The transfer had been effected; the shuttlecock had returned to that one
of the two battledores which had first propelled it.
“It seems as if you had never been away!” Lady Bletchley said, clasping
Bonnybell to a heart still draped in complimentary mourning for the
beneficent cousin who had turned her into a peeress.
“Yes, doesn’t it?” answered the new arrival, with a warmly responsive
embrace.
It was not true. Half a lifetime’s experience seemed to yawn between the
present moment and the one during which she had questioned Felicity as
to Edward’s habits, and suggested Camilla’s rejuvenating herself with
dye. But to assent to whatever proposition her host and hostess might
choose to advance, more particularly in the earlier hours and days of a
stay, was one of the fundamental rules of Miss Ransome’s code.
“It is very delightful to have you back!”--looking at the girl whose
hand she still held with eyes so kind and admiring that Bonnybell made
the comforting reflection, “I have evidently not gone off!” “I missed
you dreadfully! It was very good of me to let them keep you all this
while--two whole months, isn’t it?”
Miss Ransome did not think it necessary to point out the trifling twist
from strict veracity given to this sentence, but responded in meek
correction of the faultiness of her patroness’s memory.
“Three.”
“To be sure! Three, of course. How sweet of you to remember the exact
time that you have been away from me! And how did you leave them?”
“I did not see Mr. Tancred,” replied Bonnybell, with a very slight
lagging of the voice, which tallied with an inward pang of resentment at
Edward’s having shirked the farewell on which she had counted as the
bouquet of her fireworks, by an earlier departure for London than his
usual one. She added, “Mrs. Tancred was much as usual.”
As she spoke Miss Ransome’s mind repictured the parting with the
iron-grey woman who had last ejected her; recalled the valuable presents
ungracefully given, the handsome tip coupled with harsh advice as to the
methods of spending it, the cold formal farewell ended unexpectedly by
both giver and receiver in a sudden kiss and “God bless you!”
“_Much as usual!_” repeated Lady Bletchley, underlining Bonnybell’s
colourless description. “I am glad to hear you say so!”
“Why?”
“The last time she was here I thought her looking so exceptionally ill!
She is always a shocking colour; but that day she looked _livid_. Of
course, she pooh-poohed my anxiety about her; but, do you know, it has
occurred to me once or twice of late that there must be something rather
gravely amiss with her.”
Bonnybell looked startled. Mrs. Tancred’s complexion had never presented
itself to the girl’s eye or mind, except as a harmonious part of her
general ugliness. That its leaden pallor had any relation to ill health
had never struck her. Something gravely amiss with Camilla! Did that
mean that before long she was going to die? To do Miss Ransome justice,
her first sensation when this idea presented itself was one of regret.
Poor old Camilla! with her doughty championship against the Aylmers, and
her handsome presents, and her tip, and that shamed and hurried yet
motherly parting kiss! Poor dear old Camilla! It was only that second
thought, which, despite the praising adage, is often a shabby thing,
which presented the image of what would be the consequence of the
extinction of the harsh old kindliness that had sheltered and fought for
her! Edward with his handcuffs knocked off! Edward able conscientiously
to let himself go! Whither? There could be little doubt as to the
answer!
“I do not think I noticed any difference,” she replied slowly, seeing
that her interlocutor was awaiting a response.
“I am very much relieved to hear you say so,” rejoined Lady Bletchley,
as easily reassured as we all are when our hearts are not much engaged.
“Of course, you, who have been seeing her daily, are a far better judge
than I. No doubt it was the effect of some passing fatigue which
frightened me. I have been rather wretched about her, as, apart from the
real regard I have for her, I cannot imagine what would become of Edward
if anything were to happen to her!”
Miss Ransome bent her head in sympathetic acquiescence. “What a
ridiculous misrepresentation! and _how_ unnecessary!” she said to
herself. She did not think the least the worse of Lady Bletchley for
telling a lie, but felt a gentle pity for her for having produced such a
poor specimen.
“But come, do not let us talk of sad things to-day of all days!”
continued the matron, allowing her voice to resume a prosperous
cheerfulness which came very naturally to it, and giving a final squeeze
to Bonnybell’s fingers before dismissing them.
