whole set—everything and everybody, except Fred himself. However, I must go, that is clear; so I won’t think anything more about it.” A resolution which of course he kept by thinking of very little else until the time came for his journey.
Rochford was a young barrister, and a rising man in his profession. It was curious how he carried the spirit of the advocate into his private friendships. In any matter in which he was personally concerned, he was the most good-natured fellow imaginable—too ready to sacrifice his own interests to those of others; but if acting for, or advising a friend, the change in him was wonderful. Cold, stern, unflinching, we might almost say unscrupulous, he at once became blind to every consideration except the interests of his friend.
As he never abused a man for the past, or gave him good advice for the future, but confined his attention to what was to be done at the present crisis, his counsel was much sought by his friends. He had already brought young Mourningthorpe out of more than one scrape triumphantly. That young gentleman was the eldest son of a baronet of the same name, by his first wife. The old gentleman had now become very infirm, and Fred’s stepmother ruled at Oldforest, with whom he was not on the best possible terms. She did not make the place very agreeable to his friends when they went there, and hence arose Rochford’s disinclination to go.
When he arrived at Oldforest, he found matters even worse than he expected. Fred had not arrived, nor had he informed Lady Mourningthorpe that Rochford was coming. Lady Mourningthorpe received him politely, though very coldly.
“She regretted that she had not been informed of the honour which was intended them, and she must apologise for the room in which she should be obliged to place him, as the house was very full.”
Accordingly Rochford found himself located in an attic, which he characterised as “a something dog-kennel,” an arrangement which did not improve his frame of mind.
Rochford was a man of a very impressionable disposition. When with his own friends, or people he liked, he was gay, graceful, almost brilliant, and considered the best fun imaginable. When, on the other hand, he happened to be with people he did not like, or did not care about, he was stately, cold, silent, and very absent. The whole effect of his countenance was changed; for though always intellectual-looking, he only became handsome when he smiled.
Lady Mourningthorpe requested him to take down to dinner a stout elderly lady, of serious views. If she intended to mortify him by this de-ice, she failed, for Rochford paid her more attention than he would have given to a younger companion. Indeed the hostess began to regret her own tactics, when she perceived that they involved his sitting next to Miss Lutterworth, the great heiress. She became quite reconciled, however, to the state of affairs, when she perceived that Rochford made no effort to engage that lady in conversation, but allowed her to be monopolised by Alfred, Lady Mourningthorpe’s son, who had taken her down to dinner.
But Miss Lutterworth was not so well satisfied with this state of things. She had begun to get very tired of Mr. Alfred, and, to confess the truth, perhaps that gentleman’s attentions were a little too pointed. So she turned a little towards Rochford—turned in a manner which has but one meaning: “You, too, might talk to me a little, if you liked.”
But, alas! the careless swain neglected the opportunity.
Then she asked for the salt. This manœuvre was also unattended by any satisfactory result. Determined not to be beaten, at last she made a remark herself. Rochford made such a reply as politeness rendered absolutely necessary, but made no effort to continue the conversation. Then a thought crossed her mind, which almost brought the tears into her eyes. “He does not know who I am, or else he would talk to me fast enough.” For Miss Lutterworth was not accustomed to be neglected.
Then she turned to Mr. Alfred, and rattled on with him more affably than usual.
She did Rochford injustice, however, as she found the next day, when, though cognisant of her name and position, he made no effort to be sociable. Then the idea occurred to her that he might be trying to pique her by a show of indifference. She looked at him for a moment, but he was evidently so unconscious of her presence, that she blushed at her own vanity. Then she could not help feeling a little angry—then a little scornful.
“How ridiculous it is of me to take such silly fancies into my head; after all, perhaps the poor man is stupid, and has not got anything to say. I wish I had some one else sitting next to me, that I could talk to, besides Alfred Mourningthorpe.”
It was the interval between dinner and dessert. Mr. Alfred’s attention was occupied for a minute by the lady on his left. Rochford was leaning back in his chair evidently lost in thought. Miss Lutterworth took advantage of the opportunity “to take a good look at him, and see whether he looked stupid or not.”
“It is impossible,” was her decision, as she noted the broad brow and the deep dark eyes; “but I am determined I will put it to the proof.”
Helen Lutterworth was a clever girl, so clever that she had seen through the motives of the many men who had proposed to her almost too clearly.
For some of them would have made very good husbands, one at least would have been glad to have married her without her wealth, though he might have been first attracted towards her by its fame. For she was good-looking and agreeable, but she had a morbid fancy that she should prefer some one who would love her for herself alone. On the other hand she had been accustomed to so much attention for so long a time that she did not feel quite comfortable without it. Fred Mourningthorpe said of her that she was never happy except when she had just refused somebody, or was just going to perform the operation.