THE FAMILY COMPACT.
Who, nurst with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confined,
Was still a wild Jack-hare
COWPER.
'Mary,' said Mrs. Frost.
Mrs. Ponsonby was sitting by the open window of the library, inhaling
the pleasant scents of July. Raising her eyes, she saw her aunt gazing
at her with a look somewhat perplexed, but brim full of mischievous
frolic. However, the question was only--'Where is that boy?'
'He is gone down with Mary to his cottage-building.'
'Oh! if Mary is with him, I don't care,' said Aunt Catharine, sitting
down to her knitting; but her ball seemed restless, and while she
pursued it, she broke out into a little laugh, and exclaimed, 'I beg
your pardon, my dear, but I cannot help it. I never heard anything so
funny!'
'As this scheme,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, with a little hesitation.
'Then you have the other side of it in your letter,' cried Mrs. Frost,
giving way to her merriment. 'The Arabian Nights themselves, the two
viziers laying their heads together, and sending home orders to us to
make up the match!'
'My letter does not go so far,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, amused, but anxious.
'Yours is the lady's side. My orders are precise. Oliver has talked
it over with Mr. Ponsonby, and finds the connexion would be agreeable;
so he issues a decree that his nephew, Roland Dynevor--(poor Jem--he
would not know himself!)--should enter on no profession, but forthwith
pay his addresses to Miss Ponsonby, since he will shortly be in a
position befitting the heir of our family!'
'You leave Prince Roland in happy ignorance,' said Mrs. Ponsonby,
blushing a little.
'Certainly--or he would fly off like a sky-rocket at the first symptom
of the princess.'
'Then I think we need not alter our plans. All that Mary's father
tells me is, that he does not intend to return home as yet, though his
successor is appointed, since he is much occupied by this new
partnership with Oliver, and expects that the investment will be
successful. He quite approves of our living at the Terrace, especially
as he thinks I ought to be informed that Oliver has declared his
intentions with regard to his nephew, and so if anything should arise
between the young people, I am not to discourage it.'
'Mary is in request,' said Mrs. Frost, slyly, and as she met Mrs.
Ponsonby's eyes full of uneasy inquiry. 'You don't mean that you have
not observed at least his elder lordship's most decided courtship?
Don't be too innocent, my dear.'
'Pray don't say so, Aunt Kitty, or you will make me uncomfortable in
staying here. If the like ever crossed his mind, he must perceive that
the two are just what we were together ourselves.'
'That might make him wish it the more,' Aunt Catharine had almost said,
but she restrained it halfway, and said, 'Louis is hardly come to the
time of life for a grande passion.'
'True. He is wonderfully young, and Mary not only seems much older,
but is by no means the girl to attract a mere youth. I rather suspect
she will have no courtship but from the elders.'
'In spite of her opportunities. What would some mammas--Lord
Ormersfield's bugbear, for instance, Lady Conway--give for such a
chance! Three months of a lame young Lord, and such a lame young Lord
as my Louis!'
'I might have feared,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, 'if Mary were not so
perfectly simple. Aunt Melicent managed to abstract all romance, and I
never regretted it so little. She has looked after him merely because
it came in her way as a form of kindness, and is too much his governess
for anything of the other sort.'
'So you really do not wish for the other sort?' said Mrs. Frost, half
mortified, as if it were a slight to her boy.
'I don't know how her father might take it,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, eager
to disarm, her. 'With his grand expectations, and his view of the
state of this property, he might make difficulties. He is fond of
expressing his contempt for needy nobility, and I am afraid, after all
that has passed, that this would be the last case in which he would
make an exception.'
'Yet you say he is fond of Mary.'
'Very fond. If anything would triumph over his dislike, it would be
his affection for her, but I had rather my poor Mary had not to put it
to the proof. And, after all, I don't think it the safest way for a
marriage, that the man should be the most attractive, and the woman the
most--'
'Sensible! Say it, Mary--that is the charm in my nephew's eyes.'