“No, indeed!”--following her companion’s lead with her usual sweet
pliability. “And I have not congratulated you yet!”--with a pretty
hesitating smile and a slight glance at the complimentary mourning.
“What about?”--with a rather transparent assumption of oblivion of her
new honours.
“What about?” repeated Bonnybell, with a wise though inwardly amused air
of being taken in by this simple affectation. “But I know how unworldly
you always are!”
Lady Bletchley accepted this tribute as no more than her due.
“I will own to you that Tom is unaffectedly pleased--very sorry for the
poor fellow’s untimely fate, of course, but otherwise, very happy about
it all. As for me, I frankly told him that I could see no great cause
for elation in having to change a very old name for a rather Brummagem
title.”
Miss Bonnybell listened with the restrained admiration for such lofty
disinterestedness which she felt was expected of her, and put in at the
end--
“You must remember how much more good you will be able to do. How often
you used to regret that your means were rather limited!”
“Yes, if one keeps one’s mind on that aspect of the affair--indeed, I do
not attempt to deny”--relapsing into nature and complacency--“that there
are things about it that I like.”
There was a short silence, Miss Ransome in fond fancy scattering old
Tom’s new millions with a liberal hand, and Felicity---- The trend of
the latter’s thought appeared presently in a sentence tinged with a
natural regret that had no pose in it.
“The only sad thing about it is that we have no one to come after us!”
“Have you tried Schwalbach?” asked Bonnybell, with heartfelt sympathy,
and not for the moment recollecting that she was making her first lapse
from _jeune fille_-ism; “and have you heard of the new doctor in Paris?
Lady ---- swears by him. She must be quite as old as you, and had been
married twenty years, without chick or child; but now----”
Lady Bletchley reddened. “It is not a subject I can discuss with you,”
she said, dryly; but, mollified presently by the snubbed deprecation of
the little innocent face opposite her, added, with an embarrassed laugh,
“I see that Camilla has not, as I had hoped, succeeded in curing you of
that deplorable habit of yours.”
Although feverishly eager to regain the ground lost by her slip, Miss
Ransome could not help a very small smile, evoked by some pungent
memory, yet it was with a mournful accent of remorse at the insuccess of
the recorded admonishments that she said--
“Mrs. Tancred often corrected me; and I did try to improve, but I
suppose it is because I feel so happy and at home here that I say just
what comes uppermost.”
A little kiss, falling light as thistle-down upon the well-cared-for
hand nearest her, and accepted in quite a different spirit from that
which had shaken off those attempted to be executed upon Camilla’s bony
knuckles, achieved the sinner’s forgiveness. It was in a comfortable
tone of intimacy and prospective enjoyment that Felicity began her
catechism as to Miss Ransome’s rural experiences, a catechism which the
latter had foreseen, and, as far as possible, provided for, or rather
against.
“Now tell me, did Camilla make any difficulties about letting you go?
Was she much upset when my letter came?”
The attitude of Mrs. Tancred’s mind towards her own departure had
differed so widely from the one with which she was thus credited that
even the ready Bonnybell had to hesitate a second or two before
adjusting her answer.
“I hope she missed me a little, but she was quite determined not to
stand in my light.”
“H’m! She thought it was to your advantage that you should come back to
me?”
“How could she think anything else?”
Felicity looked flattered, yet a faint shade of doubt clouded the
complacency of her good-humoured countenance. Former experiences of her
sister-in-law did not quite tally with the admiring estimate thus
implied.
“She thought, too, that the life at Stillington was too quiet for a
girl, and that a little London would be good for me,” resumed Bonnybell,
perceiving the infant incredulity, and meeting it with less art than she
would have done had more leisure been given her.
Lady Bletchley lifted her eyebrows. “Commend me to the inconsistency of
a woman who piques herself upon being nothing if not consistent! Camilla
has always given me to understand that I am imperilling my soul by
living in such a sink of iniquity.”
The incredulity of Felicity’s tone was so decidedly increased that
Bonnybell felt she was making _fausse route_.
