Lady Kirkbank carried off Lesbia early next day, the girl radiant at the idea of seeing life under new conditions. She had a few minutes’ serious talk with her grandmother before she went.
‘Lesbia, you are going into the world,’ said Lady Maulevrier; ‘yes, even a country house is the world in little. You will have many admirers instead of one; but I think, I believe, that you will be true to me and to yourself.’
‘You need not fear, grandmother. I have been an idiot; but — but it was only a passing folly, and I shall never be so weak again.’
Lesbia’s scornful lips and kindling eyes gave intensity to her speech. It was evident that she despised herself for that one touch of womanly softness which had made her as ready to fall in love with her first wooer as any peasant girl in Grasmere Vale.
‘I am delighted to hear you speak thus, dearest,’ said Lady Maulevrier. ‘And if Mr. Hamilton — Hammond, I mean — should have the audacity to follow you to Kirkbank, and to intrude himself upon you there — perhaps to persecute you with clandestine addresses ——’
‘I do not believe he would do anything clandestine,’ said Lesbia, drawing herself up. ‘He is quite above that.’
‘My dear child, we know absolutely nothing about him. He has his way to make in the world unaided by family or connections. He is clever — daring. Such a man cannot help being an adventurer; and an adventurer is capable of anything. I warn you to beware of him.’
‘I don’t suppose I shall ever see his face again,’ retorted Lesbia, irritably.
She had made up her mind that her life was not to be spoiled, her brilliant future sacrificed, for the sake of John Hammond; but the wound which she had suffered in renouncing him was still fresh, her feelings were still sore. Any contemptuous mention of him stung her to the quick.
‘I hope not. And you will beware of other adventurers, Lesbia, men of a worse stamp than Mr. Hammond, more experienced in ruse and iniquity, men steeped to the lips in worldly knowledge, men who look upon women as mere counters in the game of life. The world thinks that I am rich, and you will no doubt take rank as an heiress. You will therefore be a mark for every spendthrift, noble or otherwise, who wants to restore his broken fortunes by a wealthy marriage. And now, my dearest, good-bye. Half my heart goes with you. Nothing could induce me to part with you, even for a few weeks, except the conviction that it is for your good.’
‘But we shall not be parted next year, I hope, grandmother,’ said Lesbia, affectionately. ‘You said something about presenting me, and then leaving me in Lady Kirkbank’s care for the season. I should not like that at all. I want you to go everywhere with me, to teach me all the mysteries of the great world. You have always promised me that it should be so.’
‘And I have always intended that it should be so. I hope that it will be so,’ answered her grandmother, with a sigh; ‘but I am an old woman, Lesbia, and I am rooted to this place.’
‘But why should you be rooted here? What charm can keep you here, when you are so fitted to shine in society? You are old in nothing but years, and not even old in years in comparison with women whom we hear of, going everywhere and mixing in every fashionable amusement. You are full of fire and energy, and as active as a girl. Why should you not enjoy a London season, grandmother?’ pleaded Lesbia, nestling her head lovingly against Lady Maulevrier’s shoulder.
‘I should enjoy it, dearest, with you. It would be a renewal of my youth to see you shine and conquer. I should be as proud as if the glory were all my own. Yes, dear, I hope that I shall be a spectator of your triumphs. But do not let us plan the future. Life is so full of changes. Remember what Horace says ——’
‘Horace is a bore,’ said Lesbia. ‘I hate a poet who is always harping upon change and death.’
The carriage, which was to take the travellers to Windermere Station, was announced at this moment, and Lesbia and her grandmother gave each other the farewell embrace.
‘You like Lady Kirkbank, I hope?’ said Lady Maulevrier, as they went towards the ball, where that lady was waiting for them, with Lady Mary and Fr?ulein Müller in attendance upon her.
‘She seems very kind, but I should like her better if she did not paint — or if she painted better.’
‘My dear child I’m afraid it is the fashion of the day, just as it was in Pope’s time, and we ought to think nothing about it.’
‘Well, I suppose I shall get hardened in time.’
‘My dearest Lesbia,’ shrieked Lady Kirkbank from below, ‘remember we have to catch a train.’
Lesbia hurried downstairs, followed by Lady Maulevrier, who had to bid her friend adieu. The luggage had been sent on in a cart, Lesbia’s trunks and dress baskets forming no small item. She was so well furnished with pretty gowns of all kinds that there had been no difficulty in getting her ready for this sudden visit. Her maid was on the box beside the coachman. Lady Kirkbank’s attendant, a Frenchwoman of five-and-thirty, who looked as if she had graduated at Mabille, was to occupy the back seat of the landau.
Lady Mary looked after her sister longingly, as the carriage drove down the hill. She was going into a new world, to see all kinds of people — clever people — distinguished people — musical, artistic, political people — hunting and shooting people — while Mary was to stay at home all the winter among the old familiar faces. Dearly as she loved these hills and vales her heart sank a little at the thought of those long lonely months, days and evenings that would be all alike, and which must be spent without sympathetic companionship. And there would be dreary days on which the weather would keep her a prisoner in her luxurious gaol, when the mountains, and the rugged paths beside the mountain streams, would be inaccessible, when she would be restricted to Fr?ulein’s phlegmatic society, that lady being stout and lazy, fond of her meals, and given to afternoon slumbers. Lesbia and Mary were not by any means sympathetic; yet, after all, blood is thicker than water; and Lesbia was intelligent, and could talk of the things Mary loved, which was better than total dumbness, even if she generally took an antagonistic view of them.
‘I shall miss her dreadfully,’ thought Mary, as she strolled listlessly in the gardens, where the leaves where falling and the flowers fading.
‘I wonder if she will see Mr. Hammond at Lady Kirkbank’s?’ mused Mary. ‘If he were anything like a lover he would find out all about her visit, and seize the opportunity of her being away from grandmother. But then if he had been much of a lover he would have followed her to St. Bees.’
Lady Maulevrier sorely missed her favourite grandchild. In a life spent in such profound seclusion, so remote from the busy interests of the world, this beloved companionship had become a necessity to her. She had concentrated her affections upon Lesbia, and the girl’s absence made a fearful blank. But her ladyship’s dignity was not compromised by any outward signs of trouble or loss.
She spent her mornings in her own room, reading and writing and musing at her leisure; she drove or walked every fine afternoon, sometimes alone, sometimes attended by Mary, who hated these stately drives and walks. She dined tête-à-tête with Mary, except on those rare occasions when there were visitors — the Vicar and his wife, or some wandering star from other worlds Mary lived in profound awe of her grandmother, but was of far too frank a nature to be able to adapt her speech or her manners to her ladyship’s idea of feminine perfection. She was silent and shy under those falcon eyes; but she was still the same Mary, the girl to whom pretence or simulation of any kind was impossible.
Letters came almost every day from Kirkbank Castle, letters from Lesbia describing the bright gay life she was living at that hospitable abode, the excursions, the rides, the picnic luncheons after the morning’s sport, the dinner parties, the dances.
‘It is the most delightful house you can imagine,’ wrote Lesbia; ‘and Lady Kirkbank is an admirable hostess. I have quite forgiven her for wearing fals............