'Your great-nephew is the point! No, no, Aunt Kitty; you are under a
delusion. The kindness to Mary is no more than 'auld lang-syne,' and
because he thinks her too impossible. He cannot afford for his son to
marry anything but a grand unquestionable heiress. Mary's fortune,
besides, depending on speculations, would be nothing to what Lady
Fitzjocelyn ought to have.'
'For shame! I think better of him. I believe he would be unworldly
when Louis's happiness was concerned.'
'To return to James,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, decidedly: 'I am glad that
his uncle should have declared his intentions.'
'Oh, my dear, we are quite used to that. I am only glad that Jem takes
no heed. We have had enough of that!--for my own part,' and the tears
arose, 'I never expect that poor Oliver will think he has done enough
in my lifetime. These things do so grow on a man! If I had but kept
him at home!'
'It might have been the same.'
'There would have been something to divide his attention. His brother
used to be a sort of idol; he seemed to love him the more for his
quiet, easy ways, and to delight in waiting on him. I do believe he
delays, because he cannot bear to come home without Henry!'
Mrs. Ponsonby preferred most topics to that of Mrs. Frost's sons, and
was relieved by the sight of the young people returning across the
lawn--Fitzjocelyn with his ash stick, but owing a good deal of support
to Mary's firm, well-knit arm. They showed well together: even
lameness could not disfigure the grace of his leisurely movements; and
the bright changefulness and delicacy of his face contrasted well with
the placid nobleness of her composed expression, while her complexion
was heightened and her eyes lighted by exercise, so that she was almost
handsome. She certainly had been looking uncommonly well lately. Was
this the way they were to walk together through life?
But Mrs. Ponsonby had known little of married life save the troubles,
and she was doubly anxious for her daughter's sake. She exceedingly
feared unformed characters, and natures that had no root in themselves.
Mary's husband must not lean on her for strength.
She was glad, as with new meaning, she watched their proceedings, to
see how easily, and as a matter of course, Louis let Mary bring his
footstool and his slipper, fetch his books, each at the proper time,
read Spanish with him, and make him look out the words in the
dictionary when he knew them by intuition, remind him of orders to be
written for his buildings, and manage him as her pupil. If she ruled,
it was with perfect calmness and simplicity, and the playfulness was
that of brother and sister, not even with the coquettish intimacy of
cousinhood.
The field was decidedly open to Roland Dynevor, alias James Frost.
Mrs. Ponsonby was loth to contemplate that contingency, though in all
obedience, she exposed her daughter to the infection. He was expected
on that afternoon, bringing his sister with him, for he had not
withstood the united voices that entreated him to become Fitzjocelyn's
tutor during the vacation, and the whole party had promised to remain
for the present as guests at Ormersfield.
Louis, in high spirits, offered to drive Mrs. Ponsonby to meet the
travellers at the station; and much did he inflict on her poor
shattered nerves by the way. He took no servant, that there might be
the more room, and perched aloft on the driving seat, he could only use
his indefatigable tongue by leaning back with his head turned round to
her. She kept a sharp lookout ahead; but all her warnings of coming
perils only caused him to give a moment's attention to the horses and
the reins, before he again turned backwards to resume his discourse.
In the town, his head was more in the right direction, for he was
nodding and returning greetings every moment; he seemed to have a
bowing acquaintance with all the world, and when he drew up at the
station, reached down several times to shake hands with figures whom
his father would barely have acknowledged; exchanging good-humoured
inquiries or congratulations with almost every third person.
Scarcely had the train dashed up before Mrs. Ponsonby was startled by a
shout of 'He's there himself! Louis! Louis!' and felt, as well as
saw, the springing ascent to the box of a tall apparition, in a scanty
lilac cotton dress, an outgrown black mantle, and a brown straw bonnet,
scarcely confining an overprofusion of fair hair. Louis let go the
reins to catch hold of both hands, and cry, 'Well, old Giraffe! what
have you done with Jem?'
