and the cousins were both so dressed—Isabella, in dark becoming blue, and Mary in a rich red brown. They were both much more on a par in good looks than Mary was inclined to believe, but though she accepted her own low opinion of herself, she did not display any ill-humour. Yet who could fail to be depressed? Had not her golden dream past away as the rosy hues of a deceptive sunrise? and was not her day “dark and rainy,” though her fair face looked out so sweet and calm?
Mrs. Pembroke prepared unwillingly to accompany them, and had not Mary asked her, nothing would have induced her to go to see her sacrificed, as she inwardly termed it.
Mr. Sandford came to fetch them, as Isabella said he had promised to do, and taking her and her sables safe under his umbrella, he would have also taken Mary, but she had already secured her father’s arm, and was talking cheerfully to him of some of the little incidents of the night before, for Mr. Pembroke was sensitive, and often liked to know whether, in the opinion of his wife and daughter, his friends had been as kind and attentive as usual.
In this manner they went along the snowy road, amidst trees nodding with heavy drifts of snow, and ever and again the light laughter of Mr. Sandford and his companion came back to the more sober party behind. Presently they reached the pretty new house, surrounded by trees, which in the coming spring would so adorn it, and entered the little hall which formed so nice an entrance. A steady, middle-aged woman, well known to the Pembrokes, and by them recommended to Mr. Sandford, came forward to receive them, and took them to the dining-room, where a substantial luncheon lay waiting for them. Mr. Pembroke wished the meal at the antipodes, but every feeling of delicacy, as well as interest, prevented his taking offence at any line of conduct not positively aggressive on the part of his junior but richer partner.
“Dear aunt,” said Isabella, saucily, and with well-assured ease, “let me see how the seat of honour suits me. May I, Mr. Sandford?”
“Miss Vaughan’s word is law,” replied the host, who, nevertheless, Mary thought, looked pale and thoughtful; and Isabella, with her handsome sables thrown slightly back, took the head of the table, and proceeded to do the honours with mock solemnity.
“Surely they are engaged, and we must make the best of it,” thought Mrs. Pembroke; and she felt as if the breast of the partridge, which Isabella so coquettishly carved for her, would choke her.
Mary, only, was calm, easy, and lady-like. How proud her father felt of her self-command at a time when he was obliged to steady himself by taking an extra glass of wine.
“What do you think, aunt, of me as a hostess—shall I do?” said Isabella.
“Time enough, my dear, to give an opinion, when we see you perform the part in earnest,” replied Mrs. Pembroke.
Was she mistaken, or did Mr. Sandford and Isabella really exchange glances? Certainly, Mr. Sandford rose, and proposed looking over the house; and they started on the tour of the rooms, giving what admiration they could to the snug library, the pretty drawing-room, and the master’s study.
Mrs. Pembroke had duly interested herself in a newly-invented kitchen-range, a small house-mangle, and many bachelor contrivances for comfort and economy, and even penetrated to the stable, petted Mr. Sandford’s well-known horse, and admired the carriage made for the two little ponies, which looked a great deal too much like a lady’s equipage to be fitted for a bachelor’s establishment; and when they had all done this, and returned again to the cheerful fire, they began to think their duty and courtesy had well been ended, and they might think of returning home.
“You approve of my house?” asked Mr. Sandford of Mrs. Pembroke.
“All very comfortable and appropriate,” said Mrs. Pembroke; “very thoughtfully and nicely furnished, and I wish you as much happiness as you deserve.”
“Thank you,” he said, turning to Mary, “and do you wish me happy?”
A slight flush—just a little bright blush—and Mary calmly said:
“Indeed I do. I hope you will be very happy, and live here many years—and do a great deal of good, too,” she added, in a lower tone, unconsciously lowered for his ear alone—no, there was no anger to the last.
“I must tax your patience once more,” he said, also in a lower voice, “to show you one thing more. Do you mind coming with me?”
But a week ago she would have gone with him to the end of the world. Because he had been unkind—nay, only because he loved Isabella—should she refuse so small a courtesy? and surely he needed some advice, for truly and without mistake he was pale and almost agitated now. Perhaps he thought Isabella over forward and bold. She could assure him she had a good heart at bottom, though careless of speech and self-willed in manner.
She rose from the seat in which she had been resting and trying not to look listless, and followed him. Mrs. Pembroke would have gone with them, but Mr. Sandford said, “What I have to show is only intended for Miss Pembroke,” and her mother let her go.
He led her across a short passage, and paused before a closed door.
“This is Blue Beard’s chamber,” he said, then turned the lock and entered a pretty room—small, indeed, but perfect of its kind—a lady’s sitting-room, with work-table, writing apparatus, and even a furnished work-box open on the table. He led her in and closed the door.
She betrayed no surprise as she looked quietly round, then turned to him and raised those sweet brown eyes, so true to the heart within, kind, forgiving, and gentle.
“You wanted me,” she said, with dignity. She had no wish for tête-à-têtes with other girls’ lovers, and showed that she had no intention to lengthen out the interview.
