Now after dinner I did set out as usual upon my ride, but I was come no further than to Puckle Acton when I found that my horse had cast a shoe. And for this there was evidently naught to be done save to chide Loll Duss for his not looking better to his duty, and to bid him carry the horse at once to the smithy and have the blacksmith look to him, while as I walked on by myself. And after walking through the town and turning back, I came by another way to Mr Sternhold’s house, and there found Mrs Diony in the garden, with a scarf thrown over her cap, overseeing the gardener that was at work sweeping up the dead leaves and broken twigs on the paths. Now Mrs Diony was ever my favourite of Mr Sternhold’s two daughters, and had been wont to show great kindness to Dorothy and myself in our childhood, so that it seemed to me that she might give me some help in my perplexity. And for this reason I wan’t sorry when she, coming to the gate for to inquire of me concerning Mrs Skipwith’s disease in her eyes, that was become an extraordinary great trouble to her of late, begged of me to come within, saying that she had scarce so much as caught sight of me since my return. Now after some discourse had betwixt us on indifferent topics, she did begin to rally me upon my mournful looks, saying that it wan’t by no means becoming to a gentleman but just come home to a fair estate and a sufficient fortune to bear such a melancholical air. And upon this I did open to her my trouble, showing her how my fair estate and my sufficient fortune was as naught to me without the woman that might have been mine had I not slighted her, and passing that over, pointed out how that all my plans for my cousin’s happiness were made of no avail by this strange conspiracy wherein all her friends were entered for to keep her servant’s name a secret.
“Ay,” says Mrs Diony, “I have heard something on’t from my sister Packworth.”
“All the world knows on’t save myself,” says I. “Pray, madam, do me the favour to tell me the gentleman’s name.”
And here I thought I must have success at last, but Mrs Diony shook her head, and looked at me with an air of pleasantry.
“I scarce think Mrs Brandon would be well pleased if I so did,” says she. “No, sir, take the advice of one that knows your cousin as well, I may say, as any, and put your question to her again. I believe I don’t err in saying that she regrets this misunderstanding as much as yourself, and I would counsel you to take her apart as soon as you can, and ask her what you desire to know, refusing to let her depart until she have given you an answer.”
“ ’Tis passing strange,” says I, “that all my acquaintance should combine to keep me in the dark concerning such a simple matter. But I’ll follow your counsel, madam, though I had fain evaded another privy talk with my cousin, for this perpetual pleading in favour of another person is become very irksome to me, and I care little to be forced to work so long at perfecting my own future misery.”
And with that I took my leave and departed, refusing even to drink a dish of jockolate with Mrs Diony (though she assured me it was of the best, and brought from London by Frank Packworth in his late journey thither), for I was desirous to end this matter and be done with it. But I wondered much that no one seemed fully to understand my reasonable unhappiness, yea, even Mrs Diony herself, though she essayed much to comfort me, yet I am sure that I heard her laugh as I went my way. But I was in no mood neither to turn back for to upbraid her, nor yet to seek for any other counsellor, but went on straight towards Ellswether, being minded to get over my business with Dorothy so soon as might be. And coming towards the house through the small coppice that abuts on the pleasure-garden, I saw before me my cousin Dorothy, sitting on a grotesque wooden seat there, and weeping. And seeing this, I quickened my pace, my heart smiting me for unkindness and impatience towards her in the morning, but before I came up with her (my footsteps making no sound upon the turf), she rose up from her seat, and drying her eyes with prodigious care and art, began to walk towards the house. And I overtaking her, she turned towards me with great cheerfulness (such is the strength of mind in woman), and seemed prepared to discourse very pleasantly.
“I trust, cousin, that you have passed an agreeable afternoon?” says she.
“I trust yours has been a better one, cousin,” says I.
Then we walked in silence for a time, until we come on to the terrace.