'Seeing to the luggage! You won't let him turn me out! I must sit
here!'
'You must have manners,' said Louis; 'look round, and speak rationally
to Mrs. Ponsonby.'
'I never saw she was there!' and slightly colouring, the 'Giraffe'
erected her length, turned round a small insignificant face slightly
freckled, with hazel eyes, as light as if they had been grey; and
stretched down a hand to be shaken by her new relation, but she was
chiefly bent on retaining her elevation.
'There, Jem!' she cried exultingly, as he came forth, followed by the
trunks and portmanteaus.
'Madcap!' he said; 'but I suppose the first day of the holidays must be
privileged. Ha! Fitzjocelyn, you're the right man in the right place,
whatever Clara is.'
So they drove off, James sitting by Mrs. Ponsonby, and taking care to
inform her that, in spite of her preposterous height, Clara was only
sixteen, he began to ask anxious questions as to Fitzjocelyn's
recovery, while she looked up at the pair in front, and thought, from
the appearance of things, that even Louis's tongue was more than
rivalled, for the newcomer seemed to say a sentence in the time he took
in saying a word. Poor Mrs. Ponsonby! she would not have been happier
had she known in which pair of hands the reins were!
'And Louis! how are you?' cried Clara, as soon as this point had been
gained; 'are you able to walk?'
'After a fashion.'
'And does your ankle hurt you?'
'Only if I work it too hard. One would think that lounging had become
a virtue instead of a vice, to hear the way I am treated.'
'You look--' began Clara. 'But oh, Louis!' cried she, in a sort of
hesitating wonder, 'what! a moustache?'
'Don't say a word:' he lowered his voice. 'Riding is against orders,
but I cannot miss the Yeomanry, under the present aspect of affairs.'
'The invasion! A man in the train was talking of the war steamers, but
Jem laughed. Do you believe in it?'
'It is a time when a display of loyalty and national spirit may turn
the scale. I am resolved to let no trifle prevent me from doing my
part,' he said, colouring with enthusiasm.
'You are quite right,' cried Clara. 'You ought to take your vassals,
like a feudal chief! I am sure the defence of one's country ought to
outweigh everything.'
'Exactly so. Our volunteer forces are our strength and glory, and are
a happy meeting of all classes in the common cause. But say nothing,
Clara, or granny will take alarm, and get an edict from Walby against
me.'
'Dear granny! But I wish we were going home to the Terrace.'
'Thank you. How flattering!'
'You would be always in and out, and it would be so much more
comfortable. Is Lord Ormersfield at home?'
'No, he will not come till legislation can bear London no longer.'
'Oh!'--with a sound of great relief.
'You don't know how kind he has been,' said Louis, eagerly. 'You will
find it out when you are in the house with him.'
Clara laughed, but sighed. 'I think we should have had more fun at
home.'
'What! than with me for your host? Try what I can do. Besides, you
overlook Mary.'
'But she has been at school!'
'Well!'
'I didn't bargain for school-girls at home!'
'I should not have classed Mary in that category.'
'Don't ask me to endure any one who has been at school! Oh, Louis! if
you could only guess--if you would only speak to Jem not to send me
back to that place--'
'Aunt Kitty will not consent, I am sure, if you are really unhappy
there, my poor Clara.'
'No! no! I am ordered not to tell granny. It would only vex her, and
Jem says it must be. I don't want her to be vexed, and if I tell you,
I may be able to keep it in!'
Out poured the whole flood of troubles, unequal in magnitude, but most
trying to the high-spirited girl. Formal walks, silent meals, set
manners, perpetual French, were a severe trial, but far worse was the
companionship. Petty vanities, small disputes, fretful jealousies,
insincere tricks, and sentimental secrets, seemed to Clara a great deal
more contemptible than the ignorance, indolence, abrupt manners and
boyish tastes which brought her into constant disgrace--and there
seemed to be one perpetual chafing and contradiction, which made her
miserable. And a further confidence could not help following, though
with a warning that Jem must not hear it, for she did not mind, and he
spent every farthing on her that he could afford. She had been teased
about her dress, told that her friends were mean and shabby, and
rejected as a walking companion, because she had no parasol, and that
was vulgar.
