“When the reply comes you are to look hurriedly at the letter, put it into your pocket without opening it, and leave the room.”
Stella again nodded.
“You are to return in a few minutes, and sit down again without saying a word about the letter.”
Stella again nodded. She was now drying her tears, and the look on her face was decidedly less woebegone than it had been a few moments previously.
“Now, look here,” said Mrs Wiseman, “keep up your spirits; I will get you and young Wardley out of this if I possibly can. You have just got to do exactly what I tell you. I am very glad that he is sick and out of the way just now. Good-night, my deary; keep your spirits up, and all will come right, or else my name isn’t Louisa Wiseman.”
Four
Next morning Mrs Wiseman rose very early and went downstairs to her husband’s study, where she locked herself in for about half an hour. She then went and sought for Stella, whom she found sitting in her room dressed. She sent her down to the study, telling her to write the letter inviting young Ramsay to lunch, warning her at the same time not to mention the fact of the invitation to anyone. The invitation Mrs Wiseman enclosed to the local agent for the Silver Linings who happened to be a friend of hers, asking him as a particular favour to send it out by a special messenger to the vessel, and to transmit any reply that might come under cover to herself personally.
At breakfast-time Mr Wardley was reported to be still very unwell; however, as he distinctly refused to see a doctor, no alarm was felt on his account. It was, of course, felt that his absence caused a hitch in the otherwise harmonious proceedings. After breakfast Mrs Wiseman went up to the wagons to see him, and returned with the report that, although he was undoubtedly ill and quite unable to appear at present, he would most probably be sufficiently recovered to put in an appearance in the course of the afternoon. When Mrs Wiseman made this announcement, her husband looked extremely uneasy, and after a few moments got up and hurriedly left the room. Both Mr Bloxam and Mr Winterton looked at Lavinia with expressions of commiseration, whilst she maintained a demeanour which suggested subdued tenderness and resignation.
The Parsonage grounds were rich with trees, and thus afforded suitable localities for amatory dalliance. In its bosky recesses many a clerical swain had sported with his Amaryllis in the shade, and thither the ardent Winterton led his coy Matilda soon after breakfast, and elicited, after becoming hesitancy, her blushing acceptance of his hand and heart. When he attempted to seal the compact with an embrace, she disengaged herself with a twittering little scream from his unaccustomed arms and fled. Her confusion, however, was such that she did not run towards the house, but into a thick shrubbery which lay in quite another direction. Thither Mr Winterton followed without a moment’s hesitation, and the twittering scream was repeated, but in a rather fainter tone. However, Matilda must have forgiven her lover whatever liberties he may have taken, for when they returned together to the house not very long afterwards they both looked extremely happy, and were apparently the best of friends.