Kenton ventured on asking Mrs. Burford to introduce her to Miss Marshall, taking such presence for granted.
‘Oh, Lady Kenton, really now I did not think that foolish affair should be encouraged. It is such an unfortunate thing for him; and as Miss Lang and I agreed, it would be so much better for both of them if it were given up.’
‘Is there anything against her?’
‘Oh no, not at all; only that, poor thing, she is quite unfitted for the position, and between ourselves, in the condition of the property, it is really incumbent on his Lordship to marry a lady of fortune. At his age he cannot afford romance,’ she added with a laugh, being in fact rather inferior to her husband in tone, or perhaps in manners. Indeed, she was of all others the person who most shrivelled up the man whom she had always treated like a poor dependent, till her politeness became still more embarrassing. Among all the party, Sir Edward and Lady Kenton were those with whom he was most nearly at ease, for they had nothing to revoke in their manners towards him, and could, without any change, treat him as an equal whom they respected; nor did they try to force him forward into general conversation—as did his host—with the best intentions.
Lady Kenton, under cover of Miss Burford’s piano, asked him whether she might call on Miss Marshall, and saw him flush with gratitude and pleasure, as he answered, ‘It will be very kind in you.’
Lady Kenton knew enough of the ways of the school to understand when to make her visit, so as to have a previous conversation with Miss Lang, whom of course she already knew. That lady received her in one of the drawing-rooms, the folding doors into the other were shut.
‘I have told Miss Marshall,’ said Miss Lang, ‘that the room is always at her service to receive Lord Northmoor, though, in fact, he never comes till after business hours.’
‘He is behaving very well.’
‘Very honourably indeed; but poor Miss Marshall is in a very distressing position.’
‘Indeed! Is she not very happy in his constancy?’
‘She is in great doubt and difficulty,’ said Miss Lang, ‘and we really hardly know how to advise her. She seems sure of his affection, but she shrinks from entering on a position for which she is so unfit.’
‘Is she really unfit?’
Miss Lang hesitated. ‘She is a complete lady, and as good and conscientious a creature as ever existed; but you see, Lady Kenton, her whole life has been spent here, ever since she was sixteen, she has known nothing beyond the schoolroom, and how she is ever to fulfil the duties of a peeress, and the head of a large establishment, I really cannot see. It might be just misery to her, and to him, too.’
‘Has she good sense?’
‘Yes, very fair sense. We can trust to her judgment implicitly in dealing with the girls, and she teaches well, but she is not at all clever, and could never shine.’
‘Perhaps a person who wanted to shine might be embarrassing,’ said Lady Kenton, rather amused.
‘Well, it might be so. The poor man is certainly no star himself, but surely he needs some one who would draw him out, and push him forward, make a way in society, in fact.’
‘That might not be for his domestic happiness.’
‘Perhaps not, but your Ladyship has not seen what a poor little insignificant creature she is—though, indeed, we are both very fond of her, and should be very much relieved not to think we ought to strengthen her scruples. For, indeed,’ and tears actually came into the good lady’s eyes, ‘I am sure that though she would release him for his good, that it would break her heart. Shall I call her? Ah!’ as a voice began to become very audible on the other side of the doors, ‘she has a visitor.’
‘Not Lord Northmoor. It is a woman’s voice, and a loud one.’
Presently, indeed, there was a tone that made Lady Kenton say, ‘People do scent things very fast. It must be some one wanting to apply for patronage.’
‘I am a little afraid it is that sister-in-law of his,’ said Miss Lang, lowering her voice. ‘I saw her once at the choral festival—and—and I wasn’t delighted.’
‘Perhaps I had better come another day,’ said Lady Kenton. ‘We seem to be almost listening.’
Even as the lady was taking her leave, the words were plainly heard—
‘Artful, mean-spirited, time-serving viper as you are, bent on dragging him down to destruction!’
CHAPTER VII
MORTONS AND MANNERS
‘Shillyshally,’ quoth Mrs. Charles Morton over her brother-in-law’s letter. ‘Does he think a mother is to be put off like that?’
So she arrayed herself in panoply of glittering jet and nodding plumes, and set forth by train to Hurminster to assert her rights, and those of her children, armed with a black sunshade, and three pocket-handkerchiefs. She did not usually wear mourning, but this was an assertion of her nobility.
In his sitting-room, wearing his old office coat, pale, wearied, and worried, the Frank Morton, ‘who could be turned round the finger of any one who knew how,’ appeared at her summons.
She met him with an effusive kiss of congratulation. ‘Dearest Frank! No, I must not say Frank! I could hardly believe my eyes when I read the news.’
‘Nor I,’ said he.
‘Nor the dear children. Oh, if your dear brother were only here! We are longing to hear all about it,’ she said, as she settled herself in the arm-chair, a relic of his mother.
He repeated what he had told Mary about the family, the Park, and the London house.
‘I suppose there is a fine establishment of servants and carriages?’
‘The servants are to be paid off. As to the carriages and the rest of the personal property, they go to Miss Morton; but the executors are arranging about my paying for such furniture as I shall want.’
‘And jewels?’
‘There are some heirlooms, but I have not seen them. How are the children?’
‘Very well; very much delighted. Dear Herbert is the noblest boy. He was ready to begin on his navigation studies this next term, but of course there is no occasion for that now.’
‘It is a pity, with his taste for the sea, that he is too old to be a naval cadet.’
‘The army is a gentleman’s profession, if he must have one.’
‘I must consider what is best for him.’
‘Yes, my Lord,’ impressively. ‘I am hoping to know what you mean to do for your dear brother’s dear orphans,’ and her handkerchief went up to her eyes.
‘I hope at any rate to give Herbert the education of a gentleman, and to send his sisters to good schools. How are they getting on?’
‘Dear Ida, she is that clever and superior that a master in music and French is all she would want. Besides, you know, she is that delicate. Connie is the bookish one; she is so eager about the examination that she will go on at her school; though I would have taken her away from such a low place at once.’
‘It is a good school, and will have given her a good foundation. I must see what may be best for them.’
‘And, of course, you will put us in a situation becoming the family of your dear brother,’ she added, with another application of the handkerchief.
‘I mean to do what I can, you may be sure, but at present it is impossible to name any amount. I neither know what income is coming to me, nor what will be my expenses. I meant to come and see you as soon as there was anything explicit to tell you; but of course this first year there will be much less in hand than later.’
‘Well,’ she said, pouting, ‘I can put up with something