Heartsease; Or, The Brother's Wife. Yonge Charlotte Mary

had her lesson; but you are like the rest! Your mamma actually proposing to take her likeness, but I told her it was not to be thought of. There will be plenty to fill her with presumption.’

      ‘And papa—what does he think?’ said Theodora, who was wont to obtain the family politics from her aunt.

      ‘Oh! men are sure to be caught by a pretty face, and they cannot make enough of her. I thought your father had more sense, but since John has had his ear, everything has been past my management. I cannot bear to see Arthur’s cool way—but no wonder. There will be no end to their expectations, treated as they are.’

      ‘Then papa means to do something for them?’

      ‘I cannot tell. He may do as he pleases. It is no affair of mine. They cannot touch my property. Your father may try how he likes supporting them.’

      ‘He will then?’

      ‘He cannot help it, after having invited them here.’

      Theodora could no longer bear to hear Arthur thus spoken of, and began to read aloud, relieved in some degree by finding Arthur was not to suffer poverty. If he had been persecuted, she must have taken his part; now she could choose her own line. However, the world must not suppose that she disapproved of his wife, and she was grateful to the unmeaning words amiable and ladylike, especially when she had to speak to Mr. Wingfield. He observed on the lady’s beauty, and hoped that the affair was as little unsatisfactory as possible under the circumstances, to which she fully agreed. They proceeded to parish matters, on which they had so much to say to each other, that Violet thus reflected—‘Ah! it is just as Mr. Martindale used to sit with me in the window at home! She is going to give up all her grandeur for the sake of this good clergyman! How good she is! If she could only like me one little bit.’

      For the present this mattered the less to Violet, as she was extremely happy out of doors with her husband, who took up her time so exclusively, that she scarcely saw the rest, except at meals and in the evening. Then, though less afraid of ‘solecisms in etiquette,’ she made no progress in familiarity, but each day revealed more plainly how much too lowly and ignorant she was to be ever one of the family.

      Mrs. Nesbit was always formidable and sarcastic, alarming her the more because she could not understand her irony, though conscious it was levelled against her; Lady Martindale always chilling in condescending courtesy, and daily displaying more of the acquirements that frightened Violet by their number and extent; Theodora always gravely and coldly polite and indifferent. Miss Gardner was her great resource. Her pleasant manners and ready conversation were universally liked, and more than once she dexterously helped Violet out of a state of embarrassment, and made a connecting link, through which she ventured to talk to the other ladies.

      With the gentlemen she was happier. Lord Martindale was kind in manner, and she improved in the power of speaking to him, while John was, as she knew, her best friend; but she saw very little of him, he lived apart from the family, often not meeting them till dinner-time, and she began to understand Arthur’s surprise at his doings at Winchester, when she found that his usual habits were so solitary that his father was gratified if he joined him in a ride, and his mother esteemed it a favour if he took a turn in the garden with her.

      The parish church was so distant that the carriage was always used to convey thither the ladies, except Theodora, who ever since her fourteenth year had made it her custom to walk early to the school, and to remain there in the interval between the services. It was believed that she enjoyed a wet Sunday, as an occasion for proving her resolution, now so well established that no one thought of remonstrance, let the weather be what it might. The first Sunday of Violet’s visit happened to be showery, and in the afternoon, Lord Martindale had gone to John’s room to dissuade him from going to church a second time, when, as the door stood open, they heard Arthur’s voice in the gallery.

      ‘Hollo! you are not setting out in these torrents!’

      ‘Do let me, please!’ returned the pleading note.

      ‘Why, the avenue is a river, and you are not a real goose yet, you know.’

      ‘We never did miss church for weather, and it is further off at Wrangerton.’

      ‘Nobody is going, I tell you. It is not in common sense. You are as bad as Theodora, I declare.’

      ‘I don’t mean to be wilful!’ said she, piteously; ‘I won’t go if you tell me not, but please don’t. I have no Sunday-book, and nothing to do, and I should feel wrong all the week.’

      ‘To be sure you can’t smoke a cigar,’ said Arthur, in a tone of commiseration; ‘so wilful will to water! Now for an aquatic excursion!’

      Their steps and voices receded, and the father and brother looked amused. ‘A good honest child!’ ‘She will do something with him after all!’ and Lord Martindale (for Arthur had made too broad an assertion in declaring no one was going) followed them down, and showed positively paternal solicitude that Violet should be guarded from the rain, even sending to Pauline for a cloak of Miss Martindale’s.

      It was early when they reached the village, and Lord Martindale, saying he must speak to a workman, took them through a pretty garden to a house, the front rooms of which were shut up; they entered by the back door, and found themselves in a kitchen, where a couple of labouring people were sitting, in church-going trim. While Violet shook off the rain, and warmed herself at the fire, Lord Martindale spoke to the man; and then opening a door, called her and Arthur to look.

      There were several rooms, without trace of ever having been inhabited, and not looking very inviting. The view of the park, which Violet would fain have admired, was one gush of rain.

      ‘This might be made something of,’ said Lord Martindale. ‘It was built at the same time as the house. There was some idea of Mrs. Nesbit’s living here; and of late years it has been kept empty for poor John.’

      He broke off. Violet wondered if it was to be her abode, and whether those empty rooms could ever be as pleasant as the parlour at Winchester; but no more passed, and it was time to go into church.

      After this, Lord Martindale pressed to have their stay prolonged; which Arthur could not persuade his wife to believe a great compliment to her, though she was pleased, because he was, and because she hoped it was a sign that she was tolerated for his sake. Personally, she could have wished that his leave of absence might not be extended, especially when she found that by the end of the next two months it was likely that the regiment would be in London, so that she had seen the last of her dear Winchester lodging; but she had so little selfishness, that she reproached herself even for the moment’s wish, that Arthur should not remain to be happy at his own home.

      It was a great loss to her that Miss Gardner was going away, leaving her to the unmitigated coldness and politeness of the other ladies. She grieved the more when, on the last morning, Jane made positive advances of friendship, and talked affectionately of meeting in London.

      ‘My home is with my sister, and we shall be delighted to see you. You will be fixed there, no doubt.’

      ‘Thank you. I cannot tell; but I shall be so glad to see you!’

      ‘And I shall be delighted to introduce you to my sister. I know you will be great friends. What a season it will be! Two such sisters as Mrs. and Miss Martindale making their appearance together will be something memorable.’

      Violet blushed excessively, and made some inarticulate disavowals. She felt it presumption to let her name be coupled with Miss Martindale’s, and there was a sense of something dangerous and wrong in expecting admiration.

      Miss Gardner only smiled encouragingly at her youthfulness. ‘I will not distress you, though I look forward to what I shall hear. I shall feel that I have a right to be proud of you, from priority of acquaintance.’

      ‘You are very kind; but, please, don’t talk so. It is bad, I know, for me.’

      ‘You are very right, I quite agree with you. No doubt it is the wisest way; but so very few feel as you do. I wish more were like you, or, indeed, like Theodora, who is positively displeased with me for speaking of her making a sensation.’

      ‘Oh!