“Very likely. I put nothing beyond her!” Serena said lightly.
“I should never have thought Emily the kind of girl to take his fancy!”
“There is no telling what a man will fancy.”
“No, very true! But she is quite as silly as I am, and I thought he held silly females in the greatest contempt! Only think of that impatient, sarcastic way he speaks when one has said something he thinks stupid! He did seem to be amused by the droll things she said, not in the least meaning to be droll, but I thought he was quizzing her, and not very kindly!”
“So did I, but it appears that we were mistaken.”
“Yes, indeed! The Quenbury Assembly, too! That was why he chose to take his wards to it! But the way he spoke of Emily that very night, when you quarrelled with him about his having stood up only with her—how could he have done so, if he had felt the smallest tendre for her? Do you remember his telling us how he could get nothing out of her but Yes, and No, and so had drawn no more coverts, but had come to take his leave of us instead?”
“Very clearly. Also my own words on that occasion! I imagine her behaviour must have piqued him, and what began as an idle amusement became a serious pursuit. I daresay he can never before have tossed his handkerchief and not seen it picked up! I admire Emily very much, I did not think she had it in her to bring the odious Marquis so tamely to heel!”
“Oh, Serena, I am sure such a thought was never in her head! She did not like him! Indeed, I believe she was afraid of him! That is what makes this news so particularly dreadful!”
“If he loves her, she will have nothing to fear,” Serena said, a slight constriction in her throat.
“If—! I cannot credit it!”
“Whatever else you cannot credit, that at least is sure!” Serena said. “No other reason can possibly exist for his having asked her to marry him! She has nothing to recommend her, neither birth nor fortune, but a pretty face and the artlessness of a kitten!”
“Then he is infatuated, which is worse than all, for you may depend upon it he will soon recover from that, and grow bored with her, and make her miserable!”
“You take a gloomy view of her prospects!”
“Yes, for I know what a harsh temper he has, and how unfeeling he is, besides being proud and overbearing! And I know she has been forced into this by her hateful mother!”
Serena shrugged her shoulders. “Why put yourself in this passion, my dear? It is no concern of yours, after all!”
“Oh, no! But if you know what it means to a girl to be forced into marriage with a man more than twice her age you would not—” She stopped, aghast at her own words. The colour flooded her cheeks; she looked stricken, and blurted out: “I beg your pardon! I didn’t mean—I would not for the world—I don’t know how I came to say such a thing!”
“There is no need to beg my pardon. I always thought it atrocious, and sincerely pitied you.”
“No, no, don’t say so! Your papa—no one could have been kinder—more considerate! You mustn’t think that I meant to compare him for one moment with Rotherham!”
“I don’t. There, Fanny, don’t cry! It is all very sad, but there’s no use in becoming agitated over it. We have nothing to do with Emily’s troubles.”
Fanny dried her tears, but said: “I didn’t think you could be so unfeeling! It ought to be stopped!”
“Stopped! No, that it cannot be!” Serena said. “Put that out of your head, Fanny! It has been announced, and must go forward!”
She spoke so sternly that Fanny was quite startled. “But, Serena, you did not think so!” she could not help saying.
“No! I did not, and so the more reason this engagement should not be broken! It will not be: we may trust the Laleham woman for that!” She paused, and then said: “Well! I must not delay to send him my felicitations. It had better be done immediately, in fact.”
“Serena, if I ought to do the same, I am sorry, but nothing would prevail upon me to felicitate either of them on an event of which I most deeply disapprove!” Fanny said, with unwonted vehemence.
Serena had already seated herself at the writing-table, and spoke without turning her head. “Unnecessary! I will say on your behalf everything that is proper to the occasion.”
“I wish very much that you would not!” Fanny said.
No answer was vouchsafed to this decidedly pettish remark, but after a moment Serena said: “After all, it turns out very well for me! No moment than this could be better for the announcement I have to make! He will be much too absorbed in his own affairs to cavil at my engagement.”
“Yes, indeed!” Fanny said, brightening a little.
Silence fell, broken only by the scratch of Serena’s quill. Fanny, seated in the window, and leaning her chin in her hand, remained lost in melancholy thought until her attention was attracted by the sight of an old-fashioned landaulette drawing up immediately beneath the window. The next instant she uttered a sharp exclamation. “Serena! Mrs Floore! She must be coming to tell you the news! Good gracious, what a figure she is, in that hat! My love, some gentleman is handing her out, and I vow and declare to you the carriage is within an ace of tipping over under her weight! Quick! shall I tell Lybster to say we are gone out?”
“Certainly not! Why should you?” replied Serena, shaking the sand from her letter, and pulling open the little drawer in which Fanny kept her wafers.
“Oh, I don’t know, but I wish she had not come here! I shall not know what to say to her!”
“Nonsense! You will say all that is proper.”
“Perhaps she will not be able to mount the stairs!” said Fanny, with a nervous giggle.
But although the performance of this feat took time it proved to be not beyond Mrs Floore’s powers. With the aid of the baluster-rail and Mr Goring’s stalwart arm she arrived, panting but triumphant, on the first floor, and paused to take breath. Observing that Lybster was about to throw open the door into the drawing-room, she stopped him by the simple expedient of grasping his sleeve. Affronted, he gazed at her with much hauteur, and said in freezing accents: “Madam?”
“Looby!” enunciated Mrs Floore, between gasps. “You wait! Trying to push me in—like a landed salmon!”
“One moment, if you please!” said Mr Goring, quite unperturbed either by his old friend’s unconventional behaviour or by the butler’s evident disgust. He removed the fan from Mrs Floore’s clutch, and opened it, and began to ply it briskly.
“Thank you, Ned!” she said presently. “Lord, how the heat does draw one out!”
Concluding that she now felt ready to meet her hostess, Lybster opened the door, and announced in the voice of one refraining from comment: “Mrs Floore, Mr Goring, my lady!”
Fanny came forward, with her hand out. “How do you do? I am so glad you have come to visit us, ma’am: pray, will you not be seated? Lybster, some wine, if you please!”
He bowed, and withdrew; but as his gait was stately he was not gone from the room in time to escape hearing Mrs Floore say gratefully: “Bless your sweet face! Your butler was all for having me believe he didn’t know but what you’d stepped out, for which I’m sure I don’t blame him, but, “Lord,” I said, “you’ve no need to be scared! Her ladyship will see me fast enough, take my word for it!” Which he did, so here I am. And I brought Mr Goring along with me, just in case I should be overcome by the heat, which is a thing that happened to me once, right in the middle of the South Parade, and caused as much excitement as if a circus had come to town, Ned! Make your bow to Lady Spenborough!”
Mr Goring, who had been shaking hands with Serena, showed no signs of resenting this peremptory command, but turned to greet his hostess. She made him politely welcome, but had scarcely time to offer him her hand before Mrs Floore was again claiming her attention.