Part 23 (1/2)
”Nay, Orige! Shall I tell the child to her face that her father and her mother cannot agree touching her disposal?”
”She will see it if she come hither,” was the answer.
”But cannot we persuade thee, Orige?”
”Certes, nay!” replied she, with the obstinacy of feeble minds. ”Truly, I blame not Rachel, for she alway opposeth her to marriage, howso it come. She stood out against Meg her trothing. But for you, Sir Thomas,--I am verily astonied that you would deny Blanche such good fortune.”
”I would deny the maid nought that were for her good, Orige,” said the father, sadly.
”'Good,' in sweet sooth!--as though it should be ill for her to wear a coronet on her head, and carry her pocket brimful of ducats! Where be your eyes, Sir Thomas?”
”Thine be dazed, methinks, with the ducats and the coronet, Sister,” put in Rachel.
”Well, have your way,” said Lady Enville, spreading out her hands, as if she were letting Blanche's good fortune drop from them: ”have your way!
You will have it, I count, as whatso I may say. I pray G.o.d the poor child be not heart-broken. Howbeit, _I_ had better loved her than to do thus.”
Sir Thomas was silent, not because he did not feel the taunt, but because he did feel it too bitterly to trust himself with speech. But Rachel rose from her chair, deeply stung, and spoke very plain words indeed.
”Orige Enville,” she said, ”thou art a born fool!”
”Gramercy, Rachel!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed her sister-in-law, as much moved out of her graceful ease of manner as it lay in her torpid nature to be.
”You can deal with the maid betwixt you two,” pursued the spinster. ”I will not bear a hand in the child's undoing.”
And she marched out of the room, and slammed the door behind her.
”Good lack!” was Lady Enville's comment.
Without resuming the subject, Sir Thomas walked to the other door and opened it.
”Blanche!” he said, in that hard, constrained tone which denotes not want of feeling, but the endeavour to hide it.
”Blanche is in the garden, Father,” said Margaret, coming out of the hall. ”Shall I seek her for you?”
”Ay, bid her come, my la.s.s,” said he quietly.
Margaret looked up inquiringly, in consequence of her father's unusual tone; but he gave her no explanation, and she went to call Blanche.
That young lady was engaged at the moment in a deeply interesting conversation with Don Juan upon the terrace. They had been exchanging locks of hair, and vows of eternal fidelity. Margaret's approaching step was heard just in time to resume an appearance of courteous composure; and Don Juan, who was possessed of remarkable versatility, observed as she came up to them--
”The clouds be a-gathering, Dona Blanca. Methinks there shall be rain ere it be long.”
”How now, Meg?--whither away?” asked Blanche, with as much calmness as she could a.s.sume; but she was by no means so clever an actor as her companion.
”Father calleth thee, Blanche, from Mother's bower.”
”How provoking!” said Blanche to herself. Aloud she answered, ”Good; I thank thee, Meg.”
Blanche sauntered slowly into the boudoir. Lady Enville reclined in her chair, engaged again with her comedy, as though she had said all that could be said on the subject under discussion. Sir Thomas stood leaning against the jamb of the chimney-piece, gazing sadly into the fire.