“Is she fond of that fellow?” asked Pen.
“There is no accounting for likes and dislikes,” Bows answered.
“Yes, she is fond of him; and having taken the thing into her head, she would not rest until she married him. They had their banns published at St. Clement’s, and nobody heard it or knew any just cause or impediment. And one day she slips out of the porter’s lodge and has the business done, and goes off to Gravesend with Lothario; and leaves a note for me to go and explain all things to her Ma. Bless you! the old woman knew it as well as I did, though she pretended ignorance. And so she goes, and I’m alone again. I miss her, sir, tripping along that court, and coming for her singing lesson; and I’ve no heart to look into the porter’s lodge now, which looks very empty without her, the little flirting thing. And I go and sit and dangle about her lodgings, like an old fool. She makes ’em very trim and nice, though; gets up all Huxter’s shirts and clothes: cooks his little dinner, and sings at her business like a little lark. What’s the use of being angry? I lent ’em three pound to go on with: for they haven’t got a shilling till the reconciliation, and Pa comes down.”
When Bows had taken his leave, Pen carried his letter from Blanche, and the news which he had just received, to his usual adviser, Laura. It was wonderful upon how many points Mr. Arthur, who generally followed his own opinion, now wanted another person’s counsel. He could hardly so much as choose a waistcoat without referring to Miss Bell: if he wanted to buy a horse he must have Miss Bell’s opinion; all which marks of deference tended greatly to the amusement of the shrewd old lady with whom Miss Bell lived, and whose plans regarding her protegee we have indicated.
Arthur produced Blanche’s letter then to Laura, and asked her to interpret it. Laura was very much agitated and puzzled by the contents of the note.
“It seems to me,” she said, “as if Blanche is acting very artfully.”
“And wishes so to place matters that she may take me or leave me? Is it not so?”
“It is, I am afraid, a kind of duplicity which does not augur well for your future happiness; and is a bad reply to your own candour and honesty, Arthur. Do you know, I think, I think—I scarcely like to say what I think,” said Laura with a deep blush; but of course the blushing young lady yielded to her cousin’s persuasion, and expressed what her thoughts were. “It looks to me, Arthur, as if there might be—there might be somebody else,” said, Laura, with a repetition of the blush.
“And if there is,” broke in Arthur, “and if I am free once again, will the best and dearest of all women——”
“You are not free, dear brother,” Laura said calmly. “You belong to another; of whom I own it grieves me to think ill. But I can’t do otherwise. It is very odd that in this letter she does not urge you to tell her the reason why you have broken arrangements which would have been so advantageous to you; and avoids speaking on the subject. She somehow seems to write as if she knows her father’s secret.”