The first of September was a great day always at Farrington Hall. Sir Rupert preserved very strictly; he was fond of shooting, and his coverts were always well stocked. They had a large party in the house; men chiefly, good guns who could be relied upon to do their share in swelling the Farrington ‘bag.’
This year several of Ernest’s brother officers were to have been invited, but Major Diggle man?uvred so cleverly that none of them were asked but himself. He had his own reasons for keeping men away from the Hall. He was not afraid of rivals, of course—who among the Duke’s Own was[149] there to compete with him? Still they might inadvertently interfere with his little game; and he preferred, at least for the present, to have the field all to himself.
Major Cavendish-Diggle was much appreciated at the Hall. Lady Farrington, a foolish, inconsequent woman, who was entirely wrapped up in Ernest, her only son, received the Major almost with effusion. He had been, oh, so kind to Ernest! She knew it; it was no use his disclaiming it, and she was deeply grateful to him.
‘Ith thutch a trial joining a regiment; everything tho thrange, and Erney tho young, tho inexperienced; he would have been mitherable, quite mitherable, but for you.’
Lady Farrington was a large fair woman; so fair as to be almost colourless. Her manner was not without distinction, and[150] would have been impressive but for the vapidity of her remarks, and a trick of utterance due, seemingly, to her having too many teeth in her mouth, which robbed her words of anything like expression, and sometimes made them unintelligible. Ernest, her son, greatly took after her. He was tall, but rather shambling in gait, and still excessively thin. In voice and manner of speech he reproduced Lady Farrington exactly. His mouth also seemed full of hot potatoes, or too full of teeth; and as he had a trick of keeping it constantly open, as though to cool the potatoes, or air his teeth, his general expression was vacuous in the extreme. A rather full lower lip and a very receding chin did not add to his personal charms. You gathered at once from his face and air that he was weak, irresolute, easily led, and that he[151] might, if misled, slide soon into vicious ways.
But he had improved wonderfully since he had joined the Duke’s Own. They all said so. Even Sir Rupert, dark and undemonstrative as he was generally, thawed enough to say that he thought soldiering would make a man of Ernest—if anything would. Letitia, as Miss Farrington was called, and who in many respects resembled her father, changed her tone on seeing how much Ernest was changed for the better. Her attitude towards him had hitherto been one of patronage mixed with spite. Although outwardly she was very affectionate—in her heart she bore him a grudge because he was one of the sex commonly called superior to her own. She was the elder by three or four years; she had far more brains—‘not that that was surprising’—as[152] she said when she was more than usually venomous, seeing that Ernest had next to none. She was a Farrington, as was evident from her likeness to her father, while her brother was clearly a Burdakin, like his mother. Why should an absurd and monstrously unfair custom constitute him the heir and future head of the family, while she must be satisfied with what her father might choose to give her as a marriage portion or as a settlement for life? She had always bitterly resented the Salic law as it obtained in England with regard to the succession of estates and titles.
Letitia was, however, much more civil to Ernest now. There may be many subtle reasons for such sudden changes of demeanour. Major Cavendish-Diggle was perhaps not remotely connected with Letitia’s. He was Ernest’s bosom friend; what if he presently[153] developed into a friend and admirer of her own? Letitia was not exactly ill-favored, but she was certainly not a beauty in the strict sense of the term. Dark complexioned and thin lipped, but with a nose too sharp, and cheek bones too high, her face was not strikingly attractive to say the least of it; and the fact was being gradually borne in upon her, as she grew on in years, by the slackness with which suitors sought her hand. Major Cavendish-Diggle was one of the first who showed better taste. Why should not men admire her? She had a neat well-proportioned figure. Her eyes were good, of the deep brown piercing order; her dark hair was abundant and rich. She was a good talker, had all the accomplishments of a well-educated young lady, and a large share of that indescribable air of good breeding, of that perfect ease in[154] manner and thorough savoir faire, which are only to be seen in women of good station—all of which Diggle felt would be extremely becoming in a colonel’s or general officer’s wife. If the thin lips and fierce eyes foretold a vixenish temper when thwarted, or if the world went wrong with her, these were bad points still in embryo, little likely to deter so matter of fact a wooer as Diggle from prosecuting his suit.
Not that he precipitated matters. He could see, with half an eye, that Miss Farrington accepted his attentions cheerfully enough; but he was very doubtful whether her parents would look upon him with equal favour. Indeed, Sir Rupert had more than once spoken in a way to damp Diggle’s hopes. The baronet held his head high. He evidently knew what was due to himself. Having passed his early years as a[155] struggling solicitor, barely able to keep the wolf from his door, he was now very eloquent about mésalliances, and the proper maintenance of distinctions of class. The major’s heart misgave him, for reasons best known to himself, when he heard Sir Rupert inveighing against the annoyance of upstart tradesmen, who, on the strength of fortunes amassed by not too reputable business (so he said), aped the manners of their betters, and tried to push themselves forward into the front rank of society. This very visit to Farrington Hall, a crusty old county magnate to whom Diggle had been formally introduced, had remarked rather pointedly upon the major’s name.
‘Diggle, Diggle, I know the name. To be sure. Get my tea from Diggle’s. Devilish good tea too—no connection, major, eh?’
[156]
At which Major Cavendish-Diggle inwardly shuddered, although he replied promptly enough.
‘Come and taste our champagne at Triggertown, Mr. Burkinshaw; it’s far better than the best tea in the world.’ Whereby the inconvenient question was for the moment satisfactorily shelved.
Diggle knew, therefore, that much circumspection would be necessary if he aspired to Letitia’s hand. All he could hope to gain was the girl’s good-will and co-operation, and this, by his assiduous, although diplomatically veiled attentions, he secured in due course.
Meanwhile he sought and entirely succeeded in making himself agreeable to all in the house. He talked ‘central fire’ with Sir Rupert, parochial business and district visiting with Lady Farrington, who pretended[157] to play the Dorcas in the parish; he discussed turnips and quarter sessions with the squires and local magnates, who thought that............