But little more passed, before the mother and daughter parted with a very ceremonious salute.
Did Mrs. Pendarrel flinch under the remonstrances of her child? Did she waver a moment in her course? Reproached as the cause of Gertrude's unhappiness, did she hesitate to consummate the sacrifice of Mildred? If she had, she would not have been Esther Pendarrel. She had a quarrel with the world of five-and-thirty years' standing. Love! Folly! What had love been to her? Reason! She had married against it. Convenience! Ay, she wedded the heir presumptive of Trevethlan. So let her children. Had not Gertrude a house in Cavendish-square, and Winston Park, and a philosophical fool not ten years older than herself? Companionship—Ridiculous: there was plenty in the world. Home—Rococo: one lived abroad. With some soliloquy of this nature, did a withered heart excuse itself for spreading desolation like its own, conscious all the while that its pretences were false, saying, not thinking, the thing that was not.
Gertrude sought her sister on leaving Mrs. Pendarrel, and found her in a humour very different from what she had expected.
"So, Mildred, dear," she said, "we part. They take you to the enchanted castle, and where is the knight to wind the magic horn? Seriously, my poor sister, what will you do at Pendarrel?"
"Do, Gertrude!" exclaimed the younger sister, who might have been dreaming of the knight. "My despondency is gone. I am ready for the worst."
"And prepared...."
"Not to marry Mr. Melcomb, I assure you. You may lead a horse to the water, but who shall make him drink? All the vixen rises in my bosom, Gertrude. Mamma said something about my daring. I believe she has put me fairly upon my mettle, and will find I inherit it from her. So! Mildred!"
She flourished an imaginary whip. Her sister was perplexed, and a little troubled at her manner. She changed it suddenly.
"Oh, Gertrude!" she said, "do not think this levity comes from a light heart. I do know how hard a part I have to play. I do contemplate with sorrow this visit to Pendarrel,—so different from those in the old time, when we loved the country so much. With sorrow, but without fear."
"Ah, my sister!" said Mrs. Winston, "you are braver than I. See, you will be alone. Even Mr. Melcomb will not be there. You will be led on, and on, till you are completely entangled."