'i%: 
 
 ^
 
 THE BABY'S GKANDMOTHER
 
 "She whom I have praised so. 
 Yields delight for reason too : 
 Who could doat on thing so common 
 As mere outward-handsome woman ? 
 Such half-beauties only win 
 Fools, to let affection in." 
 
 —Wither.
 
 THE 
 
 BABY'S GKANDMOTHER 
 
 L. B. WALFORD 
 
 AUTHOR OF ' TROrSLESOME DAUGHTERS,' * MR SMITH: A PART 
 OF HIS LIFE,' 'PAULINE,' 'COUSINS,' ETC. 
 
 TX THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 
 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 
 MDCCCLXXXIV 
 
 All Fdghts reserved
 
 ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN 'BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE
 
 
 B&3 
 y.l 
 
 ^ 
 
 COI^ TENTS OF THE FIEST VOLUME. 
 
 I 
 
 II. 
 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 
 V. 
 
 VI. 
 
 VII. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 IX. 
 
 X. 
 
 XI. 
 
 XII. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 XV. 
 
 " COME, ADVISE ME, BROTHER, 
 
 a YET YOU USED TO SEEM HAPPY," 
 
 LOTTA, . 
 
 " IT IS NOT HER BEING YOUNG," . 
 
 MATILDA LONGS TO TASTE THE DOUBTFUL CUP 
 
 AGAIN, 
 
 THE TWO GODFATHERS, 
 
 " A PRETTY SCRAPE YOU WILL GET INTO," 
 A STRANGE EFFECT, .... 
 ROBERT HAS CAUSE FOR COMPLAINT, 
 THE REAL WOUND AND THE APPARENT ONE 
 CHALLONER IS IMPATIENT TO BE GONE, 
 teddy's CONFIDENCES, 
 WHEWELL ENCROACHES, 
 TEMPTED BY OPPORTUNITY, . 
 HOPING STILL, 
 
 4- 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 20 
 42 
 59 
 
 85 
 98 
 125 
 145 
 163 
 183 
 207 
 225 
 241 
 255 
 268
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/babysgrandmother01walf
 
 THE BABY'S GEANDMOTHEE. 
 
 {( 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 COME, ADVISE ME, BROTHER. 
 
 " But fixed before, and well resolved was she, 
 As those who ask advice are wont to be." 
 
 —Pope. 
 
 Beauty, health, ease, and a charming temper, 
 had all combined to hide from an inquisitive 
 world the years that Matilda Wilmot had spent 
 upon it. She looked young — she was young. 
 If her skin was as fair, her eyes as bright, and 
 her tresses as luxuriant as they had been 
 twenty years before, not less was her blood 
 as impetuous and her fancy as warm. She 
 still walked, rode,, danced, and skated with the 
 
 VOL. I. A
 
 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 best — was the star of the neighbourhood, the 
 theme of every busy tongue, the envy of every 
 jealous heart; and one abominable fact undid 
 it all — Lady Matilda was, heavens ! a grand- 
 mother. 
 
 "It is the most ridiculous thing," said her 
 brother, — and Teddy did not relish ridiculous 
 things in connection with himself and his be- 
 longings, — '' it is the worst piece of luck that 
 could have happened, that baby coming. Puts 
 us all in the stupidest position. Just as if you 
 and I were not laughed at enough already, the 
 way we go on. Oh, I know, I know well 
 enough. They say we're a queer lot, and that 
 sort of thing ; and it will be worse than ever 
 after this. I say, you know, we must do some- 
 thing ; it's no use staring at each other, and 
 doing nothing to help ourselves. We shall be 
 quizzed all over the place." 
 
 *' So we shall." Matilda looked him in the 
 face without the shadow of a smile. " What 
 are we to do ? Come, advise me, brother. 
 Think of something quickly, please."
 
 COME, ADVISE ME, BEOTHEE." 
 
 " Ah, but that's it. It's easy to say, ' Think 
 of something ; ' but what the dickens am I to 
 think of? There is only one way out of the 
 scrape that I see, and that is for you to marry 
 again, and cut the whole concern here." 
 
 " I have been married enough already," re- 
 joined his sister. " Try again, my dear. Your 
 prescription does not suit the complaint, 
 doctor." 
 
 " Complaint ! Well, I am glad to hear you 
 have the sense to complain at least. Ton my 
 word, it's too bad. However, all I can say is, 
 you marry again." 
 
 " And all / can say is, I have been married 
 once too often as it is." 
 
 " You women have no logic about you," 
 burst forth Teddy, impatiently. '* Can't you 
 see, now, that having had one bad husband at 
 the start, it's long odds but you get a better to 
 go on with ? Can't you see that ? Bless me ! 
 it's as plain as a pike-staff. It stands to 
 reason." 
 
 " Very true ; to be sure, it stands to reason.
 
 4 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 But, my dear brother, ' better ' is a vague term. 
 How much 'better,' I should like to know? 
 And then you evidently contemplate my tak- 
 ing a course of husbands, increasing in excel- 
 lence as I 'go on' with them. Pray, how 
 many will be required ? " 
 
 " Good gracious ! you are unreasonable. I 
 never said such a thing. Why, you might 
 hit on the very man for you the very next 
 time." 
 
 " I might, certainly." 
 
 " And then — there you are." 
 
 " True ; then — there I am." 
 
 " Well, but," proceeded Lady Matilda, with 
 infinite gravity, "supposing, Teddy, — just 
 supposing, for the sake of prudence, you know, 
 — you are always telling me that I am not so 
 prudent as I ought to be, so I intend to make 
 an efibrt in future, — supposing, then, that I 
 did not?" 
 
 " Did not what ? " 
 
 " Hit on the right man." 
 
 " Well, of course — of course," said Teddy,
 
 " COME, ADVISE ME, BROTHER. 5 
 
 slightly flustered, as was natural, by the sug- 
 gestion, — " of course, you know, you must take 
 your chance. I tell you, it's long odds in your 
 favour, but I can't say more than that. No 
 man can say more than that. If you marry 
 again " 
 
 " In the abstract. Yes." 
 
 " In the abstract ? Yes." He had not a 
 notion, poor boy, what she meant, for Teddy 
 was simple, very simple, as perhaps has been 
 already gathered. " In the abstract, if you 
 like. You marry again, anyway; and then — 
 there we are." 
 
 " Then — there we are," repeated Lady Ma- 
 tilda, with the same cheerful enunciation and 
 the same immovable countenance as before ; 
 "but, pardon me, dear Ted, explain a little — 
 how?" 
 
 '' Don't you see how ? I'll soon show you, 
 then. When you marry, I can come and live 
 with you, and we can live anywhere you 
 choose, — I am sure I don't care where, so long 
 as it isn't here "
 
 6 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 (" Abstract husband, no vote," sotto voce 
 observed Matilda.) 
 
 " We could go far enougli away," proceeded 
 her brother ; *' we could now, if we had a little 
 more money — if we had not to hang on to 
 Overton. I can't make out sometimes," with 
 a little puzzled expression, — " I can't quite 
 make out, Matilda, how it is that we haven't 
 more money between us. I thought you had 
 married a rich man." 
 
 *' Oh, never mind — never mind that ; we 
 know all about that." Lady Matilda spoke 
 rather hastily. " Money is not interesting to 
 either of us, Ted, and I want to hear more 
 about your plan. Tell me what we should do 
 when w^e had gone away from here, and where 
 to go, and why go at all 1 " 
 
 " As to what we should do ! We should do 
 very well. I don't know what you mean by 
 that. And then it's easy enough settling 
 where to go. There are heaps of places, very 
 jolly places, that I could get to know about, 
 once I was on the look-out for them. Places
 
 ''come, advise me, brother." 
 
 always crop up once you are on the look-out ; 
 any one will tell you that." 
 
 " And now, why should we go at all "? " 
 
 " Why 1 " Teddy opened his eyes, and 
 stared at his sister. " Why ? Have I not 
 been telling you why all this time "? I do 
 believe you think I like to talk on, for talk- 
 ing's sake." (She did, but never let him 
 know as much, listening patiently till the 
 stream had run dry ; but on this occasion 
 Teddy was too sharp, and the subject was 
 too engrossing.) " Why 1 To get quit of it, 
 of course," he said. 
 
 ''Of it? Of what?" 
 
 " That disgustincr babv." 
 
 " Are you speaking of my grandson, sir ? 
 Are you talking of a hapless infant only a few 
 hours old, you unnatural monster ? Shame 
 upon you ! fie upon you, young man ! Pray, 
 Mr Edward Sourface, reserve such epithets in 
 future for otlier ears ; and be so good, sir, at 
 the same time, to draw off some of the vinegar 
 which is visible in your countenance, and let
 
 8 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 me have it presently as a fitting accompani- 
 ment to the oil which we shall see exhibited 
 in that of my trusty and well-beloved son-in- 
 law — since one will counteract the other, and 
 thus shall I better be able to digest both. 
 Why, Teddy, what an idiot you are ! " said 
 Lady Matilda, dropping all at once her mock- 
 ing accents, and speaking gently and play- 
 fully ; " what an ado you make about the 
 simplest and most natural thing in the world ! 
 I am married at eighteen, so of course Lotta 
 improves on the idea, and marries before she 
 is eighteen. I have a daughter, she has a 
 son : in every way my child has followed the 
 lead given her, and indeed eclipsed her mother 
 from first to last." 
 
 " Fiddlesticks ! Eclipsed her mother ! 
 Lotta ! '' cried Teddy, with undisguised con- 
 tempt. " Lotta /" he said again, and laughed. 
 
 " Oh, Teddy, Teddy, you are not a good 
 uncle. How can you laugh in that unkind 
 wayl Be quiet, sir — be quiet, I tell you ; I 
 won't have it. From a o^rand - uncle, too !
 
 "come, advise me, brother. 9 
 
 Grand - uncle ! Think of that, Teddy, love. 
 Dear, dear, — 'tis really vastly surprising, as 
 the old ladies say." 
 
 " Vastly — something else," muttered Teddy. 
 
 " Mr Grand-uncle," began the teasing voice. 
 
 " Oh, shut up, can't you 1 Grand-uncle ! " 
 said Teddy, with such distaste that it seemed 
 he loathed the very term, independently of its 
 adherence to himself — "grand-uncle! "Was 
 there ever such bosh ? It really " 
 
 " What I was going to say was," pursued 
 his sister, merrily, " that as the baby is a boy, 
 — and youths under twenty do not usually 
 affect matrimony in this country, — I may be 
 permitted to entertain some hopes that I shall 
 not be converted into a great - grandmother 
 with the same delightful celerity with which 
 I have already been turned into a grand- 
 mother." 
 
 Then there was a pause, during which the 
 brother looked gloomily out of the window, 
 while the sister found apparently a more 
 agreeable prospect in her own thoughts, for
 
 10 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 she smiled once or twice before she spoke 
 ao^ain. At last she rose from her seat. " I 
 shall go over this afternoon, of course," she 
 said. 
 
 " Over to Endhill ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Over to see that baby ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 '* What on earth — do you really mean it? 
 Are you really going to waste a whole after- 
 noon slobbering over a wretched baby ? " 
 
 " Only about ten minutes of it, dear ; don't 
 be cross ; I shall not ask to see Lotta, as she 
 had better be quiet " 
 
 " When is she ever anything else ? " 
 
 " So we can just ride over, come back 
 through the town, see what is going on, and 
 have a fine gallop along the cliffs afterwards." 
 
 Now if there was one thin or in the world 
 Teddy Lessingham loved, it was to see what 
 was going on in the old county town near 
 which he had been born and bred ; and if 
 there was another, it was a gallop along the
 
 "come, advise me, brother. 11 
 
 high chealky dowDs wlien the tide was full, 
 and the sea-wind was blowino; the waves rio;ht 
 up over the beach beneath. Still he made a 
 demur ; he looked at the sky, and looked at 
 Matilda, — " We shall get wet, of course." 
 
 " Of course. Old clothes. It will do us no 
 harm." 
 
 " I don't mind, I am sure, if you don't. 
 What time then ? " For though the young 
 man had not been formally invited to go, let 
 alone being consulted as to the expedition, it 
 was assumed, indeed it was as much a matter 
 of course that he was to be Matilda's com- 
 panion as the horse she rode. To be sure he 
 was. Where could he have gone but where 
 she went ? What could he have done that 
 she would not have a part in ? He never had 
 a purpose apart from hers : her will was his 
 law ; her chariot-wheels his chosen place. 
 
 Nor was the widow less ardently attached 
 to her young brother. She, the quickest- 
 witted woman in the neighbourhood, never 
 lost patience with^ never wearied of, her poor
 
 12 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 foolish Teddy, who, as was pretty well known, 
 was not quite, not quite like other people, and 
 yet was so very little wrong, wanting in such a 
 very slight degree, that it was almost a shame 
 to mention it, — and yet, if the truth were told, 
 it was perhaps even more awkward and trying 
 in some ways than if there had been more 
 amiss. For Teddy considered himself to be 
 a very knowing and remarkably wide-awake 
 fellow. On his shoulders, he felt, rested a 
 heavy weight of responsibility, and cares 
 manifold devolved on his far-reaching mind. 
 For instance, who but he kept up the whole 
 social credit of Overton Hall in the eyes of 
 the world 1 Did he not entertain strangers, 
 remember faces, do the civil to the neighbour- 
 hood generally, whereas Overton and Matilda 
 never thought of such things ? Overton was 
 *' a very good brother, a precious good brother, 
 and he was not saying a wqrd against him ; " 
 but without saying a word against him, it is 
 certain that the speaker felt and was scarcely 
 at pains to conceal his sense of his own supe-
 
 (( 
 
 COME, ADVISE ME, BROTHER." 13 
 
 riority. Overton, he would complain, had no 
 idea of keeping things up to the mark — had 
 no nous, no go in him ; whereas Matilda, poor 
 Matilda (here he would wag his head with 
 sombre sagacity) — poor Matilda was such a 
 flighty, here - there - everywhere, happy-go- 
 lucky, devil-may-care sort of creature, that 
 if it were not for him, — oh, it was no won- 
 der Teddy had a serious aspect, all things 
 considered. 
 
 Perhaps Matilda was at times diverted and 
 at times provoked ; but at any rate she took 
 care that no one else should be either one or 
 the other in her presence. In everything she 
 supported and fortified her brother. He lec- 
 tured her, and she listened dutifully. He put 
 forth his wisdom, and it was met by gentle 
 raillery or grave assent. His wildest asser- 
 tions, his most pitiful arguments, were soft- 
 ened, smoothed, and helped tenderly out of 
 the conversation, — so that even those who 
 liked the fair Matilda least — and they were 
 women, we may be sure — even those allowed
 
 14 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 that she was wonderfully, extraordinarily 
 " nice " with Teddy. 
 
 Now Teddy could be irritating. There 
 were times when he would be sharp, sharp 
 as a needle, and sharp inevitably at the 
 wrong moment and in the wrong way. The 
 thing that it was particularly desirable that 
 he should not see, and should know nothing 
 about, he would perceive by intuition — and 
 that, however absent-minded and dull and 
 stupid he might have seemed but the mo- 
 ment before. There was no evading his 
 penetration, and no putting him off the scent 
 once he struck it : he saw like a lynx, and 
 heard like a Eed Indian, when it suited 
 him. 
 
 Then perhaps when such smartness was 
 particularly mischievous in its results, and 
 Teddy would meet with the mildest of rebuffs 
 from those whom he had so wantonly mal- 
 treated, he would be very highly aggrieved 
 indeed. Perhaps the rebuff might never even 
 come to be spoken, but a something in the
 
 "COME, ADVISE ME, BROTHER." 15 
 
 air would show that all was not well, and this 
 was enough ; he was out of favour, and he 
 was bound to show resentment ; nor, when he 
 thus took the bit between his teeth, could all 
 the united efforts' of Overton and Matilda dis- 
 lodge it. He was not to be either cajoled or 
 coerced out of his mood. Silence, obstinate, 
 unyielding, leaden-weighted silence, would be 
 his refuge ; and while the fit lasted, which 
 it might do for days at a time, neither the earl 
 nor his sister had much peace of mind. Vague 
 misgivings would creep into their bosoms and 
 betray their presence by uneasy whispers and 
 glances, if Teddy's whereabouts were unknown 
 for any length of time : if he lingered out of 
 doors after the o-reat bell had sounded from 
 the tower at luncheon-time or dinner-time, 
 one would be at the staircase window, and 
 another looking casually out of the front door. 
 They would watch him disappear across the 
 park, and when once the tall handsome figure 
 was out of sight, and Teddy could have no 
 suspicion that he was being spied upon, one
 
 16 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 or other would be pretty sure to follow, and be 
 merely strolling about in the same direction, 
 if by chance they were obliged to let him see 
 he was not alone. He would not address the 
 intruder on his solitude. He would look 
 angrily away, mutter to himself, and pass on. 
 The servants would understand that Mr Ed- 
 ward was in a " temper," and avoid him ; his 
 very dog would make no efforts to engage his 
 notice. 
 
 But this is Teddy at his worst. These ugly 
 days are few and far between, — thank God 
 they are, or what might they not lead to ? 
 They come but seldom, and go as they come, 
 unquestioned, unblamed. Gradually the cloud 
 begins to roll away, a softer look steals back 
 to the face, the lips part in a smile, the whistle 
 to Gruff brings Gruff rampant to his master's 
 side, and it is plain that all is to be right 
 again. 
 
 Overton nods to Matilda, and she nods back. 
 Overton addresses Teddy as though nothing 
 had happened, and Matilda takes it for granted
 
 "come, advise me, brother." 17 
 
 that he will join her in some little jaunt or 
 other, previously arranged and ready to be 
 brought forward, — and they both talk away 
 to him and take his arm, and pat him on the 
 back, just as if he had not persistently avoided 
 their company as much as he could for the last 
 thirty or forty hours, and had not, when com- 
 pelled to endure it, maintained an unbroken, 
 sullen, affected unconsciousness of their pres- 
 ence. That is past, and he may be approached 
 again. He looks a little anxious, a little 
 ashamed : a vague feeling of having been 
 naughty oppresses the lad as it would a child, 
 and his spirits gratefully rise as he perceives 
 he is not to be punished for his misbehaviour. 
 If Overton were cold to him, or, worse still, 
 were Matilda to quarrel with him, all Teddy's 
 happiness in life would be gone, for these two 
 beings people his world, and in their unfailing 
 forbearance and affection he basks as in sun- 
 shine. 
 
 " Yet Mr Edward talks sensible enough," 
 avers the old major-domo of Overton, who has 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 18 THE baby's GRANDMOTHEE. 
 
 known Mr Edward from his cradle. " Fve 
 seen folks as taken as tliey could be with Mr 
 Edward, I can tell you ; and my lord not 
 being married, nor looking that way, there's 
 many would jump at the young one on the 
 chance. Lord bless you, he ain't far wrong, 
 not by no means I he is just a bit simple and 
 foolish like ; but who's to know that that sees 
 him in company? — such a fine well-set-up young 
 gentleman to look at, a-talking here, a-talking 
 there, always quite easy and comfortable, and 
 dressed — there ain't a better-dressed gentle- 
 man in London. For one coat of my lord's 
 Mr Edward have half-a-dozen; and as to 
 trousers, Joseph here tells me he wouldn't 
 like to give a guess even at what his trouser 
 bill is. My lord, he pays : bless you, he 
 don't say nothing to nobody, but he just 
 pays and keeps the receipts. He ain't as 
 poor as Mr Edward thinks, d'ye understand ? 
 'Twould never do to let Mr Edw^ard have 
 every suvering he wanted, or we should soon 
 be in the workhouse ; but he gets his little
 
 "come, advise me, brothep.." 19 
 
 bit of money that his father left him, just to 
 make believe, d ye see "? He gets it paid 
 regular down, and he fusses over it, and 
 thinks it's all he have to live upon, — and to 
 be sure he can see well enough 'tis but a trifle, 
 — so that just keeps him down nicely. To 
 hear him sometimes telling folks how poor he 
 is ! But he forgets, you know, — he forgets, 
 does Mr Edward. Lor' ! you may talk to 
 him by the hour together, and he don't know 
 nothing at the end. Tell him a thing, and 
 he takes it in all right enough; but it just 
 goes through and through his head without 
 stopping — in at the one ear and out at the 
 other, before any good or bad comes of it. 
 
 If it weren't for Lady Matilda ," and the 
 
 old man shook his head. 
 
 It was in this light that the Hon. Edward 
 Lessingham was looked upon by the inmates 
 of Overton Hall.
 
 20 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 YET YOU USED TO SEEM HAPPY. 
 
 A coronet, my lord goes by, 
 My lady with him in the carriage, — 
 Yon'd never guess from that proud eye 
 It was a miserable marriage." 
 
 —Axon. 
 
 And now we must more formally introduce 
 our readers to Overton Hall itself, and to the 
 three representatives of the Overton family 
 now alone remaining, since they were, one 
 and all, so far from beiDg unremarkable, that 
 in any rank, among any associates, they must 
 still have attracted notice. As it was, as the 
 first people of the place, they were an unfail- 
 ing source of gossip, conjecture, and comment 
 in a particularly barren and unfruitful neigh- 
 bourhood. Providence had been kind to the
 
 "YET YOU USED TO SEEM HAPPY. 21 
 
 parish in bestowing on it such a patron as 
 Lord Overton, and such a pair as Teddy and 
 Matilda for his brother and sister. No three 
 people could have done more for the dull out- 
 of-the-way old-world part they lived in, and 
 that involuntarily ; for, truth to tell, it was 
 not all the money they gave away, the schemes 
 they organised, the example they set, which 
 was half so much valued amono- the vil] ackers 
 as their freaks and fancies, their whims and 
 vagaries, their doings and sayings, their goings 
 and comings, — these were the real benefit, the 
 real, actual, positive benefit, which was con- 
 ferred, and for w^iich gratitude was due. 
 
 Overton Hall, far from the busy world — 
 at least as far as it is possible to be in Eng- 
 land in these highly strung and terribly com- 
 municative days — four miles from a small 
 and sleepy wayside station, in plainer terms, 
 was sunk in a hollow (though Lady Matilda 
 would never allow as much) — was, at any 
 rate, far down the slope of a long low Sussex 
 hillside ; and although pleasant enough as a
 
 22 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 summer residence, was looked upon by all but 
 its inhabitants as absolutely unendurable after 
 the fall of the leaf. When October had once 
 fairly set in, the park would be a series of 
 swamps, over which faint blue mists hung 
 incessantly ; the red walls of the old Eliza- 
 bethan mansion would be visible for miles on 
 every side when the thin scrubby woodlands 
 around had been stripped of their foliage ; 
 and it had been said over and over again that 
 no people but the Overtons themselves, no 
 residents less pertinaciously attached to their 
 native place, would ever have lived on througb 
 winter after winter in such a dreary spot. 
 
 That they did so, however, from choice, 
 was a priceless boon to those who, from neces- 
 sity, followed their example. So little of the 
 Overtons went such a long way ; they were so 
 rich in resources in themselves, so replete wdth 
 material for the wits of others to work upon ; 
 one was so unlike the other, and all were so 
 unlike the rest of their neighbours, — that the 
 one universal feeling was, that they could
 
 " YET YOU USED TO SEEM HAPPY." 23 
 
 never have been replaced, had any evil chance 
 taken them away. What they did, and what 
 they left undone, was of almost equal interest ; 
 why Lord Overton took a morning instead of 
 an afternoon walk, made talk for half-a-dozen 
 toDo^ues. What carriao^es Avent from the Hall 
 to meet such and such a train '? When they 
 returned ? Wlio were in them ? Was Teddy 
 seeing the guests oflf when he was met driving 
 down on the following day ; or were they 
 stopping over Sunday ? All of this was food 
 for ardent speculation ; and the erection of 
 new park palings, or a fresh lodge at the edge 
 of the lovv^ wood, was not of more vital im- 
 portance than the health of Matilda's sick 
 parrot, or the consideration as to the length 
 of time her whimsical ladyship had worn her 
 one bonnet in church. 
 
 Although all three were thus constantly 
 before their public, it, however, by no means 
 followed that they were on the same footing 
 in the public mind ; and strange to say, the 
 elder brother, the least striking, the least
 
 24 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 notable as he was of any, had to him the jyas 
 given ; but then the case stood thus : Lord 
 Overton was one whom no one — except, per- 
 haps, the very very few who had known him 
 closely from boyhood — believed in. He was, 
 at the time our story commences, in the prime 
 of life — that is to say, he was forty years old, 
 and looked his age. He was short, stumpy, 
 plain, and worse than plain, coarse in feature, 
 and marked, though but slightly, with small- 
 pox. He was, in fine, not passively, but 
 aggressively ill-favoured ; not insignificant, 
 not one who might have been, cast in a mould 
 whence hundreds more of the same could be 
 turned out to order if required, but he was 
 the unfortunate possessor of a face which 
 might have been constructed upon trial, and 
 found so unsatisfactory as to have been never 
 reproduced. 
 
 But then he was the Earl of Overton. What 
 sicfuified it to the Earl of Overton how he 
 looked, or of what formation was his nose, or 
 chin, or mouth? AYhat did it matter that he
 
 "yet you used to seem happy." 25 
 
 shambled in his walk, slouched in his chair, 
 and sat inches lower than his sister ? What 
 though he had not Teddy's easy grace and 
 swinging step, or the bell-like tones of Matilda's 
 voice ? He was the Earl of Overton. These 
 things were, or ought to have been, considera- 
 tions quite beneath the Earl of Overton. In 
 virtue of the solitary possession birth, he 
 should have been more potent than the Apollo 
 Belvidere, or the sage ^Esop. He should not 
 have supposed it possible that he could look 
 amiss, or act amiss, or talk too much or too 
 long. 
 
 Nobody could believe that he did think it 
 possible ; and thus it was that, as we have 
 said, nobody believed in the man himself. 
 
 He was a mystery — a cynic ; he was proud 
 as Lucifer ; he was mad as a March hare. It 
 was said of him that not all his ancestors for 
 generations back had held themselves so high 
 as he did. He was dubbed a recluse and a 
 monk ; while, to carry out the pleasant sug- 
 gestion, the Hall, itself would be termed the
 
 26 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 monastery (but if it were one, like unto some 
 in the olden time it must have been, when 
 monks were merrier than they are now). 
 This, however, is an aside between the reader 
 and the writer, — in the eyes of the good folk 
 round the simile was apt. But what puzzled 
 them a little, and set one or two thinking, was 
 this, that after all, though everything that was 
 heard of Lord Overton bespoke him proud, 
 stern, and self-contained — after all, if you 
 met the earl face to face, if he had to 
 look at you and liad to speak to you, his 
 look was wonderfully meek and his voice 
 gentle. 
 
 Now Lord Overton thought no more of 
 himself than if he had been a city scovenger. 
 That was the real truth, and in that truth lay 
 the perplexity. People could not understand, 
 would not, indeed, credit for a single second 
 the notion that so great a man could be 
 humble-minded. 
 
 And how came it that he was so ? Probably 
 after this fashion. His parents had been vain.
 
 " YET YOU USED TO SEEM HAPPY. 2 7 
 
 selfish, and ambitious ; and they could ill 
 brook the idea that their first-born, their heir, 
 the future head of the house, should give no 
 promise of bringing to it either honour or 
 repute. Overton had from infancy been aAvk- 
 ward, ugly, and illiterate. There was no hope 
 that he would shine either as a politician, or 
 as a courtier, or as a soldier, or as — in short, 
 anything. Teddy had eclipsed him in beauty, 
 Matilda in intellect, and the latter had been 
 the father's, the former the mother's darling. 
 With neither had he been in the smallest 
 degree of consequence, over neither had he 
 possessed any influence, and they had only 
 noticed his being^ the eldest as a fresh source 
 of vexation, since he did the position so little 
 credit. 
 
 It had all sunk deeply into a nature already 
 reserved, bashful, and backward. 
 
 Not all the subsequent fuss about the peer 
 in possession ; not all the flattery of time- 
 servers, anxious to worship the risen sun ; not 
 even time and reflection, could shake Overton's
 
 28 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 conviction that he ^Yas a nobody, and would 
 always be a nobody. 
 
 It was impossible, Matilda said^ to open her 
 eldest brother's eyes. He could never see that 
 he was needed, never suppose that he could be 
 wanted. 
 
 For instance, it was intolerably palpable 
 when old Lady Finsbury — the dear old 
 dowager who lived in the very small house 
 along the London Eoad — when the old lady 
 herself drove to the Hall on purpose to secure 
 the party for a little dinner — such a little 
 dinner as she could give and liked to give, — 
 it was plain that the presence of Overton 
 himself on the occasion was not only desired, 
 but was of first-rate importance. He was 
 more than wanted, he was anxiously, painfully 
 wanted, — but the idea never occurred to him 
 that it could be so. He thought it very kind, 
 uncommonly kind, of Lady Finsbury to ask 
 them all ; but three out of one house were 
 quite too many for her little room — (Lady 
 Matilda winced and looked at the speaker.
 
 but he saw nothing), — he should not think, 
 should not really think, of trespassing on her 
 hospitality to such an extent. On the point 
 he was firm as a rock. Teddy was of so 
 much more use than he in society that Teddy 
 must go, of course, and Lady Finsbury would 
 kindly excuse him. Of course Lady Finsbury 
 went away mortified, poor soul. Of course 
 she told the story of her defeat with varia- 
 tions, crescendos, and diminuendos, as it 
 suited her, to half-a-dozen intimates ere the 
 week was out ; and of course they one and 
 all agreed that the dear creature had been 
 abominably ill-used, and that Lord Overton 
 must have been a perfect brute to say to her 
 face that she had not a room in her house fit 
 for him to sit in. 
 
 Lleantime Matilda would be groaning in 
 spirit at home. "Oh, Overton, Overton, 
 when will you learn to understand, when 
 will you ever say the right thing ? Can't 
 you see, oh, can't you see, you dear blind, 
 blind, blindest of blind beetles, in what a
 
 30 THE baby's geaxdmother. 
 
 dreadful state of mind you have sent home 
 that poor harmless unoffending old lady ? 
 She had done you no injury, she had come 
 brimming^ over with goodwill and lovino;- 
 kindness to us all, and instead of accepting 
 graciously her little overtures, and crowning 
 her with joy and gladness, you dashed her hopes 
 to the ground, and seemed to take pleasure in 
 trampling upon them when they were there." 
 
 " Good gracious, Matilda, what do you 
 mean ? What have I done ? " 
 
 " Done — done ! * that which can't be un- 
 done,' I can tell you, my dear. And after all, 
 why would you not go ? You have no reason 
 for refusing. You had not even manners to 
 put forth the ghost of an excuse " 
 
 ^' As to excuse, I told her the truth. 
 
 I was very much obliged, and I understood 
 perfectly, — she thought she could not ask 
 Teddy and you without me, and so she asked 
 me too, — but she did not want me a bit, and as 
 I did not want to go, I thought it was much 
 the best way to take it on myself to refuse.
 
