sorry you should have inconvenienced yourself by coming out ofyour way to see us," she said. "I trust you will not dream of givingyourself the trouble a second time."
"Well, no, I don't think I shall," the visitor replied calmly. "I hearyou are going to live at Pinnerton. I should be glad to show you thepictures, and anything else you care to see, if you come over some day.It's not a very long walk over the fields."
"Some of us go to Pinnerton nearly every day," said Mrs Derwent, "but itis too far for me to walk. When I go, I drive. But I did not knowthere was a short cut to Pinnerton. We have always gone by the road."
"I didn't say to Pinnerton," said the visitor. "I said _from_Pinnerton. _I_ don't live there, but I heard you were going to livethere."
"So we are," Mrs Derwent replied, rather bewildered.
Evidently this could not be _the_ Mrs Wandle, the Pinnerton Green MrsWandle, that was to say, and yet--she had distinctly said that she hadbeen _asked_ to call upon them.
"You used to live in our neighbourhood, I hear," the stout ladyproceeded. "Fleming, I think that was the name?"
"No," Mrs Derwent replied rather sharply. If there was one thing in theworld she cordially detested, it was to be confused with the Flemingfamily, whom she remembered, before they came to Fotherley, as veryobjectionable. "No, my name was _Fenning_. My father was vicar ofFotherley, and Mr Fleming, who succeeded him there, and was once hiscurate, had a small living in the neighbourhood."
"Oh, indeed--yes, Fenning or Fleming. I knew it was some such name.Well, Mrs Flem--I beg your pardon, Mrs Derwent. If you like to comeover some day when you are at Pinnerton, you can see through the house,even if I am not at home. I will leave orders. I can't promise to goto see you at Pinnerton, for it's quite out of my way. Even when I amat East Moddersham, I always go and come by the other side."
"At East Moddersham?" said the Derwents to themselves, more completelyperplexed than ever. "Did the Wandles visit _there_?"
"East Moddersham is Sir Conway Marth's, is it not?" said Blanche. "Canyou tell me if that charming-looking girl whom I have seen riding aboutthere is his niece?"
The visitor looked at her for a moment without speaking. It was a calm,deliberate taking stock of her, of which Blanche felt the extremethough, quite possibly, not intended rudeness, and her cheeks grewcrimson. On the whole, the taking stock seemed to result favourably.
"No, but she is his ward," the stout lady replied; "I suppose you meanLady Hebe Shetland. She is very lovely," and a softer and more genialexpression came over the plain face as she spoke. "You have lived agreat deal in France, I hear," she went on, continuing to addressBlanche. "It must have been a great advantage to you. I suppose youspeak French _quite_ well--without any accent?"
"Naturally," said Stasy, and her clear, rather shrill voice almost madethe others jump. "How could we help speaking it perfectly, when it wasthe language of the country we were born and brought up in?" She got noreply. The lady glanced at her for half an instant, as if to say, "Whatan impertinent child!"--then turned again to Blanche. "I should likeyou to come to luncheon with me some day. I will let you know a daythat I shall be quite alone, so that we could talk French all the time.I want to rub up my French. Mr Dunstan and I go abroad every year, andI like to speak French perfectly."
Then, quite satisfied that she had made herself most agreeable, thevisitor rose, and saying as she shook hands, "I shall tell Mrs Lilford Isaw you. And you must come over to see the pictures some day," sheslowly made her way to the door, which Blanche had scarcely presence ofmind enough left to open for her. There was no need to ring forDeborah, who was waiting in the passage, in a state of flutter.
"Deborah," said Blanche, as soon as the front door, disclosing a view ofa ponderous-looking carriage in attendance, had finally closed, "Who isthat lady? Is it a Mrs Wandle, or who?"
"Lor, Miss--Mrs Wandle! No indeed, Miss; its Lady Harriot Dunstan--thelady as lives at Alderwood Park."
Blanche went back into the sitting-room, and shut the door.
"Mamma," she said, "do you know who that was? It was Mrs Lilford'sfriend--at least I suppose she is her friend, as well as her tenant--Lady Harriot Dunstan."
