‘Sir Thomas died two years ago; and Laura found herself a widow at thirty-three years of age, with an income of something between three and four thousand pounds a year. So far so good. But note the sequel. Should Laura marry again, her income goes from her, all but about four hundred a year. What a poor contemptible creature this Sir Thomas must have been!
‘Whether Laura will ever marry again, is of course more than I can say. I hope with all my heart that she may do, and this time for love. She was a very pretty girl, and she is now a very charming woman, and still very youthful-looking. And then, too, her life is a very lonely one. She has no children; her father died years ago; and she has no near relations left alive. For all she is so rich, she is by no means a happy woman.
‘I have made mention of a Sir Frederick Pinkerton. Would it surprise you to hear that the individual in question is a neighbour of ours, and a not unfrequent visitor at Rosemount? He has taken a house at Bonchurch for a year, on the recommendation of his doctor. It seems that he and Captain Bowood met somewhere abroad; and they have now renewed their acquaintance. Sir Frederick is a bachelor, on the wrong side of fifty, I should imagine, but young-looking for his years. He is said to be very rich; but he has also the reputation of being very stingy. He comes of a very old family, and is a thorough man of the world. Remembering that he had known Lady Dimsdale when she was Laura Langton and a girl of twenty, I told him one day, when we met him out driving, that we were expecting her here on a visit. He coloured up, on hearing the news, like any young man of five-and-twenty, a thing which I should scarcely have believed of an old ex-diplomatist like Sir Frederick, had I not seen it with my own eyes. From that moment, I became suspicious.
‘Since Laura’s arrival, Sir Frederick’s visits to Rosemount have been much more frequent than before. That he admires her greatly, is plainly to be seen; but whether he will propose to her is quite another matter. I hope he will do nothing of the kind; or rather, I hope that if he does, she will refuse him. I feel sure that she does not care a bit for him; and he is not at all the sort of man that would be likely to make her happy. But when a woman is lonely, and feels the need of a home and a settled place in the world for the remainder of her days, one can never tell how she may act. Can either you or I tell how we should act under the same circumstances? At present, however, this is beside the question. Sir Frederick has not yet proposed.
‘But during the last few hours, matters here have assumed an altogether different complexion. Last evening, there arrived at Rosemount, on a short visit, a certain Mr Oscar Boyd, a civil-engineer of some eminence, who has been out in South America for several years, engaged in laying down certain new lines of railway in that country. Captain Bowood met Mr Boyd for the first time some two months ago, at his lawyer’s office in London. It appears that Mr Boyd is possessed of a small estate, which he is desirous of selling; and as the estate in question adjoins certain property belonging to my husband, it follows as a matter of course that my dear old Bow-wow is desirous of buying it. Some difficulty, however, appears to have arisen with regard to the price, or the conveyance, or something; so, in order to bring the affair to an amicable settlement and, as Jamie said, to save lawyer’s expenses, Mr Boyd has been invited down here for a few days. The Captain is persuaded that if he and Mr Boyd can talk over the affair quietly between themselves, they will be able to arrive at some agreement which will be satisfactory to both; and I think it not unlikely that Jamie will prove to be right.
‘But mark now what follows. When I introduced Mr Boyd to Lady Dimsdale, soon after his arrival last evening, judge my surprise to see them meet as old friends—that is to say, as friends who had known each other long ago, but who had not met for many years. A few words of explanation elicited the fact that Mr Boyd had made the acquaintance of Laura and her father during the time that he was employed as sub-engineer on the Chilwood branch-line of railway. This, of course, was after I left the neighbourhood. From the conversation that followed, I rather fancy that Mr Boyd must have been a pretty frequent visitor at the vicarage. There’s something else, too, I rather fancy—that in those old days there must have been some flirtation or tendresse, or something of that kind, between the two young people, the sweet fragrance of which still lingers in the memory of both of them. Of course, I may be mistaken in my idea, but I don’t think I am. More than once last evening, I said to myself: “Laura is a widow, Mr Boyd is a widower, why should they not”’——
But at this moment a servant flung open the door and announced: ‘Sir Frederick Pinkerton.’
SLEDGE-DOGS.
The inestimable value of the dog, which, as Sir Charles Lyell informs us, has been the companion of man ever since the Neolithic age, is nowhere more apparent than in the countries encircling the Arctic Ocean. Besides exercising his powers in the chase, and defending his master’s person and cabin from the attacks of rapacious animals, he fulfils the laborious duty of a beast of burden, performing the task with an intelligence not displayed by any other draught animal. Attempts were formerly made to utilise dogs in this capacity in various parts of Europe; and it is well known that in London and many of our provincial towns, certain breeds were once harnessed to butchers’ carts, costermongers’ flats, and other light conveyances, until the cruelty involved in compelling soft-footed quadrupeds to draw laden vehicles along macadamised roads was at length recognised, and the evil suppressed.