 "yet you used to seem happy." 31 
 
 She was quite satisfied. Did you not see she 
 
 stopped asking me at once " 
 
 '' Yes, indeed, I did see that." 
 *' Well, what more would you want ? " 
 "Want? Oh, Overton!"— she stopped to 
 laugh and sigh in despair — "who could 
 believe you could be so — well, never mind, 
 you meant it for the best, but you never, 
 never do yourself justice ; and how are people 
 to know that it is all because you are so un- 
 fortunately, outrageously, insufferably modest ? 
 They won't believe it, nobody will believe it ; 
 and besides, you do say such things : now you 
 can see this, surely, that Lady Finsbury could 
 not like your reflecting on her little rooms ? " 
 
 "I did not 'reflect' on them at all. I 
 merely said we were too many for them ; I 
 * reflected ' on us if I ' reflected ' on any one." 
 " If you thought we were too many, why 
 should not Teddy have stayed at home, or at 
 least have offered to stay at home, and you 
 and I have gone together ? That might have 
 been done."
 
 32 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 '*To be sure it might, — but to be sure, also, 
 I knew better than that. Why, of course," 
 continued Lord Overton, with a momentary 
 bitterness which showed that although the old 
 wounds of childhood might have been healed, 
 they still woke and smarted at times — '' of 
 course, any one would rather have Teddy 
 than me. Don't you suppose I know that ? 
 Teddy ornaments the rooms, and keeps every- 
 body going with his talk, while I am good for 
 nothing. Do you think I have forgotten that 
 he was always sent for to the drawing-room 
 as a boy, while it was never thought desirable 
 that mij studies should be interrupted ? Did 
 he not invariably accompany our mother to 
 town when she went to one gay place and 
 another, and was not I left at home ? Who 
 taught me to play and sing, or gave me 
 masters for dancing, or sent me abroad to 
 learn languages ? I am such an oaf that I 
 can't enter a room like other people. I can't 
 speak a tongue but my own. I am not fit for 
 society "
 
 a ^^^ YOU USED TO SEEM HAPPY." 33 
 
 " You are fit for any society. Overton, my 
 dear Overton, don't talk like that," said 
 Matilda, springing forward to put her hand 
 on his arm as he was turning to leave the 
 room. " You deceive yourself — indeed, indeed 
 you do," — her own eyes reflecting the mois- 
 ture in his. " Teddy, poor Teddy, you know 
 what he is ; surely you do not begrudge him 
 advantages which have just made him pass- 
 able — ^just enabled him to go through the 
 world without bringing down its ridicule 
 
 upon his head; surely you see ," she 
 
 paused. 
 
 " I see, Matilda — I see, I know, I under- 
 stand; but I cannot help feeling — oh, you 
 know well enough what I feel." 
 
 " And you are so kind to him," pursued 
 she, with a sudden sob ; " yes, you are — you 
 are. No one would be like you to him — the 
 best, the dearest, the " 
 
 " Well, well, never mind ; why, it's all right, 
 of course it's all right ; they meant to do their 
 duty by us both, I suppose ; and one ought 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 34 THE BABYS GEANDMOTHEH. 
 
 not to speak against one's father and mother — 
 specially when they are dead, but " 
 
 " Think what they did for me," said Matilda, 
 in a low voice, but with drier eyes. 
 
 Her brother was silent. 
 
 *' Did they not marry me when I was but a 
 girl, a child ? " pursued his sister ; '^ did they 
 not give me to a man more than twice my 
 age, who neither loved me nor feigned to love 
 me, who was incapable of loving any one but 
 himself? who made my life a burden " 
 
 " Yet you used to seem happy." 
 
 " Was I happy ? It must have been after 
 a strange fashion then. AYhy, Overton, you 
 say I used to seem happy. To seem f Yes ; 
 that is exactly the word. Was it likely I 
 should do anything but ' seem ' ? To show the 
 truth, to lay bare my wretchedness for every 
 passer-by to gaze upon ? No, indeed. The 
 thing was done, and I had but to keep up the 
 farce as best I could. Well, well," continued 
 Matilda in a brisker tone, '* well, well, those 
 days are past, and we are all very happy
 
 " YET YOU USED TO SEEM HAPPY." 35 
 
 now, — are we not, dear? As to your being 
 jealous of Teddy " 
 
 " I never said I was jealous. How can you 
 think such a thing ? " 
 
 " As to imagining that Teddy can in any way 
 fill your shoes, or take the place of Lord Over- 
 ton in the sioht of a hostess " 
 
 o 
 
 " ^Ay, that's it ; I can follow you there. 
 
 Possibly Lord Overton might be welcome, but 
 I_I_myself " 
 
 " But you — you — yourself, being as you 
 
 are. Lord Overton, cannot disassociate your 
 person from your title, your body from — let me 
 see what ; at any rate you will not refuse the 
 next invitation, and send home the next fair 
 dame who briDgs it, dying with chagrin V 
 
 Perhaps she would after such a discussion 
 endeavour still further to explain matters, but 
 the end of any such attempts would be almost 
 always the same — a sort of storm of admira- 
 tion and vexation on her part, and partial and 
 temporary enlightenment on his. 
 
 Such a gleam would soon die out. He
 
 36 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 would go to the next party as lie had been 
 bid, would go internally quaking and out- 
 wardly cold and frigid, and although endeav- 
 ouring to do his best, would somehow contrive 
 to do it with the very worst effect possible. He 
 would not stand on the hearth-rug ; he would 
 not play the earl ; the most unostentatious 
 back seat would infallibly be his resort, and the 
 nearest person to him — quite possibly the hum- 
 blest individual there — had such conversation 
 as he possessed. It was not much : he would 
 look wistfully and enviously at his younger 
 brother, who, with artless complacency, and 
 in the very best of spirits, was prattling away 
 first to one and then to another ; who was 
 moving about from place to place as anything 
 caught his eye or engaged his attention ; who, 
 during the dinner which followed, would be 
 beset on every side by fair ones anxious for 
 his attention, for attention which he seemed 
 willing and able to distribute to each and all 
 impartially, — and he would wonder how Teddy 
 did it. No such brilliant effusions came from
 
 "yet you used to seem happy." 37 
 
 him, no such happy sallies set the table laugh- 
 ing. It was hard on his companion, Lord 
 Overton would consider ; and graver and 
 graver would grow his voice, and longer and 
 longer his face, as the hours wore on. When 
 all was over he would heave a sigh of relief, 
 but even the relief was tempered by appre- 
 hension of a probable lecture on the way 
 home ; and thus it was scarcely to be won- 
 dered at that society liked the unfortunate 
 nobleman little better than he liked society, 
 and that althouo;h some — the charitable — 
 merely called him stiff and stately, the greater 
 part of his acquaintance characterised him as 
 eaten up with pride. 
 
 And what of Matilda, the widow, the 
 mother, and now the grandmother ? 
 
 She was, as has been already said, a lovely 
 woman ; full of animal life ; warm-blooded, 
 high-spirited, and impetuous ; a passionate 
 partisan or an unsparing adversary ; one who 
 loved or hated with equal warmth ; generous 
 to a fault, or sarcastic to acrimony. At the
 
 38 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 age of tliirty-seven — for she was three years 
 younger than Overton — she still possessed in 
 a redundant share the freshness, energy, and 
 spring of youth — perhaps also some of its 
 incompleteness. There was still promise to be 
 fulfilled, still material for experience to work 
 upon ; but this only added, as it seemed, to the 
 charms of one already so charming— one who 
 was too charming to be perfect. Her voice 
 was soft, yet rich ; never raised above an even 
 medium note ; yet so clear was the enuncia- 
 tion, and so resonant the tone, that wdierever 
 the sound of it was carried, words and mean- 
 ing could be discerned also. 
 
 In figure she was tall, and though not 
 more fully formed than became her age, yet 
 giving indications that, in after life, she might 
 become stout rather than thin. 
 
 But who shall describe the lustre of her 
 large dark eye, by turns soft, subtle, searching, 
 or sparkling, brimming, and mischievous ? 
 Who could forget the exquisite pose of her 
 head, the broad low brow, the play of her
 
 lips, the curve of her chin, the rounded throat, 
 the falling shoulder? No wonder that she 
 was adored. No wonder that every man who 
 had once seen, looked twice, thrice, whenever 
 and wherever he could, at Lady ]\Iatilda. 
 
 How it came to pass that, with lovers in 
 plenty, she had never contracted a second 
 union, even Matilda herself would hardly have 
 been able to explain. She neither was, nor 
 had ever affected to be, a broken-hearted 
 woman, one who had played out her part in a 
 troublesome world, and had fain have no more 
 ado with it : so far indeed from this being the 
 case, people did say that, having been married 
 off as fast as possible by parents who were 
 solely anxious to get the skittish lass off their 
 hands, the poor thing had been mercifully 
 deprived of a husband whom no one could 
 tolerate, and that probably the happiest day 
 of her life had been that which saw her, all 
 beclouded from head to foot in trappings of 
 woe, brought back a widow to the home of 
 her childhood. Over that home the kind
 
 40 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 Overton now reigned, and over him Matilda 
 herself meant to reign. She meant it, and 
 she did it. Never had sister found a warmer 
 welcome, and never had one been more needed 
 or appreciated. She had flown at her brothers' 
 necks, kissed, hugged, wept over them with — 
 we hardly like to confess what kind of tears, 
 but perhaps the two may have guessed, — at any 
 rate, in their satisfaction, and in her own, each 
 felt that, with Matilda back again, a new life 
 had begun. Every want was supplied, every 
 void filled up. Soon there began to be heard 
 a firm light tread up and down the broad 
 staircase ; a cheerful woman's voice would 
 issue forth through open doorways ; and by- 
 and-by a jest and a laugh would peep slyly 
 out when Matilda's lips were open, as though 
 half afraid to make known their presence, and 
 yet unable to hide away longer. Sounds of 
 music echoed from distant chambers ; flowers, 
 dewy and fragrant, met the eye about the 
 rooms ; there were parcels on the hall-table ; 
 there was a riding- whip here, and a pair of
 
 "yet you used to seem happy." 41 
 
 gloves there ; and a neat little coat would be 
 found hung up among the men's coats on the 
 stand, and a sweet little hat would perch 
 alongside the brothers' hats upon the pegs ; 
 and all this meant — Matilda. 
 
 Fresh wheel-marks down the avenue showed 
 that Matilda was out driving ; the boat-house 
 key lost, told that she had been out boating ; 
 the hothouse doors left ajar, betrayed that she 
 had been eating the grapes. 
 
 Everywhere was IMatilda felt, and to every- 
 thing she had a right; and thus intrenched in 
 comfort, authority, and contentment, sure it 
 would have been a bold adventurer indeed 
 who would have thought of storming such a 
 citadel.
 
 42 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LOTTA. 
 
 " She speaks, behaves, and acts, just as she ought — 
 But never, never reached one generous thought. " 
 
 —Pope, 
 
 AYe must not, however, forget that up to 
 within a very few months of the time our 
 story opens, there had been another inmate 
 of Overton Hall, and indeed an inmate who 
 had no mean idea of her own importance. 
 This was the little girl called Lotta, who, with 
 large round eyes and demure step, accom- 
 panied her mother on Lady Matilda's return 
 to the Hall. Now it must be confessed that 
 the one very very slight thorn in the sides of 
 the three chiefly concerned in this restoration 
 was connected with the little Charlotte — or
 
 LOTTA. 43 
 
 Lotta : tliey could not, any of them, be quite 
 as fond of Matilda's child as they could have 
 wished to be. It would have been natural for 
 her to have been the centre of attraction to 
 one and all — for the bereaved parent to have 
 been absolutely devoted to her darling, and 
 for the uncles to have found an unfailing 
 source of interest and amusement in one who 
 was at the endearing age of six, when child- 
 hood is especially bewitching, and when the 
 second teeth have not yet begun to come. 
 The whole household might have been pro- 
 vided with an object in Lotta. In taking 
 care of her, watchinor over her, delisfhting^ her 
 little heart with trifles, admiring^ the dawninor 
 of her intelligence, and recounting her sayings, 
 an unflagging source of conversation and study 
 might have been discovered : and, indeed, 
 wiseacres shook their heads, and predicted 
 that a nicely spoilt young lady Miss Charlotte 
 Wilmot would grow up to be, in such an 
 atmosphere, and with such surroundings. 
 They were mistaken. Lotta was not spoilt
 
 44 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 after the fashion they thought of, — and this 
 from no severe exercise of self-restraint on the 
 part of Lady Matilda and her brothers, but 
 simply because they Avere not so tempted. 
 Nothing, indeed, made the widow more indig- 
 nant than a hint that such was the case ; hard 
 and long she strove against the fact, against 
 nature, against everything that favoured the 
 distressing conviction, but she was overpowered 
 at last, and almost allowed it to herself in her 
 disappointment. She could not, try as she 
 might, turn Charlotte into an engaging child : 
 she petted her, played with her, romped with 
 her; and Charlotte accepted it all without 
 hesitation, but Avithout originating either a 
 caress or a frolic in return. What was wrong 1 
 No one seemed to know. From infancy the 
 little girl had been a compound of virtues, and 
 it was said of her that a less troublesome 
 charge no nurse had ever possessed. At the 
 age of eio^ht she cut and stitched dolls' frocks 
 without assistance, set herself her own tasks 
 if her governess were unwell or absent, gave
 
 LOTTA. 45 
 
 directions as to when tucks were to be let 
 down or breadths let out in her frocks, and 
 refrained — on principle — from tasting un- 
 known puddings at table. What was there 
 left for mother, or uncles, to do ? 
 
 " She puts me to shame, I know," cried 
 Lady Matilda, valiantly ; " she thinks of 
 things in a way I never could, and quite 
 wonderful in a child of her age. I don't 
 know where I should be without Lotta, I am 
 so forgetful about what has to be done, and 
 she reminds me of it just at the right time 
 and in the right place. Do you know, she 
 always asks nurse for her medicine" — Lotta 
 being at the time ill with measles. "Nurse 
 says there is no need for her to think about 
 it, for as sure as the finger of the clock points 
 to the hour, Lotta asks for her dose. Is it 
 not nice, and — and thoughtful of the poor 
 child ? " And as she spoke thus bravely, 
 almost fiercely, in defence of her offspring, no 
 one would venture to differ from a word she 
 said ; indeed they would hastily and nervously
 
 46 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 agree, find more to say, discriminate between 
 tlie little phenomenon and others, valorously 
 finding a verdict in Lotta's favour, and watch 
 the very tips of every syllable they uttered, 
 lest anything should escape to rouse suspicion 
 on the part of the parent, thus herself upon 
 the watch against herself. 
 
 But how came Lotta to be a child of Lady 
 Matilda — of the gay, careless, jocund Matilda? 
 How came such a creature of habit and order 
 to be associated with such a very spirit of 
 heedlessness and improvidence ? How grew 
 such a methodical imp in such a casual soil ? 
 How, in short, came the dull, worthy, ex- 
 cellent, and most unattractive daughter, to be 
 born of the brilliant, arch, incorrigible mother ? 
 A mystery of mysteries it was. 
 
 Lady Matilda did not like to have remarks 
 made upon the subject. She was fond of 
 Charlotte, maternally, — that is to say, Char- 
 lotte was her child, her only child, the little 
 one whom she had watched from infancy, and 
 Avho was to be her friend and companion in
 
 LOTTA. 47 
 
 after life. She had rejoiced in being young 
 for Charlotte's sake. Charlotte should have 
 no sober-minded, middle-aged, far-away parent, 
 who would smile benignantly on her games 
 and toys, or listen condescendingly to her 
 tales of lovers and suitors, having neither part 
 nor lot in such matters, and looking down in 
 wisdom from a heioht above them. Such 
 mothers were all very well ; but she would be 
 on a level with her child, hand and glove iu 
 all that went on, the maiden's chosen com- 
 panion and intimate. 
 
 And then, behold, Lotta had needed no 
 such companion ; had felt herself sufficient for 
 herself from earliest days ; had, if the truth 
 were told, an idea as she waxed older, that 
 she was her mother's superior in sense and 
 sagacity, forethought and prudence. What 
 was to be done, this beiug the case 1 A wet 
 day would come, and Lady Matilda, bored to 
 death with a long afternoon in the house, 
 would cheerfully propose — making Lotta the 
 pretext — a game of battledore and shuttlecock
 
 48 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 in the gallery. Oh yes, Lotta would play if 
 mamma wished it ; but it would surely tire 
 mamma, and for herself she would prefer going 
 on with what she was doing. She was quite 
 happy ; she was preparing her lessons for the 
 next day ; she did not need any play, thank 
 you. After such a snub, Matilda and Teddy 
 would look at the child — Matilda with a per- 
 plexed curious look, Teddy with a grin — and 
 then they would go off and play with each 
 other, while not even the sounds of mirth and 
 the regular monotonous tap-tap of the shuttle- 
 cock would brino; the dilis^ent and virtuous 
 piece of industry from her self-set task. 
 
 '' She mio;ht have been born an old woman," 
 Matilda would mutter to herself; but she 
 would take very good care not to let what 
 had passed elicit a comment from Teddy. 
 While Lotta was very young, and before it 
 became absolutely certain what Lotta would 
 turn out, he knew that no animadversions on 
 his niece would be permitted, and that his 
 sister, sore because of her own disappointment.
 
 LOTTA. 49 
 
 would not stand so much as an insinuation 
 from others. It was when the little girl was 
 most imposing and didactic, was least endur- 
 able, in other terms, that Lady Matilda's 
 tongue ran fastest in her favour. What would 
 her uncles have 1 They need not expect every 
 child to be like other children, as if they were 
 a pack of sheep. Lotta was all that any one 
 could desire in the way of goodness and gentle- 
 ness : and as for her little practical head, you 
 might trust her with a whole list of articles to 
 buy, and shops to go to, and she would not 
 only forget nothing, but would bring her little 
 account afterwards and make it balance to a 
 farthing. '' Which is more than I ever could 
 do," the poor lady would add in conclusion. 
 
 But as Charlotte grew up there was less 
 and less in common between her and her 
 mother. 
 
 The latter could not hide from herself, as 
 years went on, how limited in reality were 
 her daughter's powers, and how commonjDlace 
 her mind. The very governess learned to 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 shrug her shoulders. "Yes, Miss Charlotte 
 was not what you could call bright, not quick. 
 She was a very good girl, very industrious, 
 very diligent, but she had not the — the 
 ability. No ; she had no decided turn for 
 anything. For languages, certainly not ; for 
 history, geography, grammar, pretty well ; but 
 music, drawing, poetry " — she would shake 
 her head. 
 
 In short, Charlotte was a dullard, who 
 never opened a book if she could help it, 
 who neither knew nor cared to know what 
 was in the heavens above or in the earth 
 beneath, who seldom put a question, who 
 never created an idea, and who was far more 
 satisfied with her ignorance than the wisest 
 philosopher with his knowledge. At seventeen 
 Lady Matilda, who had indeed, as we know, 
 no cause to advocate matrimony, was still 
 fain to acknowledge to herself that when the 
 young lady had finished with lessons there 
 would be nothing for it but to marry 
 her.
 
 LOTTA. 51 
 
 "Provided she gets a poor man she may 
 do very well," reflected the unworldly mother ; 
 *' a rich one would leave her far too little to 
 think about ; and as she has something of her 
 own, she can never be really at a loss. Grant 
 her a poor man — a moderately poor man — 
 and she will find the most delightful occupa- 
 tion in economising, saving, looking after 
 every bit and scrap, worrying her servants, 
 and reducing everything she has in hand to 
 system. She will do her own marketing, and 
 turn her own gowns. She will have a bunch 
 of keys as big as a bottle. Yes, yes ; that 
 must be it. Lotta must marry, and marry 
 soon, or — well, there is no use denying it, 
 she will drive us all out of our senses." 
 
 *' Since Miss Grove has deserted us" — for 
 the wily Miss Grove, oppressed by the staid 
 solemnity of her one pupil, had flown to a 
 livelier schoolroom, after having first assured 
 Lady Matilda, with a mixture of artfulness 
 and ingenuity, that it was of no use her 
 staying on, as Miss Wilmot would never 
 
 LIBKAHY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 learn more than she knew already — '' since 
 Lotta has been her own mistress, she has 
 become quite dreadful," owned poor Matilda to 
 herself. " She proses to Overton like a woman 
 of fifty, and seems to think that her mission 
 in life is to keep us all in order. I am sure 
 I really do not know what will be the end of 
 it, if some charitable person does not take 
 pity upon us, and appear to the rescue." 
 
 And then, as if by magic, who should 
 appear before the astonished eyes of the fair 
 conjuror but the very charitable person she 
 sought, as though raised by her spells ? It 
 was too much. She was almost overpowered 
 by her good luck. Could it be — could it 
 really be 1 Was it possible, not to say ac- 
 tually the case, that here was Mr Eobert 
 Hanwell, the unexceptionable, not too rich, 
 not too clever, not too exacting son and heir 
 of old John Hamvell at the other end of the 
 county, coming forward as a suitor for the 
 hand of the youthful and charmiug and sadly 
 perplexing Miss Wilmot ?
 
 LOTTA. 53 
 
 Miss Wilmot's mamma clapped her hands 
 when there was no one by to see her. 
 
 Then she was vexed with herself, and the 
 tears came into her eyes as she saw what she 
 had done. Was that the way to treat an 
 event so serious ? "Was that the spirit wherein 
 she should have received the news that her 
 daughter's happiness was, humanly speaking, 
 secured for life ? She ought to have known 
 better. Well did she know whence came this 
 good thing, and who had taken thought of the 
 widow and the fatherless, and a softer lioiit 
 shone in her eye, and the lip quivered a little, 
 as associations and memory awoke, as they do 
 awake at such times. Lotta would be happy 
 in her husband, it appeared. Mr Hanwell 
 was known to them all by repute, and repute 
 spoke him a good man, come of a good stock. 
 He was apparently much enamoured of Lotta ; 
 he had met her at a country house, whither 
 Charlotte had been packed off in order to give 
 the household at Overton a moment's breath- 
 ing-space after her emancipation, and the
 
 54 THE baby's GPvAXDMOTHER. 
 
 sedate, well - conducted, and fairly comely 
 young miss had apparently found favour in 
 the eyes of one person from the very begin- 
 ning of their acquaintance. Lotta had been 
 glad enough to go, glad to leave Overton, 
 where, although she knew not why, she her- 
 self had felt uncomfortable, and where, just 
 before, Teddy had succeeded in rousing up 
 the party, if he had not improved matters, 
 by sulking for a week on end. Lotta had 
 gone oflf in good spirits, well pleased and well 
 dressed — Lady Matilda had taken care of the 
 last — and the consequence was, she had been 
 caught at her best. They had little expected 
 such a result ; they had merely felt that 
 Mademoiselle must betake herself elsewhere 
 for a season, must give them a brief release 
 from her sense and supervision ; therefore the 
 delight of all may be imagined, and even 
 Lady Matilda's childish expression of it par- 
 doned, when one fine morning who should 
 appear but Mr Eobert Hanwell, big with 
 purposes concerning her.
 
 LOTTA. 5 5 
 
 He met with no opposition ; to demur was 
 not to be thought of. The earl and his sister 
 had indeed much ado to conceal their indecent 
 glee at the prospect of getting rid in a manner 
 at once so unexpected and so delightful of an 
 incubus whose weight had already begun to 
 press heavily on their shoulders ; and it was 
 only by rigidly composing their countenances 
 that they could restrain an outbreak and over- 
 flow of smiles, and by steadfastly fixing their 
 eyes upon the ground that they could keep 
 them from reciprocally congratulating each 
 other. 
 
 With some trepidation Mr Han well made 
 his ofi'er. He was, he stated, not a wealthy 
 man, but his father could do somethinof for 
 him ; he was the eldest son, and the estate 
 was unencumbered ; his father could give him 
 seven or eight hundred a-year ; he had no 
 profession, having — hum — haw — dabbled in 
 law a little, but not been exactly called to the 
 bar — at least — well, it did not signify, it would 
 not have suited him, — and all he meant was
 
 56 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 that, having thus no tie to any place — no 
 necessity for being here or there — he would 
 be able to settle down anywhere ; he should 
 have no objection — indeed, would be very 
 glad — to be in the neighbourhood of Overton, 
 as no doubt Lady Matilda would wish," — 
 Lady Matilda gravely bent her head, — "he 
 would do anything, in short, in that way, or 
 in any way, for he felt very much what a — 
 that — a — that he was asking a great deal, 
 that he was seeking to deprive a mother of 
 her only child," — Lady Matilda bowed again, 
 — " but indeed," concluded the aspirant with 
 a flourish — " indeed, I would endeavour to do 
 my best to be worthy of the position I aspire 
 to." The last sentence with a glance towards 
 Lord Overton, who was standing harmlessly 
 by, and who had no idea whatever that the 
 said position referred in any way to him. 
 
 Mr Han well thus got through the whole of 
 the speech he had previously prepared, with- 
 out interruption from either, and probably 
 also without in the least discovering then or
 
 LOTTA. 5V 
 
 thereafter that there had been no occasion for 
 saying anything half so fine. 
 
 Overton merely observed that Charlotte was 
 a good girl, and would make him a good wife. 
 
 Lady Matilda endeavoured to go a step fur- 
 ther, and flounderd about between truth and 
 falsehood for several minutes, before she was 
 able to seek refuge in complimenting alter- 
 nately the young man's parents and himself. 
 " She knew," she vowed, " all about the Han- 
 wells, everybody must know ahout the Han- 
 wells if they did no more, and she should be 
 only too happy to be connected with them, to 
 have her daughter enter so — so — " for the life 
 of her she could not think of any other word 
 than " respectable," and as that would hardly 
 have done to say, she was fain to do without 
 an attribute, and finish ofi" rather humbly with 
 '' such a family as the Hanwells." 
 
 It was at this juncture that the door flew 
 open, and Teddy, — who had not been present, 
 but who had managed nevertheless to learn, as 
 he usually did, by means best known to him-
 
 58 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 self, all that was going on, — Teddy now burst 
 in with a face like a sunbeam, shook the visit- 
 or's hand for full two minutes, stared him in 
 the face, and wound up with a laugh which we 
 are bound to confess Avas suspiciously silly. 
 
 All, however, was taken in good part. 
 
 Mr Hanwell was satisfied, more than satis- 
 fied, with his reception; and Lady Matilda 
 devoted herself for the remainder of his stay 
 towards keeping up the degree of complacency 
 which had been already excited. In private, 
 as we know, she clapped her hands. Lotta 
 married and provided for, settled in a comfort- 
 able home, with a good kind husband of her 
 own choosing, within easy reach of Overton, 
 yet not too near — not so near as to necessitate 
 daily intercourse^oh, with her whole heart of 
 hearts she blessed Eobert Hanwell. 
 
 The wedding took place, and we know what 
 the next event was.
 
 59 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Amoret, my lovelj' foe, 
 
 Tell me where thy strength doth lie, 
 "Where the power that charms us so, 
 In thy soul, or in thine eye ? " 
 
 —Waller. 
 
 All tliis was very delightful, but it must 
 be confessed that entirely content as Lady 
 Matilda was with her son-in-law as her son- 
 in-law, in no other lio-ht could she have en- 
 dured him. 
 
 He made Charlotte happy. Very well. 
 That was all he had eno^as^ed to do, and in 
 thus fulfilling his part of the marriage-contract 
 he was an undeniable success. As a husband 
 he was a pattern, a model, faultless and flaw- 
 less ; as a creditable connection, even as an
 
 60 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 eligible match, he might very well pose for 
 want of a better ; as a neighbour, he did toler- 
 ably ; but as a man, weighed in the balances, 
 there was no concealing that he was very light 
 weight indeed. The first blush of acquaint- 
 anceship had barely worn off, — he had hardly 
 begun to be at home in the circle, and to 
 assume a right to the seat by Lotta in the 
 drawing-room and at the dinner-table, — ere it 
 was seen and felt that he was eminently fit for 
 her companionship, and pre-eminently unfit 
 for that of any other member of the family. 
 He w^as not amusing, and he could not be 
 amused. He was dull, and he liked being 
 dull. Few things interested him, and nothing 
 entertained him. In short, Lotta had fallen 
 on her feet by thus obtaining her own counter- 
 part in a consequential prig, who thought very 
 little and talked a great deal, whose ideas 
 seldom passed beyond the very narrow range 
 of matters connected with himself or those 
 belonfifinof to him, who was never at a loss for 
 material wherewith to enhance his own conse-
 
 "IT IS XOT HER BEING YOUXG." 61 
 
 quence, and who could not even, according to 
 Lady Matilda, say " Good-bye " or '' How d'ye 
 do ? " like other people. 
 
 The thing that was correct and proper to be 
 done Robert would do ; and yet how delight- 
 ful it would often have been could he have 
 been dissuaded from doing it. One may be 
 very much in the right, and yet it would be 
 better to be in the wrong. 
 
 For instance, Lady Matilda hated ceremony, 
 and ceremony was the very marrow of Robert's 
 bones, the very breath of his nostrils ; aud 
 what was the upshot ? We will not say that 
 she grew to hate the formal young man be- 
 cause of his formality; but it is certain that 
 sometimes when she associated the two in her 
 own mind, it was not clear to her which she for 
 the time least affected. Robert meant well 
 certainly; and she was ready, upon reflection, 
 to allow that it was his place to treat her with 
 
 a certain amount of deference, but still . 
 
 She could not rattle over in the dogcart to 
 Endhill, but she must accept his arm out to
 
 62 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 lier '* carriage " when she left, or, worse still, 
 endure his escort for all the long four miles 
 home, did she choose to return on foot. Noth- 
 ing that she could do or say would deter him 
 from a proceeding often really inconvenient to 
 himself and infinitely distasteful to her, since 
 he had made up his mind that he understood 
 the etiquette on such points, and that even in 
 the teeth of Lady Matilda's threats and en- 
 treaties, he would not fail in his duty. In 
 vain she predicted rain, wind, snow, anything 
 and everything that the elements could do, to 
 save herself the infliction — she would have to 
 give in and be taken home in state at last. 
 She could not run in to see Lotta for five min- 
 utes, meaning no stiff call, but merely to fly 
 out again as soon as her errand or inquiry was 
 made, — she could not do this, but the long- 
 necked, long-backed figure of Lotta's husband 
 would stalk forth from somewhere about, and 
 be all readiness to proceed by her side jDres- 
 ently. Her direction was his ; her time, his. 
 She could not struggle with any success against
 
 "IT IS NOT HER BEING YOUNG. 63 
 
 attentions so becoming and suitable, and there 
 was not even a window through which she 
 could escape unseen. 
 
 Sometimes she had an unexpected ally, 
 when Lotta would put in a fond remon- 
 strance. " Dear Kobert, you do not need ; I 
 am sure mamma would not wish it when you 
 have a cold already." But the look given in 
 return was meant to convince the speaker 
 that dear Eobert knew better what dear 
 Eobert should do than all the mammas in 
 Christendom. He had not intruded into the 
 drawing-room ; he could quite understand 
 that he might not be wanted there, that 
 mother and daughter might occasionally pre- 
 fer to meet without the presence of the pro- 
 verbially unwelcome third, but the rest must 
 be left to him ; and this was one way in 
 which the new member of the family could 
 show himself both dull and doD^o-ed. 
 
