‘He is conscious, Jenny,’ murmured Eugene
for himself. ’He knows his wife.’
EFFECT IS GIVEN TO THE DOLLS’ DRESSMAKER’S DISCOVERY
Mrs John Rokesmith sat at needlework in her neat little
room, beside a basket of neat little articles of clothing,
which presented so much of the appearance of being
in the dolls’ dressmaker’s way of business,
that one might have supposed she was going to set
up in opposition to Miss Wren. Whether the Complete
British Family Housewife had imparted sage counsel
anent them, did not appear, but probably not, as that
cloudy oracle was nowhere visible. For certain,
however, Mrs John Rokesmith stitched at them with
so dexterous a hand, that she must have taken lessons
of somebody. Love is in all things a most wonderful
teacher, and perhaps love (from a pictorial point
of view, with nothing on but a thimble), had been
teaching this branch of needlework to Mrs John Rokesmith.
It was near John’s time for coming home, but
as Mrs John was desirous to finish a special triumph
of her skill before dinner, she did not go out to
meet him. Placidly, though rather consequentially
smiling, she sat stitching away with a regular sound,
like a sort of dimpled little charming Dresden-china
clock by the very best maker.
A knock at the door, and a ring at the bell.
Not John; or Bella would have flown out to meet him.
Then who, if not John? Bella was asking herself
the question, when that fluttering little fool of a
servant fluttered in, saying, ‘Mr Lightwood!’
Oh good gracious!
Bella had but time to throw a handkerchief over the
basket, when Mr Lightwood made his bow. There
was something amiss with Mr Lightwood, for he was
strangely grave and looked ill.
With a brief reference to the happy time when it had
been his privilege to know Mrs Rokesmith as Miss Wilfer,
Mr Lightwood explained what was amiss with him and
why he came. He came bearing Lizzie Hexam’s
earnest hope that Mrs John Rokesmith would see her
married.
Bella was so fluttered by the request, and by the
short narrative he had feelingly given her, that there
never was a more timely smelling-bottle than John’s
knock. ‘My husband,’ said Bella; ‘I’ll
bring him in.’
But, that turned out to be more easily said than done;
for, the instant she mentioned Mr Lightwood’s
name, John stopped, with his hand upon the lock of
the room door.
‘Come up stairs, my darling.’
Bella was amazed by the flush in his face, and by
his sudden turning away. ‘What can it mean?’
she thought, as she accompanied him up stairs.
‘Now, my life,’ said John, taking her
on his knee, ’tell me all about it.’
All very well to say, ‘Tell me all about it;’
but John was very much confused. His attention
evidently trailed off, now and then, even while Bella
told him all about it. Yet she knew that he took
a great interest in Lizzie and her fortunes.
What could it mean?