'I am sure I wanted to walk with none of them,' said Clara, 'and when
our English governess advised me to get one, I told her I would give in
to no such nonsense, for only vulgar people cared about them. Such a
scrape I got into! Well, then Miss Salter, whose father is a knight,
and who thinks herself the great lady of the school, always bridled
whenever she saw me, and, at last, Lucy Raynor came whispering up, to
beg that I would contradict that my grandmamma kept a school, for Miss
Salter was so very particular.'
'I should like to have heard your contradiction.'
'I never would whisper, least of all to Lucy Raynor, so I stood up in
the midst, and said, as clear as I could, that my grandmother had
always earned an honest livelihood by teaching little boys, and that I
meant to do the same, for nothing would ever make me have anything to
do with girls.'
'That spoilt it,' said Louis--'the first half was dignified.'
'What was the second?'
'Human nature,' said Louis.
'I see,' said Clara. 'Well, they were famously scandalized, and that
was all very nice, for they let me alone. But you brought far worse on
me, Louis.'
'I!'
'Ay! 'Twas my own fault, though, but I couldn't help it. You must
know, they all are ready to bow down to the ninety-ninth part of a
Lord's little finger; and Miss Brown--that's the teacher--always reads
all the fashionable intelligence as if it were the Arabian Nights, and
imparts little bits to Miss Salter and her pets; and so it was that I
heard, whispered across the table, the dreadful accident to Viscount
Fitzjocelyn!'
'Did nobody write to you?'
'Yes--I had a letter from granny, and another from Jem by the next
morning's post, or I don't know what I should have done. Granny was
too busy to write at first; I didn't three parts believe it before, but
there was no keeping in at that first moment.'
'What did you do?'
'I gave one great scream, and flew at the newspaper. The worst was,
that I had to explain, and then--oh! it was enough to make one sick.
Why had I not said I was Lord Ormersfield's cousin? I turned into a
fine aristocratic-looking girl on the spot! Miss Salter came and
fondled, and wanted me to walk with her!'
'Of course; she had compassion on your distress--amiable feeling!'
'She only wanted to ask ridiculous questions, whether you were
handsome.'
'What did you reply?'
'I told them not a word, except that my brother was going to be your
tutor. When I saw Miss Salter setting off by this line, I made Jem
take second-class tickets, that she might be ashamed of me.'
'My dear Giraffe, bend down your neck, and don't take such a
commonplace, conventional view of your schoolfellows.'
'Conventional! ay, all agree because they know it by experience,' said
Clara--'I'm sure I do!'
'Then take the other side--see the best.'
'Jem says you go too far, and are unreasonable with your theory of
making the best of every one.'
'By no means. I always made the worst of Frampton, and now I know what
injustice I did him. I never saw greater kindness and unselfishness
than he has shown me.'
'I should like to know what best you would make of these girls!'
'You have to try that!'
'Can I get any possible good by staying?'
'A vast deal.'
'I'm sure Italian, and music, and drawing, are not a good compared with
truth, and honour, and kindness.'
'All those things only grow by staying wherever we may happen to be,
unless it is by our own fault.'
'Tell me what good you mean!'
'Learning not to hate, learning to mend your gloves. Don't jerk the
reins, Clara, or you'll get me into a scrape.'
Clara could extract no more, nor did she wish it, for having relieved
her mind by the overflow, she only wanted to forget her misfortunes.