 Again, when the young couple had to be 
 invited over to the Hall, as was pretty often 
 felt to be necessary — it was not precisely a
 
 64 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 pleasure, though no one said aloud as much — 
 surely Kobert might very well have declined 
 for both when obliged to excuse one. He 
 Avrote the answer — he might have done it 
 easily, had he seen fit. No offence would 
 have been taken had he, in the roundest 
 terms, asserted his inclination for his. own 
 fireside and his dear Charlotte's company, 
 when Charlotte herself was unable to take 
 the long drive and sit out the long dinner — 
 and so he was assured. The truth was, that 
 on the first occasion of a note being sent 
 over when the young wife was known to be 
 ailing, it had been comfortably predicted by 
 Matilda that no acceptance need be appre- 
 hended from Robert, since he, who was so 
 very particular on all such matters, would, 
 were Charlotte to decline, infallibly think it 
 only decorous to remain behind also. 
 
 Unfortunately Robert's decorum took an- 
 other turn. He allowed that it was a pity 
 that it should so have happened, and Lotta 
 was extremely sorry to have to give up so
 
 pleasant a prospect, but for himself, he should 
 be most happy to come ; he would not have 
 gone anywhere else en garcon, but going to 
 Overton was quite another thing ; and Lotta 
 begged him to say from her, that she would 
 have been quite vexed had he refused her 
 people on her account. A friend had been 
 invited to keep her company at home, and he 
 had no doubt she would do very well, and be 
 quite able for one evening to amuse herself. 
 
 "And three sides of a sheet about it!" 
 cried the ungrateful Matilda, at the close. 
 She could have better liked a worse man, and 
 that was the honest truth about Eobert. 
 
 Nor was Mr Hanwell in his way more 
 enamoured of his mother-in-law, on nearer 
 acquaintance, than Lady Matilda was with him. 
 
 In some inexplicable fashion he was ag- 
 grieved by her beauty and intelligence, her 
 ready wit and roguish eye ; she was too 
 happy, too merry, too — too — he could not 
 exactly say what, — but there was a some- 
 thing incongruous between the lady and her 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 C6 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 position, which, in the sight of a young man 
 who, with every fibre of his body and soul 
 worshipped the god of propriety, was hardly 
 to be borne with temper. Naturally he could 
 not think of Matilda as Matilda. She was 
 the late Mr Wilmot's widow, Lotta's mother, 
 and his own mother-in-law, — and it must be 
 said for him, that such a mother-in-law was 
 undoubtedly rather a queer sort of appendage 
 to any man, let alone that Kobert was himself 
 thirty-three years of age, and quite willing to 
 own to it ; that he had settled down into 
 matrimony with a hearty goodwill ; that he 
 filled his waistcoat, changed his socks when- 
 ever the roads were wet, j^referred a dogcart 
 to a saddle, and dinners to dances. 
 
 On his marriage he had voluntarily surren- 
 dered whatever of youth he might once have 
 possessed ; he no longer cared to be called or 
 thought of as a young man ; and pray what 
 did Lady Matilda mean by looking years 
 his junior, and disdaining his hand over the 
 fences ?
 
 *'IT IS XOT HER BEING YOUXG." 67 
 
 Lotta had not half so springy a step as her 
 mother. It was childish to be always joking, 
 as Lady Matilda was. And precious little 
 advice or help had Lotta's parent to give 
 when it came to talking about sensible things, 
 he could testify to that. On first taking up 
 house, of course he had expected that Lady 
 Matildas opinion would have been all in 
 all with her daughter, and that she would 
 have been Lotta's stand-by amidst the inevit- 
 able difficulties and troubles of settling in ; 
 but he had soon found his mistake. Every 
 mortal thing had Lotta arranged for herself; 
 all the furniture she had chosen ; she had 
 hired her own servants and eno-ao-ed her own 
 tradespeople, — while Lady Matilda had only 
 looked in to listen, and wonder, and smile. 
 He liked Lady Matilda — at least he thought 
 he did ; but he wished, oh how he wished, 
 that she stood in any other relation to himself 
 than the one in which she did. 
 
 She was to him a provocation extraordi- 
 nary. Almost every time the two came in
 
 68 THE baby's GEANDMOTHER. 
 
 contact, she, to use lier own expression, fell 
 foul of him, and that meant that he longed to 
 speak for once openly, and conjure her to take 
 more heed to herself, to take more care of 
 what she said and did, to be more dignijSed, 
 more reticent, more Lotta-like. Having been 
 much of an authority under his paternal roof, 
 and havino; laid down the law to half-a-dozen 
 submissive sisters at a time, Robert could ill 
 brook the thraldom now imposed by circum- 
 stances on his tongue, or refrain from lectur- 
 ing the young madam when she did amiss. 
 
 Lotta, his dear discreet Lotta, never, or at 
 least hardly ever, needed an admonishing 
 word ; but to have straitly rebuked Lotta's 
 mother, had Lady Matilda been any one else, 
 would have been a delight for which his very 
 soul thirsted. 
 
 And the wilful creature saw this, and took 
 pains to make his burden heavier than he 
 could bear. With the keenest relish she 
 marked the remonstrance that was struggling 
 to escape lips which resolutely forced it back ;
 
 G9 
 
 with twinkling eye she kept watch upon the 
 uneasy frown, the restive twitch, the just 
 uttered and hastily recalled syllable, — and 
 then with the sweetest naughtiest audacity 
 that was ever seen, she Avould add such a 
 touch as would send Robert to the right-about 
 in a trice, fleeing from a temptation which 
 might have proved too much for him. 
 
 He never did transgress. That is to say, 
 he never had transgressed up to the time our 
 story opens ; but whether after events did 
 not overpower even his resolution remains to 
 be seen. 
 
 As it was, he only found the situation very, 
 abominably awkward. 
 
 " It's not her being young and that," he 
 would aver. "It's not her being only thirty- 
 seven, by any means. Thirty-seven is a very 
 good age, a very good age indeed, — if Lady 
 Matilda would only think so, and would 
 only show that she thinks so. Thirty-seven; 
 bless me ! Thirty - seven. Why there are 
 plenty of ladies are quite ixissee by thirty or
 
 70 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 thirty -five ; and the married ones — and slie^s 
 Si married one, mind you — well, you don't 
 think of them as young ladies, not as young 
 ladies at all. They are getting on, at any 
 rate ; they are full-grown women ; they think 
 sensibly, and talk sensibly, about their chil- 
 dren, and servants, and domestic affairs — these 
 are the things that ought to interest women 
 of Lady Matilda's time of life. There's Char- 
 lotte now, Charlotte not nineteen yet, — 'pon 
 my word, if you saw her and her mother 
 together, — at least I mean " — rather hastily, 
 ''if you heard them together, you would take 
 Charlotte for the older of the two. You 
 would indeed. Thirty-seven ! I declare when 
 I am thirty-seven I shan't want to be running 
 the risk of breaking my neck over all the 
 worst fences in the county, or twirling about 
 by moonlight on the ice, as Lady Matilda did 
 last winter. Poor Charlotte never got her 
 skates on, but there was her mother out 
 every evening, and she and Teddy had all the 
 people round let into the park, and such goings
 
 on. Anybody might go that liked, — it was 
 not at all the thini^ to do. And that was 
 Lady Matilda to the life. She neither knows 
 nor cares what's expected of her; she just 
 does as she pleases, and listens to nobody. 
 You never catch her of an afternoon sitting 
 properly in her drawing-room, or driving in 
 her carriage ; she is either singing like mad 
 out in the hall, or larking about all over the 
 place with Teddy. I wish, upon my word, I 
 wish any one could make her listen to reason, 
 — but that, no one ever does. She has no 
 more notion of what is befitting her position 
 and dignity than a chambermaid. She makes 
 fun of Lotta — I tell you she does. She would 
 make fun of me too if she dared, but I can 
 take care of myself. We shan't quarrel, but 
 I have no idea of letting myself be looked 
 down upon by any one. Well," after a pause, 
 *' well, there's one comfort. Lady Matilda 
 can't have the face to sport youth any longer 
 once she's a grandmother." 
 
 The above reflection added yet one more
 
 72 THE baby's GEANDMOTHER. 
 
 drop to the fulness of his cup of complacency 
 when Lotta's boy was born, and when, on the 
 same afternoon, he stood dangling his watch 
 and seals on the cottage doorstep awaiting the 
 expected visitors from the Hall. 
 
 He had half hoped that Overton might 
 come himself; but Overton, as usual, quite 
 unconscious that anything of the sort was 
 expected of him, had w\alked off in another 
 direction, and had not even sent so much as a 
 message. There were the other two, however, 
 large as life ; Lady Matilda gaily waving her 
 hand as they cantered up the drive — -Teddy, 
 with less alacrity, shaking his riding- whip. 
 
 There they were, calling out congratulations 
 ere they reached the doorstep. 
 
 "So glad — so pleased — welcome news," 
 began the young grandmother 
 
 "Hush — hush — hush," cried Eobert, hastily. 
 
 "What's the matter? Nothing wrong?" 
 The speaker's note changed on the instant. 
 " Nothing wrong, Eobert ? " 
 
 " Nothino; in the least wroni^. Oh dear no,
 
 " IT IS XOT HER BEING YOUNG." 73 
 
 far from it, — but we must be careful all the 
 
 same. The sound of your voice " lookiug 
 
 up at the windows. 
 
 " Why, Lotta's room is round the corner ; 
 she can't possibly hear," said Lady Matilda, 
 rather shortly. "You gave me a fright with 
 your 'hush — hush — hush.' I was merely 
 going to wish you joy." 
 
 "Many thanks. Allow me," Mr Hanwell 
 cut short the discussion by assisting her to 
 alight, resenting in his heart the very light 
 touch of her fingers as she did so, but never- 
 theless preceding with every courtesy his 
 visitors to the drawino' -room. "AVilliam, 
 take the horses round, and go the back way 
 — not under your mistress's window. "Will 
 you come in, too ? " to Teddy, who was rue- 
 fully following. " I don't know if you can 
 see baby, but I will inquire." 
 
 " Oh, I say, don't." 
 
 " Being in the dressing-room, it may not 
 be convenient." 
 
 " Of course not. I'll 2:0 in here."
 
 74 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 " And wait ? Yes, if you kindly will." 
 Eobert nodded approbation. " Lady Matilda 
 can go up-stairs at once — at least, I think she 
 can. I fancy this is not a debarred hour — 
 but thouo^h the nurse informed me all about 
 the hours herself, I foolishly forgot to notice 
 if it was from two to four, or from two to 
 half-past four." 
 
 " If what was ^ " 
 
 " The afternoon sleep ; if the rooms were to 
 be closed for the afternoon sleep, you know. 
 Of course you know all about such arrange- 
 ments," Eobert had a touch of malicious 
 pleasure in the remark, for it was one of his 
 favourite grievances that Lady Matilda never 
 did seem to know about such things — never 
 appeared in any way to have assimilated with 
 matrimony and motherhood. " The afternoon 
 sleep was to be for two hours or two hours 
 and a half, and during that time no visitors 
 were to be admitted, and of course I under- 
 took that the rule should be carried out," he 
 continued, as they ascended the staircase.
 
 "it is not her beixg youxg." 75 
 
 "Now, this way please" (as though she had 
 never been in the house before), "this way, 
 and take care of the two steps down. This is 
 the door, Lady Matilda." (Lady Matilda took 
 him ofif to the life afterwards.) " This curtain 
 is my contrivance, and I think you will ap- 
 prove it. The draught got in under the 
 door, and the nurse — her name is Mrs Burrble 
 — she complained of it, so I set my wits to 
 work. Now then, allow me " (of all his 
 phrases, she disliked that "allow me" most) 
 — "allow me, I can let you pass under per- 
 fectly." Tap, tap, at the door. "Nurse," 
 said Robert, in his most portentous whisper, 
 " Mrs Burrble. May we come in ? " 
 
 Lady Matilda laughed outright. She ought 
 not to have done it. She mioht have been 
 
 o 
 
 caught in the act either by the nurse or the 
 gentleman, or both, and it would have been no 
 excuse in their eyes that she really could not 
 help herself. She ought to have helped herself, 
 and it was only by the skin of her teeth that 
 she escaped, since there was scarcely a moment
 
 76 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 between the tap at the door and the appear- 
 ance of the portly nurse curtseying behind it. 
 But fate was kind, and Mrs Nurse was intent 
 upon herself. It was not for some seconds that 
 she looked at her lady visitor, and then — but 
 we must tell what she had been doing. She 
 had heard voices and steps outside the door, 
 and divining as by instinct who the new-comer 
 was, had utilised the pause which Mr Hanwell 
 made to explain his contrivance of the cur- 
 tain, to whisk around the infant the shawl 
 which grandmamma had sent. She now 
 lifted her eyes as she displayed her charge 
 with all the satisfaction of having been so 
 sharp. She lifted her eyes and beheld grand- 
 mamma herself. 
 
 Grandmamma it was and must be. There 
 was no mistaking the distinct enunciation, 
 " Lady Matilda has come to see the baby, 
 nurse," but — grandmamma ! 
 
 Mrs Burrble had heard indeed rumours of 
 Lady Matilda's youth and beauty, and she 
 had figured to herself a comely dame, fresh-
 
 coloured and well busked, rustling in \Yitli a 
 train sweeping the carpet yards behind her ; 
 one who would fall into raptures over the 
 darling boy, finding likenesses all round in 
 every feature, and who would forthwith enter 
 into close and confidential alliance with herself. 
 She had meant to be very close and confidential 
 with my lady, and to take even hints and advice 
 in good part, if need be, since her ladyship 
 would be sure to be good for a gold or silver 
 bowl at the christening, and as likely as not, 
 if she played her cards well, for a handsome 
 silk gown for nurse herself 
 
 A grandmamma was always a grandmamma, 
 and though grandmammas in the house, 
 " passing in and out and making no end of 
 a work," Mrs Burrble did not " hold with," a 
 grandmamma four miles ofi", who would be 
 content like a sensible lady to stop away till 
 she was sent for, and would then come at just 
 the right and proper hour (by sheer good 
 hap Lady Matilda had hit upon it) — such a 
 grandmamma was " a paragrine ; " and in-
 
 78 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 spired by the above reflection, the worthy- 
 dame dropped her most respectful curtsey as 
 the door opened, and raised her modest and 
 expectant eyes to behold — Lady Matilda. 
 
 It was well she was accustomed to babies, 
 — she nearly dropped the one she held in her 
 amazement. It was well she was not spoken 
 to, for she could not have answered. So mute 
 was her bewildered stare, so nervous, so puz- 
 zled, so uncertain and confounded and unlike 
 itself her manner, that Kobert, who interpreted 
 look, pause, and expression exactly aright, 
 was annoyed and put out of countenance. 
 He felt afresh that justice had not been done 
 him in the matter of his mother-in-law, when 
 here was this woman even, a stranger, a de- 
 pendant, so aghast at the apparition before her 
 as to be unable to conceal her feelinofs. 
 
 In the dusky light of the October afternoon. 
 Lady JMatilda s lithe figure, graceful in every 
 motion, scarce showed that it was a trifle more 
 full and rounded than it had been a dozen 
 years before, her checks were bright with ex-
 
 "it is xot her being young." . 79 
 
 ercise and excitement, and her sparkling eyes, 
 her quick step forward, her eager " Where is 
 he?" all so unlike what -should have been, 
 what ought to have been, — gracious heavens, 
 it was too much for any man's patience ! Oh, 
 why had he not been blessed with a connection 
 more to the purpose ? What had that radiant 
 form, whose very presence seemed to bring in 
 a glow of life, a breath of the fresh outer air 
 into the little dark room, what had she to do 
 with shaded windows, and silence, and — and 
 baby-clothes ? 
 
 Solemn and deferential as was the deport- 
 ment of Lady Matilda's son-in-law at all times, 
 it exceeded on this occasion what it had ever 
 been before, since in the face of every adverse 
 circumstance, rising above the perplexity and 
 incongruity of his position and hers, Robert 
 resolved to show that whatever mio-ht be 
 Matilda's shortcomings, however young and 
 gay and inconsequent she might show herself, 
 he, at least, knew his place, " My dear Teddy, 
 he nearly killed me," averred Teddy's sister
 
 80 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 afterwards. " I suppose he saw the joke ; and 
 the more he saw it, the less he liked it. The 
 poor nurse, I pitied her : she must have had a 
 severe time of it, rather. There were we two, 
 — Kobert hopping about all over the cradle to 
 
 get out of my way " 
 
 "All over the cradle! How you do 
 
 talk ! " 
 
 "And I not knowing on which arm to take 
 the baby ! " 
 
 " Well, you ought to have known, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 " I suppose I ought, but the fact remains 
 that I did not, or, at any rate, that I had for- 
 gotten ; and so what did I do but commit the 
 heinous offence of taking it on the wrong arm ! 
 You should have seen Mrs Gamp's face." 
 
 " Mrs Gamp ? " said Teddy, bewildered. 
 
 " To be sure, yes. Her name is BurrbJe. 
 How stupid of me to say Gamp ! Teddy, see 
 you remember that her name is Burrble, and 
 never, never call her anything else. Mind 
 that, Teddy. People are very particular about
 
 their names," said Matilda, anxiously. " And 
 then I expect you will be godfather," she ran 
 on, glibly changing the current of Teddy's 
 thoughts. " I am sure Robert will ask you." 
 
 "No, that he wont." 
 
 " Oh yes, he will ; I am nearly sure he will. 
 I am sure " 
 
 " You may be as sure as you like, but you 
 are wrong all the same. As to that baby, I 
 didn t want it, I know ; it's the greatest rot 
 beincr a o rand-uncle ; but if it was to come, of 
 course I ought to have been asked to be its 
 godfather." 
 
 " And of course you will." 
 
 " Very well, you know best, of course ; only 
 I happen to have heard," said Teddy, dogged- 
 ly — " I happen to have heard the opposite. 
 If you would only listen to me, I could tell 
 you not only who are to be asked, but who 
 have been asked ; for I saw the letters lying on 
 the slab, waiting for the post." 
 
 '' You don't say so, Teddy. Well 1 " 
 
 *' And, to make sure, I asked Robert." 
 
 VOL. L F
 
 82 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 "Oh, you did '? — oh. You didn't ask Robert 
 as if you had been looking, Teddy dear V said 
 Lady Matilda, rather dubiously. 
 
 " Not a bit of it. I merely pointed to the 
 letters with my whip, as if they had just 
 caught my eye. I had been looking at them 
 all the time he was up-stairs with you. How- 
 ever, he was not to know that ; so I poked 
 them carelessly as we passed by, and said, 
 ' Grodfathers, eh, Robert ? ' in the easiest man- 
 ner possible. So then he told me at once that 
 he had written to them this morning." 
 
 " Bless the man ! no grass grows under his 
 feet. Well, Teddy," louder, " well, and who 
 are they ? " 
 
 " A Mr Whewell, and a Mr Challoner." 
 " A Mr Whewell, and a Mr Challoner. And 
 who are they ? What are they ? Did you 
 not hear anything about them ? " 
 
 '' Oh, I heard a lot, but I didn't listen." 
 " Stupid fellow. Why, I want to know. 
 Why^ Ted, my dear boy, how unutterably 
 tiresome you can be when you try ! Mr Whe-
 
 " IT IS NOT HER BEING YOUNG. 83 
 
 well, and ]\Ir Challoner. Depend upon it, Mr 
 Wliewell is — stop, I know. He is that very 
 clever amusing young barrister who came down 
 in the summer. You remember ? We all 
 wondered how Kobert ever contrived to pick 
 up such a friend. I am glad it is Mr Whe- 
 well. If Mr Whewell should come down to 
 Endhill, we must see him again ; he must 
 come and shoot at Overton and chirp us up a 
 bit. Those Appleby girls will be glad to come 
 and make up the party at dinner : we owe 
 them something, and this will do exactly. 
 Well, and Mr Challoner? Challoner" — mus- 
 ing — " Challoner ; that name I never heard 
 before. Challoner ! I rather like it. Teddy, 
 can't you tell me something, anything, about 
 this Mr Challoner '? " 
 
 '* No," said Teddy, calmly, " I can't." 
 
 " Not if he is old or young, rich or poor, 
 black or white ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Is he a school friend, or a college friend, or 
 a relation friend."
 
 84 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Is lie — lias lie ever been here before ? " 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 " Is he " 
 
 " Now, look here," said Teddy, suddenly, 
 "just you stop that. I don't mind your talk- 
 ing as much as you please — as much as Eobert 
 does, if you like, — but I won't have questions. 
 It's no use questioning me ; I ain't going to 
 stand it. I have told you already that I don't 
 know ; and when I have once said * I don't 
 know,' nothing you can say will make me 
 know."
 
 85 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 MATILDA LOXGS TO TASTE THE DOUBTFUL CUP 
 AGAIX. 
 
 I live and lack ; I lack and have ; 
 I have ; and miss the thing I crave." 
 
 — Gascoigxe. 
 
 Robert Faxwell, like other people, some- 
 times hit the mark without knowing it. 
 
 In the two notes which he despatched in- 
 viting his two friends severally to stand 
 sponsors for the newborn son and heir, and 
 for that purpose to come down shortly to 
 Endhill for the christening, he held out an 
 inducement which neither of them could re- 
 sist. It cannot be said that either of the 
 gentlemen thus appealed to was devoted to 
 Eobert : he and his concerns were as little
 
 86 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 known as they were of little interest to them : 
 his marriage had cost them each a present, 
 and it appeared that the birth of his son was 
 likely to do the same, — and that w^as about 
 all, — or, at least, would have been all, had 
 not to each invitation a clause been appended 
 — a mere postscript, an after-thought it was — 
 W'hich made the announcement infinitely more 
 interesting, and the summons more seductive. 
 " The pheasant - shooting at Overton is re- 
 markably good," wrote Eobert, " and I have 
 no doubt Lord Overton would be happy to 
 give you a few days in the covers." He had 
 folded up Challoner's note before even recol- 
 lecting to say this, and indeed it was perhaps 
 more the satisfaction of being able to answer 
 for Lord Overton's obligingness than anything 
 else wdiich induced him to pause, unfold the 
 sheet, add the P.S., and then say the same 
 thino; to AV he well. Li the matter of shoot- 
 ing, Lord Overton was good-nature itself, and 
 could be counted on to grant a request for a 
 day at any time ; indeed, as it was so easily
 
 MATILDA LOXGS TO TASTE THE CUP AGAIX. 87 
 
 obtained, and as nobody either at Overton or 
 Endbill cared much about it, Mr Hanwell 
 threw in the brief suggestion, as we have 
 seen, in the background of his letter, little 
 imagining the effect it would produce in 
 changing the aspect of the whole afifair in 
 the eyes of his friends. 
 
 Both, as it happened, were good shots, and 
 neither was possessed of good shooting. 
 
 In consequence, they rose like greedy fish 
 to the bait, and swallowed whole the tempting 
 morsel, — indeed, while gladly agreeing " to 
 be present on the interesting occasion," Robert 
 mio^ht almost have seen in their eao-er assent 
 a devout wish that it could have been held 
 earlier. Challoner indeed went so far as to 
 feel every time he looked at the sky, the 
 soft grey cloudy October sky, that he was 
 being defrauded of that day in the Overton 
 woods ; while Whewell, boxed up in dreary 
 law courts and dismal chambers, solaced him- 
 self by getting through all the work he pos- 
 sibly could beforehand, in order to leave him-
 
 88 THE BABYS. GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 self free, should the few days specified by his 
 friend extend themselves to the length of a 
 week. A week he might be able to spare, 
 when pheasants were in the question. 
 
 And as to the chance of his being invited 
 on, he had not very much anxiety on that 
 head, since there were not many things he 
 could not compass if he had a mind to do 
 so ; neither were there many people he could 
 not get round. As for Kobert Han well ! 
 Kobert Hanwell would most certainly do as 
 he was bid. 
 
 Two "very happys" accordingly were re- 
 ceived at Endhill, two silver mugs were 
 promised, and two gentlemen would be forth- 
 coming when wanted. 
 
 " I told you they would be pleased," said 
 Kobert, as he read aloud the replies to his 
 wife. " I felt that they would, and it really 
 is something to please a man like Whewell, 
 Lotta. Whewcll is quite one of the most 
 rising men of the day ; I had my doubts 
 about asking him — asking him to come down
 
 MATILDA LOXGS TO TASTE THE CUP AGAIN. 89 
 
 here at least ; to a man so overwhelmed with 
 work it almost seemed — but, however, I 
 thought he could only refuse. You see he 
 does not refuse ; he accepts in the pleasant- 
 est manner possible ; and so does Challoner. 
 To tell the truth, I did not fancy it was much 
 in Challoner's line either. Challoner is pecu- 
 liar. Well, Lotta, we are fortunate in every- 
 thing, you and I ; I trust, my dear, I trust," 
 added the young man with a sense of say- 
 ing something serious — " I trust we always 
 shall be." 
 
 Lotta trusted so too, and agreed with dear 
 Eobert in everything. There never was so 
 good a patient, so admirable a mother. She 
 ate, drank, slept, rested, nursed her infant, did 
 everything Mrs Burrble told her, and of her- 
 self refrained from doing anything which Mrs 
 Burrble would have forbidden her ; and the 
 u^Dshot of it all was, that at the end of three 
 weeks, the neat little brous^ham was brouoht 
 round from the stables, and into it stepped 
 Mr and Mrs Robert Hanwell, baby and nurse,
 
 90 THE baby's GEANDMOTHER. 
 
 cand off they all drove to Overton to pay a state 
 visit. 
 
 " Well, and when are they coming ? " in- 
 quired Lady Matilda, who by tliis time knew 
 all about the expected guests, and took the 
 liveliest interest in their approach. " And 
 has the day been fixed 1 " 
 
 "Yes indeed, mamma — Sunday next; I 
 thouglit you knew/' replied Mrs Lotta, with 
 her little air of superiority. ^' I am sure I 
 told you," added she. 
 
 " Sunday ? That's not proper. Do you 
 allow people to arrive on a Sunday 1 " 
 
 "My dear mamma, what do you mean? 
 No people are going to arrive on a Sunday. 
 I said baby's christening was to be on Sun- 
 day." And in the young matron's tone was 
 heard plainly enough, " You really are a very 
 tiresome person, but I have to put up with 
 you ! " — " Surely it was the christening you 
 inquired about ? " concluded Lotta, wearily. 
 
 " Yes, yes — yes, of course ; at least some- 
 thing of the sort." Poor Lady Matilda
 
 MATILDA LONGS TO TASTE THE CUP AGAIN. 91 
 
 blushed a little, for to be sure it was some- 
 thinor of the sort of which she ouoht at least 
 
 o o 
 
 to have been thinking, and not of two young 
 gallants of whom she knew nothing or next 
 to nothing, and with whom she need have 
 nothing whatever to do. It was absurd her 
 caring whether they came or not ; and yet 
 visitors — that is to say, visitors of the right 
 sort — were so very few and far between at 
 the Hall, that her curiosity might have been 
 pardoned. Overton had never made a friend, 
 while Teddy had had, as years went on, to 
 be gently weaned from his, — and the conse- 
 quence was that, as Matilda would now and 
 then in a freak of ennui declare, no one but 
 old women and poor relations ever found their 
 way to the Hall. 
 
 " And how well you look, dear ! " cried she, 
 now ; " and what a little darling he is ! 
 Grandmamma's cloak and hood too. Give 
 him to me, nurse ; I know the proper arm 
 to take him upon by this time. Look, Over- 
 ton ; Overton, you have not half enough ad-
 
 92 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 mired my grandson, and yet I do believe that 
 it is you whom he is like." 
 
 " Indeed, my lady, I do declare it is then," 
 chimed in the nurse, to whom a lord was a 
 lord, and who would have sworn a resem- 
 blance to Beelzebub himself could she have 
 hailed him as a relation. ^' Indeed I saw 
 it from the very first — from the day his 
 lordship was over at Endhill, did I not, 
 ma'am ? " appealing to her own lady. 
 
 "He is a little like uncle Overton about 
 the — hair," said Lotta, doubtfully. 
 
 " Or lack of it," observed her other uncle. 
 
 "A most decided likeness, I think," ]3i'o- 
 nounced Kobert, to the surprise of all. But 
 the truth was the likeness was there, and 
 somehow they had hit upon it among them. 
 The ugly little baby was like its ugly little 
 grand-uncle; and the father, who had been 
 one of the first to catch the resemblance, 
 now resolved to avow the same manfully. 
 
 " What an absurd baby you are ! " cried 
 Matilda, delighted with the scene, "to go
 
 MATILDA LONGS TO TASTE THE CUP AGAIX. 93 
 
 and choose Overton, of all people. Now if it 
 had been Teddy or me — ice are the beauties 
 of the family, aren't we, Teddy ? So if you 
 had done that, how much more wise and 
 sensible you would have shown yourself, 
 little master, eh ? " 
 
 " Mamma," beo;an Lotta's remindinsj voice. 
 
 " Dear Overton, you are not beautiful," 
 pursued the heedless Matilda 
 
 *' I think we are makins: much too 
 
 long a visit," interposed Eobert. 
 
 "And so the poor little man has to 
 
 go because he is like you," concluded the 
 wicked grandmother. 
 
 She begged Overton's pardon with tears 
 of laughter afterwards : she made both him 
 and Teddy merry with her representation of 
 the scene, by turns perking herself up upon 
 the sofa to mimic Mrs Lotta's prim attitude ; 
 bustling about to show the politic nurse, deaf 
 and blind apparently to anything amiss ; or 
 edging herself towards the door with every 
 gesture of Robert's — the pompous, annoyed.
 
 94 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 tongue-tied Eobert, so visibly, palpably dis- 
 approving, and yet so helpless, — nothing had 
 been lost upon her. It was not until some 
 time afterwards that she recollected that, 
 after all, no more had been known after 
 the visit than before it of the brilliant 
 Whewell, and the unexplored Challoner. 
 
 She had indeed interrogated her son-in- 
 law, though to little purpose. 
 
 Whewell he appeared to stand in some awe 
 of, and to know very little about ; while re- 
 garding Challoner he had but one idea, — 
 " It struck me that he w^as a suitable per- 
 son," he said. 
 
 " A suitable person ? " quoth Matilda, in 
 reply. "A suitable person. Oh, I think,' 
 drily, " I think, Eobert, I understand ; " for 
 by this time Robert's predilection for "suit- 
 able people " Avas no secret to her. 
 
 " So now, Teddy, we shall see what we 
 shall see," nodded she thereafter — namely, on 
 the afternoon when tlie two gentlemen were 
 due at Endhill, and when the brother and
 
 MATILDA LONGS TO TASTE THE CUP AGAIN. 95 
 
 sister, bearing ostensibly Overton's invita- 
 tion to shoot and dine, but in reality grati- 
 fying their own curiosity, hurried over to 
 inspect. ''We shall see what we shall see," 
 said Matilda, speaking for both as was her 
 wont, though the desire to see was perhaps 
 only her own. 
 
