A GREAT VISITOR.
Mayfair came in, radiant, blooming, splendid, with a rustle of silks, a
flutter of feathers, an air of fragrance, like a fairy creature not to
be molested by the ruder touches of fortune or the world. Bellevue stood
up to receive her in the person of Mrs Atheling, attired in a black silk
gown which had seen service, and hastily setting down a cup of tea from
her hand. The girls stood between the two, an intermediate world,
anxious and yet afraid to interpret between them; for Marian’s beautiful
hair had fallen down upon her white neck, and Agnes’s collar had been
pulled awry, and her pretty muslin dress sadly crushed and broken by the
violent hands of Bell and Beau. The very floor on which Mrs Edgerley’s
pretty foot pressed the much-worn carpet, was strewed with little frocks
for those unruly little people. The sofa was occupied by three bonnets,
and Mamma’s new dress hung over the back of the easy-chair. You may
laugh at this account of it, but Mamma, and Marian, and Agnes were a
great deal more disposed to cry at the reality. To think that, of all
days in the world, this great lady should have chosen to come to-day!
“Now, pray don’t let me disturb anything. Oh, I am so delighted to find
you quite at home! It is quite kind of you to let me come in,” cried Mrs
Edgerley--“and indeed you need not introduce me. When one has read _Hope
Hazlewood_, one knows your mamma. Oh, that charming, delightful book!
Now, confess you are quite proud of her. I am sure you must be.”
“She is a very good girl,” said Mrs Atheling doubtfully, flattered, but
not entirely pleased--“and we are very deeply obliged to Mrs Edgerley
for the kindness she has shown to our girls.”
“Oh, I have been quite delighted,” said Mayfair; “but pray don’t speak
in the third person. How charmingly fragrant your tea is!--may I have
some? How delightful it must be to be able to keep rational hours. What
lovely children! What beautiful darlings! Are they really yours?”
“My youngest babies,” said Bellevue, somewhat stiffly, yet a little
moved by the question. “We have just come in, and were fatigued. Agnes,
my dear!”
But Agnes was already gone, seizing the opportunity to amend her
collar, while Marian put away the bonnets, and cleared the parcels from
the feet of Mrs Edgerley. With this pretty figure half-bending before
her, and the other graceful cup-bearer offering her the homely
refreshment she had asked for, Mrs Edgerley, though quite aware of it,
did not think half so much as Mrs Atheling did about their “rank in
life.” The great lady was not at all nervous on this subject, but was
most pleasantly and meritoriously conscious, as she took her cup of tea
from the hand of Agnes, that by so doing she set them all “at their
ease.”
“And pray, do tell me now,” said Mrs Edgerley, “how you manage in this
quarter, so far from everything? It is quite delightful, half as good as
a desolate island--such a pretty, quiet place! You must come to the
Willows--I have quite made up my mind and settled it: indeed, you must
come--so many people are dying to know you. And I must have your mamma
know,” said the pretty flutterer, turning round to Mrs Atheling with
that air of irresistible caprice and fascinating despotism which was the
most amazing thing in the world to the family mother, “that no one ever
resists me: I am always obeyed, I assure you. Oh, you _must_ come; I
consider it quite a settled thing. Town gets so tiresome just at this
time--don’t you think so? I always long for the Willows--for it is
really the sweetest place, and in the country one cares so much more for
one’s home.”
“You are very kind,” said Mrs Atheling, not knowing what other answer to
make, and innocently supposing that her visitor had paused for a reply.
“Oh, I assure you, nothing of the kind--perfectly selfish, on the
contrary,” said Mrs Edgerley, with a sweet smile. “I shall be so charmed
with the society of my young friends. I quite forgot to ask if you were
musical. We have the greatest little genius in the world at the Willows.
Such a voice!--it is a shame to hide such a gift in a drawing-room. She
is--a sort of connection--of papa’s family. I say it is very good of him
to acknowledge her even so far, for people seldom like to remember their
follies; but of course the poor child has no position, and I
have even been blamed for having her in my house. She is quite a
genius--wonderful: she ought to be a singer--it is quite her duty--but
such a shy foolish young creature, and not to be persuaded. What
charming tea! I am quite refreshed, I assure you. Oh, pray, do not
disturb anything. I am so pleased you have let me come when you were
_quite_ at home. Now, Tuesday, remember! We shall have a delightful
little party. I know you will quite enjoy it. Good-by, little darlings.
On Tuesday, my love; you must on no account forget the day.”
“But I am afraid they will only be a trouble--and they are not used to
society,” said Mrs Atheling, rising hastily before her visitor should
have quite flown away; “they have never been away from home. Excuse
me--I am afraid----”
“Oh, I assure you, nobody ever resists me,” cried Mrs Edgerley,
interrupting this speech; “I never hear such a naughty word as No. It is
not possible--you cannot conceive how it would affect me; I should break
my heart! It is quite decided--oh, positively it is--Tuesday--I shall so
look forward to it! And a charming little party we shall be--not too
many, and _so_ congenial! I shall quite long for the day.”
Saying which, Mrs Edgerley took her departure, keeping up her stream of
talk while they all attended her to the door, and suffering no
interruption. Mrs Atheling was by no means accustomed to so dashing and
sudden an assault. She began slowly to bring up her reasons for
declining the invitation as the carriage rolled away, carrying with it
her tacit consent. She was quite at a loss to believe that this visit
was real, as she returned into the encumbered parlour--such haste,
patronage, and absoluteness were entirely out of Mrs Atheling’s way.
“I have no doubt she is very kind,” said the good mother, puzzled and
much doubting; “but I am not at all sure that I approve of her--indeed,
I think I would much rather you did not go.”
“But she will expect us, mamma,” said Agnes.
That was unquestionable. Mrs Atheling sat very silent all the remainder
of the day, pondering much upon this rapid and sudden visitation, and
blaming herself greatly for her want of readiness. And then the “poor
child” who had no position, and whose duty it was to be a singer, was
she a proper person to breathe the same air as Agnes and Marian?
Bellevue was straiter in its ideas than Mayfair. The mother reflected
with great self-reproach and painful doubts; for the girls were so
pleased with the prospect, and it was so hard to deny them the expected
pleasure. Mrs Atheling at last resigned herself with a sigh. “If you
must go, I expect you to take great care whom you associate with,” said
Mrs Atheling, very pointedly; and she sent off their new purchases
up-stairs, and gave her whole attention, with a certain energy and
impatience, to the clearing of the room. This had not been by any means
a satisfactory day.