They were now entering the great lodge-gates, which were thrown wide; and the marks of a considerable number of wheels showed that, early as they seemed, they were far from the earliest. A sober-suited man, like one of the villagers, stood guard to keep the little curious village children outside the grounds, and out of the way of the carriages. A little on, and you saw that it was a gala day at Fair Manor, for the fountain in the middle of the front lawn was playing splendidly. The rich fragrance of the orange-flowers, from the large row of trees along the house-front, floated deliciously through the still, warm atmosphere.
As they descended from the carriage at the broad steps of the front door, what was their surprise to see, standing to receive them, Tom Boddily, arrayed in a plain, dark, out-of-livery suit, who bowed with a quiet, arch smile, but with a savoir faire, which showed that he was at home in such an office. Tom informed them that the company were all in the garden, where the tea would be served, and said the ladies were recommended not to take off their bonnets. He led the way through the fine wide and lofty hall running through the house, and to the foot of the steps at the other door, where, with another very au fait bow, he pointed to a large canopy on poles, on the lawn, where a considerable company of guests were standing about.
“Now, there’s an instance of the quick eye for business which even the lady Quakers have,” said Mr. Woodburn, as he led on his comely wife. “Mrs. Heritage saw in a moment, at our haymaking, the jewel of a serving-man in Tom Boddily.”
The next moment Mr. and Mrs. Woodburn, and the young ladies, were received with the warmest welcome by Mr. and Mrs. Heritage, and Miss Heritage, the latter of whom kissed Letty and Ann affectionately. They saw George already there, and Thorsby, looking all radiance with good spirits. They were introduced to the different persons unknown to them, consisting of a “mixed medley,” as some people are fond of calling it, of the Quaker world and the outer world. Amid the ordinary attire of those, in Friends’ phrase, “not in the Society,” gleamed the subdued hues, French grey and dove-colour, the dresses of a number of young Quaker girls, in their neat little transparent and delicately-drawn book-muslin caps. More matronly lady Friends showed their dark-brown or russet colour gowns, white muslin handkerchiefs over their shoulders, and caps of thicker fabric and plainer style.
Thorsby, who had already found himself at Letty’s side, whispered to her, “Deuced pretty are not some of these young Quakeresses? What health, what innocence in their looks—and yet, I can detect a certain arch wide-awakeness under all their apparent simplicity. And what an air some of them have, even in that quaint dress—why, I can see that in that gay unworldly costume, they cultivate—Fashion! Upon my word! yes, it is a fact. See the difference betwixt the dress of the elder ladies and theirs! As for Miss Heritage, she is really bewitching. Why, in her simple dark dress and little jaunty cap there is an indescribable elegance. Look at those clear, sunny, azure eyes, under those dark eye-lashes, and amid that raven hair. I don’t wonder that King George, in his younger days, ran away with a young Quakeress.”
“Don’t you think,” said Letty, looking at him with a funny smile, “that you will be running off with one some day?”
“Never!” said Thorsby, looking earnestly into Letty’s eyes.
But there is a call to tea, and the company are taking their places, and we don’t yet know who there are. I see, however, Sir Emanuel Clavering, Mr. Thomas Clavering, the rector of Cotmanhaye, and Mrs. Clavering; Dr. Frank Leroy; a number of ladies and gentlemen from Castleborough, whom my readers would not know if I formally introduced them. There was that William Fairfax, the eminent grocer, by whom Mr. Woodburn seated himself. There was a tall, large, humorous-looking individual, a Mr. George Barthe, a Friend and dentist, celebrated throughout the neighbouring counties amongst the aristocracy for his skill and his droll sayings, Quaker as he was. Not far off sat a middle-sized, thin, elderly man, of a venerable but peculiar look, a Friend, named Mr. Ephraim Wire, reckoned a very great eccentric. Mr. Heritage, a tall, handsome man, very gentlemanly in his manners, and with a dark-brown suit of strictly Friends’ clothes, yet somehow very little differing from those of other gentlemen, was making himself agreeable to all present. Mrs. Heritage looked at once Quakerly and queenly, and was as cordially kindly smiling, and courteously hospitable, as if she never had breathed a word of omen in any sermon, or in any other way. She knew how to distribute her attentions to every one, and to make every one feel at ease and happy. She saw all seated under that ample canvas canopy, at that ample and luxuriously-spread tea-table, where a number of urns, at equal distances, were made the centres of attraction, by being officiated at by very sweet young girls in Friend-costume. Tom Boddily was actively waiting, and conveying cups of odorous tea or coffee with a dexterous celerity which showed old practice. With him were Sylvanus Crook, in his Quaker drab, and another Quaker serving-man, the very counterpart of Sylvanus, only nearly twice his height and size. He wore a drab suit of the very same cut as Sylvanus’s, grey stockings, and shoes with large square buckles. His hat was three-cocked, and the broad brim suspended by silk-cords, exactly as Sylvanus’s hat. He had a thin, somewhat meagre, but knowing-looking countenance, and greyish hair. His hat now was laid aside.
“Look at that Bunyan’s Christian sort of man waiting so solemnly,” said some one to his neighbour. “That is the coachman of George Barthe, yonder, the dentist; odd master, odd man.”
Sir Emanuel Clavering and Mr. Heritage seemed to be spreading a great deal of life and interest around them by the conversation they were carrying on. Mrs. Heritage, Mrs. Woodburn, and Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Clavering appeared equally at home in some pleasant conversation. Dr. Leroy had again contrived to be seated betwixt Miss Millicent Heritage and a young lady—ay, who is she? Thorsby, betwixt Letty and a gentleman unknown to me, but opposite to Ann Woodburn and this young lady, was just asking the same question. Well, she is not a Friend; and she is a stranger; and a very interesting one. She is tall, handsome both in figure and face. Appears five-and-twenty, and has an expression, so clear, clever, well-bred, and yet with a sentiment in her eyes, both of love, of mirth, and of something deeper, that is very fascinating. It appears so to George Woodburn, who sits also not far from opposite to her, and has scarcely taken his eyes off her since he first caught sight of her.