 She it was who alone cared for a novelty 
 at Overton Hall, and it was only now and 
 then that she did so care. Why she did 
 at all it is not, however, difficult to imagine, 
 when it is remembered that she was a woman, 
 and a woman who, while happy in seclusion, 
 could nevertheless shine in society. She 
 liked — could she help it ? — being admired 
 and applauded. She had felt now and then 
 the fascination, the thrill of being Jirst with 
 some one — the loadstar of one pair of eyes, 
 the magnet for one pair of feet — the ear 
 for one speaker, the thought of one thinker. 
 Yes, she knew what it felt like to be that. 
 It felt nice. Even when nothing came of 
 it, — and nothing as we know ever had come
 
 96 THE BABYS GRAXDMOTHER. 
 
 of it — since the late Mr Wilmot's courtship 
 had been conducted on the least romantic 
 principles, and could not therefore be con- 
 sidered in the running, — even when nothing 
 came of it, there still remained a recollection 
 of something different from the ordinary every- 
 day comfort of matter-in-fact life. The glam- 
 our had been cast on her path once and again, 
 and she had dreamed, and she had suffered. 
 People had predicted that Lady Matilda 
 Wilmot would infallibly be caught again 
 some day, and it had been whispered that 
 a deadly mischief had been done to the heart 
 of this one and that one ; that poor Lord 
 George had left the Hall with a longer face 
 than the one he brought there, and that 
 Colonel Jack had chano-ed his reoiment and 
 gone abroad soon after his long wintry visit 
 at Overton. He had said he could not stand 
 another English winter, and perhaps that was 
 why he had never reappeared in the neigh- 
 bourhood. Every one blamed the lovely
 
 MATILDA LOXGS TO TASTE THE CUP AGAIN. 97 
 
 widow ; but perhaps, after all, mistakes are 
 made sometimes. 
 
 Those days, however, are past and gone, 
 and if wounds have been made or received, 
 they are healed by time's blessed hand. 
 Lord George is wedded, the Colonel toasts 
 ''the ladies" without a tremor, and the lady 
 in particular, the lady to whom his thoughts 
 refer, thinks of him with equal ease and 
 tenderness. He is become a pleasant memory, 
 and even the painful spot is sunlit in the 
 past. 
 
 Yes, a heart-whole woman lives at the 
 Hall, a woman with all a woman's hopes 
 and fears — fain to look forward, yet neither 
 ashamed nor reluctant to look back, — able 
 to do without lovers, but not unwilling, not 
 altogether loath, — oh, Teddy, beware ! Oh, 
 Teddy, as you gallop along the soft wet sward, 
 under the dropping leaves, beneath the murky 
 sky, beware, beware, — by fits and starts Ma- 
 tilda longs to taste the doubtful cuj) again. 
 
 VOL. 1. G
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE TWO GODFATHEES. 
 
 By wonder first, and then by passion moved, 
 
 They came ; they saw ; they marvelled ; and they loved. " 
 
 — PmoK. 
 
 It was plain by the wliole look of End hill 
 that the expected guests had arrived, when 
 Lady Matilda and her brother rode in at 
 the gate. 
 
 The gate stood open ; that of itself showed 
 that Eobert was not about. Fresh wheel- 
 marks were visible along the muddy lane 
 without, and the wheels had sunk into the 
 gravel of the little drive, while an unmistak- 
 able station-fly stood in the stable-yard. 
 
 Eobert had not met his friends, for which 
 omission he was doubtless at the present
 
 THE TWO GODFATHERS. 99 
 
 moment ladling out excuses and apologies ; 
 but the friends were tliere, and that was 
 everything. 
 
 Lady Matilda hopped off her horse like 
 a bird, full of glee at thus, by her smart- 
 ness, depriving her son-in-law of the felicity 
 of offering his solemn useless assistance ; and 
 she had run into the house, and opened the 
 drawing-room door, before any one could 
 make a ceremony of the matter. Teddy 
 had followed, as in duty bound, close at 
 his sister's heels, and there stood the two 
 • — the happy, naughty, provoking two, — there 
 they stood, as pleased as possible. Lady Ma- 
 tilda's hat awry, and a splash of mud on 
 Teddy's cheek, — just as Robert was turning 
 round from the window to announce in his 
 most measured accents, " I think, Lotta, I 
 hear horses. Is your mother likely to be 
 over to-day ? " 
 
 Sure enough he had heard horses, even 
 though by common consent the horses' hoofs 
 had been kept to the softest side of the drive,
 
 100 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 and muffled, as it were, more and more as 
 the house was neared, — he had heard, as he 
 could not help hearing, when they came 
 round the last corner, and got into the deep 
 gravel at the entrance door ; but as the 
 drawing-room window looked not that way, 
 and as it was, moreover, shut on account 
 of the day being damp, he had fancied him- 
 self very quick, and that the riders were 
 yet a good way off, when, behold ! they 
 were in the room. How had they got in ? 
 How had they made good their entrance 
 without bells ringing, servants flying, bustle 
 and importance ? He had not heard a sound 
 of any kind. 
 
 "William was in front," explained Lady 
 Matilda, with bright unconcern, " so he took 
 our horses, and we just came in." 
 
 Now, was not that like her? She ''just 
 came in," — ^just did what she fancied on the 
 spur of the moment, with no regard to any- 
 thing or any one ; and here he had had no 
 time to tell who or what she was, no chance
 
 THE TWO GODFATHERS. 101 
 
 of makins: the most of Overton and the best 
 of its people, not even for putting more than 
 that one hasty question ere it was so abruptly 
 and indecorously answered. 
 
 Of course Whewell and Challoner looked 
 surprised, — well they might. He supposed 
 that silly feather-headed creature did not 
 care a straw for that, or, more likely, plumed 
 herself upon it as a compliment, without a 
 notion that she had made a mistake, and 
 that she could never now take the place 
 he had meant her to take in his friends' 
 estimation. 
 
 Well, it was no use crying over spilt milk ; 
 the thing was done, and could not be undone ; 
 and, tiresome as it was, it had this in its 
 favour — it showed, and that broadly, upon 
 what easy terms the two families stood. And, 
 to be sure. Lady Matilda was still Lady Ma- 
 tilda, and Teddy, mud and all, was still the 
 Hon. Edward Lessingham ; divest themselves 
 as they might of every outward circumstance 
 of rank — trample their dignity under foot and
 
 102 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 throw propriety to the four winds of heaven, 
 as they habitually did — the brother and sister 
 must still belong to their order, they could not 
 absolutely unfrock themselves. 
 
 With a sense of returning peace to his 
 soul, but, nevertheless, with a stifled sigh 
 and inward frown for what might have been 
 had they, oh, had they only been all he. would 
 have had them, Mr Han well crossed the room, 
 and confronted the graceless couple. They 
 had not even the sense to see, or at any rate 
 to care — he Was by no means sure that the 
 lurking light in Matildas eye did not mean 
 that she did see — how ruthlessly she had 
 upset his programme. 
 
 He had meant to send over a note, (for 
 in notes he shone,) to the effect that his 
 friends had arrived, were to spend a few 
 days at Endhill, as Lord Overton might re- 
 member he had told him they were expected 
 to do, and that he would esteem it a favour 
 if they might be granted a day in the covers, 
 provided Lord Overton had made no other
 
 THE TWO GODFATHERS. 103 
 
 shootiiw arrano-ements, either for the end of 
 that week or the beginning of the next. Why 
 he could not have asked before, no mortal 
 knew ; probably some vague idea that he 
 might be thrown over by the two mighty 
 men he had chosen, at the last moment, 
 had to do with it, — probably he had ere 
 now thus suffered, since no very strong 
 counter-attraction would have been needed 
 to make any one throw over Eobert Han- 
 well ; but at any rate he had thought it best 
 to be on the safe side, and to have his birds 
 in his hand before reckoning too securely on 
 them. 
 
 But the note was ^Titten and ready, and 
 there it lay on the hall table, waiting to be 
 despatched by special bearer, as soon as the 
 anticipated arrival should have actually taken 
 place, and as soon as William could have seen 
 the flyman off the premises. For this cause 
 the dogcart had not gone to meet the train ; 
 the horse — he had but one — was required for 
 William ; William was to have ridden to Over-
 
 104 THE baby's GRAXDMOTHEE. 
 
 ton, and so to have timed his arrival there, as 
 to have caught Lord Overton on his return 
 from his daily walk, when it might be counted 
 upon that he would answer at once, and answer 
 favourably. The answer would arrive while 
 dinner was going on at Endhill, and it would 
 be an agreeable diversion to have it brought 
 in, and be able to read it aloud, and give 
 round the invitation which was to prove 
 so welcome. 
 
 All of this had not been thought out without 
 care and pains ; and it must be conceded that 
 some pity was due to a man who had spent 
 all his leisure moments that day in concocting 
 an elaborate strategic epistle, and had w^asted 
 three good sheets of paper over writing it. 
 
 The whole arrangement was blasted. He 
 had known it would work well, had hoped so 
 much, and thought so much, and, since leave 
 in general terms had been already granted, 
 had looked forward so much to seeing the 
 matter thus properly and decently brought to 
 a climax, — and now all was undone. By
 
 THE TWO GODFATHEES. 105 
 
 Teddy's look, important and eager, lie was 
 too plainly charged with a purpose, and that 
 purpose the dullest could divine ; Matilda had 
 obtained the invitation from one brother, and 
 had passed it on to the other to deliver, and 
 the whole patronage and eclat of the proceed- 
 inor was taken out of Eobert's hands. 
 
 He would not, however, allow himself to be 
 overpowered even by this. " Take the easy- 
 chair. Lady Matilda ; Lotta has the sofa, you 
 know ; but I believe you like the chair best. 
 What a cold day for you to be out ! " (he knew 
 perfectly well that no cold day ever stopped 
 her;) " really we had hardly expected to see 
 any one from Overton to-day ; and the roads 
 are so bad too. You find the fire too much ? 
 Lotta, my dear, where is the glass screen ? 
 I saw it this moment ; oh, behind you ; — not 
 at all/' (to ofi'ers of help,) — " I can manage 
 it myself perfectly. Don't move, Lady Ma- 
 tilda — pray don't move. Will you have a 
 cushion ? A footstool ? " Poor man, he did 
 his best for her, and she would not give him
 
 lOG THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 any help, not the tiniest atom of help. It was 
 cruel of Matilda. CushioD '? Footstool ? She 
 sat a yard off the cushion, and with her little 
 foot kicked away the footstool, — kicked it 
 away under his very nose. 
 
 '•' What's all this about, Robert '? Get me 
 some tea — there's a good man. Baby well, 
 Lotta I " 
 
 At least she asked for the baby ; she gen- 
 erally did that, but as likely as not she would 
 never ask to see it ; and there she was sitting 
 on the edge of her chair, pulling off her gloves, 
 tipping back her hat, as straight as an arrow, 
 and as bright and pert as a humming-bird — 
 and this was the baby's grandmother. 
 
 He stole a orlance at his friends. Challoner 
 
 o 
 
 was still in the window, gazing absently out ; 
 it would be hard to say whether he had heard 
 or seen or wondered at anything. Challoner, 
 he now remembered, always had been noted 
 for keeping his feelings to himself; and 
 AVhewell, — Lady Matilda was at the moment 
 turning up her face to Whewell, who was
 
 THE T\YO GODFATHEES. 107 
 
 standing near, and whom she liad recognised 
 without any hesitation at once. She was 
 making a remark about his railway journey 
 down. *' You must have come through floods," 
 she said. 
 
 *' Floods 1 Yes. Yes — it was very bad — 
 very wet. I mean the whole place was under 
 water," replied the young man, at a momen- 
 tary loss to remember, when thus called upon, 
 the real state of the case. At least so it 
 seemed ; but the truth was this, it was another 
 lapse of memory that was troublesome, he had 
 forgotten Lady Matilda herself, or, to be more 
 exact, he had forgotten, clean forgotten that 
 she was what he now found her. He had had 
 no recollection, no impression of any one of 
 that kind ; he had seen her among a number, 
 bright, handsome, gay, and well dressed, — but 
 then, others had been so likewise, and he met 
 pretty women every day in London. It was 
 beholding her thus in the little cottage room, 
 by the side of her homely daughter, it was 
 meeting her thus suddenly and unexpectedly,
 
 108 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 that made him stare and stammer. In another 
 minute he was himself again. 
 
 For AVhewell prided himself above all things 
 on being a man of the world, and he would 
 have despised himself had he not been equal 
 to any occasion, however puzzling. He drew 
 a breath, drew nearer, held a chair, then sat 
 down on it, and in the shortest time possible 
 he and Matilda were in the full flow of chat, 
 without either apparently feeling it in the 
 least necessary to include others in their con- 
 versation. 
 
 Lotta, who, erewhile in all her glory as 
 hostess, as semi-invalid, or at least convales- 
 cent, and at any rate as chief person on the 
 interestino; occasion which had brous^ht the 
 two gentlemen down, had been busy with Mr 
 Whewell, and who had thought they were all 
 very snug and comfortable, and that every 
 one must feel how much nicer it was to be 
 within doors on that dreary afternoon, with 
 a good fire and a prospective tea-tray, than 
 wandering aimlessly about the garden and
 
 THE TWO GODFATHERS. 109 
 
 grounds as Eobert had at first proposed, — 
 Lotta, poor thing, now resented, no less than 
 her husband did, the disturbing of all their 
 little elements. She did not care to talk to 
 uncle Edward — (who, indeed, showed no 
 symptoms of any desire to talk to her) — 
 and since mamma had usurped Mr Whewell, 
 there was no one left. Mr Challoner stuck 
 to his window like a leech, and Eobert had 
 returned to him ; so, since the other four were 
 thus left, and since mamma and uncle Edward 
 had chosen to come — it was a pity they had 
 come, but since they had — they ought, at least, 
 to have helped out the visit by making it a 
 sociable general affair. She had been getting 
 on delightfully with Mr Whewell before the 
 others came, but now he had no chance of 
 saying a word to her. It was not his fault 
 — of course it was not ; but mamma would 
 always be first, and she seemed to forget 
 altogether sometimes that she had a grown- 
 up daughter, and a married daughter to boot. 
 Mamma really ought to think of this. It was
 
 110 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 quite rude to Mr Wliewell taking liim up in 
 this way, when she, Lotta, as hidy of the 
 house and his friend's wife, ought to have 
 been paying him attention : it looked as if 
 he had bored her before, and he had not bored 
 her in the least. She had liked him very 
 much, and he had talked so nicely, and seemed 
 so interested in all she said, and had asked so 
 much about baby, and shown so evidently that 
 he had been pleased to be godfather, that alto- 
 gether she had felt they were going to be great 
 friends : and then mamma came in, and took 
 him away, and he was never able to renew the 
 conversation ; but she was sure he had been 
 quite vexed at being so interrupted. 
 
 A good deal of this was for Eobert's ear 
 afterwards, and a good deal passed through 
 Charlotte's mind at the time ; but outwardly, 
 Mrs Hanwell merely sat up on her sofii, in one 
 of her best dresses, taking^ care not to ruffle or 
 soil the frills of her sleeves as she poured out 
 the tea with rather a grave face, and an air 
 that betrayed to all that Lotta felt herself out
 
 THE TWO GODFATHERS. Ill 
 
 in the cold, and that this, for a young matron 
 with a partial spouse, and an excellent opinion 
 of his judgment as well as her own, was a 
 novel and not entirely pleasing sensation. 
 
 Lady Matilda drank her tea, and sent back 
 her cup for more. 
 
 The grateful beverage sent up a yet warmer 
 colour into her cheek, and she looked her best 
 — her smiling glowing best, — while poor Lotta, 
 sullen and forlorn, was bereft of all the very 
 small share of outward attractiveness she ever 
 possessed. 
 
 It could not pass unnoticed, the contrast. 
 Whewell saw it, even as he held the cup : 
 mean man, he stayed several minutes by 
 Lotta's side, making his peace, as he told 
 himself, with the tea -maker, and this was 
 how his thoughts were employed ! — he noted 
 the curious diflference between the two, be- 
 twixt the placid, dull, expressionless mask 
 now before him, and the brilliant changeful 
 features to which he was returning. Was it 
 likely he would stay long ? Can it be won-
 
 112 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 (lered at that all the little bustle over the 
 suo-ar - basin aud the cream -luo; could not 
 detain him ? 
 
 True, he came and went more than once, 
 but it was always on the one lady's errands : 
 he had to bring her bread-and-butter and cake, 
 as well as to have her cup filled twice ; he 
 stood about, he fetched and carried, and he 
 stepped backwards and forwards, but it was 
 always backwards, backwards, his feet took 
 him finally ; until at length, the business over, 
 and the last attention paid, he fairly settled 
 himself down by Matilda's side, and neither 
 looked at nor spoke to any one else during 
 the remainder of her stay. It was enough : 
 Lady Matilda saw that she was noticed, more 
 than noticed, and frankly she allowed to her- 
 self that it was for this she had come. She 
 knew that she was charming, and sometimes 
 the knowledge was too much for her ; it 
 needed a vent ; it wanted some one to ap- 
 plaud, admire, and flatter; and, no disrespect 
 to Mr Frank AYhewell, she would, in her
 
 THE TWO GODFATHERS. 113 
 
 then mood, have made eyes at a field scare- 
 crow. 
 
 But we must give our readers some idea of 
 Whewell. 
 
 From earliest years he had shown the germ 
 of such mental powers as succeed best in life. 
 He had not been a thinking boy ; he had not 
 puzzled his masters and tutors, nor set his 
 parents cogitating about his future ; but he 
 had made the most of every talent he pos- 
 sessed, and those talents had been not a 
 few. Concentration, grasp, alertness, tact, 
 and fluency of language, all pointed out un- 
 mistakably his path in life. He was to go to 
 the bar, and if he went to the bar, there was 
 no doubt in any one's mind that he would do 
 well ; he would succeed, rise, and one day 
 rule. So far every favourable prognostication 
 had been fulfilled ; nothing had hindered or 
 thwarted a career which seemed to be one 
 continued triumph ; and though higher heights 
 were still to be climbed, and greater obstacles 
 yet remained to be overcome, there was no 
 VOL. I. H
 
 114 THE baby's GEAXDMOTHER. 
 
 reason why, with ordinary good fortune, he 
 should not oo on as he had beo;un : ambition 
 was his ruling passion, and ambition is an 
 irresistible spur. 
 
 But in the little drawinQ;-room at Endhill 
 during the hour that Lady Matilda spent 
 there, Whewell showed himself in another 
 light to what he usually appeared before the 
 world. He liked women, and he liked to be 
 liked by them. Apart from his profession, he 
 liked nothing so well as to talk with them, to 
 listen to their soft replies, to their hopeless 
 arguments, to their sweet laughter. It was a 
 delicious relief to his tired brain to allow itself 
 to be at ease as it were in their presence, to 
 permit himself to ramble over metaphorical 
 hedges and ditches in his talk, avoiding as 
 the very plague the straight hard road which 
 led direct to the point — that very road he 
 would pursue so relentlessly when wig and 
 gown were on ; and it gave him an excusable 
 feeling of satisfaction to perceive that while 
 the latter course prevailed with men, and
 
 THE TWO GODFATHERS. 115 
 
 made him what lie was and where he was, 
 the former won for him the golden opinions 
 of the other sex. 
 
 Now much of his popularity he put down 
 to his o'ood looks. He valued his handsome 
 face still more than his versatile ability, and 
 therefore the face, or at least Whewell's g;en- 
 eral appearance, ought to be described. He 
 was getting on to forty in years, but he had 
 looked forty ever since he was nineteen, and 
 would continue to do so until he was ninety. 
 The boys at school had nicknamed him 
 ** Grandfather," and by-and-by people would 
 infallibly observe how young he looked, and 
 the same eyes, hair, and mouth would do 
 duty for both observations : he had not 
 changed a feature or gained or lost anything 
 since going to the university. But he was 
 undeniably personable. He had a slight, firm, 
 well-knit figure, raven-black hair, an aquiline 
 nose, a small well-shaped mouth, a quick turn 
 of the head, and an eye so keenly apprehen- 
 sive and inquisitive that it seemed at once
 
 116 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 to take possession of whatever it looked 
 upon. 
 
 And of all these good things no one was 
 more aware than W he well himself. 
 
 He thought they gained him female friends, 
 and perhaps in this he was right ; but he 
 went still further, and in this he was un- 
 doubtedly wrong. It was his fixed idea that 
 no amount of talent would ever make an ugly 
 face palatable to a woman — whereas the truth 
 is that women like, ay and love, ay and wor- 
 ship, ugly faces every day. 
 
 Lady Matilda could have told her lively 
 friend as much ; but very likely if she had, 
 he would not have believed her. And since 
 the cleverest of us must sometimes be at 
 fault, and since such was the opinion of the 
 sagacious barrister, it will surprise no one 
 to hear that the opinion was shared by the 
 sagacious Teddy. 
 
 " Oh, you thought him very good-looking, 
 no doubt," said Teddy, when at length the 
 two took their leave and found themselves
 
 THE TWO GODFATHERS. 117 
 
 on their way home ; " very good-looking, and 
 vastly pleasant. I'll be bound you did that. 
 Talking away to him there the whole time, 
 and sitting on till it was so dark that we 
 had to have candles. I was quite ashamed of 
 staying so long. I thought we were never 
 going to get away, and there was Lotta 
 fidgeting and fidgeting, and Eobert looking 
 round from the window, — what on earth did 
 you do it for 1 " he broke off suddenly. " I 
 am sure they didn't want us all that while." 
 " Did they not ? Oh yes, they did ; or, at 
 least, they ought if they did not," returned 
 his sister, gaily. " I am sure they were 
 deeply in our debt ; I am sure they owed to 
 us the whole success of the afternoon. It 
 was a success, don't you think '? And im- 
 agine what it might have been ! Failure is 
 not the word. Think, Teddy, of a whole 
 afternoon, a wet afternoon, an afternoon hope- 
 less of interruption or variety or anything, 
 with only Robert and Lotta ! Picture to 
 yourself that delightful Mr AYhewell "
 
 118 THE baby's GEAXDMOTHER. 
 
 Delisfbtful ! nonsense." 
 
 '' Wrecked upon Lotta, stranded upon Lotta, 
 submerged in Lotta," pursued Matilda, merrily. 
 *' Lotta with her eternal talk about cooks and 
 babies, and ' our arrangements for this,' and 
 ' our ideas about that ' ; Teddy, put yourself 
 in Mr Whewell's place, and feel for a moment 
 as he felt. They were in the thick of it when 
 we came in ; I saw it in the victim's face ; 
 and even if his face had been hidden, he 
 would have been betrayed by his hanging 
 head and dejected mien." 
 
 " How you do talk ! ' Hanging head and 
 dejected mien,' what on earth — / saw no hang- 
 in o- head. I am sure he seemed as fit a little 
 cock-sparrow as I have ever seen, jabbering 
 away to you by the yard." 
 
 " So he did, — when he had me to jabber to. 
 I rescued him out of the Slough of Despond, 
 and he had the wit to be very tenderly grate- 
 ful to his deliverer, moreover ; and the grace 
 to rate his deliverance at its proper value, or 
 I am mistaken. Come, Master Ted," cried
 
 THE T^YO GODFATHERS. 119 
 
 Matilda, in her sauciest tones — " come, sir, 
 don't be sulky. You did your best ; you did 
 as well as any could have expected, and as 
 much as in you lay ; but you must own that 
 to me — me — me, belongs ' la gloire et la vie- 
 toire.' There. Understand that, eh 1 I did 
 it all : I enlivened a dull visit, took compas- 
 sion on an unfortunate stranger, and drew him 
 forth from the very jaws of domesticity. Did 
 I not do well for him ? I think I did. I 
 think he was worth it, and that he will feel 
 now that there is some one, even in this be- 
 nighted spot, on whom he is not altogether 
 thrown away." 
 
 " Great cheek if he ever thought anything 
 of the kind." Teddy had had enough of 
 AVhewell, and had, moreover, been ill used all 
 through the visit by everybody. " I was 
 quite astonished to see you make yourself so 
 cheap to that fellow," he proceeded severely. 
 *'You were so taken up with him, that you 
 had not a word for the other one, and he 
 looked by a long way the better of the two."
 
 120 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 " Glad you thought so. But I left him for 
 you. You were civil to him, I hope ? " 
 
 " I ? No. How could I ? I never had the 
 chance. Eobert monopolised him, as you did 
 Whewell. I had nobody.'' 
 
 " Nobody ! What are you saying, bad boy ? 
 Do you call your own married niece, in her 
 own house, and at her own tea-table, no- 
 body ^ " 
 
 '' She is nobody, all the same. She is the 
 stupidest creature — well, you know what I 
 mean," he broke off and drew in a little, since, 
 after all, Lotta was Matilda's child, — '' you 
 know," he added, apologetically, " you think 
 so yourself." 
 
 " No — no — no. No, Teddy, I never said 
 that. Fie, Teddy ! you encroach ; you must 
 not say such things ; and I would not have 
 any one but me hear you for the world." 
 
 "Is it likely I should say it to any one but 
 you ? " 
 
 '' You m — ight. It might slip out. Do be 
 careful."
 
 THE TWO GODFATHERS. 121 
 
 *' Of course Til be careful : I always am 
 careful ; but Lotta is a regular dolt. Except 
 when she was looking at you, she had about 
 as much expression as a Chinese mandarin." 
 
 " And when she was looking at me ? " 
 
 " I say, she didn't like AVhewell going over 
 to you, you know." 
 
 "Did she not r' 
 
 " She thought you were poaching on her 
 lands." 
 
 " So I was." 
 
 " Why did you do it ? I should not have 
 done it had I been you." 
 
 " You would, had you been me — that is 
 just it. Ob, I had no particular reason for 
 * doing it,' as you call it ; I just had the in- 
 clination ; I wanted to amuse myself. And 
 then I thought that if I had the one, you 
 could have the other. I could entertain Mr 
 Whewell, and you Mr Challoner." 
 
 '' Robert and Lotta each other ? " said Teddy, 
 with a grin. 
 
 " Oh, they never do anything for any-
 
 122 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 body ; they are no count. You see I took 
 Mr Whewell, and if you bad done as much 
 for Mr Cballoner tbere would have been noth- 
 ing for anybody to compLain of." 
 
 " By Jove, that is hard ! when there was I 
 who would have been thankful of any one, 
 stuck down all by myself in a chair by the 
 fire, with yards of carpet in front of me ; and 
 there was Challoner, or whatever his name is, 
 away at the far end of the room, w^ith his 
 back to me, mumbling away to Eobert, and 
 Eobert to him, without stopping once the 
 whole time ; and now you speak as if I had — 
 as if it had been my fault ! " 
 
 "Don't be incoherent, my dear; how am I 
 to tell what you mean when you muddle up 
 your sentences in that way ? And there is 
 nothing to excite your wrath either. I merely 
 meant to suggest that probably the luckless 
 Challoner would have preferred your company 
 to Robert's ; and after all, that is nothing to 
 take umbrage at." 
 
 '* Humph," — mollified, however.
 
 THE TWO GODFATHERS. 123 
 
 '' ^yhat wa^ lie like, Ted ? " 
 
 " Like ? I don't know. I never thouo;ht 
 of it. He was like other people, I suppose.'' 
 
 " Like otlier people ? Oh ! Xot in any 
 way particular ? " 
 
 " Wei], not in any way particular. No, I 
 don't think he was.'' 
 
 ''Bat you must have seen something f 
 urored Matilda. " You, who had nothino- else 
 to do, and no one to listen to, and no one to 
 look at " 
 
 '"' I had. I had vou to look at." 
 
 " Me ! " cried she. 
 
 " I was wondering what you did it for, and 
 what you could possibly see in that puppy to 
 make such a work about." 
 
 " What did I see ? Well, now you ask me 
 that in a friendly way, brother, and not in an 
 acrimonious carping backbitiug spirit, I will 
 answer you candidly : I don't think I saw 
 very much." 
 
 " And yet you talked to no one else ? " 
 
 " And yet I talked to no one else."
 
 124 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 " Come, I am tired of the subject/' cried 
 she, suddenly ; " come, away with it ! " — and 
 starting her horse to a canter, nothing further 
 passed of any note between the pair for the 
 time being.
 
 125 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 A PRETTY SCRAPE YOU WILL GET INTO. 
 
 "It is good discretion not to make too much of any man at the 
 first, because one cannot hold out that proportion." — Baco^'. 
 
 Lady Matilda's sole impression of Challoner 
 had been that of a tall, broad, listless man, 
 leaning against the window-pane in the draw- 
 ing-room, the while he yielded a sort of pen- 
 sive half attention to the platitudes of her 
 son-in-law. Whether these had suited him or 
 not, no one could tell. He had not seemed to 
 respond much certainly, but he had listened 
 — presumably, at least, he had listened, — and 
 undeniably he had not turned away. He had 
 stood still where he was, and had let the 
 stream flow over his head, and that in itself
 
 126 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 was enough. He had not broken loose, shaken 
 off his host, crossed the room, and drawn near 
 to her; and this was Avhat he should have 
 done to have found any favour in Matilda's 
 eyes. A man ought not to be tamely broken 
 on the wheel ; he ought, he surely ought to 
 make some sort of struo^orle with his fate — 
 some desperate resistance, even when resist- 
 ance is fruitless. But Challoner had shown 
 no fight, even no inclination to fight : he was 
 beneath her notice. 
 
 She ^vould not waste pity or sympathy upon 
 one so insensate — would not throw away 
 gentle amenities on one so indiscriminating ; 
 while Whewell — AYhewell, who had at once 
 bent beneath her sway, and wJio had shown 
 himself so apt, so responsive, and so appreci- 
 ative — Whewell should have all her smiles. 
 
 Here at least was one who knew how to 
 value the o-ood fortune which had befallen him 
 in that most ill - favoured spot, who could 
 appreciate having a Lady Matilda to talk to 
 and to look at, who could discern between her
 
 127 
 
 and the inert Lotta and the insufferable 
 Eobert. Here was one who could claim a. 
 privilege and make the most of an opportun- 
 ity ; and the vain creature coloured ominously 
 in front of her o^lass that evenino; as she re- 
 called glances and speeches, and the whole 
 little scene at Endhill, — Lotta's prim, prudish 
 attitude, Teddy's impatience, and Whe well's 
 exclusive devotion. 
 
 He, Whewell, had had neither eyes nor ears 
 for any one but herself. He had pushed out 
 into the hall by her side when she went, had 
 held her foot and put it in the stirrup as she 
 mounted, and had been the last to go inside 
 as they rode off, standing bareheaded out in 
 the chill November air to watch them down 
 the drive. 
 
 She could guess with what reflections he 
 stood there ; she could picture to herself, or 
 thought she could, what were his probable 
 sensations and anticipations at the present 
 moment, — how gladly he would have ex- 
 changed his quarters had this been possible,
 
 128 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 and hoAV joyfully he would appear at Overton 
 , next day. 
 
 " They will not come till dinner-time," she 
 announced to her brothers. " Eobert had a 
 dozen unanswerable reasons why they should 
 not dress here, so we are not to expect anybody 
 till eight o'clock. When they have done their 
 w^orst on our pheasants, they will come and 
 inflict themselves on us. They are all coming, 
 every man- Jack of them, as Teddy would say. 
 Eobert has engaged for the party generally. 
 By the way, I did not say anything about it to 
 Lotta ; but I do not suppose that will signify. 
 She will be quite satisfied if dear Eobert has 
 arranged it ; and dear Eobert has taken it upon 
 himself, after due references and inquiries, to 
 answer in the name of everybody. One thing is, 
 he will see that they all turn up, and that not 
 one of them is late. They will be here at eight 
 o'clock to the second, if he die in the attempt. 
 Happily it is dark so long before then, that 
 the poor men will not have their sport cur- 
 tailed by his anxieties, as those others had
 
 " A PRETTY SCRAPE YOU WILL GET INTO." 129 
 
 in partridge-time. I did pity them ; I knew 
 how it must have been exactly. Woe betide 
 the unfortunate finger that ever steals to the 
 triororer, once Herr Robert has decreed that 
 time is up ! He will never forgive that shot, 
 more especially if it kills. Well, perhaps it 
 is a good thing for all our sakes that my son- 
 in-law is no sportsman ; but what would I not 
 give to make him unpunctual, even ordinarily, 
 decently unpunctual ? " 
 
 " What do you call being decently unpunc- 
 tual V said Overton. 
 
