of the Colonel and of Lady Temple herself; all, however,
by intuition, for not a word had been hinted to her
of what had passed during that game at croquet.
She certainly was a most winning creature; the Colonel
was charmed with her conversation in its shades between
archness and good sense, and there was no one who
did not look forward with dread to the end of her visit,
when after a short stay with one of her married cousins,
she must begin her residence with the blind uncle
to whose establishment she, in her humility, declared
she should be such a nuisance. It was the stranger
that she should think so, as she had evidently served
her apprenticeship to parish work at Bishopsworthy;
she knew exactly how to talk to poor people, and was
not only at home in clerical details herself, but
infused them into Lady Temple; so that, to the extreme
satisfaction of Mr. Touchett, the latter organized
a treat for the school-children, offered prizes for
needlework, and once or twice even came to listen
to the singing practice when anything memorable was
going forward. She was much pleased at being
helped to do what she felt to be right and kind, though
hitherto she had hardly known how to set about it,
and had been puzzled and perplexed by Rachel’s
disapproval, and semi-contempt of “scratching
the surface” by the commonplace Sunday-school
system.
CHAPTER XII
A CHANGE AT THE PARSONAGE.
“What could presumptuous hope inspire.”—Rokeby.
There had been the usual foretaste of winter, rather
sharp for Avonmouth, and though a trifle to what it
was in less sheltered places, quite enough to make
the heliotropes sorrowful, strip the fig-trees, and
shut Colonel Keith up in the library. Then came
the rain, and the result was that the lawn of Myrtlewood
became too sloppy for the most ardent devotees of
croquet; indeed, as Bessie said, the great charm of
the sport was that one could not play it above eight
months in the year.
The sun came back again, and re-asserted the claim
of Avonmouth to be a sort of English Mentone; but
drying the lawn was past its power, and Conrade and
Francis were obliged to console themselves by the
glory of taking Bessie Keith for a long ride.
They could not persuade their mother to go with them,
perhaps because she had from her nursery-window sympathized
with Cyril’s admiration of the great white horse
that was being led round to the door of Gowanbrae.
She said she must stay at home, and make the morning
calls that the charms of croquet had led her to neglect,
and in about half an hour from that time she was announced
in Miss Williams’ little parlour, and entered
with a hurried, panting, almost pursued look, a frightened
glance in her eyes, and a flush on her cheek, such
as to startle both Ermine and the Colonel.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, as if still too much
perturbed to know quite what she was saying, “I—I
did not mean to interrupt you.”
