I WILL not undertake to say that we were a particularly sociable party at dinner that day. The stranger, Mr. Cresswell, who might have been supposed likely to give us a little news, and refresh us with the air of out of doors, was constrained and uncomfortable with the idea of having been found out. I am sure it was the last idea in the world which I wanted to impress upon him. But still, in spite of myself, I had betrayed it. Then Sara, without the faintest idea of her father’s uneasiness, had a strong remembrance of my unlucky{157} words on the previous day, and was very high and stately, by way of proving to me that an attorney’s daughter could be quite as proud as a Mortimer—as if I ever doubted it!—and a great deal prouder. For really, when one knows exactly what one’s position is, and that nobody can change it, one does not stand upon one’s defence for every unwary word. However, so it was that we were all a little constrained, and I felt as one generally feels after a pretty long visit, even from a dear friend, that to be alone and have the house to one’s self will just at first be a luxury in its way.
Not having any free and comfortable subject to talk of, we naturally fell to books, though Mr. Cresswell, I believe, never opened one. He wanted to know if Sara had been reading novels all day long, and immediately Sara turned to me to ask whether she might have one home with her which she had begun to read. Then there burst on my mind an innocent way of putting a question to Mr. Cresswell which I had been very anxious to ask without seeing any way to do it.
“I don’t think you will care for it when you do read it Sara; it is all about a poor boy who gets persuaded not to marry, and breaks the poor creature’s heart who is engaged to him, because there has been madness in the family. High principle, you know. I am not quite so sure in my own mind that I don’t think him a humbug; but I suppose it’s all very grand and splendid to you young people. Young persons should be trained very closely in their own family history if that is to be the way of it. I hope there never was a Cresswell touched in his brain, or, Sara, it would be a bad prospect for you.”
“If you suppose I should think it a bad prospect to do as Gilbert did, you are very wrong, godmamma,” cried Sara. “Why shouldn’t he have been quite as happy one way as the other? Do you suppose people must be married to be happy? it is dreadful to hear such a thing from you!”
“Well, to be sure, so it would be,” said I, “if I had said it. I am not unhappy that I know of, nor happy either. Oh, you little velvet kitten, how do you know how people get through life? One goes jog-jog, and does not stop to find out how one feels. But I’d rather—though I daresay it’s very bad philosophy—have creatures like you do things innocently, without being too particular about the results. Besides, I think Cheshire air is good steady air for the mind,—not exciting, you know. I don’t think we’ve many mad people in our county, eh, Mr. Cresswell?—Did you ever hear of a crazy Mortimer?”
Mr. Cresswell looked up at me a little curiously—which, to{158} be sure, not having any command over my face, or habit of concealing what I thought, made me look foolish. Sarah lifted her eyes, too, with a kind of smile which alarmed me—a smile of ridicule and superior knowledge. Perhaps I had exposed my fears to both of them by that question. I shrank away from it immediately, frightened at my own rashness. But Mr. Cresswell would not let me off.
“I have always heard that your grand-uncle Lewis was very peculiar,” said Mr. Cresswell,—“he that your cousin is descended from. Let us hope it doesn’t run in Mr. Richard’s family. I suppose there’s no reason to imagine that such a motive would prevent him from marrying?” he continued, rather spitefully. “And it was no wonder if Lewis Mortimer was a little queer. What could you expect? he was the second son! an unprecedented accident. The wonder is that something did not happen in consequence. Oh yes, he was soft a little, was your grand-uncle Lewis; but most likely it descended to him from his mother’s side of the house.”
“And my father was named after him!” cried I, with a certain dismay.
They all laughed, even Sarah. She kept her eyes on me as if searching through me to find out what I meant. She was puzzled a little, I could see. She saw it was not a mere idle question, and wanted to know the meaning. She was not conscious, thank heaven! and people are dismally conscious, as I have heard, when their brain is going. This was a little comfort to me under the unexpected answer I had got, for I certainly never heard of a crazy Mortimer all my life.
“If qualities descended by names, my little kitten would be in luck,” said Mr. Cresswell. “But here is a new lot of officers coming, Miss Milly; what would you recommend a poor man to do?”
“Papa!” cried Sara, with blazing indignation, “what does any one suppose the officers are to me? You say so to make my own godmamma de............