“Perhaps I am mistaken, and that it was Mr. Tancred who said that London
would be good for me.”
Her thoughts went back to the sun-smitten trunk of the leafless tree,
and Edward leaning against it, looking miserable and trying to smooth
her fall by the unveracities with which she herself had now awkwardly
saddled his eminently veracious wife.
“_Edward?_ H’m!”
Something in the accent laid by Lady Bletchley on her brother’s name
alarmed Miss Ransome. “Oh, why did I put her on that tack? She is
wondering whether he was tarred with the same brush as old Tom. What
possessed me to mention his name?”
“_Edward!_” repeated Felicity a second time and thoughtfully. “So he had
an opinion about it too!”
“It was exactly the same as Mrs. Tancred’s.”
“He would have kept it to himself if it had not been,” replied Felicity,
with a slightly sarcastic laugh. “Well, tell me all about it. How did
you like Edward?”
“I thought him perfectly charming; he reminded me so much of _you_.”
The comparison instituted was meant by Miss Ransome as a compliment of
the highest order, but in most human breasts there lie depths of
self-esteem only accidentally hit upon by their acquaintances; and the
tone in which Edward’s sister repeated “Of _me_!” adding, with a
heightened colour, “Well, at all events, I always know my own mind,”
showed that once again Bonnybell had mistaken the finger-posts of her
road. She hastened to qualify her statement.
“Of course, your characters are not alike, but I noticed little turns of
expression that brought you back to me. I was so glad of anything which
did that.”
This adroit and touching exegesis merited and received a caress, and a
fresh start was happily made.
“Did you see much of him?”
“Hardly anything. He was in London all and every day.”
This negative scarcely pleased its utterer. It sounded to her own ears
too emphatic, but it passed current admirably.
“Yes, poor dear, I suppose he thinks he works quite hard.”
The slight tinge of friendly contempt in the tone and words would have
roused another nature to angry partisanship; but, as Miss Ransome wisely
and soothingly remarked to herself, paupers could never afford to be
angry or to defend their friends, and she therefore curved her lips into
an acquiescent smile.
“I suppose he was very nice to you when you _did_ see him?”
“Very nice, when he remembered I was there.”
The catechiser looked at her curiously. “I should not think it was easy
for any one to forget that you were there.”
“I mean that I did not make much difference to _him_, one way or the
other,” rejoined Bonnybell, still carefully labouring to erase some
undesirable impression. “I was much more in Mrs. Tancred’s way, poor
thing!”
“You were a good deal with her?”--with a slight accent of surprise.
“Oh yes, she thought it right to see a good deal of me. You see, she was
educating me. She thought me so grossly ignorant. Of course I am.”
“I am going to educate you too,” returned Felicity, in a tone of slight
pique, “in _my_ way, which, I dare say, is rather a different one from
Camilla’s. I assure you I have plenty of work cut out for you.”
“Oh, I _am_ glad,” replied Miss Ransome, fervently, and bringing her
hands together with a pretty childish gesture of elation, and inwardly
congratulating herself upon the trend of the conversation away from a
topic which she could not feel to be a safe one. But in this she
rejoiced too soon, for after this slight diversion Lady Bletchley
returned to the original theme.
“You got on perfectly with both?”
“Oh, perfectly.”
“You must be very adaptable. But I know that you are that.”
“It is very good of you to think me so. When shall I begin my work?”
“No rubs at all?”
“No-o, _none_.”
“Not even when you said indecent things?”
“If I said them it was because I did not know that they were
indecent”--with the prettiest air of hurt artlessness.
Felicity ruminated a minute or two, though, as the upshot showed, not
upon the _scabreux_ nature of her young friend’s conversation. It was
clear that her inquisitiveness as to her relations’ _ménage_ had got the
better of her sense of decorum.
“They are a strange couple, are not they?”
The confidential character of words and intonation betrayed poor Miss
Ransome into a new slip.
“I suppose,” she said, with a curiosity not at all inferior to that of
which she herself was the object, “that their marriage has never been
anything but a nominal one.”