Her cousin Louis was her chief companion, they had always felt
themselves on the same level of nonsense, and had unreservedly shared
each other's confidences and projects; and ten thousand bits of
intelligence were discussed with mutual ardour, while Clara's ecstasy
became uncontrollable as she felt herself coming nearer to her
grandmother. She finally descended with a bound almost as distressing
to her brother as her ascent had been, and leapt at once to the embrace
of Mrs. Frost, who stood there, petting, kissing her, and playfully
threatening all sorts of means to stop her growth. Clara reared up her
giraffe figure, boasting of having overtopped all the world present,
except Louis! She made but a cold, abrupt response to her cousin
Mary's greeting, and presently rushed upstairs in search of dear old
Jane, with an impetus that made Mrs. Frost sigh, and say, 'Poor child!
how happy she is;' and follow her, smiling, while James looked annoyed.
'Never mind, Jem,' said Louis, who had thrown himself at full length on
the sofa, 'she deserves compensation. Let it fizz.'
'And undo everything! What do you say to that, Mary?'
'Mary is to say nothing,' said Louis, 'I mean that poor child to have
her swing.'
'I shall leave you and James to settle that,' said Mary, quitting them.
'I am very anxious that Clara should form a friendship with Mary,' said
James, gravely.
'Friendships can't be crammed down people's throats,' said Louis, in a
weary indifferent tone.
'You who have been three months with Mary--!'
'Mary and I did not meet with labels round our necks that here were a
pair of friends. Pray do you mean to send that victim of yours back to
school?'
'Don't set her against it. I have been telling her of the necessity
all the way home.'
'Is it not to be taken into consideration that a bad--not to say a
base-style of girl seems to prevail there?'
'I can't help it, Fitzjocelyn,' cried Jem, ruffling up his hair, as he
always did when vexed. 'Girls fit to be her companions don't go to
school--or to no school within my means. This place has sound
superiors, and she _must_ be provided with a marketable stock of
accomplishments, so there's no choice. I can trust her not to forget
that she is a Dynevor.'
'Query as to the benefit of that recollection.'
'What do you mean?'
'That I never saw evils lessened by private self-exaltation.'
'Very philosophical! but as a matter of fact, what was it but the sense
of my birth that kept me out of all the mischief I was exposed to at
the Grammar School!'
'I always thought it had been something more respectable,' said Louis,
his voice growing more sleepy.
'Pshaw! Primary motives being understood, secondary stand common wear
the best.'
'As long as they don't eat into the primary.'
'The long and short of it is,' exclaimed James, impatiently, 'that we
must have no nonsense about Clara. It is pain enough to me to inflict
all this on her, but I would not do it, if I thought it were more than
mere discomfort. Her principles are fixed, she is above these
trumperies. But you have the sense to see that her whole welfare may
depend on whether she gets fitted to be a valuable accomplished
governess or a mere bonne, tossed about among nursery-maids. There's
where poverty galls! Don't go and set my grandmother on! If she grew
wretched and took Clara away, it would be mere condemning of her to
rudeness and struggling!'
'Very well,' said Louis, as James concluded the brief sentences,
uttered in the bitterness of his heart, 'one bargain I make. If I am
to hold my tongue about school, I will have my own way with her in the
holidays.'
'I tell you, Louis, that it is time to have done with childishness.
Clara is growing up--I _won't_ have you encourage her in all that wild
flightiness--I didn't want to have had her here at all! If she is ever
to be a reasonable, conformable woman, it is high time to begin. I
can't have you undoing the work of six months! when Mary might make
some hand of her, too--'
James stopped. Louis's eyes were shut, and he appeared to be
completely asleep. If silence were acquiescence, it was at least
gained; and so he went away, and on returning, intended to impress his
lessons of reserve on Clara and her grandmother, but was prevented by
finding Mrs. Ponsonby and her daughter already in the library,
consulting over some letters, while Clara sat at her grandmother's knee
in the full felicity of hearing all the Northwold news.
The tea was brought in, and there was an inquiry for Louis. He came
slowly forward from the sofa at the dark end of the room, but
disclaimed, of course, the accusation of fatigue.