 '' When a man stands with his watch in his 
 hand, and will have you know the time when 
 you don't want to know it, it's not decent," 
 replied she. 
 
 " Was that what happened this afternoon ? " 
 inquired her brother, cracking his walnuts, — 
 for the three were sitting cosily together over 
 their dessert, and Matilda was, as usual, doing 
 most of the conversation. 
 
 " Xo, Mr Inquisitive, it was not what liap- 
 pened this afternoon," retorted she. " Oh, 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 130 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 Overton," her attention diverted, ''I do wisli 
 I could crack single walnuts in my hand as 
 you do. I can't think how you do it," stretch- 
 ing out a white arm, and. screwing up a soft 
 and shapely hand with desperate energy. " I 
 have tried as^ain and again, and I never can — 
 oh I" — with a final and utterly inefi'ectual 
 wrench. 
 
 " You couldn't crush a spider with that ! " 
 said Teddy, disdainfully. " AVith that little 
 bit of a wrist you have not any power. There 
 is nothing easier than walnuts/' performing 
 the feat again and again. *' But, I say, Mattie, 
 what made you give the invitation to those 
 people to-day ? I thought you told me that 
 / " 
 
 " Of course I did, and you saw I left to you 
 the shooting arrangements ; but I had to do 
 something myself; my dear Teddy, Eobert's 
 face must have shown you that I had to do 
 something to pacify the storm. AYe were in 
 the wrong box, you and I ; we were dreadful 
 offenders "
 
 " A PRETTY SCRAPE YOU WILL GET INTO." 131 
 
 " How 1 " said Teddy, opening his eyes. 
 
 '' We had come before our time, my friend." 
 
 " Had we 1 But what did that matter ? We 
 did it to be civil ; we thought it was a friendly 
 thing to do. What should they come for, 
 then ? I'm sure ive didn't want them." 
 
 " Oh, you dear innocent, you don't half 
 know Kobert yet. It was all very well our 
 showing attention, hospitality, and so forth ; 
 but we, you and I, our two selves in the 
 bodily presence, Ted, icere not wanted. Can 
 you understand that now ? Overton can. He 
 thinks he never is wanted, which is a mistake, 
 on the other hand. If he, now, had found his 
 august way over to Endhill to-day, he would 
 have met with a different reception ; but as 
 it was, it was only poor Teddy and Matilda," 
 shaking her head with mock mournfulness, 
 " and they were sadly in the way." 
 
 " And what good did the invitation do 1 " 
 said Overton, intercepting an indignant pro- 
 test from his brother. 
 
 "Oh, it soothed the ruffled feelinsrs in a
 
 132 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 wonderful way. You see, dear Robert really 
 was sadly put out, though Teddy may not 
 believe it; he had had no time, I fancy, to 
 get out his say, to swell and strut, and spread 
 his plumage as he loves to do, and as he never 
 can do whenever any one of us is present ; 
 and he and Lotta would fain have had their 
 visitors to themselves for a while, — imagine 
 what a fate for any man, let alone a Londoner 
 and a — Whewell. However, Robert would 
 have liked this, and he did not get it, and 
 we — or rather I — was in disgrace. And '' 
 
 " Why you more than I ? " burst in Teddy, 
 with a black look. 
 
 " I am the lady, you know, and the lady 
 naturally takes the lead. That was all, dear," 
 replied Matilda, with one of her swift tran- 
 sitions from sarcasm to gentleness. " That 
 was what I meant, don't you see ? " looking 
 at him to make sure she was saying right. 
 " And besides, you know, Teddy, an invitation 
 from the lady of the house always counts for 
 more than one from auy of the gentlemen —
 
 " A PEETTY SCRAPE YOU WILL GET INTO." 133 
 
 even from you, Overton. Now does it not, 
 Overton ? " eas^erlv, lier warnino^ voice addino^, 
 " Say it does." 
 
 " Why, yes. Yes, of course. Every one 
 knows that," said Overton, responding prompt- 
 ly to the whip. "Teddy knows that as well 
 as any one, only he forgot at the moment." 
 
 " Oh yes, of course — of course. A fellow 
 can't be expected to remember things like 
 that," said Teddy, his brow clearing under the 
 combined iDfluence. " I did not think of it, 
 that was all. Go on, Matilda." 
 
 "Where was I? Oh, I was telling you 
 how Eobert took my friendly overture. He 
 never suspected, you know, that it was only 
 thought of as we were mounting our horses ; 
 he imagined, no doubt, that the idea had been 
 manufactured with all the labour and sorrow 
 and j9r(95 and cons that would have gone to 
 the making had he had a finger in the pie ; 
 and actually I did my best to foster this aspect 
 of things. I quite turned our impromptu 
 dinner into an important affair. You should
 
 134 THE baby's GUANDMOTHER. 
 
 have seen how his grimness relaxed, and how 
 at last a ray of sunshine stole athwart his sad 
 cheekbone." 
 
 "Because he was asked here?'' said Over- 
 ton, incredulously. 
 
 *' Because they were all asked here ; because 
 he was to bring himself, and his Lotta, and 
 his dashing Whewell, and his statuesque Chal- 
 loner, and to trundle them all along, packed 
 as tight as herrings in a barrel, over the hill 
 to Overton. You look scornful, most sapient 
 brother ! Is not the cause sufficient ? Oh, 
 you do Eobert injustice— you do indeed ; he 
 loves of all things to seek your sweet society, 
 and nothing affords him greater pleasure than 
 — we will not say to dine, but to say that he 
 has dined here." 
 
 *' Here ? Nonsense. There is nothing here 
 to make Eobert or any one care to come. We 
 are all very wtII by ourselves, but for anybody 
 else, there can be no attraction." 
 
 *' Can there not ? Now, really, can there 
 not, Overton \ Are we no attraction in our-
 
 " A PRETTY SCRAPE YOU WILL GET INTO." 135 
 
 selves, you and Teddy and I ? " cried Matilda, 
 with an odd note in her voice. " You are a 
 plain man, Overton, and will return a plain 
 answer to a plain question. Tell me, is there 
 no conceivable attraction here for — for any 
 one, in you, or Teddy, or — or me ? " 
 
 *' None in the least, none whatever," replied 
 Overton promptly, for his thoughts still ran 
 on Eobert Hanwell, while hers had flown, as 
 may have been guessed, elsewhere. " Eobert 
 wished to marry your girl, and so he chose 
 to come and visit her here, very naturally 
 I suppose," with a twitch of the lip which 
 needed no interpretation. " Since Eobert 
 wished to marry Lotta, it is to be imagined 
 that he cared to be w^ith her now and then 
 beforehand, and as she was here he came 
 here ; but now — now that all that is over, 
 there is nothinc:, nothino; in the world to 
 brino; him out of his own snuo^ house on a 
 raw dark November night, when the roads 
 are about as bad as they can be, and there is 
 not even a moon to light their way. It is a
 
 136 THE baby's GKANDMOTHER. 
 
 cool tiling to ask any man to do, and I must 
 say, Matilda, I wonder you liked to do it. I 
 am sure I, for one, should not have ven- 
 tured." 
 
 " And I am sure that I, for another, should 
 not, very certainly, very decidedly should not, 
 with an eye to some one else's comfort than 
 good Eobert's," said Matilda, laughing. " No 
 indeed, that I should not, my brothers twain, 
 had he and he alone been the proposed re- 
 cipient of our hospitality. But, bethink you, 
 there are others ; and the raw dark November 
 night, and the bad roads, and the no moon, 
 may be no obstacle to the7n. What do you 
 say, Teddy ? Do you think that Mr Whewell 
 would leave it ? Do you think he would im- 
 peril his precious legal life in a four-mile drive 
 through this lonely country after dark, to have 
 another sight of — either of us 1 " 
 
 "Of you ? Oh ! " said Overton, with a 
 smile. 
 
 " Of her, of course," added Teddy. " She 
 is such a creature for getting round people.
 
 " A PRETTY SCRAPE YOU WILL GET IXTO." 137 
 
 that she had that ass Whewell all in a hwzz 
 before we left. You never saw anything like 
 the way he went on, shoving through the 
 doorway in front of me to get after her. And 
 now she wants him over here " 
 
 " To complete the damage done. Very good, 
 Teddy/' said Matilda, approvingly. " I never 
 like to leave a piece of work unfinished, on 
 principle ; so, as you say that Mr Whewell 
 has done me the honour to^ " 
 
 "To flirt with you," said Teddy, 
 
 bluntly. 
 
 ''Oh fie, Teddy! do not believe him, Over- 
 ton. I never flirt. It is a thino- I would not 
 
 o 
 
 do upon any account ; and as to flirting with 
 Mr Whewell — we were only pleasant, pleasant 
 to each other. And there was no one for my 
 poor Teddy to be pleasant to, and so he is 
 cross with his Matilda," patting his shoulder 
 as if cajoling a fretful child. " Now, was not 
 that it, Ted ? Don't be vexed, then : it shall 
 have some one, it shall. Let me see, to- 
 morrow night : whom could we get over for
 
 138 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 to-morrow night 1 No one but the Appleby 
 girls, I am afraid. Will Juliet Appleby do, 
 Teddy ? She is fond of you, you know." 
 
 "I shall take Marion in," said Teddy, de- 
 cidedly. 
 
 " Judy is too young, is she 'i " 
 
 " A wretched school-girl," with contempt. 
 
 *'A tolerably forward school-girl; she has 
 learned one lesson thoroughly, at all events. 
 But you are wrong, Teddy, she is emerged, 
 emancipated ; she is going about everywhere 
 now, and has been since the sumnier." 
 
 '' I shall take Marion in," reiterated Teddy. 
 Juliet had caused him offence last time they 
 met, and he thus revenged himself. 
 
 " As you please," said his sister. " It does 
 not signify, or rather it is better so ; Juliet is 
 much the prettier of the two." 
 
 " You don't call those Miss Applebys pretty, 
 do you ? " said Lord Overton, who, when quite 
 alone with his brother and sister, could take 
 a fair share in the conversation, and make 
 now and then quite a good remark if not
 
 " A PRETTY SCRAPE YOU WILL GET IXTO." 139 
 
 called upon to do it. " They are so what is 
 it — unripe '? " 
 
 "And budding beauty is what poets sing 
 about, and lovers rave about." 
 
 " Budding, perhaps, but these are buds that 
 w^ill never blossom. Juliet is pink and white, 
 but she has not a feature in her face, and 
 Marion's teeth would spoil the look of any 
 mouth." 
 
 " "Well, I'll have Marion all the same," said 
 Teddy, obstinately. When he had a notion 
 in his head he stuck to it, as he said himself ; 
 and he now looked defiantly round, as if 
 Marion's teeth and Juliet's pink-and-whiteness 
 had alike been forces used against his determi- 
 nation. " I mean to have Marion ; so there," — 
 bringing down his hand on the table. 
 
 *' Such being the case, I give way," replied 
 Matilda, humouring his mood. " I give way, 
 and Juliet has Mr Challoner ; it will do that 
 chatterbox good to have such a stone wall to 
 expend her artillery upon ; she will not get 
 much change out of her companion, I should
 
 140 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 say : then Overton takes Lotta, and Kobert 
 must go by himself. He will not mind going 
 by himself for once, when he sees his dear 
 Lotta in the place of honour." 
 
 That she meant to have Whewell for her- 
 self was thus evident. Challoner might have 
 the right to give her his arm and seat himself 
 by her side — probably had the right, since she 
 had a tolerably distinct recollection of some- 
 thing having been said about his family and 
 connections which rendered it unlikely that 
 Whewell could be in birth his superior, — 
 but what of that ? Who was stupid enough 
 to care for that ? Certainly not Matilda 
 Wilmot. She was not to know, or at least 
 was not to be supposed to know ; and at any 
 rate Whewell she wanted, and Whewell she 
 meant to have. 
 
 " And a pretty scrape you will get into 
 with Eobert if you do," Teddy reminded his 
 sister ; for he too had heard the reference to 
 Challoner's family, and he saw what Matilda 
 was up to, after that fashion he had of seeing
 
 141 
 
 things that were not meant for him. " You 
 had better just look out/' he warned her. 
 
 But to no purpose. A plague on Eobert ! 
 she must now and then be in scrapes with 
 him, and as well now as at any other time. 
 She would have her way, and trust to her 
 good luck and her ready tongue to make 
 matters straight with him afterwards, for 
 Lotta's sake, not his own. She wished, oh, 
 how devoutly she wished, that they could 
 have a quarrel — a downright, out-and-out, 
 give-and-take-no-quarter quarrel — so that they 
 might be free of each other for evermore ; but 
 for her child's sake she would keep the peace 
 — with intervals for refreshment ; and as, 
 happily, she knew his weak points, and could 
 lay her finger on them to heal as well as to 
 wound at any moment, he might be put 
 aside occasionally without much alarm as 
 to the future. Accordingly she laughed at 
 Teddy, and went her way unheeding. 
 
 The next evening came, and with it the 
 expected guests. Eobert was in great force.
 
 142 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 had been in force the whole day ; and meeting 
 the returning carriage of the Applebys as they 
 drove up to the Hall, was just as it should be. 
 Lady Matilda had with unwonted thoughtful- 
 ness provided two new girls for his bachelor 
 friends, and this would be the crowning touch 
 to a day that had been altogether successful. 
 The two stranoers had shot well and walked 
 
 o 
 
 well, and had expressed themselves warmly 
 on the subject : their host had little doubt of 
 being able to obtain for them another day 
 on the Monday, and there was nothing to 
 mar the satisfaction and serenity with which 
 he alio'hted. Tlie footmen had on their best 
 liveries, and his cup was full. 
 
 " Take care, Lotta. Another step, my dear. 
 Are you all right ? Fine old hall, Challoner. 
 The pictures are not much, but they are at 
 least genuine. Your collar is turned up, 
 Whewell : allow me." His " allow me " was 
 the pinnacle of his good-humour. 
 
 But it was not destined to last long, as 
 those ^^'ho are in the wilful Matilda's con-
 
 "a pretty scrape you will get into. 143 
 
 fidence are aware ; and only too soon after 
 the party had assembled before the drawing- 
 room fire, did his uneasy fears arise. Until 
 then no doubts had arisen to disturb his 
 mind, for on this wise he had argued, that 
 foolish and heedless as the young grandmother 
 habitually showed herself to be, she could not 
 go the length of this ; she could not, without 
 consulting his opinion or making due inquiries, 
 take upon herself to decide as to which of his 
 guests — of his guests — should have precedence, 
 when brought by him to the Hall. He had, 
 indeed, already hinted his wishes ; but if, 
 as was, alas ! too possible with such an 
 auditor, the hint — the very emphatic hint — 
 had been thrown away, in such a case here he 
 was himself to be appealed to, and here was 
 a <xood five minutes in which to make the 
 appeal. A whisper to him, an aside through 
 Teddy, a nod of the head, a turn of the eye, 
 would have done it, would have let the hostess 
 know which to make the happy man, — and 
 of course it was Challoner who ought to be
 
 144 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 the man; — and as a Miss Appleby could be 
 placed upon his other side, so that he need 
 only have the honour of Lady Matilda, and 
 could have the pleasure of an unmarried lady's 
 society at the same time — (Robert was one 
 who took it for granted that a bachelor must 
 always prefer a ''Miss") — all being so nicely 
 arrano-ed, Cballoner would be well off. 
 
 He watched, he waited for the signal that 
 was to bring him into secret communications 
 with Lady Matilda; but Lady Matilda, quite 
 at her ease, made no sign, and he grew rest- 
 less : and then, just as he was debating within 
 himself how matters would really go, if there 
 would be a scrimmage at the end, or what % 
 — what should he see but Challoner, the 
 Challoner he thought so much of, and cared 
 so intensely to show off before, paired off with 
 an absurd little Juliet Appleby — not even 
 Marion, but Juliet, the school-girl — while 
 Whewell, all radiant and triumphant, talking, 
 bending over as he talked, gallantly escorted 
 the hostess to the head of the table ?
 
 145 
 
 CHAPTER YIIL 
 
 A STRANGE EFFECT. 
 
 Unaiming charms with edge resistless fall, 
 And she who means no mischief, does it all." 
 
 —Prior. 
 
 Never had Matilda looked better. 
 
 She was glowing with life and health ; and 
 having put on her most becoming dress and 
 ornaments, the plain home-made frocks of 
 two rather so-so-looking damsels, and Lotta's 
 high morning silk with the lace fichu, which, 
 when put on in her little room at Endhill, 
 had looked quite elegant enough and quite 
 dressy enough for a quiet dinner at her 
 uncle's, then became all at once dowdy and 
 ineffective. 
 
 They were all much on a par, Lotta perhaps 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 146 THE baby's geandmothee. 
 
 • 
 
 the worst, for Lotta had grown stout of late, 
 and could not stand rauch. Jichit, besides which, 
 there was a suspicion of being somewhat too 
 tightly buckled in for comfort, — but still the 
 Miss Applebys could not cast stones at her. 
 Juliet's muslin was limp, and did not hang 
 straight, being longer on the one side than on 
 the other ; and the lace edgings on both sisters' 
 skirts, on the blue as well as the pink, was 
 cheap, and looked cheap. Little threads hung 
 out here and there, and the colour had slightly 
 run in the washing ; while to crown all, the 
 cut on two rather meagre, scrimp, waistless 
 young figures, was not all that could have 
 been desired. 
 
 Lady Matilda was in black, but it was 
 brilliant black : it was set off by freshly cut, 
 snowy chrysanthemums, and quivering maiden- 
 hair ferns ; it was relieved by lustrous opals 
 at her throat and in her ears ; and it encircled 
 the roundest, whitest neck and arms in the 
 world. 
 
 Mrs Hanwell thought her mother over-
 
 A STRAXGE EFFECT. 147 
 
 dressed. It was just like mamma, she said; 
 and she wondered how it was that Matikla 
 knew no better, and how she, who ordinarily- 
 seemed to care so little how she looked, or 
 how old and shabby her clothes were when 
 walking about the lanes, or even shopping in 
 the town, would sometimes take it into her 
 head to flare up into splendour, and throw 
 every one else into the shade. And it must 
 be confessed that the young lady who sat thus 
 in judgment did not like being in the shade, 
 and felt more discomposed than she would have 
 allowed to anybody, at finding herself there. 
 
 Her own costume was so nice, so very nice : 
 she had herself tacked in new frilling in the 
 neck and sleeves — her best frilling too, out of 
 a not over-abundant supply — and it had gone 
 to her heart to reflect how it would get crushed 
 and soiled by her heavy fur cloak in the drive 
 to and from the Hall ; but she had felt that 
 the occasion was sufficient. She had meant 
 to look well, and not to grudge a little trouble, 
 or even her favourite rufiles ; she had rubbed
 
 148 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 • 
 
 bright her large gold locket and chain, and 
 put it on over the lace ; and then there had 
 been a pair of neat little bronze slippers, and 
 mittens, and a brown fan, with a brown ribbon 
 run through the handle to match the slippers. 
 And a clean handkerchief, fine and soft, but 
 not her best Honiton one, which would have 
 been over smart, had been found for the 
 pocket, and a pretty white scarf had been 
 remembered for the head, and nothing had 
 been forgotten, not even the parting directions 
 to nurse, nor the kiss to baby, before she left 
 Endhill. 
 
 Nobody had ever crossed the threshold there 
 with a more complacent step ; no one had 
 ever entered the entrance-hall at Overton with 
 a fuller sense of inward assurance. 
 
 And in half an hour all was altered, for 
 in half an hour Lotta had had time to look 
 about her, to take notes and to adjust her 
 ideas, and the result was that she felt oppressed 
 and crestfallen. 
 
 Lady Matilda had no fan, no gloves, no
 
 A STRANGE EFFECT. 149 
 
 bracelets, probably no handkerchief, — but her 
 bare white arms, fringed with the glittering 
 black, would have been insulted by a covering, 
 and made the very idea of mittens loathsome ; 
 while the shape of her beautiful head, and the 
 thickness of her hair, turned Lotta's little 
 matronly cap into a superfluous and ridicu- 
 lous appendage. Lotta, in short, looked' as 
 though she had not dressed — what ladies call 
 " dressed " — at all. 
 
 '* My dear, you might have made more of 
 yourself," Lady Matilda could not forbear 
 murmuring aside, as the two sat on a sofa 
 together before dinner. " You have evening 
 gowns," continued she, reproachfully. And 
 then some one had spoken, and there had been 
 no chance of explaining the why and where- 
 fore the evening gowns referred to had not 
 been considered suitable, and altogether it was 
 hard on Lotta. 
 
 But her vexation was slight compared with 
 Robert's when the move to the dining-room 
 took place, and he beheld, as we have said, his
 
 150 THE baby's GRANDMOTHEE. 
 
 much too lovely, much too enchanting mother- 
 in-law led forward to her seat by Whewell. 
 He almost hated the agreeable barrister, and 
 scarcely dared to look how Challoner fared. 
 As for that wicked Matilda — but she was 
 irreclaimable. 
 
 There she sat, by far the finest and fairest 
 woman present ; and there was his friend, but 
 not his chief friend, not the man who should 
 have been where he was, — there was Whewell, 
 cocked up on high, equal to anything, de- 
 lighted with everything, turning his head this 
 way and that way, by Matilda's side. And 
 there was Challoner — even Challoner could 
 increase the dudgeon of the moment ; for the 
 injured, ill-treated, degraded Challoner, was 
 eating his soup with an air of unconcern, 
 which showed too plainly that whether be 
 had even understood his ignominy or not was 
 doubtful. 
 
 Further, however, than that his manner 
 bespoke ease and enjoyment, Whewell gave no 
 just cause for offence; he did not abuse the
 
 A STRANGE EFFECT. 151 
 
 prosperity which had fallen to his lot ; he did 
 not attempt to keep Matilda's ear and atten- 
 tion for himself as he had done, and so success- 
 fully done, at Endhill ; he had a word, an 
 inquiry, or remark for all about him, took part 
 in divers conversations, told capital stories, 
 and led the laugh with such success, that no 
 merrier meal had ever been known at Overton. 
 Even Eobert and even Lotta resumed their 
 usual lugubrious serenity as the courses ran 
 on. " And even Mr Challoner, the stately 
 Challoner, smiled upon us at last," said Matilda 
 afterwards. " He needs waking up, does that 
 poor Challoner. I was quite relieved to see 
 him look more cheerful and less lackadaisical, 
 as he and Juliet advanced in intimacy. Juliet, 
 my dear, that must have been your doing," 
 putting her arm round Juliet's waist as she 
 spoke. " To you must be the credit of thawing 
 the ice upon the Challonerean brow. And it 
 is worth thawing, I believe. Do you know, 
 girls, that he is — what is he, Lotta ? for I pro- 
 test," laughing, *' that I do not know myself."
 
 152 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHEE. 
 
 ''He is very nice," said Lotta, warmly, 
 " very nice indeed ; though mamma does not 
 think so," with a little prick of malice. 
 
 " Mamma does not think so, indeed ! Bravo, 
 Lotta ! Now, Madam Wiseacre," cried Matilda, 
 who would always have an insinuation said 
 out, whether the speaker liked or not — " now 
 how, pray, do you know that mamma does 
 not think so ? " 
 
 But on this occasion Lotta was not un- 
 willing to be explicit. "You have never 
 taken the slightest notice of him since he 
 came," she said. " You have never taken the 
 trouble to speak to him, and you would not 
 have him in to dinner." 
 
 " So that is the accusation. Now, hear me. 
 I did far better than have him in to dinner 
 myself; I gave him Juliet." 
 
 All were silent. 
 
 " I gave him Juliet," repeated Lady Matilda, 
 slowly; "and I think that every young man 
 would allow that he had the best of it in such 
 an assortment. You are too polite, much too
 
 A STEAXGE EFFECT. 153 
 
 polite, to say so to me, young ladies ; but you 
 know as well as I do in your hearts that, 
 whatever Mr Challoner's proclivities may be, a 
 young man " 
 
 "He is not so young at all," observed 
 Lotta. 
 
 " Any man at all then, or at any rate, the 
 average man of the day, prefers a young and 
 blushing mademoiselle to an old and unblush- 
 ing — grandmother." 
 
 " Oh, Lady Matilda ! " They all laughed. 
 
 "Grandmother! It is really too absurd," 
 said the eldest Miss Appleby. "When we 
 heard about baby, you know, Lotta, the first 
 thing we all said was, * Think of Lady Matilda 
 a grandmother ! ' and we laughed so — you can't 
 think how we laughed." 
 
 '' Lotta thinks there was nothing to lauo-h 
 at," said Lotta's mother, looking at her with a 
 smile ; " and it was very shocking of you, girls, 
 to make sport out of me and my grandson. 
 You might as well have said, * Think of Lotta 
 a mother ! ' That was quite as funny, I sup-
 
 154 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 pose ? " But no one looked as if they had 
 found it so. 
 
 " Oh, Lotta seemed quite the right person 
 to have a nursery full," said Marion, candidly. 
 " Lotta always was sober, you know ; she — oh, 
 Lady Matilda, you should have heard what 
 papa said 1 " cried the poor girl, leaving Lotta's 
 unencouraging face to right itself. " Papa said 
 — he is such an admirer of yours — and when 
 we told him, he said that you were the hand- 
 somest and youngest woman in the county : 
 youngest — you remember, Juliet, how he de- 
 fined it ? that it wasn't years and that sort of 
 thing that made people old ; and he said that 
 if Lady Matilda had a score of grandchildren, 
 it would make not an atom of difference." 
 
 "Thank you, my dear. Next time I see 
 your father, I shall say aloud in his hearing 
 that he is the dearest and most discerning old 
 gentleman in the county ; and that if there 
 were a score of women he admired more than 
 me, it would make not an atom of difference." 
 
 " Now, Juliet/' pursued she, when all, Lotta
 
 A STEAXGE EFFECT. 155 
 
 excepted, had done justice to the repartee, — • 
 " now, Juliet, for Mr Challoner once more. 
 IMr Challoner once more to the front, please. 
 What is • he like '? What is his line ? What 
 is there in him 1 " 
 
 But this was too much. " I should think," 
 said Mrs Lotta, with a toss of her head, cap 
 and all, — " I should really imagine — at least 
 any one would imagine — that / might be the 
 one to know most about Mr Challoner, as he 
 is now actually staying in our house, and he 
 is Robert's own friend ; while Juliet has only 
 spoken to him — has only seen him within the 
 last half-hour ! " 
 
 '' Two hours at least, my dear : don't be 
 inaccurate because you are cross. And I will 
 tell you why I don't ask you for information, 
 — simply because I am not likely to get it." 
 
 " Why not likely ? You have never asked. 
 I will give it you in a moment." 
 
 "You would, my dear, I know; and I know 
 what the value of it would be, and it would 
 be " and Lady Matilda made a little snap
 
 156 THE baby's GEANDMOTHEB. 
 
 of her fingers that was hardly dignified, but was 
 very charming. " These things are not in your 
 way, Lotta. You were never any hand with 
 men," which was unfair, all things considered. 
 
 "But then, she never would have been,'\ 
 said Lady Matilda to herself; "she has not 
 the way with them, and never would have." 
 
 "Now, Juliet is like me — she has percep- 
 tion," continued she, aloud. "Juliet is a bit 
 of scamp herself, and so I can depend on her 
 to tell me whether she has found one in Mr 
 Challoner or not." 
 
 " Oh, Lady Matilda ! " 
 
 ''Well, child, I am not blaming you — far 
 from it ; I appreciate the gift. Come, out 
 with it, for good or for evil, for better for 
 worse. Give us your experience, your valu- 
 able experience ; Mr Challoner is 1 " 
 
 *' To tell you the truth, then, Lady Matilda, 
 I would gladly have exchanged companions 
 with you." 
 
 " You would, you monkey '? I believe you ; 
 from my heart I do. What ! — he was not
 
 A STRANGE EFFECT. 157 
 
 responsive, was he not, Juliet 1 Now, Lotta, 
 be quiet. I see the man is a man of 
 lead." 
 
 *' He is not at all : not in the very leasts 
 
 *' Oh yes, he is : Juliet says it, and Juliet 
 must know." 
 
 '^But I did not say it, Lady Matilda/' 
 protested Juliet ; " I only said, and that when 
 you asked me, and made me say it " 
 
 " I know, I know : never mind, Lotta, you 
 goosey ; nobody minds Lotta in this house — 
 though she reigns supreme at Endhilb no 
 doubt. But here I am the only person to be 
 in awe of, d ye see that ? " pinching her ear. 
 " Now get on with your tale. You gave him 
 up '? Did you give him up ? Did you find 
 him past endurance ? Lotta, go away ; go 
 and talk with Marion over there : don't listen 
 to us, — that's right ! Now, Juliet ? " 
 
 " I must say he was rather difficult to get 
 on with. Lady Matilda." 
 
 ^'Difficult! How difficult '? What shape 
 and form did the ' difficult ' take ? "
 
 158 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 *'He never originated an idea, to begin 
 with. And then he was so — don't you know ? 
 — absent. He did not seem to take any 
 notice — I mean he had no interest; all he 
 cared to talk about was the shooting, and I 
 know nothing about shooting — how should 
 I ? " said poor Juliet, plaintively. " I tried 
 him on all sorts of other things, indeed I did. 
 I told him all about the neighbourhood, and 
 the people, and — and everything I could think 
 of; and then, when I had said all I could 
 think of, and had racked my brains to make 
 the most of a thing, he would just answer me, 
 and let it drop. I had to do it all over again 
 with something else, you know. It wasn't 
 encourao^inor, was it ? " 
 
 "Bad, bad, — very bad. Just what I had 
 expected, however. I must say I object to 
 have my pet subjects 'let drop,' myself; 
 and you certainly had a hard time of it, 
 Judy." 
 
 *' The worst of it was, he was always looking 
 at you." Incautious girl, the words escaped
 
 A STRANGE EFFECT. 159 
 
 her ere she knew, and Matikla heard them, 
 and stopped short, although she had drawn 
 her breath, and opened her lips to speak 
 again. 
 
 She stopped short in her surprise. 
 
 " Looking at me I '' she said, at last. 
 
 " He was, indeed. He was always looking 
 your way, at least, and listening to what you 
 and Mr Whewell were saying. I suppose he 
 must have found your conversation more 
 amusing than mine, and no doubt it was," 
 owned poor Juliet in her mortification. " Mr 
 Whewell is amusing, is he not V 
 
 " Oh, very." 
 
 " And pleasant ? And — and " 
 
 ** Everything." 
 
 Miss Appleby sighed. 
 
