The Clever Woman of the Family. Yonge Charlotte Mary

it really was, and she hurried off the children to be dressed, and proceeded herself to her room, Mrs. Curtis following, and by way of preliminary, asking when Colonel Keith was going to Ireland.

      “Oh!” said Fanny, blushing most suspiciously under her secret, “he is not going to Ireland now.”

      “Indeed! I quite understood he intended it.”

      “Yes,” faltered Fanny, “but he found that he need not.”

      “Indeed!” again ejaculated poor perplexed Mrs. Curtis; “but then, at least, he is going away soon.”

      “He must go to Scotland by-and-by, but for the present he is going into lodgings. Do you know of any nice ones, dear aunt?”

      “Well, I suppose you can’t help that; you know, my dear, it would never do for him to stay in this house.”

      “I never thought of that,” said Fanny simply, the colour coming in a fresh glow.

      “No, my dear, but you see you are very young and inexperienced. I do not say you have done anything the least amiss, or that you ever would mean it, only you will forgive your old aunt for putting you on your guard.”

      Fanny kissed her, but with eyes full of tears, and cheeks burning, then her candour drew from her—“It was he that thought of getting a lodging. I am glad I did not persuade him not; but you know he always did live with us.”

      “With us. Yes, my poor dear, that is the difference, and you see he feels it. But, indeed, my dear child, though he is a very good man, I dare say, and quite a gentleman all but his beard, you had better not encourage—You know people are so apt to make remarks.”

      “I have no fear,” said Fanny, turning away her head, conscious of the impossibility of showing her aunt her mistake.

      “Ah! my dear, you don’t guess how ready people are to talk; and you would not like—for your children’s sake, for your husband’s sake—that—that—”

      “Pray, pray aunt,” cried Fanny, much pained, “indeed you don’t know. My husband had confidence in him more than in any one. He told him to take care of me and look after the boys. I couldn’t hold aloof from him without transgressing those wishes”—and the words were lost in a sob.

      “My dear, indeed I did not mean to distress you. You know, I dare say—I mean—” hesitated poor Mrs. Curtis. “I know you must see a great deal of him. I only want you to take care—appearances are appearances, and if it was said you had all these young officers always coming about—”

      “I don’t think they will come. It was only just to call, and they have known me so long. It is all out of respect to my father and Sir Stephen,” said Fanny, meekly as ever. “Indeed, I would not for the world do anything you did not like, dear aunt; but there can’t be any objection to my having Mrs. Hammond and the children to spend the day to-morrow.”

      Mrs. Curtis did not like it; she had an idea that all military ladies were dashing and vulgar, but she could not say there was any objection, so she went on to the head of poor Fanny’s offending. “This young man, my dear, he seems to make himself very intimate.”

      “Alick Keith? Oh aunt!” said Fanny, more surprised than by all the rest; “don’t you know about him? His father and mother were our greatest friends always; I used to play with him every day till I came to you. And then just as I married, poor Mrs. Keith died, and we had dear little Bessie with us till her father could send her home. And when poor Alick was so dreadfully wounded before Delhi, Sir Stephen sent him up in a litter to the hills for mamma and me to nurse. Mamma was so fond of him, she used to call him her son.”

      “Yes, my dear, I dare say you have been very intimate; but you see you are very young; and his staying here—”

      “I thought he would be so glad to come and be with the Colonel, who was his guardian and Bessie’s,” said Fanny, “and I have promised to have Bessie to stay with me, she was such a dear little thing—”

      “Well, my dear, it may be a good thing for you to have a young lady with you, and if he is to come over, her presence will explain it. Understand me, my dear, I am not at all afraid of your—your doing anything foolish, only to get talked of is so dreadful in your situation, that you can’t be too careful.”

      “Yes, yes, thank you, dear aunt,” murmured the drooping and subdued Fanny, aware how much the remonstrance must cost her aunt, and sure that she must be in fault in some way, if she could only see how. “Please, dear aunt, help me, for indeed I don’t know how to manage—tell me how to be civil and kind to my dear husband’s friends without—without—”

      Her voice broke down, though she kept from tears as an unkindness to her aunt.

      In very fact, little as she knew it, she could not have defended herself better than by this humble question, throwing the whole guidance of her conduct upon her aunt. If she had been affronted, Mrs. Curtis could have been displeased; but to be thus set to prescribe the right conduct, was at once mollifying and perplexing.

      “Well, well, my dear child, we all know you wish to do right; you can judge best. I would not have you ungrateful or uncivil, only you know you are living very quietly, and intimacy—oh! my dear, I know your own feeling will direct you. Dear child! you have taken what I said so kindly. And now let me see that dear little girl.”

      Rachel had not anticipated that the upshot of a remonstrance, even from her mother, would be that Fanny was to be directed by her own feeling!

      That same feeling took Lady Temple to Mackarel Lane later in the day. She had told the Colonel her intention, and obtained Alison’s assurance that Ermine’s stay at Myrtlewood need not be impracticable, and armed with their consent, she made her timid tap at Miss Williams’ door, and showed her sweet face within it.

      “May I come in? Your sister and your little niece are gone for a walk. I told them I would come! I did want to see you!”

      “Thank you,” said Ermine, with a sweet smile, colouring cheek, yet grave eyes, and much taken by surprise at being seized by both hands, and kissed on each cheek.

      “Yes, you must let me,” said her visitor, looking up with her pretty imploring gesture, “you know I have known him so long, and he has been so good to me!”

      “Indeed it is very kind in you,” said Ermine, fully feeling the force of the plea expressed in the winning young face and gentle eyes full of tears.

      “Oh, no, I could not help it. I am only so sorry we kept him away from you when you wanted him so much; but we did not know, and he was Sir Stephen’s right hand, and we none of us knew what to do without him; but if he had only told—”

      “Thank you, oh, thank you!” said Ermine, “but indeed it was better for him to be away.”

      Even her wish to console that pleading little widow could not make her say that his coming would not have been good for her. “It has been such a pleasure to hear he had so kind and happy a home all these years.”

      “Oh, you cannot think how Sir Stephen loved and valued him. The one thing I always did wish was, that Conrade should grow up to be as much help and comfort to his father, and now he never can! But,” driving back a tear, “it was so hard that you should not have known how distinguished and useful and good he was all those years. Only now I shall have the pleasure of telling you,” and she smiled. She was quite a different being when free from the unsympathizing influence which, without her understanding it, had kept her from dwelling on her dearest associations.

      “It will be a pleasure of pleasures,” said Ermine, eagerly.

      “Then you will do me a favour, a very great favour,” said Lady Temple, laying hold of her hand again, “if you and your sister and niece will come and stay with me.” And as Ermine commenced her refusal, she went on in the same coaxing way, with a description of her plans for Ermine’s comfort, giving her two rooms on the ground floor, and assuring her of the absence of steps, the immunity from all teasing by the children, of the full consent of her sister, and the wishes of the Colonel, nay, when Ermine was still unpersuaded of the exceeding kindness