'A very bad sign,' said James, 'that you have been there all this time
without our finding it out. Decidedly, you have taken me in. You don't
look half as well as you promised. You are not the same colour ten
minutes together, just now white, and now--how you redden!'
'Don't, Jem!' cried Louis, as each observation renewed the tide of
burning crimson in his cheek. 'It is like whistling to a turkey-cock.
If I had but the blue variety, it might be more comfortable, as well as
more interesting.'
Clara went into a choking paroxysm of laughter, which her brother tried
to moderate by a look, and Louis rendered more convulsive by quoting
'Marked you his cheek of heavenly blue,'
and looked with a mischievous amusement at James's ill-suppressed
displeasure at the merriment that knew no bounds, till even Mrs. Frost,
who had laughed at first as much at James's distress as at Louis's
travestie or Clara's fun, thought it time to check it by saying, 'You
are right, Jem, he is not half so strong as he thinks himself. You
must keep him in good order.'
'Take care, Aunt Kitty,' said Louis; 'you'll make me restive. A tutor
and governess both! I appeal! Shall we endure it, Clara?'
'Britons never shall be slaves!' was the eager response.
'Worthy of the daughter of the Pendragons,' said Louis; 'but it lost
half its effect from being stifled with laughing. You should command
yourself, Clara, when you utter a sentiment. I beg to repeat Miss
Frost Dynevor's novel and striking speech, and declare my adhesion,
'Britons never shall be slaves!' Liberty, fraternity, and equality!
Tyrants, beware!'
'You ungrateful boy!' said Mrs. Frost; 'that's the way you use your
good governess!'
'Only the way the nineteenth century treats all its good governesses,'
said Louis.
'When it gets past them,' said Mary, smiling. 'I hope you did not
think I was not ready to give you up to your tutor?'
Mary found the renunciation more complete than perhaps she had
expected. The return of his cousins had made Fitzjocelyn a different
creature. He did indeed read with James for two hours every morning,
but this was his whole concession to discipline; otherwise he was more
wayward and desultory than ever, and seemed bent on teazing James, and
amusing himself by making Clara extravagantly wild and idle. Tired of
his long confinement, he threw off all prudence with regard to health,
as well as all struggle with his volatile habits; and the more he was
scolded, the more he seemed to delight in making meekly ridiculous
answers and going his own way. Sometimes he and Clara would make an
appointment, at some unearthly hour, to see Mrs. Morris make cheese, or
to find the sun-dew blossom open, or to sketch some effect of morning
sun. Louis would afterwards be tired and unhinged the whole day, but
never convinced, only capable of promoting Clara's chatter; and ready
the next day to stand about with her in the sun at the cottages, to the
increase of her freckles, and the detriment of his ankle. Their
frolics would have been more comprehensible had she been more
attractive; but her boisterous spirits were not engaging to any one but
Louis, who seemed to enjoy them in proportion to her brother's
annoyance, and to let himself down into nearly equal folly.
He gave some slight explanation to Mary, one day when he had been
reminded of one of their former occupations--'Ah! I have no time for
that now. You see there's nobody else to protect that poor Giraffe
from being too rational.'
'Is that her great danger?' said Mary.
'Take my advice, Mary, let her alone. Follow your own judgment, and
not poor Jem's fidgets. He wants to be 'father, mother both, and
uncle, all in one,' and so he misses his natural vocation of elder
brother. He wants to make a woman of her before her time; and now he
has his way with her at school, he shall let her have a little
compensation at home.'
'Is this good for her? Is it the only way she can be happy?'
'It is her way, at least; and if you knew the penance she undergoes at
school, you would not grudge it to her. She is under his orders not to
disclose the secrets of her prison-house, lest they should disquiet
Aunt Catharine; and she will not turn to you, because--I beg your
pardon, Mary--she has imbibed a distrust of all school-girls; and
besides, Jem has gone and insisted on your being her friend more than
human nature can stand.'