"And we thought she was Mrs Wandle, the brewers wife!" said Stasy, goingoff into a fit of laughter. "Whoever she is, she is a vulgar,impertinent old cat.--Oh, mamma, are all English people so stupid andhorrid? Why, she's worse than Mrs Burgess."
The mention of Mrs Burgess brought a look of annoyance to Blanche'sface.
"It has all come of your hinting to Mr Burgess that we should like hiswife to call, Stasy," she said. "Lady Harriot may not be the mostcharming or intelligent of human beings, but still, if we hadn't had ourheads full of Wandles and Burgesses, we should have met her differently,and perhaps got on better with her. She must have thought us very stiffand queer in our manners."
"Yes," agreed Mrs Derwent, "I am sorry about it, certainly. This LadyHarriot seems the only direct link I have, as she is evidently anintimate friend of Mrs Lilford, Sir Adam's niece. It must be inconsequence of my letter to Mrs Lilford that she has called. But--shesurely cannot have been told much about us, or she would not have beenso--so--"
"So horribly rude and patronising," said Stasy. "Oh, mamma, whoever sheis, and even if we were never to make any friends at all, don't let ushave anything to do with such people as that. And I--I used to thinkEnglish people were all so nice and refined!"
The tears rose to her eyes--tears partly of disappointment andmortification, partly of vexation with herself. And instantly, as wasalways the case where Stasy was concerned, the hearts of her mother andsister softened to her again.
"My dear child, how you do rush at conclusions!" Mrs Derwent exclaimed."Because we have come across two commonplace, perhaps I must sayvulgar-minded women, you make up your mind that English society iscomposed of such people."
"And," Blanche added eagerly, "did you notice, mamma, how even LadyHarriot's dull face lighted up when she spoke of Lady Hebe? Mamma, I amperfectly certain that girl is as good as she is charming. It refreshesme merely to think of her face--Stasy, I wish you had seen her better."
"I did see her well enough. I thought she was lovely, and she looked asif she'd never had a trouble in her life. Oh, I daresay there are somenice people in England, but I don't believe _we_ shall know any ofthem," said Stasy very lugubriously.
The next morning threw more light on the visit of the day before, for itbrought a letter from Mrs Lilford. Mrs Derwent, guessing who was thewriter, opened it with interest and some curiosity, but she had not readfar before she startled her daughters with a sudden exclamation.
"What is it, mamma?" said Blanche.
"It is from Mrs Lilford, Sir Adam Nigel's niece," she said; "and, fancy,Blanchie--I am so delighted--he is _not_ dead. Dear old Sir Adam, Imean. Listen. I may be hearing from him before very long."
And she went on to read aloud from the letter.
"I am glad to say that you have been misinformed about my uncle. Thoughhe left Alderwood several years ago, at which time he gave it up to me,he is still living. His health would not stand English winters, and hespends eight or nine months of the year in Algeria. When I write to himnext, I will tell him of your return to England. In the meantime I haveasked my friend and tenant, Lady Harriot Dunstan, to call upon you, andI have no doubt she will be glad to be of any little neighbourly servicein her power." Then followed Sir Adam Nigel's address, and a fewsufficiently cordial words. But the tone of the whole was barely"friendly," though ladylike and courteous.
Mrs Derwent, however, was too pleased with the news of Sir Adam to thinkmuch of anything else.
"I am so delighted," she repeated--"so glad to think I shall see himagain."
Blanche took up the letter, and toyed with it in her fingers. Thedistant Sir Adam seemed to her and Stasy of less importance than mattersnearer at hand. Her silence caught her mother's attention.
"It is a nice letter," Mrs Derwent said.
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"Oh yes," said Blanche; "but she doesn't seem very interested in us,mamma. And then, of course, as she has let Alderwood, she is not goingto live here; so perhaps it doesn't very much matter. But I wish thatLady Harriot had been nicer."
Mrs Derwent's face lost its joyous expression.
"I wish Sir Adam were going to be at Alderwood again," she said with alittle sigh. "_That_ would have made all the difference. Mrs Lilforddid not know me well. She was four or five years older, and she marriedand went to
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