Vaux looked a preux chevalier; but Lady Margaret did not know them, and they did not know her. She could not tell in the least how they should ever become acquainted, or how she should get over the weeks she must spend at the castle. But mamma had wished her to come. Berry had said the change would be good for her, and she knew she was a silly, spoilt girl. No doubt the trial was beneficial, and she ought to make the best of it.
The best was within the reach of a creature so humble, so full of good-will and generous enthusiasm, in spite of her bashfulness and nervousness. In a marvellously short time Lady Margaret began to be reconciled to her situation, and to get the better of its disadvantages. Every day she was a fresh surprise to my lady and De Vaux—she opened up into such brightness and bonniness, as well as sweetness, before their admiring eyes.