 ** Come, I have a spark of generosity in my 
 nature," said Lady Matilda, suddenly, "and 
 my Juliet shall profit by it. You have told 
 me all that was in your heart, Judy, you have 
 hidden nothing of your discomfiture and — 
 disgust. Never mind, never mind " as
 
 160 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 Juliet protested. *' It is too late to draw back 
 now, mucli too late ; and you have done- so 
 well, it would be a pity to spoil the effect. 
 I see the scene. I see the dauntless Juliet 
 plodding on, and the ungrateful Challoner lift- 
 ing his eyes to higher spheres. (That's me," 
 in parenthesis.) *' I am the higher sphere, my 
 love, and it is not to be wondered at if a man 
 of forty — he looks about forty, I should say — 
 if he did prefer — I mean, if he would have 
 preferred my society to that of a little lass of 
 eighteen. Had he been twenty years younger, 
 Juliet — oh, Juliet, you have it all before you. 
 Juliet, Juliet, you need not envy me my poor 
 autumnal triumph. Every year you will 
 change your style of admirer, my dear; at 
 present you have one kind, in another year 
 you will have another kind — it is so long ago 
 with me that I forget the exact ages, but 
 they keep marching on as you march — until 
 at my years none are left to you but a scat- 
 tered remnant, here and there a susceptible
 
 A STRANGE EFFECT. 161 
 
 widower, or a man who has lost his first love, 
 or a foreign diplomatist who wants an English 
 wife to head his table, or " 
 
 " Oh, Lady Matilda, how can you say so ? 
 You know very well " 
 
 " Very well all that you can say, child," 
 with unaffected disdain. " Oh yes, I know all 
 about it ; trust me. But, Juliet, what I meant 
 to say was this. You envy me Mr AVhewell, 
 my dear delightful Mr Whewell, and herewith 
 I make a present of him to you. Now this is 
 how the deed of gift shall be drawn out. He 
 sings ; well, I love music, but I fear I do not 
 greatly care for musical people, more especially 
 when the fit is on. Fact is, I hate 'em. So 
 Mr Whewell shall not have the felicity of 
 being accompanied by me in ' Darby and 
 Joan,' or ' In the gloamin', oh, my da-arlinV " 
 mimicking, " those two abominations w^hich 
 are no doubt the flower of his repertoire ; he 
 shall not be permitted to shine in them, but 
 he shall hum his bass to Juliet's sweetest treble, 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 162 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 while I, even I — hearken, Lotta, hearken, 
 Marion, — I will immolate myself on the altar 
 
 of " 
 
 The door opened, and she was prevented 
 saying Challoner's name by the entrance of 
 Challoner himself.
 
 163 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ROBERT HAS CAUSE FOR COMPLAINT. 
 
 " You always do too little, or too much." 
 
 — COWPER, 
 
 There was nothing in the faces of any of the 
 ladies to indicate that they had been inter- 
 rupted in their conversation. Lady Matilda, 
 even while turning round courteously to in- 
 clude the new-comers in the conversation, 
 continued to address the youngest Miss Ap- 
 pleby — altering her topic but not her tone, 
 — while the elder sister and Mrs Hanwell 
 resumed the thread of a confidence that had 
 been suspended for a moment by the last 
 remark. 
 
 " You see," said Lotta, earnestly, '' I could 
 have overlooked it if it had been the first time,
 
 164 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 and if I could have put any faith, any real 
 faith, in the woman's professions. But if once 
 a servant has been untrustworthy, you don't 
 know how to believe her again." 
 
 "Yes, indeed," replied her companion, en- 
 deavouring to look as attentive as before ; 
 " yes, indeed. I know that is what mamma 
 always says, and " 
 
 " I could never have let her out of the 
 
 house with any comfort, could I '? And if 
 there had been a message to be taken — and 
 we so often have to have messages — at least 
 errands to be run — down to the village, you 
 know, to the post, or for things that cook 
 wants — cooks always want things when there 
 is no one handy to go for them " 
 
 ("I hear Lotta and her cooks," murmured 
 Lady Matilda, aside to Teddy.) 
 
 " If we had wanted to send anywhere, 
 
 it would always have been ' Who was to go 1 ' " 
 proceeded the unconscious narrator. " Now 
 Sarah has always seemed willing, and so I 
 always let her ; and it was only the other day
 
 ROBERT HAS CAUSE FOR COMPLAINT. 165 
 
 — though I must own I had my suspicions 
 before — but it was only the day before yester- 
 day, something was wanted for yesterday's 
 dinner, something that cook had to make 
 ready the day before, for we had these gentle- 
 men coming " (lower), " and so, of course, 
 cook was anxious to do her best, and she asked 
 if Sarah might run up the road for her." 
 
 " Don't you find the fire rather hot, 
 
 dear ? " 
 
 " No, thank you^ never mind." Lotta's 
 tongue was not to be stopped in that way. 
 
 " Well, Marion, I do assure you that the 
 girl took an hour and a half, and she had not 
 half a mile to go ! She did indeed ; for I 
 looked the clock, and it was four o'clock when 
 she went, and half-past five when she came in. 
 It was dark, quite dark outside, but I heard 
 her come in and go up the back-staircase, so 
 I called out, ' Is that Sarah ? ' and it was." 
 
 " Oh, that was too bad. But " 
 
 '' She had only to run up the road to Farmer 
 Dunstable's for some cream — at least, to let
 
 166 THE BABYS GEAXDMOTHER. 
 
 them know that extra cream would be wanted 
 next day; she had not even to wait for it, and 
 she could not pretend that she had when I 
 taxed her. The cream was wanted for the 
 white soup, you know; cook does make such 
 excellent white soup, and she is so economical 
 over it ; she never thinks of veal and chicken ; 
 she makes a bit of the neck of mutton do, with 
 a rabbit. Of course, I let her get what cream 
 she likes ; for, after all, a shilling's worth of 
 cream goes a long way; and Mrs Dunstable's 
 cream is always good and thick. So when she 
 asked if some one might be sent to the farm, 
 I said, ' Send Sarah.' I said it at once, never 
 thinking, never for a moment imagining, you 
 know, that she was not to be trusted. Robert 
 would have sent the groom, but he had hurt 
 his foot ; and as Sarah has nothing much to 
 do about four o'clock — she never has — I sug- 
 gested her myself. She brought in my cup of 
 tea first — Robert does not take tea — and I 
 remember that I thought it rather strange 
 Sarah's bringing it in so early, for I don't
 
 ROBERT HAS CAUSE FOR COMPLAINT. 167 
 
 usually have it till five, or nearly ^ve, — and 
 she excused herself by saying that she thought 
 I looked tired, and would be glad of my tea. 
 It was that I mio;ht not find out how lono^ she 
 stayed, you know." 
 
 "Dear!" said Miss Appleby, properly shocked. 
 Eesistance was of no avail ; the grievance, she 
 saw, must be heard out. 
 
 " I could hardly believe it, Marion, and, of 
 course, I have felt it dreadfully. Nurse — I 
 mean Mrs Burrble, not Hannah — nurse did 
 give me a sort of hint a week ago, at least she 
 says now that she meant it for a hint, — by the 
 way, Mrs Burrble can stay on with us another 
 week, Marion — is not that nice ? I was so 
 anxious tliat Hannah should have her in the 
 house for a little after Hannah had begun to 
 take baby in hand ; and Eobert has been so 
 good, he says under the circumstances I am 
 quite right, and he does not mind the expense 
 at all. Of course she is expensive, but she is 
 such a nice woman, and I can talk to her 
 about all sorts of thino;s. I told her about
 
 168 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 Sarah at once, and tlien she reminded me that 
 she had given me that hint. She had said, 
 ' Are you keeping on Sarah, ma'am ? ' And 
 she tells me now that she had meant me to 
 notice it, and to ask why she inquired. But 
 it never occurred to me. Now, would it to 
 you?" 
 
 '' Not for a moment." 
 
 " And I was not to blame, was I ? " 
 
 "Not in the least." 
 
 "Well, it is a good thing now that it is off 
 your mind," continued Miss Appleby, in a 
 summing-up judicial tone ; " and as you have 
 given her warning " 
 
 " Oh, but it is not off my mind at all. You 
 see I did not take in what Mrs Burrble meant, 
 when she asked, ' Are you keeping on Sarah ? ' 
 What was I to say? Of course I ivas keeping 
 on Sarah. So now Sarah says " 
 
 " Young ladies, young ladies^ where are your 
 manners ? " Never had human voice sounded 
 more musical in the ears of the unfortunate 
 Marion Appleby than Lady Matilda's did now.
 
 ROBERT HAS CAUSE FOR COMPLAINT. 169 
 
 " Fie, both of you ! usurping one another in 
 this way," continued the hostess, with the 
 most delightful reproach. '^ Fie 1 get up ; split 
 into two, instantly. I really wondered how 
 long this was going on," she proceeded, looking 
 from one to the other as they stood up at her 
 command, " and at last I saw something must 
 be done. Look over there." 
 
 Over there accordingly the culprits looked, 
 and indeed what they beheld justified Matil- 
 da's complaint. Lord Overton, Mr Challoner, 
 Eobert, and Teddy were all silently drinking 
 coffee, having apparently exhausted every 
 single thing they had to say to each other 
 before they left the dining-room. Whewell 
 was more lucky, but still only relatively lucky : 
 he had the resource of the china ornaments on 
 the mantelpiece and Juliet Appleby; but even 
 he was less lively than before, while there was 
 no doubt that the other quartet felt themselves, 
 if not aggrieved, at least unwanted, unneeded, 
 superfluous. 
 
 As soon, however, as it was seen that the
 
 1*70 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 ladies were no longer too deeply engaged for 
 intrusion, tliey were approached on all sides, — 
 the two Overtous, elder and younger, with one 
 accord addressing the ever-pliant accommodat- 
 ing Marion Appleby, who was always ready to 
 listen, and never had much to say; while Mr 
 Challoner, apparently impelled by a sense of 
 duty, made an opening observation to Mrs 
 Hanwell, and Matilda herself w^as left to her 
 son-in-law. 
 
 Well, she could not help it ; she had meant, 
 had certainly meant, to take that opportunity 
 for making amends to Challoner, and she would 
 undoubtedly have preferred him, even him, to 
 Eobert ; but he had begun with Lotta, and so 
 there was an end of it. No one could say it 
 was her fault. Still it w^as the hour for sacrifice, 
 so if balked in one direction she would strike 
 out in another; she would make the best of 
 the bad bargain the fates had given her for the 
 nonce ; and accordingly — 
 
 " I am having new covers in my boudoir, 
 Robert."
 
 ROBERT HAS CAUSE FOR COMPLAINT. l7l 
 
 '' Indeed ? Are the old ones worn out, 
 then ? " 
 
 " Worn to rags. But I daresay I should 
 have had them still, if Teddy had not let fall 
 a bottle of ink, and it went all over the sofa, 
 cushions and all, last week. Perhaps on the 
 whole it was the best thing he could have 
 done." 
 
 " You are a philosopher, Lady Matilda." 
 The effects of a good dinner and a pleasant 
 after-dinner were not without their effect on 
 Mr Hanwell ; he found Lady Matilda more 
 sensible thau usual. " And what are the new 
 covers like ? " he inquired with interest. 
 
 " Eeally not very unlike the old ones. You 
 may not discover any difference ; I should not 
 be surprised if they never catch your eye at 
 all, unless you remember my haviug told 
 you." 
 
 *' And why did you get them so much alike ? 
 For the sake of the rest of the furniture, I 
 suppose '? It is really an important matter 
 when you begin to alter furniture," — he was a
 
 172 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 great man for furniture, — " and I suj)pose you 
 liad to suit your carpet and curtains ? Or have 
 you new curtains ? " 
 
 " Well, yes, I have. I did not need them a 
 bit, and I don't know why I got them, but 
 there they are." 
 
 " And where did you go ? " 
 
 " I had patterns down from several places, 
 but one little man in Tottenham Court Eoad 
 sent by far the best. Two or three of them 
 would have done. If you and Lotta are in 
 want of any more things, I advise you to try 
 there ; I am sure he is cheap, and I have kept 
 the address. Those girls want it too," looking 
 at the Miss Appleby s. 
 
 " Are they furnishing, then ? " 
 
 " They are talking of doing up their draw- 
 ing-room. Between ourselves, I doubt the 
 result ; four or five people all suggesting, and 
 scheming, and plotting, and planning — to say 
 nothing of quarrelling and sulking over it — is 
 too much. They will come to grief sooner or 
 later, you may depend upon it, and already
 
 ROBERT HAS CAUSE FOR COMPLAINT. 173 
 
 there are rumours of dissension afloat. I fancy 
 ' papa ' does not see any reason for doing it at 
 all ; papas never do, you know." 
 
 "Exactly: tliey never do. My father was 
 most unwilling to make any changes at the 
 old house, I remember," observed Eobert, sit- 
 ting slowly and heavily down on a low chair 
 beside her, (oh, heavens, this was more than 
 she had bargained for !) " and it was some time 
 before we could get the old gentleman to ac- 
 knowledge that there was anything of the 
 kind needed. One of the floors was actually 
 giving way; and when the library carpet was 
 taken up," continued he, stretching out his 
 legs comfortably in front — "when the old 
 green carpet was up that had been down for 
 thirty years, I believe you could see daylight 
 through it ! Oh, there were holes in a number 
 of the carpets." 
 
 " They were not visible holes, then," replied 
 Lady Matilda, graciously; "invisible to me, at 
 any rate. I saw nothing but what was the 
 picture of comfort and — and " (again that word
 
 174 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 * respectable ' in lier mind, and again it would 
 not do) — '' and everything. But with such 
 good rooms," proceeded the speaker, hastily — 
 " with such first-rate rooms as they liave at 
 your father's, it is easy to make them look 
 well. I was never in a better planned house 
 in my life." 
 
 " Well, really " (he hardly knew what to do 
 under such amiable treatment), " really, you — 
 ah — you are very kind to say so. And it is 
 tolerable in its way; not like this, of course, 
 not to be compared to Overton ; but it is cer- 
 tainly a good old-fashioned building, dry and 
 wholesome. And when are you thinking of 
 going over again. Lady Matilda ? They Avill be 
 most happy, you know. We propose taking 
 baby the end of next week, and stopping over 
 Sunday — Lotta perhaps longer; certainly they 
 will try to keep her longer, — she is a great 
 favourite with them all, and I may leave her 
 for a week or so if she wishes it. I must come 
 back myself. We begin our new stables on 
 Monday week, and I must be on the spot while
 
 EGBERT HAS CAUSE FOR COMPLAIXT. 175 
 
 it is beino: done. Besides the chance of blun- 
 ders, I always make a point of being at home 
 when the w^orkmen are about. You never 
 know what they may be up to. And then we 
 have at present no very good place for keeping 
 our silver. How do you do about your silver 
 here ? Have you a safe 1 " 
 
 "Yes — no. At least I don't know, — 1 sup- 
 pose so. I never thought about it.'' She was 
 not quite sure that she knew what a safe was, 
 but had discretion enough to keep her ignorance 
 to herself. 
 
 " Well, I have almost made up my mind to 
 have one," proceeded Kobert, " and I will tell 
 you where I mean to place it. I have my own 
 ideas on the subject. There is a little cup- 
 board that opens out of the hall, pretty far 
 back, underneath the staircase, just beyond 
 where the coat-stand is " 
 
 "I know — I know." Her tone meant, 
 " Stop that, at any rate," but happily he w^as 
 insensible to it. 
 
 "You know? Well, that little cupboard
 
 176 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 is pretty well hidden, and it goes pretty far 
 back. A safe could be fitted in at tbe back, 
 and made fast either to the wall behind, or 
 to the floor — either would do. I am not sure 
 which would be best 1 Which should you 
 say?" 
 
 " I should consult the man who comes to 
 put it up." 
 
 " Oh, I never do that," — he shook his head 
 emphatically. " No, no. Lady Matilda, I 
 know better than to do that. I have my own 
 ideas about things, and I generally find they 
 are correct. I do not want to boast, but 
 really I have hardly ever — I may almost say 
 never — had to repent when I have taken a 
 thing into my own hands." 
 
 She sighed, but she had to endure : for 
 fully half an hour did he run thus smoothly 
 on ; and as every one else either was, or was 
 obliged to appear to be, equally agreeably 
 engaged, she had no pretext for rising, and no 
 hope of deliverance. 
 
 At length, however, came a break. One
 
 ROBERT HAS CAUSE FOR COMPLAINT. 177 
 
 voice dropped off after another, more than 
 one eye was directed to her, and she could 
 with all propriety herself respond to the 
 general mute appeal for a change of scene. 
 
 " We were to have some music ? " suggested 
 Whewell, approaching. " May we hope, Lady 
 Matilda " 
 
 She rose smiling. 
 
 " Let him sino- alone," said Eobert in a low 
 voice. " He can; and he can play for himself 
 too." Whewell had gone to open the instru- 
 ment. " I think," continued Eobert, with 
 what was for him a great effort of moderation, 
 — " I think, perhaps, Lady Matilda, you have 
 not noticed that Challoner — ah — I fancy he 
 would like if you would speak to him a little. 
 And I think you would be pleased with him, 
 — I really do. Quite so, — I mean if you have 
 the opportunity," in reply to a hesitating 
 glance towards the piano. " I understand : it 
 will do by-and-by — quite well, by-and-by." 
 
 Well, she would, by-and-by. Robert had a 
 show of reason on his side ; and however dull 
 
 VOL. L M
 
 178 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 and uninteresting his friend might be, it was 
 true that, for her own sake, she ought not to be 
 rude to any one. And then Juliet had said 
 that Challoner had been looking at her. Cer- 
 tainly she would do something, if it were ever 
 so little, for him — by-and-by. 
 
 But, alas ! by-and-by was long in coming. 
 One song succeeded another, and Whewell 
 found each more charming than the last. He 
 did not sing with her, having found out, with 
 his native quickness of perception, that she 
 Avould prefer going her own way unmolested, 
 and that the few notes he threw in once or 
 twice had only resulted in confusion ; he had 
 put her out, and a thousand apologies could 
 not put her in again. He promised in future 
 to abstain ; but to sing with him for an 
 auditor, for an enthusiastic demonstrative 
 auditor, was pleasant enough — so pleasant, 
 indeed, that time drew on, and there was no 
 appearance of an end to it. 
 
 It was not that Challoner was forgotten, — 
 it was that she could not be troubled with
 
 ROBERT HAS CAUSE FOR COMPLAIXT. IT 9 
 
 liim. And, after all, why should she be ? 
 She thought — as soon as the effect of Robert's 
 leniency had worn off a little — she thought 
 Mr Challoner did well enough without notice. 
 It appeared to be all one to him where he was, 
 or w^hat he was doincr • and iookinsf at him, 
 as he and Overton sat together at the far end 
 of the room, with evidently quite a fellow-feel- 
 ing of comfort and repose in obscurity, she 
 vowed it would be a pity, altogether a pity, to 
 unsettle the minds of either. 
 
 Now Whewell was different : Whewell could 
 not be happy unless he were in the front of 
 everything : whatever was the order of the 
 day, he must have a part in it, and could per- 
 form that part well ; and such being the case, 
 it was a pleasure to ^do anything for him. 
 But if a man has no discernment, sees no 
 difference, and would as soon be at the bottom 
 as at the top — why, leave him at the bottom. 
 
 At length, however, Whewell had implored, 
 and praised, and thanked, and flattered, until 
 it seemed as thouo^h nothinor else were left to
 
 180 THE baby's GRAXDMOTHER. 
 
 be said or looked. It grew late. " I believe 
 I ought to see after people," said Matilda, 
 rising. " Juliet, take my place ; and you, who 
 accompany so much better than I do, play 
 this for Mr AVhewell." 
 
 Thus she was free, and now surely was 
 Challoner s time come ? But no. Unfortu- 
 nately no one but Matilda herself knew what 
 Matilda meant to do, and two at least of the 
 party were ill enough pleased with what she 
 had already done. Neither of these was Lord 
 Overton — he was happy enough : he thought 
 the evening had gone oflf well — better than he 
 had expected; and that as every one was 
 doing as he or she liked best, all was right. 
 Whewell he considered was a noisy fellow, but 
 noisy fellows were of use sometimes, and it 
 was lively to hear the piano going. For him- 
 self, he liked Challoner better, infinitely bet- 
 ter; but Challoner could not help things off as 
 "Whewell did ; and any way the dull dinner- 
 party would soon be over, and he hoped Ma- 
 tilda would not soon think it necessary to give
 
 EOBEET HAS CAUSE FOR COMPLAINT. 181 
 
 another. Here was Matilda coming ; and had 
 Matilda come, had she g-ot his lenoth and 
 accosted him, she would have been received 
 with his usual smile. But an angry voice 
 stopped her midway. 
 
 "You have come at last," said Teddy, in 
 her ear. " And time you did, I should say. 
 You and Juliet have behaved nicely to the 
 rest of us," — for Juliet had not shown that 
 sense of desolation which he had expected on 
 seeing him turned into her sister's cavalier for 
 the evening. " She is going on with that ape, 
 AYhewell, with a vengeance. And so were 
 you. And you treat that other one, as 
 nice a fellow as ever lived, as if he were 
 a dos^." 
 
 "I do nothing of the kind : I don t know 
 what you mean." 
 
 '* He has sat in that chair ever since we 
 came in from dinner, and nobody has gone 
 near him but Lotta." 
 
 '' Overton is sitting by him now." 
 
 " What's Overton ? I don't believe he has
 
 182 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 said ten words since he came in. And Juliet 
 too. Tell you what, Eobert sa3'S " 
 
 " What do I care for Eobert 1 Let him say 
 anything." 
 
 "He is as savage with you as ever he can 
 be." 
 
 " Savao'e ! How absurd you are ! " cried 
 Matilda, but still under her breath, though 
 wdth a movement of the slioulder which car- 
 ried its own emphasis. " Let Robert mind 
 his own business. It is not for him to dictate 
 to me ; I can judge for myself, I should hope." 
 And not a syllable w^ould she speak to Chal- 
 loner after that. 
 
 " The carriao-e is here," said Lotta at last. 
 "Good-bye, mamma; we must not stop a 
 minute, as it is raining. My cloak is down- 
 stairs, thank you. It is in the library." And 
 the next thing was the cold touch of a limp 
 and indio^nant hand, as Eobert, no lono;er un- 
 der the influence of dinner and claret, followed 
 his wife out into the hall.
 
 183 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE REAL WOUND AND THE APPARENT ONE. 
 
 " He smarteth most who hides his smart 
 And sues for no compassion." 
 
 — Kaleigh. 
 
 Challoner had been in the background 
 throno;bout the evenino^ described in the last 
 chapter, but he was no longer destined to 
 remain so ; he was, within a few minutes of 
 leaving the drawiug-room, to be brought as 
 prominently before the public as would have 
 satisfied a dozen Whewells. 
 
 The ladies were being shawled and hooded 
 in the library, and Lotta was in the act of 
 having her last golosh drawn on, when a noise 
 from without made them all turn their heads, 
 wondering aimlessly, as females do, what was 
 the matter.
 
 184 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 There had been the sound of a breakage, a 
 crash and a smash : not a remarkably violent 
 smash ; probably a lamp knocked over, or 
 something as bad as that — annoying, but not 
 more ; and no particular attention might have 
 been excited, had it not been immediately 
 followed by more than the usual bustle and 
 disturbance. 
 
 '' I say ! " 
 
 " By Jove ! " 
 
 " Are you hurt ? " 
 
 Then "handkerchief" and '' bleedincy" were 
 
 o 
 
 indistinctly caught, and finally a whole sen- 
 tence reached their ears, in Eobert's voice, but 
 in a voice raised higher and more hurried than 
 its wont, — " Sticking-plaster ! I don't believe 
 she has such a thing in the house." 
 
 That was enough ; all flocked out to hear 
 and see, and Lady Matilda joined the group 
 from the ante-room. What had happened ? 
 Who was hurt? 
 
 The questions were answered by a blast of 
 cold air driving in through a broken window
 
 THE EEAL AXD APPAREXT WOUXD. 185 
 
 of some size, and further, by the sight of 
 Challoner standing before Whewell, who was 
 busily engaged tying a handkerchief above his 
 wrist, and at the same time bending down so 
 close over it, as to show he was endeavour- 
 ing to discover something, probably the extent 
 of the damage done. 
 
 The two were underneath a circle of lamps, 
 and blood was dripping from their hands. 
 
 " If I could only see — if I had anything to 
 clear the wound. AVater — get some water," 
 cried Whewell ; " cold water and a sponge ! 
 Look sharp with it ! " as the servants hung 
 about uncertainly. " I can't see anything for 
 this infernal blood." 
 
 " What do you want to see ? " said a voice 
 at his elbow. 
 
 " Oh, Lady Matilda ! Beg pardon, but can't 
 you get me something ? " replied Whewell, 
 somewhat taken aback, although appearing to 
 more advantage in his concern and abruptness 
 than in any previous phase. " Can't you get 
 me anything to stop the bleeding ? Friar's
 
 186 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 balsam — that's it; that's the thing I want. 
 Oh, you have not any ? Oh, what have you, 
 then '? And where is that water '? " impa- 
 tiently looking round. I sent them for it an 
 hour ago. I could at least bandage the cut, 
 if we could make sure there was no glass 
 sticking in ; but I can't see anything for 
 
 this Oh, it's here ! Here with it, then. 
 
 Hold the basin under — right under, can't you ? 
 See what a devil of a mess you are making ! 
 Excuse me, Lady Matilda," in another tone, 
 — " excuse me, but you are in my light. Now 
 then, Challoner, off with your coat ! Here, 
 you, help him I " 
 
 " No, nonsense ! " cried Challoner, resisting 
 the footman's touch. " Thanks all the same, 
 but there is really nothing to make a fuss 
 about." 
 
 *' Never mind that ; off with his coat, I tell 
 you ! How the deuce do you suppose I am to 
 get at the place up inside the sleeve ? There, 
 that's right. 'Jove, how it bleeds ! But we'll 
 collar it yet," sponging away. " Now, does
 
 THE REAL AND APPARENT WOUND. 187 
 
 it hurt ? Do you feel aiiytbiug sharp 1 Any 
 pricks ? " 
 
 " Ah ! " cried Challoner at the moment. 
 
 " I thought so. Yes : and a nice thing it 
 would have been to have tied that in," re- 
 joined Whewell, holding up a narrow strip 
 of glass half an inch long. " D ye see that ? 
 Eh ? Why, it's better already. Hold his 
 arm there, will you 1 Hold it as hard as you 
 can, just above the elbow-joint ; feel for the 
 pulse, and dig your fingers in. Don't be 
 afraid ; dig them in as hard as ever you can. 
 Can anybody give me a good long hand- 
 kerchief? A silk one would be the best." 
 Teddy was half-way up-stairs ere the words 
 were well out of the speaker's mouth. " I 
 say, bring two," shouted Whewell after him. 
 
 ''You are very good, but — you make too 
 much of it," said Challoner, with a restive 
 motion that implied dislike to being thus the 
 centre of attraction. '' I am sorry I have 
 broken the pane," looking at the shattered 
 glass, which nobody had as yet attempted to
 
 188 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 clear away ; " and every one will take cold," 
 he added. 
 
 " Yes, to be sure. / am vfarm enough ; 
 but it is shivery, rather," said Whewell. *' If 
 you will go back to the drawing-room for a 
 few minutes, ladies, we shall soon be ready 
 for you," subjoined he, concealing, if he felt 
 it, a natural reluctance to lose his audience. 
 ''I shall manage now; I shall just tie it up 
 till we get back to Endhill, and then no doubt 
 Mrs Hanwell will furnish me with plasters 
 and balsam. You have them 'i Yes ; that's 
 right. He will do very well till then. It 
 will not take long now, Challoner. Don't 
 catch cold, like a good fellow, for I can't let 
 you move yet. What's this ? Brandy ? Ah, 
 that's the thing to keep up his fettle ! I 
 thought he was growing a little white about 
 the gills." 
 
 The patient laughed outright. 
 
 *' You may laugh — laugh away," proceeded 
 the extempore surgeon, w^ith the end of a 
 handkerchief between his teeth ; " but it's all
 
 THE REAL AND APPARENT WOUND. 189 
 
 very fine. Drink your brandy, my friend, 
 and be thankful. I should not mind a nip 
 myself, if you would be so good. Lord Over- 
 ton. Oh, don't go yourself — pray don't go 
 yourself. I would not on any account. What 
 a good fellow he is ! " he added, for the benefit 
 of tliose left. 
 
 Only Challoner and the footman were left ; 
 every one else had gladly seized the oppor- 
 tunity to beat a retreat from the raw night- 
 air, which continued to pour in through the 
 broken window, since the brown ^^^^^per, with 
 which it had been proposed to patch it for 
 the night, had not yet appeared — even Robert 
 had retired with the rest into the drawing 
 room, there to be interrogated and listened to. 
 
 *' He was pulling down the window. The 
 window was open, and we all felt cold. You 
 kept us waiting so long, Lotta. I do wish, 
 my dear, you could manage to be a little 
 quicker sometimes. What had you to do 
 but put on your cloak " 
 
 '' My dear Robert, I was not a minute.
 
 190 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 But Janet had put my cloak underneath 
 Marion's, and at first we could not distin- 
 guish which was which — these fur cloaks 
 are all so much alike : indeed we could not 
 see that there were two ; we thought there 
 was only one." 
 
 " Oh, never mind — never mind. How your 
 tongue does run on, Lotta ! " cried Lady 
 Matilda, who never could prevent herself 
 from speaking to her daughter as if she 
 were still at home and unmarried. "Tell 
 me about the accident, Eobert. How could 
 he do it ? What was there in closing a 
 window to break it all to pieces, and cut 
 Mr Challoner's hand so badly ? " 
 
 ^' It is unfortunately not the hand, but the 
 wrist — just in the worst place, where the 
 large artery is." 
 
 " But how did he do it \ How did he 
 do it?" 
 
 " How did he do it ? I do not know, I 
 am sure : I cannot imagine. I was going to 
 draw down the window — at least Lord Over-
 
 THE REAL AND APPARENT WOUND. 101 
 
 ton was going — and I was just going, when 
 Challoner, who was in front of us both, turned 
 round and did it." 
 
 " Did it ? Did what 1 " 
 
 " Pulled down the frame, and the cord 
 broke, and it came down ^Yith a run." 
 
 " Oh ! " 
 
 " He says the frame had stuck, — swelled 
 with the rain, no doubt." 
 
 '' Oh ! " 
 
 ^' It was a pity your having no remedies 
 handy," proceeded Robert, beginning to re- 
 collect himself. " If we had been at End- 
 hill " 
 
 ''I have two or three kinds of plaster," cried 
 Lotta, with a glance at her mother ; " and we 
 have arnica, and several things." 
 
 *' Give him the arnica when you get home, 
 my dear," observed Lady Matilda, drily. "Pour 
 in a good supply. You are a very erudite 
 person, we all know, Lotta. So Mr Challoner 
 may be safely handed over to your care." 
 
 "Arnica is not for an open wound, my
 
 192 THE baby's GBAXDMOTHER. 
 
 love," explained Eobert, in a somewhat sliort 
 aside. ''It is poison, and should never be 
 applied when the skin is broken ; but a bal- 
 sam for stopping bleeding is really, really a 
 thing every one ought to have," continued he, 
 more briskly. " You see this case shows " 
 
 " He's all right now," announced Teddy, 
 coming in. " He says it's nothing, and -" 
 
 " It was a crreat thino; Whewell beino: with 
 US," continued Eobert, unwilling to lose the 
 ear of the house. " Whewell is certainly a 
 wonderful man. He can do anything he sets 
 his hand to." 
 