'It is a great pity,' said Mary, smiling, but grieved; 'I should not
have been able to do her much good--but if I could only try!'
'I'll tell you,' said Louis, coming near, with a look between
confidence and embarrassment; 'is it in the power of woman to make her
dress look rather more like other people's without inflaming the blood
of the Dynevors--cautiously, you know? Even my father does not dare to
give her half-a-sovereign for pocket-money; but do ask your mother if
she could not be made such that those girls should not make her their
laughingstock.'
'You don't mean it!'
'Aye, I do; and she has not even told James, lest he should wish to
spend more upon her. She glories in it, but that is hardly wholesome.'
'Then she told you?'
'Oh, yes! We always were brothers! It is great fun to have her here!
I always wished it, and I'm glad it has come before they have made her
get out of the boy. He will be father to the woman some day; and that
will be soon enough, without teasing her.'
Mary wished to ask whether all this were for Clara's good, but she
could not very well put such a question to him; and, after all, it was
noticeable that, noisy and unguarded as Clara's chatter was, there
never was anything that in itself should not have been said: though her
manner with Louis was unceremonious, it was never flirting; and
refinement of mind was as evident in her rough-and-ready manner as in
his high-bred quietness. This seemed to account for Mrs. Frost's
non-interference, which at first amazed her niece; but Aunt Catharine's
element was chiefly with boys, and her love for Clara, though very
great, showed itself chiefly in still regarding her as a mere child,
petting her to atone for the privations of school, and while she might
assent to the propriety of James's restrictions, always laughing or
looking aside when they were eluded.
James argued and remonstrated. He said a great deal, always had the
advantage in vehemence, and appeared to reduce Louis to a condition of
quaint debonnaire indifference; and warfare seemed the normal state of
the cousins, the one fiery and sensitive, the other cool and impassive,
and yet as appropriate to each other as the pepper and the cucumber, to
borrow a bon mot from their neighbour, Sydney Calcott.
If Jem came to Mary brimful of annoyance with Louis's folly, a mild
word of assent was sufficient to make him turn round and do battle with
the imaginary enemy who was always depreciating Fitzjocelyn. To make
up for Clara's avoidance of Mary, he rendered her his prime counsellor,
and many an hour was spent in pacing up and down the garden in the
summer twilight; while she did her best to pacify him by suggesting
that thorough relaxation would give spirits and patience for Clara's
next half year, and that it might be wiser not to overstrain his own
undefined authority, while the lawful power, Aunt Catharine, did not
interfere. Surely she might safely be trusted to watch over her own
granddaughter; and while Clara was so perfectly simple, and Louis such
as he was, more evil than good might result from inculcating reserve.
At any rate, it was hard to meddle with the poor child's few weeks of
happiness, and to this James always agreed; and then he came the next
day to relieve himself by fighting the battle over again. So
constantly did this occur, that Aunt Kitty, in her love of mischief,
whispered to Mrs. Ponsonby that she only hoped the two viziers would
not quarrel about the three thousand sequins, three landed estates, and
three slaves.
Still, Louis's desertion had left unoccupied so many of the hours of
Mary's time that he had previously absorbed, that her mother watched
anxiously to see whether she would feel the blank. But she treated it
as a matter of course. She had attended to her cousin when he needed
her, and now that he had regained his former companion, Clara, she
resigned him without effort or mortification, as far as could be seen.
She was forced to fall back on other duties, furnishing the house,
working for every one, and reading some books that Louis had brought
before her. The impulse of self-improvement had not expired with his
attention, and without any shadow of pique she was always ready to play
the friend and elder sister whenever he needed her, and to be grateful
when he shared her interests or pursuits. So the world went till Lord
Ormersfield's return caused Clara's noise to subside so entirely, that
her brother was sufficiently at ease to be exceedingly vivacious and
entertaining, and Mrs. Ponsonby hoped for a great improvement in the
state of affairs.