“To be—to be kind to Clara. Don’t say cruel things to her. She has a high spirit, and she feels them, though she says nothing.”
“Doesn’t she?” said Barnes, grimly.
“Ah, Barnes, be gentle with her. Seldom as I saw you together, when I lived with you in the spring, I could see that you were harsh, though she affected to laugh when she spoke of your conduct to her. Be kind. I am sure it is the best, Barnes; better than all the wit in the world. Look at grandmamma, how witty she was and is; what a reputation she had, how people were afraid of her; and see her now—quite alone.”
“I’ll see her in the morning quite alone, my dear,” says Barnes, waving a little gloved hand. “Bye-bye!” and his brougham drove away. While Ethel Newcome had been under her brother’s roof, where I and friend Clive, and scores of others, had been smartly entertained, there had been quarrels and recriminations, misery and heart-burning, cruel words and shameful struggles, the wretched combatants in which appeared before the world with smiling faces, resuming their battle when the feast was concluded and the company gone.
On the next morning, when Barnes came to visit his grandmother, Miss Newcome was gone away to see her sister-in-law, Lady Kew said, with whom she was going to pass the morning; so Barnes and Lady Kew had an uninterrupted tête-à-tête, in which the former acquainted the old lady with the proposal which Colonel Newcome had made to him on the previous night.
Lady Kew wondered what the impudence of the world’s would come to. An artist propose for Ethel! One of her footmen might propose next, and she supposed Barnes would bring the message. “The father came and proposed for this young painter, and you didn’t order him out of the room!”
Barnes laughed. “The Colonel is one of my constituents. I can’t afford to order the Bundelcund Banking Company out of its own room.”
“You did not tell Ethel this pretty news, I suppose?”
“Of course I didn’t tell Ethel. Nor did I tell the Colonel that Ethel was in London. He fancies her in Scotland with your ladyship at this moment.”
“I wish the Colonel were at Calcutta, and his son with him. I wish he was in the Ganges, I wish he was under Juggernaut’s car,” cried the old lady. “How much money has the wretch really got? If he is of importance to the bank, of course you must keep well with him. Five thousand a year, and he says he will settle it all on his son? He must be crazy. There is nothing some of these people will not do, no sacrifice they will not make, to ally themselves with good families. Certainly you must remain on good terms with him and his bank. And we must say nothing of the business to Ethel, and trot out of town as quickly as we can. Let me see? We go to Drummington on Saturday. This is Tuesday. Barkins, you will keep the front drawing-room shutters shut, and remember we are not in town, unless Lady Glenlivat or Lord Farintosh should call.”