“I am sorry you should have taken a prejudice against her, Aunt Caroline,” said the young man, humbly.
“I take a prejudice! Don’t let me hear the word again, Frank. You know I have no prejudices. If I cannot give you a reason for anything, I believe then I cease to believe it.”
“You have not heard her sing,” he said, suddenly remembering that this means of conquering the old lady had been neglected.
“I have no doubt she has many accomplishments,” said Aunt Caroline, coldly. “In time, I suppose, she will get over that extraordinary accent she has.”
“Many people like it.”
“I dare say you do—at present. But you may tire of it. You married her in a hurry, and you have not got rid of your romance yet. At the same time, I dare say she is a very good sort of girl, and will not disgrace you if you instruct and manage her properly. But remember my words—she has a temper, and you will find it out if you thwart her.”
How sweet and fresh the air was, even in Kensington, when Sheila, having dressed and come down stairs, and after having dutifully kissed Mrs. Lavender and bade her good-bye, went outside with her husband! It was like coming back to the light of day from inside the imaginary coffin in which she had fancied herself placed. A soft West wind was blowing over the Park, and a fairly clear sunlight shining on the May green of the trees. And then she hung on her husband’s arm, and she had him to speak to instead of the terrible old woman who talked about dying.
And yet she hoped she had not offended Mrs. Lavender, for Frank’s sake. What he thought about the matter he prudently resolved to conceal.
“Do you know that you have greatly pleased my aunt?” he said, without the least compunction. He knew that if he breathed the least hint about what had actually been said, any possibly amity between the two women would be rendered impossible forever.
“Have I, really?” said Sheila, very much astonished, but never thinking for a moment of doubting anything said by her husband.