 " He makes a lot of row about it, though." 
 
 Teddy's amendment was not uncalled for : 
 even as they stood, there could be heard the 
 dictatorial tones and loud lauoh of the now 
 
 o 
 
 excited and dominant guest ; and grateful 
 as they were for knowledge and skill so valu- 
 able at such a moment, perhaps no one could 
 have asserted that a little less assumption 
 would not have been more becoming. 
 
 However, that was neither here nor there.
 
 THE REAL AND APPARENT WOUXD. 193 
 
 Whewell had done well, — had manfully ren- 
 dered services for which praise and thanks 
 were due, and these should certainly be ac- 
 corded him ; while Challoner — Lady Matilda 
 in particular was not quite sure how she must 
 now address Challoner. She must address 
 him somehow, of course ; but could she now 
 expect him to care for civility and attention 
 so much overdue ? Could she suppose that 
 he was not to see that he had been passed 
 over and neglected throughout the entire 
 evenino;, or imaoine that he would now be 
 thankful for a crumb from her table, flung to 
 him so late, and for such a reason ? She 
 could but hope he would not re-enter the 
 drawing-room, and that a passing inquiry and 
 expression of sympathy would be all that she 
 would need to bestow in the hall. She would 
 accompany the others out into the hall to give 
 it, and — but hope was vain : the outsiders 
 were heard approaching even as she pondered. 
 
 In they all came, Challoner first. 
 
 By common consent he had been ushered 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 194 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 to the front, in virtue of liis misfortune ; and 
 the eagerness, the queries, and condolences 
 with which he was now assailed, vindicated 
 the justice of the sentiment. 
 
 Everybody now spoke to Challoner, except 
 the one who should have led the way ; and 
 even Matilda had, with an effort and a blush, 
 stepped forward to do her tardy part, when 
 she caught the anxious stimulative eye of her 
 son-in-law, and the demon within her rose. 
 Eobert's look said, *' Yes, go, go : now is 
 your time ; now you can make up for the 
 past ; now you can retrieve your error : be 
 quick, be quick ! " And in answer to that 
 " Be quick, be quick ! " a rebellious voice 
 within retorted, " I shall do nothing of the 
 kind." 
 
 We have said Matilda was a sweet-tem- 
 pered woman : but there are things that 
 would set up the back of an angel ; and 
 if there was one person on earth who was 
 a proficient in saying or looking those things, 
 it was Eobert Han well.
 
 THE EEAL AXD APPARENT WOUND. 195 
 
 Perhaps he might not have provoked every- 
 body. His absurdities, his self-coinplacency, 
 and his unconscious arrogance, would not 
 have caused some good souls more than a 
 faint annoyance, or they might even have 
 derived from them a distinct source of 
 amusement ; but with such he must have 
 had nothing to do as a relation, and they 
 must have come but seldom into contact 
 with him. To Matilda he was as a rouo;h 
 collar constantly worn : he could not be 
 shaken off, he could not be thrown aside ; 
 he was always there, and he was always 
 making himself felt to be there. Moreover, 
 
 it is probable that in the presence of his 
 
 t 
 mother-in-law the unfortunate young man 
 
 showed to his worst — that he set her on, 
 out of a spirit of opposition, to do things 
 which she would not otherwise have done ; 
 and that he in turn, fretted and irritated 
 by her levity, made himself yet more ridic- 
 ulous by his ill-humour than she would have 
 made him by her wit.
 
 196 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 On the present occasion the ill-humour 
 was more than ordinarily disastrous. Ma- 
 tilda was vexed with herself, and was really 
 anxious to make honourable amends to Chal- 
 loner for her former slighting demeanour 
 towards him. Now a j5ner shade of per- 
 ception than Eobert possessed would have 
 enabled him to see this, and to stand back 
 and let her now aroused and womanly com- 
 punctions have their full swing : she w^ould, 
 following the dictates of her own heart, have 
 said all that was kind and gentle ; she would 
 have w^on forgiveness in a moment. But just 
 as she was about to step forward, or rather 
 had actually taken a step or two, and was 
 hesitatino- for a suitable word to begin w^ith, 
 a pressing and perturbed countenance must 
 needs be thrust forward, and all was lost. 
 
 Who was he, that she should do his bid- 
 ding? "Know your place, sir," was written 
 in every line of the frown which gathered 
 on her brow, and she turned on her heel — 
 to find Whewell at her side.
 
 THE REAL AXD APPARENT WOUND. 197 
 
 "We shall be off immediately now, Lady 
 Matilda. The carriage had been sent round 
 to the stables, but it will be here in a minute. 
 Pray forgive Mr Challoner : he would never 
 have forgiven himself, I assure you, if he 
 had bled to death in your hall." 
 
 " It was not so bad as that, I hope." Lady 
 Matilda responded to the light tone so coldly 
 that the speaker looked surprised. 
 
 " You have no doctor near at hand, I am 
 told '? " rejoined Whewell, leaving banter alone, 
 as he perceived it to be inappropriate. 
 
 "Within two miles — within a mile and a 
 half, I should say. That is pretty well for 
 a country place, I think. We have no great 
 need of doctors in Overton parish. If Mr 
 Challoner needs a doctor " 
 
 " Oh, not a bit of him ; not now, at all 
 events. These bull -dog kind of men can 
 
 stand anything ; and this was merely 
 
 Oh, Mrs Hanwell is going. Good night, 
 then. Lady Matilda ; we shall see you in 
 church to - morrow. x\nd pray remember
 
 198 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 that you have promised to coacli me up in 
 my new duties ; I look to you to pull me 
 through. Good night. Where," looking round 
 — " where is my patient ? " 
 
 He Avas behind, awaiting his turn ; and 
 he was unsupported, or rather his parting 
 Dioments were uninjured by Eobert. Eobert 
 had gone out with the Miss Applebys, who 
 had stayed with the rest, no one knew why, 
 and they were now being escorted to the 
 door by him and Teddy. Lord Overton was, 
 as usual, doing nothing, and visible nowhere. 
 " Mr Challoner," said Matilda, very gently, " I 
 cannot express to you how sorry I am." 
 
 She wished she could have said more, 
 wished she could have thought ^of more to 
 say; but no civility, no condolence, no re- 
 pentance would furnish her with a single 
 other word at the moment; and before she 
 could make a second attempt, or conjure up 
 any further pretext for detaining him, he 
 was gone. Matikla uneasily followed. What 
 could she do? Was there anything left for
 
 THE REAL AXD APPARENT WOUND. 199 
 
 her to do ? She was cudo-ellinof her brains 
 as she wandered on with a vague idea of 
 being friendly in not being left behind, when 
 anew there seemed to be a stir without, and 
 it was Eobert's voice which, as before, was 
 the presager of evil. 
 
 " Going to walk to the village, Challoner ! 
 To ivcdh! "What for? I thought I under- 
 stood " 
 
 Then a murmur of undertones ; then Over- 
 ton's voice — " I can send at once. I should 
 have done so before." 
 
 " Why, I'll go." That was Teddy. 
 
 Matilda lost not another moment. '' What 
 is wrong \ What is the matter ? " she cried, 
 with a sound almost of terror in her tones : 
 for long years afterwards she remembered that 
 moment, as she had cause to remember it. 
 
 " Well, it is hard to say : really I do not 
 know what to advise," replied Whewell, who, 
 with 'the others, was standing on the door- 
 step, in front of the brougham, in which Mrs 
 Hanwell was already seated. " Of course, if
 
 200 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 Challoner thiDks the bleeding is still going 
 on, he ought to have it seen to at once. I 
 am very sorry ; I had hoped we had settled 
 it. But certainly Challoner is right to speak 
 out ; and as you say we are going away from 
 
 a doctor that is actually in an opposite 
 
 direction Is there no way round ? " he 
 
 broke off suddenly; *' could we not drive, 
 round 1 " 
 
 " I shall walk, and be there in no time," 
 announced Challoner with gruff decision. 
 " Can you give me a latch-key, Han well 1 
 That is all I want." 
 
 " Eight miles at the end of a long day's 
 shooting ! " cried the master of Endhill. 
 
 " My dear fellow, eight miles ; what are 
 eight miles ? " And Eobert found himself 
 almost pushed into the carriage. " There — it's 
 all right ; don't keep Mrs Han well waiting." 
 
 " I can't allow it. Certainly you shall not 
 go alone." 
 
 " Suppose I go with him," said AVhewell, 
 faintly.
 
 THE REAL AND APPARENT WOUND. 201 
 
 There were further suo^crestions and asser- 
 tions, and at length, " Suppose there are two 
 fools instead of one, and suppose here's a third 
 to bear them company, and I'm he," cried 
 Teddy in the rear. " What a lark ! Just 
 wait till I get my boots on." 
 
 " You need not trouble ; George is off by 
 this time on the bay mare," said the quiet 
 voice that was always listened to. " And," 
 continued Lord Overton, " Mr Challoner must 
 be good enough to accept a bed here for to- 
 night; he will be attended to much sooner 
 here than at Endhill, and it will save the 
 doctor, and the doctor's nag, a long journey 
 into the bargain." 
 
 When had Overton done it ? How had he 
 managed it ? 
 
 He had not appeared on the scene at all ; 
 and although as a host he had been polite, and 
 as a man concerned, he had only so far entered 
 into the spirit of the thing : now all were sur- 
 prised, and though relief was painted on the 
 faces of Whewell and Han well, the discom-
 
 202 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 fiture of the other two gentlemen was obvious. 
 Challoner looked, and could not keep from 
 looking annoyed, and Teddy refused to stop 
 equipping himself: now tliat he was started, 
 he must do something and go somewhere, and 
 eagerly burst forth with a dozen plans. 
 
 " Do whatever you like," said his brother. 
 *' Take a walk in the rain if it pleases you — - 
 it will do no one any harm ; but Mr Chal- 
 loner remains here," laying a detaining hand 
 on Challoner's arm. " All right, coachman ! 
 Look you up in the morning, Eobert ; " and 
 asrainst so Avise and comfortable a conclusion 
 no one could protest. 
 
 Terrible had been the internal qualm which 
 had been experienced by Whewell as well as 
 by Eobert when Challoner's first proposal had 
 been made. 
 
 Even the lesser evil of havincf to drive their 
 
 o 
 
 patient to the village and back, before again 
 getting into the road for Endhill — a clear two 
 miles, if not three miles, extra — had been 
 appalling ; and yet, but for Lord Overton's
 
 THE REAL AXD APPAEEXT WOUXD. 203 
 
 promptitude, this must have Lean the end of 
 it. They could not be thankful enough. 
 
 " Uncle Overton is so kind and thoughtful, 
 once he really understands about things," ob- 
 served Lotta. " He does not often bestir him- 
 self, but when he does I am so glad you 
 
 had not to take that dreadful walk, either of 
 you ; I assure you I am." 
 
 So were they. 
 
 " And where would have been the good ? " 
 proceeded the lady, astutely ; ^* Mr Challoner 
 must have o^one all the same. It would have 
 been no use for any one of you to have gone 
 without Mr Challoner; and if he had to go, 
 
 and no one else had to go however, I am 
 
 glad he had not to go, either : uncle Overton 
 settled it in much the best way." And in 
 every aching joint and weary muscle, the other 
 two felt that she was answered in the affirma- 
 tive, and found no flaw in the argument. 
 
 " Come and sit down," said Lord Overton, 
 gently pushing his reluctant guest back into 
 the deserted drawin^r-room once more. " Ma-
 
 204 THE baby's GRAXDMOTHER. 
 
 tilda, don't you sit up unless you like. Chal- 
 louer, — wliy, Challoner/' with a sudden cry, 
 " why, it's iJouring ! Good heaven ! what shall 
 we do ? " 
 
 " This," said Matilda. 
 
 Her face had paled, but it was not the 
 pallor of inertion ; in a second she had with 
 her own hands and Teddy's help torn off Chal- 
 loner's coat, and sprung upon his arm, feeling 
 for the pulse above the elbow-joint, as before 
 indicated by Whewell, — holding it, when found, 
 with the grip of a wild cat. 
 
 "What are you doing 1 " said Overton, in 
 a low voice. Poor fellow, he was frightened 
 now. 
 
 " She is doing me a service," replied Chal- 
 loner for her ; " Lady Matilda is pressing her 
 fingers into the vein to stop the circulation, 
 and if she can only hold on— — ■" 
 
 ^' I can— I shall." 
 
 "It is indeed kind ; " but the speaker did 
 not proceed. It ivas kind — no one could say 
 it was not kind ; but it was annoying and
 
 THE EEAL AXD APPAREXT WOUXD. 205 
 
 vexatious that he should need such kinduess. 
 It was difficult to know what to say, where 
 complaints would have been ungracious, but 
 where too much gratitude would have been 
 absurd. The situation had been forced upon 
 his entertainers : nothing had been voluntary 
 on their part, and this no one could have felt 
 more keenly than the recipient, the Challoner 
 who had sat silent and still, left to himself the 
 whole evenino' uncared for and unnoticed. To 
 be sure, Overton had drawn his chair up a few 
 yards oflf, and Overton had been equally at 
 leisure ; but there the good-fellowship for the 
 nonce had ended, while neither Teddy nor 
 Matilda had done for him a thing. To have 
 Teddy now passionately pacing up and down 
 the room on his account ! To have Matilda 
 kneeling by his side ! 
 
 He bit his lip, and quiet man as he was, 
 almost cursed the situation in his heart. 
 
 However, there the situation was, and noth- 
 ing could improve it : and ages indeed it 
 seemed before the sharp imperative summons
 
 206 THE baby's GRAXDMOTHEE. 
 
 of the door-bell announced the welcome arrival 
 — come, indeed, as soon as any reasonable 
 mortals could have expected, and as fast as 
 Dr Hitch in's horse could go ; and all that 
 weary while Matilda knelt bravely on, never 
 changing her position, nor relaxing her hold, 
 but taking no part in the brief dialogues that 
 from time to titne were interchanged among 
 the other three, and only now and then draw- 
 ing unconsciously a long deep breath, and 
 stealino; a furtive oiance at the clock.
 
 207 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 CHALLOXER IS IMPATIP:XT TO BE GOXE. 
 
 Tlie latent miscliief from Ms heart to tear. " 
 
 —Prior. 
 
 Under the skilful treatment of the village 
 apothecary, a man of high repute in his own 
 sphere, and renowned for many a long-winded 
 diagnosis^ Challoner's wound soon assumed a 
 less serious aspect. 
 
 But another difficulty now arose. He was 
 ordered to bed — not to bed for the night, as 
 was reasonable enouo-h, and ao^reeable enouo-h 
 to his inclinations, but to stay in bed until 
 seen and interviewed the next day ; and this 
 could only be hearkened to with ridicule and 
 impatient contempt. But what, then, was the 
 dismay of the scoffer, and the delight and im-
 
 208 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 portance of our friend Teddy, when the com- 
 mand that had been thus wantonly maltreated 
 when it issued from Dr Hitchin's lips, had to 
 be obeyed from very stress of adverse circum- 
 stances ! The next morning found Challoner 
 hot and cold, coughing and shivering, and 
 although still unwilling to own as much, by 
 no means so obdurate as the nig-ht before. 
 He would at least lie still for an hour or two : 
 he had — yes, he certainly had taken a little 
 chill ; and perhaps, as the day was wet, and 
 nothing could be done out of doors, being Sun- 
 day, he might as well submit to be coddled up, 
 so as to be all right on Monday. 
 
 But Monday came, and he was by no means 
 all right ; throat and chest were sore, his head 
 was aching, and he sneezed in the doctor's face 
 even while making solemn declaration of his 
 innocence. The truth was, that scarcely any 
 living man could have escaped scot-free who 
 had done what Challoner had done : he had 
 stood — and without his coat, be it remem- 
 bered — full in the icy current let in by the
 
 CHALLOXER IS IMPATIENT TO BE GONE. 209 
 
 broken window for upwards of twenty minutes, 
 while Whewell attended to his hand and wrist ; 
 and he had just come out of a well -warmed 
 room, a rather over- warm room, into which no 
 draught ever by any chance penetrated, and 
 he had lost some blood. He could hardly 
 have been human, and not have caught cold ; 
 and this was precisely what he had done. 
 
 He had caught cold — nothing more ; but 
 nothing more was needed. The cold had at- 
 tacked both throat and chest, and there was no 
 doubt about it. To get up and take his depart- 
 ure was not to be thought of ; he must give 
 in, stop where he was, and play the invalid. 
 
 A more reluctant or pugnacious invalid Dr 
 Hitchin had never before had to deal with. 
 
 What ! stay on at Overton, and on and on 
 at Overton, and that not for two days or three 
 days, but " till he was better," — horrible in- 
 definite term ! — obtrude himself in a manner 
 so unseemly on strangers, utter strangers, and 
 demand and wrench from them, as it were, 
 their sympathy and their hospitality ? Not 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 210 THE baby's GEAXDMOTHER. 
 
 lie. It could not be done. The doctor must 
 understand, once for all, that he, the patient, 
 had got to be made well somehow in another 
 day or so, — well enough, at any rate, to leave 
 the Hall, and no longer trouble people upon 
 whom he had no sort of claim, and to whose 
 house he had merely come to dine by chance. 
 
 " Bless my life, surely it was a lucky chance 
 then ! " cried the amazed Hitchin in his heart. 
 " One would think these were snug enough 
 quarters for any dainty fellow to be laid up 
 in : everything he can possibly want ; fine 
 old place, fine company — a nice amusing idle 
 young fellow like Teddy, and the Earl is not 
 half so black as he's painted. Ay, and Lady 
 Matilda. And — Lady — Matilda," proceeded 
 the old gentleman slowly. " Ah dear I times 
 are changed with the young folks nowadays. 
 What would I not have given twenty years 
 ago for the chance of being nursed up and 
 looked after by a Lady Matilda ! A fine 
 woman, a fine stately beauty of the rare old 
 type — not the trumpery pretty miss, with a
 
 CHALLOXEPt IS IMPATIENT TO BE GONE. 211 
 
 turned -up nose and freckles, who passes as 
 a belle in these times. Lady Matilda never 
 looks amiss ; I have never seen her look amiss, 
 at any rate, and I meet her out and about 
 in all sorts of winds, and in all sorts of old 
 clothes. What would the man have ? AVhat 
 does it all mean ? I can't enter his room, 
 but he begins with his * When shall I be up, 
 doctor ? Can't I go away to-morrow, doctor "? ' 
 — plaguing my life out, and running, certainly 
 running a very decided risk, by thus fretting 
 and irritatino- the mucous membrane into the 
 bargain. What is he up to, that Challoner ? " 
 suddenly cried the little sage, knitting his wiry 
 brows ; ''he is either a deep one and has his 
 
 own reasons Aha ! Is it Lady Matilda 
 
 after all, I wonder? " 
 
 But he kept a tight hand on the patient all 
 the same. 
 
 Now we would not for a moment cast a 
 slur on Hitchin, and it is not to be supposed 
 that in the few remarks we feel called upon 
 to make below, that we infer he was biassed
 
 212 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 by certain considerations in his view of the 
 case — that he made the worst of the accident, 
 and the most of his opportunity; but it ought 
 to be borne in mind that, as a medical man 
 — as tlie medical man of the neighbourhood, 
 the sole physician, accoucheur, surgeon, and 
 apothecary of anywhere about short of Sea- 
 burgh itself — he had been hardly used by 
 the Overtons. Lady Matilda was never ill, 
 neither were her brothers. Their rude health 
 and hardihood braved every kind of weather, 
 and laughed at every sort of disease ; they 
 were by circumstances placed above the reach 
 of almost every form of infection ; they could 
 not be accused, even by their dearest friends, 
 of overtasking their brains ; and they did not 
 know what nerves were. His only chance lay 
 in an accident ; and so far, accidents had been 
 few and far between. 
 
 *^ Yet," pondered he, " they ride the most 
 dangerous animals going." But then Dr 
 Hitchin's ideas of a dangerous animal dif- 
 fered from those of Teddy and Matilda.
 
 CHALLONER IS IMPATIEXT TO BE GOXE. 213 
 
 However, one thing was certain, that 
 scarcely ever since the good doctor had 
 established himself in those parts, had he 
 been called in to attend any one at the Hall ; 
 and indeed, on the rare occasions when this 
 privilege had been accorded him, and he and 
 his Bobby had had the felicity of turning in 
 at the avenue gate, it had been invariably 
 on the behoof of a housemaid or kitchenmaid 
 whose ailment did not even necessitate his 
 drawing rein at the front door. Even Lotta 
 had got through her full share of childish 
 complaints before his day, and nothing had 
 remained for him but the dregs of the whoop- 
 ing - cough, which dregs had done him no 
 credit, and given him considerable trouble. 
 
 He had not soon been summoned again ; 
 and indeed it was now several years since 
 he had even been within the park, farther 
 than to skirt along the high slope above the 
 house, where was a road free to all, and used 
 as a short cut by any one who chose. 
 
 All of this being thus explained, and it
 
 214 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 being also understood that Dr Hitchin knew 
 tolerably well all the outs and ins of the 
 family, and had, in common with the rest 
 of the little world about, studied their ways 
 and humours for a considerable length of 
 time, the judicious reader will at once be 
 able, according to the charity that in him — 
 or her — lies, to determine how ill Challoner 
 really was. 
 
 Very ill he was not, or he would have been 
 more meek. And he was not meek — not by 
 any means. True, he said but little, and 
 gave utterance to not a syllable of complaint, 
 but his air was restive and disdainful ; he 
 received instructions and prescriptions with 
 a smile that was worse than words ; and 
 though he did not actually dare to disobey 
 orders, though he put out his tongue when 
 told, and even submitted to the indignity of 
 having a glass tube thrust under it, and 
 having to sit still with the ridiculous thing 
 sticking out of his grave mouth for two full 
 minutes, he did it all with what at least was
 
 CHALLOXER IS IMPATIEXT TO BE GONE. 215 
 
 no enthusiasm, and received the report of his 
 stomach, his pulse, and his temperature as if 
 they had severally belonged to some one else. 
 
 Such apathy was almost too much even for 
 the cheerful little doctor; but there was one 
 person whom it suited to a nicety — one mem- 
 ber of the household who got on better with 
 Challoner than he had ever done with any 
 ^ mortal in his life before — and that was Lord 
 Overton. 
 
 Overton had found a man who could hold 
 his toDgue, and yet be happ3\ 
 
 He had at last by good hap hit upon a 
 fellow-creature who would sit as still, smoke 
 as long, and say as little as he did himself; 
 he had at length met with some one who paid 
 him no court, gave him no trouble, put forth 
 no efforts for his amusement, no solicitude for 
 his comfort, and who expected, in return for 
 all this forbearance, this priceless moderation, 
 simply nothing. "When he had said his 
 '' Good morning," and '' Hope you're better ? " 
 each day, he could sit down just wliere he
 
 216 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 liked, in the worst cliair and the worst part 
 of the room if he chose, and Challoner would 
 barely turn his head to see where he was or 
 what he was doing. He would pull out his 
 own cigar ; he would hunt up his own match, 
 and pass it on, no one resenting his rising and 
 moving to do so ; he would poke the fire — 
 Eobert Hanwell would have had his hair 
 standing on end had he witnessed the in- 
 difference with which Challoner permitted his 
 distinguished companion to handle his own 
 poker and tongs, once he found that Overton 
 liked doing so, — he would sit on and on in 
 peace and comfort, no one thinking it neces- 
 sary to trouble with talking beyond a '' Beastly 
 wet," now and then varied, perchance, with a 
 " Bad for the farmers," — each of which re- 
 marks, if originated by himself, would merely 
 draw from the other an inarticulate civil 
 sound, which was perfectly polite and pleas- 
 ant, but which most men would have thought 
 was hardly response sufficient for Lord Over- 
 ton. Perhaps Challoner would volunteer the
 
 CHALLOXER IS IMPATIENT TO BE GONE. 217 
 
 '' Beastly wet," and Overton would nod the 
 mute assent ; perhaps they would both to- 
 gether originate the sentiment ; perhaps one 
 would see that the weather was about to im- 
 prove, and the sky to clear, while the other 
 considered that the rain was setting steadily 
 in ; perhaps one would narrate a brief, a very 
 brief experience of country life, farmers shoot- 
 ing, or proprietary grievances ; perhaps the 
 other would cap the story with a better, — 
 but however long they bore each other com- 
 pany, and whatever they agreed upon or dif- 
 fered upon, one thing was plain, they were on 
 the best of terms. 
 
 Lady Matilda jested about the strange pair 
 who, thus thrown at haphazard together, fitted 
 like a pair of gloves ; and my lord's predilec- 
 tion for Mr Challoner, and the lenoth of time 
 my lord passed in the sick-room, made the 
 invalid's beef-tea several degrees stronger and 
 more grateful to the palate than it would have 
 been had Mr Edward only been there to see. 
 
 Nobody told Lord Overton a word of Chal-
 
 218 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 loner's impatience to be at liberty — naturally 
 nobody would ; and indeed the principal per- 
 son who could, was the least likely of all to 
 whisper a hint of the kind, since Dr Hitchin 
 knew better than to breed mischief at any 
 time, especially such mischief as must have 
 been detrimental to his own interests. 
 
 Greatly was he pleased with the alliance 
 between the two odd-come-shorts. (It was 
 Matilda who styled them the odd-come-shorts, 
 and who stuck to the term in spite of Teddy's 
 representation that whatever might be said 
 of Overton, it was rough on Challoner to be 
 bracketed with him, without being given a 
 chance of showins: what he was or what he 
 
 o 
 
 could be.) 
 
 Lady Matilda openly smiled in the doctor's 
 face when he announced that Lord Overton 
 was excellent company for Mr Challoner. She 
 was quite willing that he should be, more 
 than willing — charmed, delighted ; but it 
 showed her one thing — namely this, that 
 any one who could be thus enamoured of her
 
 CHALLONER IS IMPATIEXT.TO BE GONE. 219 
 
 dear excellent elder brother's dumb show of 
 good-fellowship could be of no earthly good 
 to her : she must look elsewhere for a kindred 
 s^Dirit. 
 
 At length Dr Hitchin suffered himself to be 
 persuaded into a decree that his patient might 
 be moved into another room, — into the draw- 
 ing-room, or still better, into the sunny little 
 boudoir — Lady Matilda s boudoir — which was 
 on the same floor, and had a southern aspect. 
 
 No going up and down stairs at first, no 
 draughts, no chills. " You just go to Lady 
 Matilda's room by-and-by, when the windows 
 are shut, and there is a good fire — that is to 
 say, if her ladyship will be good enough to 
 grant permission," with a little bow and wave 
 of the hand to Teddy, who was supposed to 
 represent his sister at any time she might be 
 apart from him. " Ask Lady Matilda^ '^ 
 
 Challoner lifted his head, as though about 
 to speak. 
 
 ■ " My compliments to Lady Matilda," 
 
 proceeded the good doctor, not noticing this,
 
 220 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 " and will she be charitable enough — eh ? is 
 that the phrase, eh '? " smiling jovially, — 
 "charitable enough to harbour this poor 
 patient of mine for a few hours in her de- 
 lightful haven of refuge, eh, sir ? Hum, eh ? 
 Haven of refuge, eh ? You will have drifted 
 into as snuo; a haven of refuore as ever mariner 
 did if you get taken in there, Mr Challoner, 
 I can assure you. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Good 
 anchorage for any man. I remember the 
 room well," suddenly resuming a matter-of- 
 fact tone, as the two unresponsive faces before 
 him showed no appreciation of his slyness, — 
 " I remember its aspect, and recommending 
 it for Miss Lotta — Mrs Han well — after her 
 severe attack of whooping-cough. She could 
 not throw off the couo^h, and I was oblio^ed 
 to keep her almost entirely to her mother's 
 boudoir. It was a charming convalescent 
 home — convalescent home, I called it then, 
 to amuse the little girl — and it appears it 
 must do duty for a convalescent home once 
 more, Mr Challoner. You will find it most
 
 CHALLOXER IS IMPATIENT TO BE GONE. 221 
 
 comfortable : ladies always contrive to make 
 a home comfortable ; tlieir little odds and 
 ends, work-baskets, and knick-knacks, are all 
 additions in their way. Lady Matilda must 
 find you something to do, my good sir ; you 
 are tired of being idle, and that is what makes 
 you fancy yourself so ill " 
 
 " // I fancy myself ill ! " 
 
 " Well, yes ; you have felt yourself un- 
 commonly ill, no doubt," replied the shame- 
 less doctor, coolly ; *' very miserable, and 
 feverish, and low, and that was the cause 
 of your restless desire to get away from the 
 Hall. Oh, I understood it all ; you thought 
 you were regularly in for it, and as you did 
 not mean to lie up, you would fain have set 
 ofi" through fog and rain to travel all over the 
 country, until you had developed a thorough- 
 paced fever. That was what you were up to. 
 Oh, don't tell me — I know, I know ; and let 
 me tell yoic, my friend, that you had your 
 desire as nearly as ever man had. I would 
 not alarm any one at the time, but it has
 
 222 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 been a close shave — a very close shave ; a 
 little more vv'ould have done it — just as 
 much more," turning to Teddy, " as Mr Chal- 
 loner wanted to do. Ah, young men, young 
 men ! " 
 
 " Pooh 1 " said Challoner ; but two things 
 in the last speech softened his contempt. He 
 liked — who does not ? — to have it thought he 
 had been ill ; also he liked being called a 
 young man. 
 
 He was not a very young man — he was just 
 at the age when a man may be young or not ; 
 but Dr Hitchin, who reverenced muscle and 
 sinew, height and breadth, a deep chest and a 
 long arm, honestly looked his admiration, and 
 could not comprehend the gleam of satisfaction 
 which stole athwart Ciialloner's brow, where 
 already a dash of grey had mingled with the 
 thick dark locks on the temple. 
 
 " Pooh ! " said the poor fellow, but he smiled 
 — for almost the first time that day he smiled ; 
 something in his own thoughts had pleased 
 him as Hitchin spoke.
 
 CHALLOXER IS IMPATIENT TO BE GONE. 223 
 
 " No disrespect to Lord Overton or Mr Ed- 
 ward here," proceeded the doctor presently ; 
 *' but you will be glad to vary your society a 
 little. Lady Matilda — (what the mischief is 
 the meaning of this now V internally. "No 
 sooner do I mention Lady Matilda than my 
 gentleman looks black as thunder at me. 
 Her ladyship been snubbing him, eh '? Can 
 that be it, I wonder ?) And, Mr Edward, get 
 out a game of chess, or draughts, or some- 
 thing," he continued aloud ; " backgammon, 
 eh? or " 
 
 " Penny Nap," cried Teddy, joyously. 
 
 "Cards? Ah, very good — very good. 
 Anything to amuse the mind. We used to 
 play cribbage in my young days." 
 
