Fane was angry with himself next morning to perceive how anxiously
he looked for Lady Lee’s entrance to the breakfast-room. He looked
in vain, however; she breakfasted in her own room; and when the
meal was finished, he set off, without having seen her, to keep his
appointment with Miss Fillett.
Kitty was lingering about a milestone when Fane came up, and,
appearing in great distress lest any one should see her talking to
him, she got over a stile when she saw him coming, and walked along a
bypath.
Kitty’s conscience had, as she said, smitten her since the loss of
Julius for the share which she had taken in Bagot’s schemes, and she
now, as soon as Fane reached her, began, with much circumlocutory
penitence, to hint at what she called her lady’s parshality for
Fane--told what she knew of the Colonel’s design on Sloperton, and
how she had helped to forward it--mentioned the circumstances which
gave Bagot his power over Lady Lee--and, lastly, described the final
exit which Sloperton had made in apparent discomfiture from the
Heronry. She naturally took some pains to excuse her own complicity,
but she might have spared them; Fane attended to, and cared for,
nothing but the leading facts, which showed him how he had been
imposed on; and when she stopt, he actually caught Kitty round the
neck and kissed her.
“Good Hevins, Captain!” said Miss Fillett, who, probably from
surprise, had submitted quietly to the salute, “why, I never! ain’t
you ashamed? Do behave, sir!”
“’Twas a kiss of pure gratitude,” said Fane, “and might have been
given by a hermit to a saint, Kitty. I shall always look on you as a
benefactor.”
“And--and--you’ll speak to my lady for me, sir?” said Kitty.
“To be sure I will,” said Fane, “only you mustn’t intrigue any more
with the Colonel,” he added, laughing.
He was hastening off, when he suddenly remembered that he had
intended to ask Kitty if she had seen anything of the dragoon Onslow
in Frewenham, and hurried back to put the question.
In reply, Miss Fillett dived down into her pocket, and extracting
therefrom a yellow printed paper, she unfolded it, smoothed out the
creases against her knee, and gave it to Fane.
It was a playbill, and announced, under the special patronage of the
mayor and corporation of Frewenham, Sheridan’s comedy of the Rivals
for that night.
“Well, Kitty, what has this to do with the matter?” asked Fane. Kitty
pointed to the list of _dramatis personæ_.
“‘_Sir Anthony Absolute_--Mr Cavendish,’” Fane read. “‘_Captain
Absolute_--Mr Onslow.’ What, he’s gone on the stage, then!” Fane
paused to consider. He had plenty to occupy him that morning; it
must have been very urgent business indeed that would keep him that
morning away from Larches; he could see his cousin as well at night,
as now--yes; he would go to the play, see him act, and discover
himself afterwards.
“I knew him the minute I set eyes on him,” said Kitty, “for all he
have shaved off his mustache. They say he acts beautiful--and I must
own to a sinful wish to see him. But plays,” added Kitty piously, “is
vanity.”
“Come to-night, Kitty,” said Fane, dropping his purse into the pocket
of her apron; “perhaps we may have occasion for a little more talk
together, since you seem to know so much of what’s been going on at
the Heronry, and I can’t spare a moment to hear it now. Come by all
means, Kitty, and I’ll promise you absolution,” and he once more
quitted her, going back at his swiftest pace to Larches; while Miss
Fillett, after a short struggle with herself, determined to see
Onslow act that night, let the Rev. Mr Fallalove and Co. say what
they might about it.
Fane entered the drawing-room at Larches, just as Lady Lee was going
out by another door. She turned a pale tearful face towards him, and
was going to give him a distant salutation, when the slight movement
was arrested, and the expression changed to one of surprise, as he
hurried up and seized her hand.
“I have a long explanation to give,” he said, “and then I think you
will forgive me. But first let me say what has been on my mind for
this long time,” which he did in three words.
Lady Lee did not carry out her original intention of quitting the
room; in fact, she forgot it altogether. She allowed him to lead
her to a seat, and listened with deep attention. Fane had a turn
for arrangement, and therefore (after the compendious preamble
or overture of three words above-mentioned) he began his tale at
the beginning. He told Lady Lee, with a degree of eloquence that
altogether astonished himself, how he had first admired, secondly
loved her; how her seemingly capricious treatment of him had caused
him to alternate between hope and despair--and of his interview with
Josiah; and to all this her ladyship listened with the sweetest
patience, her eyes being sometimes downcast, sometimes fixed on Fane.
But when he told her of the consent which Sloperton had procured and
exhibited to him, patience gave way to indignation; her eyes, neither
downcast nor fixed on Fane, sparkled with anger, which was presently
quenched in tears. This stage passed, he told of his dreary existence
since, and of his efforts to forget her--of the cause of his coming
to Larches, involving the episode of his cousin Langley and Orelia;
and wound up his epic by swearing he was now the happiest rascal in
existence, and kissing her ladyship’s hand.
She, too, had a little tale to tell--of her unhappiness and
anxiety--her futile attempts to account for his sudden departure
and continued absence; and it is really enough to make one ashamed
of one’s species, and to cause one to believe in Rochefoucault,
Thackeray, and other cynic philosophers, to know that Fane listened
to this account of her woes with positive pleasure, and was raised
to a state bordering on rapture at hearing that the night before had
been passed by her in sleeplessness and tears.
They got no farther than this before lunch; but Orelia, seeing at a
glance how things were going, left them alone together after that
meal--and the conclusion they arrived at before dinner was this,
that after an interval granted to Hester’s sorrow, they should be
married--with Bagot’s consent, if that were obtainable by purchase,
or otherwise--if not, they would be married without it, and let him
do his worst.