After the bride and bridegroom were gone, occurred the first slip in
my behaviour. The rest of the company had returned to the house, and
I suppose I must have stood in the road--gazing in the direction the
carriage had taken, the sound of the distant bells floating faintly
towards me in the summer air--so long as to be unconscious of the lapse
of time, when gently and lightly a hand was laid upon mine, and it was
drawn under Robert Wentworth's arm.
'You are wanted up there, Mary,' he said cheerfully. 'Mrs Tipper does
not, I think, find herself quite equal to Mrs Dallas and Mrs Trafford;
to say nothing of two discontented bride's-maids, and a father who
came here under protest, and was only allowed to perform half the duty
he came to perform. You took that out of his hands, you know; the
giving away was virtually yours.' Going on to talk amusingly of the
incongruous materials which went to make up the wedding-party, and so
giving me time to recover my self-command. It was very soon put to the
test. There was, to begin with, some pretty banter from Mrs Chichester
to parry, when we reached the green terrace, where the guests were
sitting, to enjoy the air and lovely view, and from which I suddenly
remembered they could see the part of the road where I had been
standing.
'We began to fear you must be ill, Miss Haddon, seeing you stand so
long motionless in the road. It was quite a relief to see you move at
last when Mr Wentworth joined you--it really was!'
Probably Robert Wentworth considered that this kind of thing was what
I required, for he left me to it, and devoted himself to the not very
easy task of trying to reconcile the two pretty bride's-maids; gravely
listening to their assurances that the whole affair had been shockingly
mismanaged from first to last! I soon had enough to do to reply to
the patter of questions with which I was assailed from Marian and Mrs
Chichester.
Where in the world had I been hiding myself all these months? Had I
really come into a large fortune, and turned Mr Dallas off, as people
said; or was it the other thing? As I did not know what 'the other
thing' was, I could not answer for that; but acknowledged to having
been fortunate; smiling to myself as I wondered what they would think
of my idea of good fortune. Of course they would know what my real
position was in time; but for the present I was mischievous enough to
let them imagine any improbable thing they pleased. But there was one
thing which they must not be allowed to have any doubt about, and that
was my regard for Philip and Lilian, and hearty concurrence in the
marriage.
'I am _so_ glad--so very glad; because we can now speak very decidedly
upon the point. People are so terribly unkind and censorious; are they
not, Miss Haddon?'
'Some are, Mrs Chichester; yet I think, on the whole, censorious
people do a great deal less mischief than they are supposed to do.
My experience is happily small in such matters; but I believe that
censorious people are generally well known to be so, and therefore they
are not capable of doing much harm.'
'Then it was _not_ true, Miss Haddon; I am so very pleased to be able
to say so!'
'What was not true, Mrs Chichester?'
'Oh, I would rather not repeat, really.'
'Well, I only know Caroline says she's heard it said over and over
again that you ran away in despair, because you found that Mr Dallas
and Lilian were untrue to you,' said Marian, less scrupulous about
repeating than the other.
'That is really too ridiculous!' I ejaculated.--'But you will be able
to tell your friend or friends that you did not see a love-lorn damsel
to-day, Mrs Chichester;' gazing at her with steady calm eyes.
'You certainly don't look a bit love-lorn,' candidly said Marian.
'O no,' chimed in Mrs Chichester. 'If you will pardon the jest, I might
say you looked a great deal more as though you had _found_ a lover,
than lost one!' with a meaning glance in Robert Wentworth's direction.
'Will you excuse my asking if you had that dress direct from Paris,
Miss Haddon?' inquired Marian.
'Paris? No; it came from Madame Michaux,' I replied, happily
recollecting that Jane had mentioned that name.
'Oh, that is the same thing; isn't it? She charges enormously; but one
is quite sure of having just the right thing from her. I suppose you
have all your dresses from her now?'
'No; not all,' I said, smiling at the remembrance of my every-day
attire.
'They say brown is to be the new colour: the Duchess of Meck--Meck----
(What's her name, Caroline? those German names are _so_ absurd)--is
wearing nothing else but brown at Homburg.'
'I have been wearing brown some time,' I replied, almost laughing
outright.
'Some people always contrive to be in advance of the fashions,' she
said a little disconcertedly.--'Are they going away already, Caroline;
just inquire if the carriage is there, will you?--I see you have drab
liveries, Miss Haddon; ours is changed to claret; the Marchioness
of'---- Breaking off to make a reply to a few words from the little
bride's-maids, who with their father were taking themselves off from
the uncongenial atmosphere. 'O yes; went off very nicely indeed; did
it not? I wanted them to have the breakfast at Fairview, or at anyrate
to have two or three of the men-servants to wait. But the party is
small certainly, and everything has been very well contrived. No one is
inclined to be very critical at such times. I hope you will be able to
come down to Fairview before you return to Cornwall; any time which may
suit you best. You need not write; we are always prepared for visitors.'
Both sisters hurriedly explained that their stay in town would be very
short, and that there was not the _slightest_ chance of their having a
spare day.
Then there was one other little trial of my nerves--the few words which
had to be spoken to Mr and Mrs Dallas; but pride came to my assistance,
and I got through it pretty well, bearing their curious looks and
gracious speeches with at anyrate apparent stoicism. Under other
circumstances, I might have been somewhat amused by Mr Dallas's remark,
that for his part he wished I had not thrown Philip over; accompanied
as it was by a comprehensive glance at 'my carriage' waiting in the
road below.
As soon as they left, I felt at liberty to whisper a loving good-bye
to dear old Mrs Tipper, with a promise to see her and clear up all
mysteries on the morrow, and take my departure. In a matter-of-course
way, Robert Wentworth walked with me down the path, talking in the old
pleasant easy fashion until he had put me into the carriage. Then just
as I was bending forward to say the one word 'Home,' he gave the order
'Greybrook Hall.'
'Wait, John.'