It was Mrs John Elliott of Arrowby.
The Major, even if politeness had not compelled him to obey, was very glad to halt. He could not have run much farther. The children were around him in a moment, clinging to his sleeves, and laughing in gleeful triumph.
‘My dears,’ said the Major, gasping for breath, ‘I really am in earnest. I do want you to let me off to-day.’
‘And I have something particular to say to the Major,’ added Mrs John, as she took the gentleman’s arm and led him away from the disappointed group.
Mrs John was a lady endowed with the blissful nature which without effort can under any circumstances realise the spirit of the old saw—
A merry heart goes all the way,
A sad tires in a mile-a.
She seemed to be always laughing; she was as fond of bonbons as a child; and although turned thirty, she was still one of those ‘giddy young things’ who quite innocently find great satisfaction in attracting the attention of men’s eyes. She did not try to do this by extravagance of dress, although it obtained special care. Indeed, she did not try at all; but her blithe, frank ways magnetised men, and she was alike to all, old or young, handsome or otherwise. It had, therefore, caused much amazement that she should have given her hand to John Elliott. Had she mated with his cousin Joseph, the burly, jovial, red-haired, fox-hunting squire of Todhurst, the fitness of things would have been appreciated. But John!—it was incomprehensible.
He was the antithesis of his cousin: bilious, sallow, narrow-chested, and with stooping shoulders. He had no interest in field-sports; he did not keep more than ten acres of his land under his own management; but he was strict with his agent and tenants about rents. He was a dilettante archæologist, a dilettante book-hunter, and a dilettante philanthropist. He believed that he was in earnest. He regarded his wife as a jewel so precious that every one envied him the possession; and when he came to understand that people wondered why she had married him, he began to wonder too, and the result was much mental torture. He was conscious that she might have had a much more suitable mate, and that consciousness rendered him the more jealously fond. She, although at moments incensed at his folly and want of faith, maintained her good spirits and retained her good looks.
‘Now, Major,’ she said in her sprightly way, as soon as they had got beyond earshot of the children, ‘I want you to tell me all about this mysterious note you have sent me. I can guess that you mean my husband by “our mutual friend.” But who is the “lady,” and what is the nonsense to which you ask me to pay no heed?’