Mrs Fraser had much ado to avoid making a wry face, as she mentally contrasted the white-haired ‘brother’ with his vacuous expression of countenance, and the black-haired Frank Lockwood, with his bright intelligent glance and fascinating smile. But it was now quite as probable that she would marry the Emperor of China as the solicitor of the Redgrave family; so she softly murmured; ‘I had no suspicion of anything of the kind.’
Rapidly the widow reviewed all the attendant circumstances of the case. Von Moltke himself would have envied her comprehensive glance at the pros and cons of an important conjuncture of events. Septimus was of good family, of suitable age, possessed of ample means, and last, but not least in the eyes of the widow, was not too clever; and therefore, in all probability easily manageable, that indispensable desideratum in a husband. We are not sure that Mrs Fraser was correct in her deduction on this point, for foolish people are frequently obstinate, under the false idea that they are thereby displaying firmness.
‘If I were to accept Mr Redgrave on the instant, in consequence of your recommendation, my dear Penelope, neither he nor his sisters would respect me. I have always found great pleasure in the society of your brother, and have a great respect for his character. More, I am sure, my dear Penelope, you would neither expect, nor wish me to say.’
Both the sisters cordially kissed the blushing widow, and expressed themselves as quite satisfied with the avowal, Penelope adding: ‘I have more than a presentiment that in a few weeks we shall be enabled to give you the kiss of a sister.’
No more was said on the present occasion.
The widow retired to her chamber, and as she contemplated her features in the glass, soliloquised: ‘No—at forty, one must not be too particular; and there are twenty thousand excellent reasons why I should change my name from Fraser to that of Redgrave.’
It is needless to say that the sisters did not allow the grass to grow under their feet with respect to the proposed alliance between the families of Redgrave and Fraser. Much stress was laid by them in their conversations with the widow as to the shyness of their brother, and the necessity of some encouragement being extended to him. At length Septimus screwed his courage to the sticking-place and resolved to learn his fate. By a singular coincidence, he found the widow seated on the identical bench occupied on a similar occasion by her youthful daughter. An involuntary sigh escaped him as he mentally instituted a comparison between the sylph-like figure of Blanche and the more portly form of her mother. As he sat down by her side in response to her invitation, he felt his courage oozing away. On the former occasion, he had been bold as a lion; but in the presence of the keen-witted woman of the world, he fully realised his mental inferiority. Some commonplaces ensued, and then Mrs Fraser, laying down the newspaper which she held in her hand, suddenly observed: ‘What is your opinion of thought-reading, Mr Redgrave? Do you believe in it?’
‘I scarcely know whether I do or not,’ responded Septimus. ‘Do you?’
‘Implicitly,’ replied the widow. ‘Shall I give you a specimen of my powers?’
‘I should be delighted. Can you read my thoughts?’ said Septimus.