But Mrs. Barrington asked them if they were sure that Dr. Leroy was such a mere cipher as they imagined? She understood from Mrs. Heritage, who was a woman capable of judging, that he was not only a very amiable, but very able and accomplished man.”
The daughters had seen a miniature painted by a country artist, in Millicent’s possession, and certainly a more smooth-faced, simple, and meaningless portrait never was beheld. It was the picture which they judged of, not the man, whom they had never seen. Mrs. Barrington zealously resumed the matter with her son, but he replied, that if Millicent liked him better than another, he was not going to say to her, Stick to a man that you now find does not fill by his image the extended horizon of your heart and mind. He thought she ought to be left to judge for herself, in such a matter, most of all.
“But, my dear Edmund,” said his mother; “canst thou say that thou hast left her to judge for herself? Hast thou not done thy best to persuade her, and to change her feelings in thy favour?”
Edmund smiled. “Ah! dear mother! do we live in such primitive times that we do not venture to pluck a flower because another person likes it too? Are these the days of such disinterested chivalry? Are these days of such self-denying ordinances? I think I could look round in our meeting, and find some very high precedents for such exercise of free will.”
Mrs. Barrington was silent, for the truth came very near home, and certain tender reminiscences rose up from long past days, and made her reasonings rather faint.
“But what shall I say to thy father? what—oh what! to our friends at Fair Manor?”
“Leave all that to me,” said her son; “nature is always in quiet course of development, and brings things round which are not very easy to the sharpest wits.”
The hour of Millicent’s return home had come. She had arrived in May, it was now the glowing middle of July. In those two months she had lived ages. New worlds of life and thought had been opened to her: but those had not made her happier. The time she had spent in London, amid such distinguished and affectionate friends, was an enchanted time, but there lay a heavy cloud on her heart as she turned her mind homewards. There were revelations to make there, and things to be done which made her very soul shrink, as it were, into a nut-shell. Mr. Barrington, who was glad of a trip to Castleborough, and a visit to his old friend and business connection, Mr. Heritage, accompanied her in the mail, and during the few days that he stayed all was outwardly bright. Millicent was enthusiastic in her expressions of the kindness of her friends in town, and the pleasure they had procured her, and Mr. Barrington was equally eloquent in the praises of Millicent, and in his hope of her meeting them again. Then he went; and then the heart of Millicent sank at what was before her. She must come to an explanation with Dr. Leroy, and the whole truth must burst upon her parents. Dr. Leroy had, of course, ridden over at the first news of Millicent’s return, and she had met him with all the kindliness that she could assume. But what assumptions can pass muster with a genuine lover. There had been a great falling off both in the frequency, the volume, and the fervour of Millicent’s correspondence with Dr. Leroy. He had his friends in town, and from them he had heard of the great regard in which Millicent was held by the Barringtons, of their constant endeavours to amuse her, of the admiration in which she was held by the gay society into which she had been introduced, and of the assiduous attendance and attentions of Edmund Barrington. So long as Mr. Barrington remained, Millicent managed to stave off the explanation which must inevitably and promptly come, for Dr. Leroy bore in his pale face and silent manner, the plainest signs of the uneasiness within.
The moment that Mr. Barrington left, Millicent mounted her favourite dark bay mare, May Dew, and with Tom Boddily as groom, rode off to Woodburn Grange. Much love, and many congratulations on her charming visit to London, and welcomes back, met her there; but as soon as she could she withdrew with Ann into her chamber, and laid open the astounding change in her views and feelings. Ann Woodburn sat dumb with astonishment and concern. Millicent flung her arms round her neck, and with floods of tears begged her counsel and help in the dilemma. Counsel! help! What counsel, what help could she give if the heart of her friend had gone from her old love to a new.
Ann at length said, with a most sorrowful expression, “Poor Dr. Leroy! poor, poor fellow! what will he do? how will he bear it?” And again she sat as if paralyzed.