‘Mamma, mamma!’ said Lady Harriet, ‘Mr. Preston did not wish it spoken about.’ And at the same moment Mrs. Gibson exclaimed, ‘Cynthia—Mr. Preston!’ in such a tone of surprise, that if Lady Cumnor had been in the habit of observing the revelations made by other people’s tones and voices, she would have found out that Mrs. Gibson was ignorant of the affair to which she was alluding.
‘As for Mr. Preston’s wishes, I do not suppose I am bound to regard them when I feel it my duty to reprove error,’ said Lady Cumnor loftily to Lady Harriet. ‘And, Clare, do you mean to say that you are not aware that your daughter has been engaged to Mr. Preston for some time—years, I believe,—and has at last chosen to break it off,—and has used the Gibson girl—I forget her name—as a cat’s-paw, and made both her and herself the town’s talk—the butt for all the gossip of Hollingford? I remember when I was young there was a girl called Jilting Jessy. You’ll have to watch over your young lady, or she’ll will get some such name. I speak to you like a friend, Clare, when I tell you it’s my opinion that girl of yours will get herself into some more mischief yet before she’s safely married. Not that I care one straw for Mr. Preston’s feelings. I don’t even know if he’s got feelings or not; but I know what is becoming in a young woman, and jilting is not. And now you may both go away, and send Dawson to me, for I’m tired, and want to have a little sleep.’
‘Indeed, Lady Cumnor—will you believe me?—I do not think Cynthia was ever engaged to Mr. Preston. There was an old flirtation. I was afraid—’
‘Ring the bell for Dawson,’ said Lady Cumnor, wearily; her eyes closed. Lady Harriet had too much experience of her mother’s moods not to lead Mrs. Gibson away almost by main force, she protesting all the while that she did not think there was any truth in the statement, though it was dear Lady Cumnor that said it.
Once in her own room, Lady Harriet said, ‘Now, Clare, I’ll tell you all about it; and I think you’ll have to believe it, for it was Mr. Preston himself who told me. I heard of a great commotion in Hollingford about Mr. Preston; and I met him riding out, and asked him what it was all about; he didn’t want to speak about it, evidently. No man does, I suppose, when he’s been jilted; and he made both papa and me promise not to tell; but papa did—and that’s what mamma has for a foundation; you see, a really good one.’
‘But Cynthia is engaged to another man—she really is. And another—a very good match indeed—has just been offering to her in London. Mr. Preston is always at the root of mischief.’
‘Nay! I do think in this case it must be that pretty Miss Cynthia of yours who has drawn on one man to be engaged to her,—not to say two,—and another to make her an offer. I can’t endure Mr. Preston, but I think it’s rather hard to accuse him of having called up the rivals, who are, I suppose, the occasion of his being jilted.’
‘I don’t know; I always feel as if he owed me a grudge, and men have so many ways of being spiteful. You must acknowledge that if he had not met you I should not have had dear Lady Cumnor so angry with me.’
‘She only wanted to warn you about Cynthia. Mamma has always been very particular about her own daughters. She has been very severe on the least approach to flirting, and Mary will be like her!’
‘But Cynthia will flirt, and I can’t help it. She is not noisy, or giggling ; she is always a lady—that everybody must own. But she has a way of attracting men she must have inherited from me, I think.’ And here she smiled faintly, and would not have rejected a confirmatory compliment, but none came. ‘However, I will speak to her; I will get to the bottom of the whole affair. Pray tell Lady Cumnor that it has so fluttered me the way she spoke, about my dress and all. And it only cost five guineas after all—reduced from eight!’
‘Well, never mind now. You are looking very much flushed; quite feverish! I left you too long in mamma’s hot room. But do you know she is so much pleased to have you here?’ And so Lady Cumnor really was, in spite of the continual lectures which she gave ‘Clare,’ and which poor Mrs. Gibson turned under as helplessly as the typical worm. Still it was something to have a countess to scold her; and that pleasure would endure when the worry was past. And then Lady Harriet petted her more than usual to make up for what she had to go through in the convalescent’s room; and Lady Cuxhaven talked sense to her, with dashes of science and deep thought intermixed, which was very flattering, although generally unintelligible; and Lord Cumnor, good-natured, good-tempered, kind, and liberal, was full of gratitude to her for her kindness in coming to see Lady Cumnor, and his gratitude took the tangible shape of a haunch of venison, to say nothing of lesser game. When she looked back upon her visit, as she drove home in the solitary grandeur of the Towers’ carriage, there had been but one great enduring rub—Lady Cumnor’s crossness—and she chose to consider Cynthia as the cause of that, instead of seeing the truth, which had been so often set before her by the members of her ladyship’s family, that it took its origin in her state of health. Mrs. Gibson did not exactly mean to visit this one discomfort upon Cynthia, nor did she quite mean to upbraid her daughter for conduct as yet unexplained, and which might have some justification; but, finding her quietly sitting in the drawing-room, she sat down despondingly in her own little easy chair, and in reply to Cynthia’s quick pleasant greeting of—
‘Well, mamma, how are you? We didn’t expect you so early! Let me take off your bonnet and shawl!’ she replied dolefully,—
‘It has not been such a happy visit that I should wish to prolong it.’ Her eyes were fixed on the carpet, and her face was as irresponsive to the welcome offered as she could make it.
‘What has been the matter?’ asked Cynthia, in all good faith.
‘You! Cynthia-you! I little thought when you were born how I should have to bear to hear you spoken about.’
Cynthia threw back her head, and angry light came into her eyes.
‘What business have they with me? How came they to talk about me in any way?’
‘Everybody is talking about you: it is no wonder they are. Lord Cumnor is sure to hear about everything always. You should take more care about what you do, Cynthia, if you don’t like being talked about.’
‘It rather depends upon what people say,’ said Cynthia, affecting a lightness which she did not feel; for she had a prevision of what was coming.
‘Well! I don’t like it, at any rate. It is not pleasant to me to hear first of my daughter’s misdoings from Lady Cumnor, and then to be lectured about her, and her flirting, and her jilting, as if I had had anything to do with it. I can assure you it has quite spoilt my visit. No! don’t touch my shawl. When I go to my room I can take it myself.’
Cynthia was brought to bay, and sat down; remaining with her mother, who kept sighing ostentatiously from time to time.
‘Would you mind telling me what they said? If there are accusations abroad against me, it is as well I should know what they are. Here’s Molly’ (as the girl entered the room, fresh from the morning’s walk). ‘Molly, mamma has come back from the Towers, and my lord and my lady have been doing me the honour to talk over my crimes and misdemeanours and I am asking mamma what they have said. I don’t set up for more virtue than other people, but I can’t make out what an earl and a countess have to do with poor little me.’
‘It was not for your sake!’ said Mrs. Gibson. ‘It was for mine. They felt for me, for it is not pleasant to have one’s child’s name in everybody’s mouth.’