“I thought you were going to Lord Kew, at Kehl,” remarked her granddaughter.
“I did go, and returned with wretches who would not bring me more than five miles an hour! I dismissed that brutal grinning courier; and I have given warning to that fiend of a maid.”
“And Frank is pretty well, grandmamma?”
“Well! He looks as pink as a girl in her first season! I found him, and his brother George, and their mamma. I think Maria was hearing them their catechism,” cries the old lady.
“N. and M. together! Very pretty,” says Ethel, gravely. “George has always been a good boy, and it is quite time for my Lord Kew to begin.”
The elder lady looked at her descendant, but Miss Ethel’s glance was impenetrable. “I suppose you can fancy, my dear, why I came back?” said Lady Kew.
“Because you quarrelled with Lady Walham, grandmamma. I think I have heard that there used to be differences between you.” Miss Newcome was armed for defence and attack; in which cases we have said Lady Kew did not care to assault her. “My grandson told me that he had written to you,” the Countess said.
“Yes: and had you waited but half an hour yesterday, you might have spared me the humiliation of that journey.”
“You—the humiliation—Ethel!”
“Yes, me,” Ethel flashed out. “Do you suppose it is none to have me bandied about from bidder to bidder, and offered for sale to a gentleman who will not buy me? Why have you and all my family been so eager to get rid of me? Why should you suppose or desire that Lord Kew should like me? Hasn’t he the Opera; and such friends as Madame la Duchesse d’Ivry, to whom your ladyship introduced him in early life? He told me so: and she was good enough to inform me of the rest. What attractions have I in comparison with such women? And to this man from whom I am parted by good fortune; to this man who writes to remind me that we are separated—your ladyship must absolutely go and entreat him to give me another trial! It is too much, grandmamma. Do please to let me stay where I am; and worry me with no more schemes for my establishment in life. Be contented with the happiness which you have secured for Clara Pulleyn and Barnes; and leave me to take care of my poor father. Here I know I am doing right. Here, at least, there is no such sorrow, and doubt, and shame, for me, as my friends have tried to make me endure. There is my father’s bell. He likes me to be with him at breakfast and to read his paper to him.”