Part 66 (1/2)

”Laura,” exclaimed Mrs. Melcombe, when the two ladies, having left the dining-room, were alone together in the old grandmother's favourite parlour, now used as a drawing-room--”Laura, what can this mean? Is he dyspeptic? Is he hypochondriacal? I declare, if Mr. Craik had not been invited to meet us, I hardly see how we could have got through the dinner: he is very odd.”

”And surely the conversation was odd too,” said Laura. ”How they did talk about old Becky Maddison and her death this afternoon! How fervently he expressed his gladness that Mr. Craik had seen her to-day, and had administered the sacrament to her! I suppose you observed Valentine's hesitation when you asked if he believed her story?”

”Yes; I felt for the moment as if I had no patience with him, and I asked because I wanted to bring him to reason. He can hardly wish to own before sensible people that he does believe it; and if he does not, he must know that she was an impostor, poor old creature.” Then she repeated, ”He is very odd,” and Laura said--

”But we know but little of him. It may be his way to have fits of melancholy now and then. How handsome he is!”

Amelia admitted this; adding, ”And he looks better without that perpetual smile. He had an illness, I think, two years ago; but he certainly appears to be perfectly well now. It cannot be his health that fails him.”

There was the same surprise next morning. Valentine seemed to be making an effort to entertain them, but he frequently lapsed into silence and thought. No jokes, good or bad, were forthcoming. Mrs. Melcombe felt that if she had not received such a warm and pressing invitation to come to visit Melcombe, she must have now supposed herself to be unwelcome.

She took out some work, and sat in the room where they had breakfasted, hoping to find an opportunity to converse with him on her own plans and prospects; while Laura, led by her affectionate feelings, put on her hat and sauntered down the garden--to the lily-bed of course, and there she stood some time, thinking of her dear old grandmother. She was not altogether pleased with its appearance, and she stooped to gather out a weed here and there.

Presently Valentine came down the garden. He was lost in thought, and when he saw Laura he started and seemed troubled. ”What can you be about, Laura dear?” he said.

He had made up his mind that she had a pecuniary claim on him, and therefore he purposely addressed her with the affection of a relative.

He felt that this would make it easier for her to admit this convenient claim.

”What am I about?” answered Laura. ”Why, Valentine, I was just picking off some of these leaves, which appear to have been broken. The bed looks almost as if some--some creature had been lying on it.”

”Does it?” said Valentine, and he sighed, and stood beside her while she continued her self-imposed task.

”These lilies, you know,” she remarked, ”have great attractions for us.”

”Yes,” said Valentine, and sighed again.

”How he s.h.i.+vers!” thought Laura. ”You cannot think,” she said, rising from her task and looking about her, ”how it touches my feelings to come back to the old place.”

”You like it then, Laura?”

”Like it! I love it, and everything belonging to it.”

”Including me!” exclaimed Valentine, rallying for the moment and laughing.

Laura looked up and laughed too, but without answering. Before there was time for that, she had seen the light of his smile die out, and the gloom settle down again. A sort of amazement seemed to be growing under his eyelids; his thought, whatever it was, had gradually returned upon him, and he was struck by it with a new surprise.

”Valentine!” she exclaimed.

”Yes,” he answered steadily and gravely, and then roused himself to add, ”Come out from under the shadow of this wall. The garden is all gloomy here in the morning; it makes me s.h.i.+ver. I want to speak to you,” he continued, when they had pa.s.sed through the door in the wall, and were walking on the lawn before the house.

”And I to you,” she replied. ”It was kind of you to ask us to come here.”

”I suppose Mrs. Melcombe has decided to marry again,” he began.

”Yes, but she would like to tell you about that herself.”

”All right. I consider, Laura dear, that you have much more claim upon me than upon her.”

”Do you, Valentine, do you?”