“Oh, Mr Harwood,” said Miss Laura, taking up her position at the Rector’s other side, thus effecting a natural separation from Mary’s relations, who were comparing sentiments a little apart from the Summerhayes party—“a suitable match! when dear Tom is well known to represent the oldest family in the county, and might have married anybody—not to say a word against dear Mary, who is our sister now, and such a sweet creature. But oh, Mr Harwood,” cried Miss Lydia, who had interposed, as usual, “to talk of a suitable match!”
“There are no suitable matches nowadays. I don’t believe in ’em, by Jove!” said Major Aldborough, who, with eyes slightly reddened by champagne, was watching the carriage just then disappearing down the avenue.
“But there might be, Major,” said Miss Lydia, so softly that her sister could not take up the meek remark.
The Major only answered “By Jove!” under his breath. He was startled by the close vicinity—the gentle look—the mild suggestion. He moved a little away in a momentary panic. There was never any telling, as he said to himself, what these women might mean.
“It is so strange to be left in charge of the house,” said Miss Laura, “it gives one such a funny feeling. I don’t know how in the world we shall do with all the responsibility; but dear Mary insisted upon it, you know—though I am sure Mrs Tansey would have been much more suitable for the head of the table than one of us, who are so inexperienced,” cried Miss Lydia; “but dear Mary thought it best for the children’s sake. I hope, dear Mrs Tansey, you don’t mind being our guest,” proceeded the sisterly duet; “dear Mary thought it of such importance that the children should get used to us—though they know us perfectly well, still things are all so different; though otherwise, of course, she would so much have preferred you.”
“Oh, pray, don’t think it necessary to apologise for my niece to me, Miss Summerhayes,” said the offended aunt. “Mary has consulted her own inclinations, and so long as she is happy, that is all we can possibly want of her. I think she is quite right to make friends, if she can, in her new family. She knows she can always calculate upon us if she ever wants any service,” added the bride’s relation, with a slight heightening of colour and the ghost of a curtsy. The Miss Summerhayes were not unequal to the emergency.
“We all know how much poor dear Mary is liked among her own friends,” cried Miss Lydia. “Your dear girls were so fond of her last year when they spent such a long time at Fontanel; and dear Mary has such a taste in presents,” said Miss Laura, coming in so eagerly that she began out of breath. “We have gone shopping with her often when she was buying her little souvenirs. I hope you don’t think it will make any difference now she is married again. She is so affectionate; but as for wanting services from anybody, that is very unlikely,” resumed the elder sister, “now she has dear Tom. Dear Tom is so very devoted,” said Miss Laura, breaking in headlong. “You would think she was only eighteen to see all the attention he pays her. It is quite sweet to see them, like two turtle-doves.”
Such being the conversation that succeeded immediately upon the departure of the bridal pair, it is not to be supposed that the dinner-table was spread with a very joyful feast, or that the evening was spent in much happiness. Mary’s relations, who had up to this time felt themselves much at ease at Fontanel, kept greatly by themselves during the remainder of the wedding-day. Their occasional minglings with the Summerhayes party called forth bursts of smart dialogue, more exciting than amiable, and the opposing sides contended much for the notice of Loo and the other children, when they came down-stairs in their new dresses after dinner. It made little Loo’s heart sick to feel herself enfolded in the embraces of Miss Lydia and Laura on one side, and then to be talked to and admonished by Aunt Tansey on the other, who hoped she would be a good girl, and a great comfort to her poor mother. The children could not tell what to make of the aspect of affairs. Mamma gone, who was the sun and centre of the domestic world, and already a new rule and vague possibilities of change in the startled house. Down-stairs among the servants, though the means of merry-making were plentiful, this threatening cloud was even more apparent. A new master, known to like “his own way,” was an alarming shadow impending over the little community hitherto mildly and liberally governed by the mistress, whom her servants could scarcely forgive for the step she had taken. “With five lovely children and every blessin’ as this world could afford,” as the housekeeper said, shaking her troubled head. The new husband by no means ranked among the blessings of Providence to the mistress of Fontanel in anybody’s judgment, and nowhere was Mary’s rash act resented more warmly than in the servants’ hall.
“But, Loo,” said Etonian Charley, next morning, when Aunt Tansey and all her belongings had left Fontanel, and everything had fallen under the restless sway of the Miss Summerhayes, “I’m not going to put up with all this. You said we were to stand up for mamma; you mean we are only to pretend to stand up for mamma, you little humbug. Now that’s not my meaning,” said the heir of Fontanel. “I’m not going to make-believe that I think she’s done right, when I don’t. I am going to swallow cousin Tom right out,” cried the boy, not without a little flush on his face. “It’s a little awkward, to be sure, to know what to call him—but look here, Loo—I mean to stand by my mother without any humbug. I mean to think she’s done the very best for us all, and for herself too; and if she don’t think the same when she comes back, I’ll try to make her; and if you look black, as you’re looking, you are not the little brick I took you for, and I won’t have anything more to do with you, Loo.”
“Oh, Charley, I am not half so good as you are,” cried the admiring little sister, looking up to him with tearful eyes. Charley’s resolution acted like a charm upon the house in general; and so, with a gradually improving temper, though much pressed and fretted by Miss Laura and Miss Lydia, the nursery and the servants’ hall, and all the dependencies of Fontanel, waited for the advent of the new master and the return of Mrs Summerhayes.