 " Matilda likes cribbage. I have to play 
 with her ; it's awfully slow, for she always 
 beats me," said Teddy, with more interest 
 than he had before displayed in the conversa- 
 tion. " I hate the counting, for she always 
 manages to bag something from me, with all 
 those ' fifteen twos ' and rot. How is a fellow
 
 224 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 to remember that nine and six make fifteen, as 
 well as seven and eight ? " 
 
 " Are you fond of whist V It was a great 
 moment for Hitchin. Whist was his strong 
 point, and to make a fourth in a rubber at the 
 Hall, or even to play with a dummy — for 
 Lady Matilda w^as probably no great hand — 
 would have been 
 
 "No, I hate it," said Teddy, flatly.
 
 225 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 teddy's confidences. 
 
 " Each man has a measure of his own for everything." 
 
 — Lavater. 
 
 " For fools will prate ; and though they want the wit 
 To find close faults, yet open blots they hit." 
 
 — Dryden. 
 
 Hope was over in a moment, killed in the 
 birth, or rather it might have been almost said 
 to have been still-born, so few were its flicker- 
 inojseconds of existence. No whist-table in the 
 library at the Hall, no Lord Overton for a part- 
 ner, no reminiscences of the same on the mor- 
 row's rounds — it had been but a passing vision, 
 Q-onQ like a flash, and now there was ao:ain 
 only the useful Challoner to fall back upon. 
 
 " There must not be too much talkinof, 
 remember," Hitchin sighed, all doctor again. 
 VOL. I. p
 
 226 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 *'The bronchial tubes are still tender, and 
 must not be excited. Talking irritates " 
 
 "You need not be afraid of his talking," 
 said Teddy, bluntly; "he must talk in his 
 sleep if he talks at all. At any rate, he never 
 favours me ; Overton is the only person who 
 gets any change out of him, and a little goes a 
 long way with Overton. He ain't particular." 
 
 But the hand that fell on Challoner's shoul- 
 der w^as so hearty and kindly, and the charge 
 was so freely and confidingly laid, that no one 
 could have taken umbrage at it, and no one 
 did. It was impossible not to like Teddy 
 Lessingham when Teddy was good ; and when 
 he w^as not, why, then Matilda argued it w^as 
 " only Teddy/' only her poor, beautiful, whim- 
 sical — she would not for the world have whis- 
 pered " half-witted " — brother. He was, she 
 would have maintained, perfectly sensible, 
 perfectly rational, perfectly all that he should 
 have been, when he was not vexed or sullen ; 
 it was only when thwarted or distressed, when 
 he did not understand, and took things amiss.
 
 teddy's confidences. 227 
 
 and was grieved and indignant, that Teddy 
 was irresponsible : it was otlier people who 
 roused the evil spirit in him ; Teddy, let alone, 
 would not have hurt a fly. 
 
 And Teddy now quite looked upon himself 
 as Challoner's friend. Overton was all very 
 well, but Overton went for nothing beside two 
 men of the world such as himself and Chal- 
 loner : it was to him that Challoner must look 
 for everything that could make his enforced 
 stay at the Hall endurable ; and accordingly, 
 *' Well, now/' cried he, as the doctor left the 
 room — " now, you see, there you are ! I said 
 you would be all right in a few days if you 
 would only hold on ; and so you are all right 
 — right as a trivet ; and it is just a week to-day 
 since — since last Saturday. This is Saturday 
 again, you know. I daresay you didn't know, 
 for there was nothing to tell you, unless it was 
 the newspaper, and that says Friday, for to- 
 day's has not come yet, though the afternoon 
 post will be here directly. I say, will you go 
 to Matilda's now, or after a bit ? "
 
 228 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 " Oh, wait a little/' said Challoner, slowly. 
 
 '' All right. But I'll tell her that you are 
 coming, and that she is to have a good fire, and 
 all the rest of it : I can just run along now.'' 
 
 '' Oh — ah — don't be in a hurry," said Chal- 
 loner, with an evident wish to detain the steps 
 which had already begun to move to the door. 
 
 " Is there not — any other room ? " he began, 
 hesitatingly. 
 
 " Oh, by Jove ! when you heard what 
 Hitchin said, and all the dust he raised about 
 it ! Oh, I say, that's too bad. There's the 
 billiard-room, of course, but it would be as 
 
 much as my place is worth no, no, I never 
 
 disobey orders ; if I did, Matilda would give 
 it me — that she would, I can tell you." 
 
 " But — we shall disturb her, shan't we ?" 
 
 " Not a bit. Disturb Matilda ! She is 
 never disturbed. What has she got to be 
 disturbed about ? Lotta was the one who 
 used to complain of being 'disturbed.' I am 
 sure I don't know why, no one ever wanted 
 to disturb her; she mio-lit have been let alone
 
 teddy's coxfidexces. 229 
 
 from mornino: to nio^ht, for all the o;ood she 
 was to anybody." 
 
 " I am such a nuisance." And something 
 else was added indistinctly. 
 
 "Oh, come, I like that," said Teddy. " When 
 I have told you over and over again what a 
 perfect godsend you are to us all, and me par- 
 ticularly ! For I never have anybody hardly — 
 I mean any young fellows like myself. I don't 
 know how it is, I am sure," with Teddy's 
 puzzled look, that always made Matilda change 
 the subject, — " I don't know how I don't have 
 more fellows about. I had lots of friends once 
 — I mean I have now, any number ; but they 
 don't come here. We don't ask them here ; 
 we forget, I suppose. A fellow can't be ex- 
 pected to remember everything, you know," 
 he concluded, with his usual apology. 
 
 " Ko, of course not," said Challoner, dream- 
 ily. He had been thinking his own thoughts, 
 and they had been of a nature to make him 
 say "No" or "Yes" at random to any sudden 
 calL He had added "of course not" from
 
 230 THE baby's GRANDMOTHEH. 
 
 mere absence of mind ; and as it appeared to 
 suit the requirements of the case, he again 
 relapsed into silence, and his companion again 
 resumed : " Overton is as fond of you as he 
 can be ; and we were saying only this morning 
 what a grand thing it was that Robert had 
 not carried you off to Endhill, as he had all 
 but done, and had you ill there. How you 
 would have hated it ! Oh, you don't know how 
 you would have hated it ! " cried Teddy from 
 his heart. " You would have had nobody but 
 Eobert and Whewell. Whewell would not 
 have done much for you. He is a selfish 
 beggar ; I can see he is. I don't like him a 
 bit. He made me kneel on tlie cold bit of 
 pavement, when I had to be godfather — I 
 mean proxy godfather, or whatever it is — at 
 the christening, and he had a nice piece of 
 carpet. It was my carpet by rights, but he 
 edged on to it, and I had to go on to the 
 horrid cold stone. It was just like him : I 
 knew he was that kind of fellow the moment
 
 teddy's coxfidexces. 231 
 
 I set eyes upon liim. Then he comes here 
 danorlinor after Matilda ! " 
 
 *' Does he ? " said Challoner, and suddenly 
 looked as though expecting more. 
 
 *' Doesn't he, that's all ! Every day this 
 week but one, and to-day, — and he'll be over 
 to-day yet. It's only four now ; he'll be here 
 about five. He has been, let me see — he did 
 not come one day ; that was Wednesday, and 
 that was because we went there, so that ought 
 not to count; and it is as if he had been every 
 day, every single day, this week." 
 
 "But he has only been twice up to see 
 me. 
 
 *' Very likely — up to see you. The first 
 two times he would not disturb you — not for 
 the world, as the doctor said you were to be 
 quiet, — Hitchin did say so, you know, though 
 I don't believe Whewell knew it ; and then 
 Wednesday — that was the ' bye ' : and then 
 yesterday and the day before he was up both 
 times. Well, but just fancy what it would
 
 232 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 have been for you to have been ill at Endhill," 
 he started off on another tack; "just think 
 now. We should have come over to inquire 
 after you, of course, — most likely we should 
 have come over every day, as we have nothing 
 else to do at present, — and of course we, at 
 least I, should have come up and sat up with 
 you a bit ; but still it would have been differ- 
 ent. And then all the rest of the time you 
 would have had only Eobert — only Robert," 
 in a voice whose cadence spoke volumes. 
 "And there you would have been, and we here, 
 — and we who would have been so thankful 
 
 you 
 
 " It is really — you are too good," said 
 
 Challoner, with a sudden movement. " Go 
 on," he added, in rather a low voice. " What 
 were you saying ? " 
 
 "I am sure I don't know. Oh, how glad 
 Ave are you are here ! We should have been 
 fit to hang ourselves these five dripping days 
 if it hadn't been for you ; for though we get 
 on as well as most people in the wet — we
 
 teddy's coxfidexces. 233 
 
 don't mind it much, you know — still it is 
 nasty to get rained through and through every 
 day, and never to meet anybody out but our- 
 selves," said Teddy, lucidly if ungrammati- 
 cally. "Matilda is the worst off; but then, if 
 she likes Whewell, she is welcome to him. 
 All the same," he added, after a few minutes' 
 reflection, "I do think she has had enough 
 of him by this time. She cut out at the 
 back door like anything when she caught 
 sight of him coming up the avenue yesterday; 
 and that was how you had so much of his 
 company : by the way, he was hanging on till 
 she came in, and she never came. It was 
 rather a joke, that." 
 
 " He has no business to come over bothering 
 us," he broke out, presently. " We don't want 
 him : he is not our friend ; he did not come 
 on oiu^ invitation " 
 
 " Neither did I," said Challoner, with 
 
 rather a bitter smile. 
 
 " You ! Oh ! Oh, that's too bad of you ! " 
 cried poor Teddy, reddening in his anxiety to
 
 234 THE baby's GRANDMOTHEE. 
 
 retrieve so obvious an error. *' Well, anyway 
 you are our friend now, — at least if you will 
 be friends with us," lie added, in his best and 
 nicest manner. " People don't seem to care 
 much to be friends with Overton and me," 
 oblivious of the numbers he had just before 
 boasted; "they don't take to us much, I am 
 afraid. But we are not so bad at all when 
 you get to know us. At least / am not so 
 bad," said Teddy, very simply. " Overton," 
 with warmth, — " Overton is as good a fellow 
 as ever lived ; and so is Matilda." 
 
 " She is— what ? " 
 
 " Never mind ; don't catch one up, I say. 
 I only meant to tell you that you need not be 
 afraid of her. People are afraid of her, you 
 know ; they say she is spiteful, and that. It 
 is the greatest lie. There's no spitefulness in 
 her ; she only lets her tongue run on a bit. 
 Overton and I are always telling her of it; 
 but we can't help laughiug, she does take 
 people off so jolly well sometimes. She means 
 no harm : she is awfully good to you when she
 
 TEDDYS COXFIDEXCES. 235 
 
 likes you. She can't like everybody ; she is 
 too clever to like everybody — that's the worst 
 
 of her ; and there are people, you know 
 
 She says Eobert sets her teeth on edge," he 
 broke off suddenly. 
 
 Challoner laughed. 
 
 " Ah, but it's true," proceeded the naughty 
 boy, quite aware that he was telling tales ; 
 " he is such a fool, he never knows when he is 
 in a hole, and goes on and on till she can't 
 stand more. Then she lets out on him ; how 
 can she help it 1 It is his fault ; he ought to 
 keep out of her way.'' 
 
 " But he cannot always keep out of her 
 way." 
 
 "Oh yes, he could. Why not? Nobody 
 wants him." 
 
 ''That may be, but still " 
 
 " Oh, I know what you mean : it is what 
 she says herself; she has got to put up \vith 
 him for Lotta's sake. Women are so soft, you 
 know. You would not think Matilda was soft 
 like that, but she is. It is queer, but she does
 
 236 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 not mind Lotta half so much as Robert. Now 
 / think there is six to one and half-a-dozen to 
 the other. Lotta is as like all the Wilmots as 
 she can be : thej have all those flat faces and 
 sleepy eyes. You would never dream she was 
 Matilda's daughter, would you 1 Matilda is 
 like us," said Teddy, looking very handsome 
 and conscious. 
 
 '^ She is." 
 
 ''You see it r' 
 
 " Like you ? Yes." 
 
 "But not like Overton?" 
 
 " Not in the least like Lord Overton." 
 
 " I wonder what you think of Matilda," 
 said Teddy, after a pause, and several wistful 
 glances. " I am afraid she behaved very 
 badly to you the other night. I am sure 
 I don't know — that is to say — you see, it 
 was all a bit of temper," proceeded he, in the 
 humour to be chatty and confidential, for the 
 hour was seductive, the sick-room warm and 
 bright, the day without dark and dismal, and 
 moreover, he had just come in from a long
 
 TEDDYS COXFIDEXCES. 237 
 
 wet ride, had changed his things, and got 
 comfortable again ; and with his arm-chair 
 on one side of the fireplace, and Challoner's 
 on the other, to be cosy and communicative 
 seemed quite the right thing. 
 
 '' It was only Matilda s way of showing 
 fight because Eobert gave himself airs. Of 
 course it was not fair ; but then women never 
 do fight fair, and there's no driving the notion 
 into their heads. When Matilda wants to 
 serve Robert out somehow, she don't care a 
 hang how ; and so, because Eobert looked 
 daggers at her for not taking more notice of 
 you before — oh, you know what I mean," a 
 little uneasy, now that he got so far, and 
 no helping hand was held out to draw him 
 to land, as was sure to be the case if Matilda 
 were by and saw him in difiiculties. "You 
 know well enough my sister was stiff", and 
 cold, and — and infernally disagreeable to you, 
 both at Endhill and when you dined here ; at 
 any rate, here. At Endhill, of course, she had 
 nothing to do with you ; but then, of course,
 
 238 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 she should have had, and she would have had 
 too, if she had chosen. But it was the night 
 you all came over, that she was the worst. I 
 was quite ashamed ; it seemed so inhospitable 
 altogether. And how were you to know ? It 
 was not meant for you at all ; it would have 
 been the same whoever had come — I mean 
 she would have been the same to any friend 
 of Kobert's — that's to say — well, of course, 
 there was AVhewell," he murmured, and his 
 voice fell. 
 
 '' I have nothing to complain of, I am 
 sure," replied Challoner, with the courtesy of 
 a Grandison, but with something also of the 
 coldness. " Lady Matilda has surely a right 
 to choose whom she will honour by her " 
 
 '' Oh, fiddlesticks! Honour! There 
 
 was no honour about it. Whewel] got her 
 ear, and so she let him talk on ; and if Kobert 
 had taken no notice, she w^ould have been as 
 sick of him then as she is now, but Eobert's 
 putting in his oar just did all the mischief. 
 When Eobert tries to force Matilda to do a
 
 teddy's coxfidexces. 239 
 
 thing — no matter whether she wants to do it 
 or not — it is just as if she had put out her 
 two fore-feet like our donkey mare, and she'd 
 stand still till Christmas before she'd budge 
 a step." 
 
 " Your sister " said Challoner, and then 
 
 stopped. He had not relaxed a line in his 
 face, nor made as though he heard the simile 
 so little flattering and so truly fraternal. 
 
 " Your sister " he said ; then began again 
 
 — " I owe Lady Matilda a great debt of grati- 
 tude for her kindness and patience the other 
 night. Probably she did me a valuable ser- 
 vice, and I am sure it was neither an easy nor 
 an agreeable one." 
 
 "Oh — ah — yes. Yes, of course. I had 
 forgotten Matilda held your arm. But any 
 one could have done that. However, she 
 meant it for civility, no doubt ; and that just 
 shows how rioht I was about it all. Robert 
 
 o 
 
 and Lotta had gone home by that time, you 
 see. They had taken themselves off before 
 we went back to the drawing-room ; and so.
 
 240 THE baby's GRAXDMOTHER. 
 
 when there was no one there to see, and your 
 hand was bad again, Matilda was glad enough 
 to be of use. Oh, I know she was : she is 
 awfully good if people are ill, or hurt, or 
 anything ; but she wouldn't have touched you 
 with a hot poker if Eobert had been by — I 
 can tell you that, Challoner." 
 
 AQ:aia Challoner laughed aloud : he beg-an 
 
 o o o 
 
 to find Teddy Lessingham downright amusing.
 
 241 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 WHEWELL EXCEO ACHES. 
 
 " They that are rich in words must needs discover 
 They are but poor in that which makes a lover." 
 
 —Raleigh. 
 
 Without any suspicion of the base revelations 
 that were thus being made within a few feet 
 of her own door, Matilda sat awaitinof her 
 brother's return from the sick-room, whither 
 she had seen him turn in an hour before, and 
 from which he seemed in no hurry to emerge. 
 
 Matilda was not in her usual spirits. 
 
 She was a little uneasy, a little anxious and 
 remorseful, and in consequence just a little 
 cross. Whewell had been rather much for 
 her. She had laid her little hands upon him 
 — had laid them for a moment ; had meant to 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 242 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 trifle away a sunny hour, and no more, — and 
 he had seized the moment in grim earnest, 
 and expected the hour to expand into a life- 
 time. He had encroached ; he had — yes, he 
 certainly had shown desire for more than had 
 ever been intended, more than he would ever 
 get. If he could only have been content to 
 have taken the welcome accorded him as he 
 ought to have taken it — to have enjoyed Lord 
 Overton's hospitality, shot his pheasants, ad- 
 mired his sister, and then respectfully made 
 his bow, and taken himself off, — how much 
 better it would have been ! But here he was 
 still, and every day lessened his charms. 
 
 He would not remain at Endhill, although 
 it was to Endhill alone he had been first 
 invited. Endhill now found no favour in his 
 eyes : he would appear and reappear at Over- 
 ton ; morning, noon, and night at Overton — 
 one excuse or other servincr his turn as it 
 offered ; but always expecting to be met with 
 open arms, to be made much of, entertained, 
 asked, and pressed to stay on, — and never, as
 
 WHEWELL ENCROACHES. 243 
 
 it seemed, for an instant suspecting that it 
 would have been better to stay away. 
 
 Lady Matilda's own sitting-room had not 
 been safe from his intrusion since she had 
 imprudently laid its existence bare to him on 
 the first occasion of his looking in for an 
 afternoon call. He had not begun to lose 
 caste then, and she had little dreamed how 
 soon he would do so, even when he had 
 vowed, with delighted eyes, that he would 
 know the way back thither. Too speedily 
 had he made use of his knowledge : the very 
 next afternoon had seen him tapping at the 
 door; and such precipitation had even then 
 made her vexed with herself, while she had 
 repented more and more when Monday's and 
 Tuesday's visits had been followed by Thurs- 
 day's and Friday's, and Wednesday had only 
 been a " bye " because the brother and sister 
 had been at Endhill. 
 
 Now Matilda would not have had any one 
 know it for the world, but the real reason of 
 -their going to Endhill — the real object which
 
 244 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 had taken them thither — had been to put a 
 stop to Whewell's notion that he was to be at 
 Overton every day of the week. 
 
 He had been known to be going shooting, 
 and to be going shooting near the Hall, — quite 
 close up to the house, in fact ; and as such 
 an arrangement infallibly meant that he must 
 be asked, or ought to be asked in, or that he 
 would come in without asking, Matilda, quick 
 as thought, had taken occasion when the plans 
 were being made, and when Whewell himself 
 was standing at her elbow, to send a message 
 to her daughter through Eobert, the only other 
 person present, to the effect that she would 
 ride over to the cottao-e in the course of the 
 afternoon. She had even done more — she had 
 added, somewhat emphatically, a playful cod- 
 icil, announcing that her visit was to her 
 grandson, and that she therefore hoped the 
 grandson would be visible, and would be glad 
 to see his dear grandmother. Alas ! some 
 one else had been also visible, and very glad 
 to see the dear orandmother. Whewell had
 
 WHEWELL EXCROACHES. 245 
 
 noted the riders pass, and had left his sport 
 on the instant to fly at the higher game ; 
 and this from a sportsman was enough : he 
 could not more efiectually have shown his 
 hand. 
 
 He had meant to show it : it had seemed 
 to him time to show it ; for the bold barrister 
 had done more than merely fall in love with 
 Lady Matilda, enough as that might have 
 seemed for a four days' acquaintance, — he 
 had fully made up his mind to become her 
 suitor — and more, her husband. He had 
 thought it all over; the birth and the joint- 
 ure, as well as the beauty and the wit ; and 
 this was the result : he felt himself to be a 
 lucky man — a very lucky man. 
 
 It would have been well for him to have 
 looked into his luck a little more closely; it 
 would have saved him much disappointment, 
 a little pain, and a lifelong bitterness, — and 
 it would have saved Lotta a week's heavy 
 house -books. For, with so fair a prize to 
 win, and so much depending on the use he
 
 246 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 made of his present opportunity, it was not 
 to be expected that Whewell should be in a 
 hurry to go, even though the entreaties of 
 host and hostess waned in urgency, and though 
 the courses at dinner were perceptibly curtailed 
 as the week went by. 
 
 What cared he for courses, his head running 
 on Matilda ? He wanted nothing of Endhill, 
 nothing but bare house-room- — and not even 
 that, would Lord Overton only have been a 
 little less obtuse. Had he had his will, he 
 would have been at one place, one all-en- 
 grossing place, from morning till night ; and 
 indeed, so confident was he that it only needed 
 a few decisive strokes to carry the day, that 
 he could scarcely understand how it came 
 about that no chance of giving these seemed 
 forthcoming. He thought the Overton brothers 
 needed a jog on the elbow ; and accordingly 
 one afternoon, when matters were thus at a 
 stand-still, he made his way over early, but 
 not too early — not early enough to be put 
 off with luncheon by the innocent Teddy, nor
 
 WHEWELL EXCEOACHES. 247 
 
 to place in an awkward predicament his sister. 
 By arriving shortly after four on an ungenial 
 day, he could spin out the time till a hope 
 that he would stop dinner should drop out 
 naturally ; then a messenger could fetch his 
 portmanteau in a trice, and all would be 
 happily arranged. If Lord Overton or any 
 one else should suggest, " Take a bed here," 
 very well ; there Avould be no need for say- 
 ing " No." He had been prepared for any- 
 thing, would agree to everything, and con- 
 fidently hoped the best. 
 
 But the visit went on, and there was no 
 word about sending for the portmanteau, and 
 at length he was fain to jump up, watch in 
 hand, and be amazed at the lateness of the 
 hour, and vow he must fly like the wind to 
 be in time for Mrs Hanwell's very, unfortu- 
 nately, primitive dinner -hour. He declared 
 he had forgotten dinner altogether. Did Lady 
 Matilda think he could possibly walk over in 
 three - quarters of an hour, and would her 
 daughter be terribly severe were he a little
 
 248 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 late *? He was really terrified, he would not 
 sto^D a single second longer. 
 
 " 111 see you back in my T-cart," announced 
 Teddy, with a very fair show of obligingness, 
 considering that he was inwardly raging againsi 
 his sovereign lady, who had bound him over 
 to do so sorely against his will, and, as he 
 had told her, against his conscience also, " For 
 you know the lies I shall have to tell if I do," 
 he had said ; and it's too bad of you to make 
 me tell lies when there's no need for them." 
 But she had been inexorable : he was to drive 
 Mr Whewell back, and it was all nonsense 
 about the lies ; he was simply to do it — there 
 was no lie in that ; whether he liked doing it 
 or not, was his own affair. 
 
 The aro^ument had not closed when Whewell 
 himself had appeared on the scene, and he now 
 interposed eagerly, for he thought he saw day- 
 light somewhere : " No, really ; I could not 
 think of your troubling yourself." 
 
 "Oh, no trouble; I should enjoy it of all 
 things," said Teddy, with a look of dreadful
 
 WHEWELL ENCROACHES. 249 
 
 exultation at his sister. " There is nothing 
 I like more than a drive in the wet." Another 
 look. "And hark to the rain now! It's 
 pouring cats and dogs!" 
 
 Here Whewell stole a glance at Matilda 
 also. *' Oh, if you like it," he responded dole- 
 fully ; " there is no accounting for tastes. But 
 I confess I am not a fish or a duck. However, 
 it is my owd fault for not being off sooner. 
 I " 
 
 "No hurry. I'll tool you over in twenty 
 minutes or so. The T-cart, Charles," to the 
 footman. " Tell them to look sharp. I let 
 them know it would be wanted some little 
 time ago." Then, m answer to a warning 
 expression on his sister's brow, " I should 
 have gone out anyway, Whewell," he con- 
 cluded, thus in his own mind serving Matilda 
 right. She had now made him tell three 
 lies, if not four, and he had thus shown her 
 that he was the one who knew best, and 
 that the thing could not have been done 
 without.
 
 250 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 But even with the ordering of the T-cart, 
 and the bustle of getting ready for it, had 
 come no opening to Whewell for a quiet 
 word with his hostess. Teddy had not been 
 allowed to leave the room even to put on 
 his coat and get his gloves and hat, without 
 showino; the visitor out first : and even in 
 pressing the lady's hand as his adieux were 
 being made, he had been unable to convey 
 any sentiments, since she had chosen the 
 moment, the very moment, when his fingers 
 touched hers, to give directions about posting 
 a letter. Her " Good-bye " to him, and her 
 " Don't forget " to her brother, had been 
 spoken in a breath. 
 
 Then Friday's attempt had been still more 
 of a failure. Lady Matilda had not only 
 been out, but had remained out, and he had 
 not seen her at all ; and although he could 
 not, of course, be sure that it had been done 
 on purpose to avoid him, and though he had 
 refused to feel hurt and annoyed, or to take 
 the matter as having any serious aspect, yet
 
 WHEWELL ENCROACHES. 251 
 
 he had been unable to forget that he had 
 distinctly promised he would himself bring 
 over from Endhill some expected documents 
 for Challoner, and had named the time at 
 which he would appear. On Friday night 
 he had begun to think that he should not 
 have quite so easy a path to tread as he had 
 at first anticipated. 
 
 Lady Matilda, on her part, hoped that she 
 had shown the man his place. 
 
 She had desired to do it gently. She still 
 liked Whewell, and liked to be liked by him ; 
 and would he now go, would he only vanish 
 from the scene while there was still peace and 
 goodwill between them, and while no words 
 had passed which could cause regret or un- 
 pleasantness in the future, he should be at 
 once reinstated in her good graces, and all 
 presumption should be condoned and forgot- 
 ten. Oh, if he would only go ; if anythiug 
 she could say or do would make him under- 
 stand ; if Eobert would but exert himself to 
 shake off his friend ; if Overton, of his own
 
 252 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 accord and without being prompted, would but 
 withhold the shooting 1 Oh, if they would but 
 see, tiresome ignorant stupids that they were ! 
 They had not an eye among them. 
 
 All this she said to herself twenty times a- 
 day, and she had no one else to say it to. No 
 one helped her, no one comforted her ; and 
 accordingly it was with a somewhat sombre 
 brow, and a little droop at the corners of her 
 mouth, that Lady Matilda sat in her little 
 room, deserted even by her faithful Teddy, 
 ruefully wondering what was to happen next 
 — whether she must actually quarrel with 
 Whewell, — and, to pry still more closely into 
 the secrets of her foolish heart, it must be 
 owned that there lurked down in its depths 
 all a woman's unquenchable desire to stand 
 well with a lover to the last, — whether she 
 must throw him off in the end, and say, "Mr 
 Whewell," in the most awe-administering tones 
 she could muster, or whether 
 
 The door opened, and she started to her feet, 
 with difficulty suppressing a cry.
 
 WHEWELL EXCROACHES. Zoo 
 
 It was only Challoner, and tlie parted lips 
 melted into a smile. 
 
 Only Challoner ! And who and what was 
 he ? It mattered little what he was : he was 
 not Whewell, and that was enough. 
 
 The relief was such, that the warmest of 
 welcomes was scarcely warm enough to the 
 speaker's mind. She could almost have kissed 
 the rough hand she held, in gratitude for its 
 owner's being merely himself and no one else. 
 With him, all at once, she felt she had no 
 fault to find : he stood before her in his integ- 
 rity, and nothing could be laid to his charge ; 
 no languishing gleam from his eye had ever 
 had to be avoided — no forward, too forward 
 movement to be repressed ; with him she was 
 safe — on him she could still dare to shine. It 
 was a dangerous rebound. 
 
 And undoubtedly it caused surprise in the 
 minds of the ignorant pair. Teddy, indeed, 
 had had his own ideas as to the reception his 
 friend was likely to meet with, and he had 
 looked deprecatingly into Matilda's face, and
 
 254 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 had hidden behind Challoner's broad back as 
 the door opened ; ^Yhile Challoner himself, if 
 the truth were told, hung his head like a child, 
 and slouched like a criminal. By common 
 consent both had stolen along the passage with- 
 out opening their lips, and they had striven 
 to turn the door-handle noiselessly and ad- 
 vanced inoifensively, and then — what was this ? 
 Instead of being met by majesty in arms, an 
 anofel beamed foro;iveness ! 
 
 It was not an angel that whispered in Jem 
 Challoner's ear at that moment.
 
 255 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 TEMPTED BY OPPOETUNITY. 
 
 " Opportunity creates a sinner : at least it calls him into action, and, 
 like the warming sun, invites the sleeping serpent from his hole." — 
 Owen Feltham. 
 
 We left Teddy Lessingliam and his sick friend 
 on the threshold of Lady Matilda's own snug 
 little sitting-room, the recipients of a warm 
 and unexpected welcome. 
 
 The two great big unmannerly fellows stood 
 agape at the extent of their good fortune, and 
 it was Matilda herself who pushed round the 
 arm-chair for Mr Challoner to sit in ; it was 
 her hands which piled up the wood-fire, and 
 placed a screen in front of the invalid ; while 
 at the same time questions, condolences, and 
 congratulations fell musically upon his ear.
 
 256 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 Teddy's spirits rose on tlie instant. " This 
 is jolly," he said ; " I do hope we shall have 
 no one else come in ; Robert or anybody ; I 
 expect it is too bad for other people. Hitchin 
 was right about your not going down-stairs, 
 Challoner — it is much pleasant er here ; even 
 when it rains there is always something to 
 look at from this window ; and I don't know 
 how it is, but I do like small rooms better 
 than large ones. Now, Challoner, don't 
 you?" 
 
 " An unfair question." It was his sister 
 who answered. " A shabby, impertinent, 
 home - thrusting question, and not to be re- 
 peated. Mr Challoner being in my room, and 
 in my small room, shall not be called upon to 
 prefer it to any other. I will not have him so 
 ill treated. He has been wounded in our ser- 
 vice, — oh yes, that was certainly the case, — 
 wounded, and is now in hospital, or, as sea- 
 men say, in dock for repairs. He is to be re- 
 paired under careful supervision ; he is to be 
 tenderly dealt with ; Teddy shall not "
 
 TEMPTED BY OPPORTUNITY. 257 
 
 " Tm as good to him as ever I can be ! " 
 cried Teddy, staring. 
 
 The next point was, did Mr Challoner feel 
 quite warm ? Did he feel any draught ? 
 
 He felt no draught, he felt a delicious sense 
 of luxury in mind and body, he felt that he 
 was yielding to a spell which had already 
 begun to work, and against which he could no 
 longer struggle ; and he felt that, come what 
 might, for good or for evil, he would not now 
 be anywhere else for the world. 
 
 He might be a fool ? He would be a fool, 
 then. He might be worse ? Worse, then : so 
 be it. 
 
 He had not of his own accord come to this 
 enchanted spot, and stepped within the magic 
 circle, but he had been brous^ht thither ao^ainst 
 his will, by a fate which, so he told himself, 
 had been too powerful for him, — so now he 
 would have it out with fate, and see which 
 was the winner in the game; he would not 
 again try to escape, but he himself would dare 
 himself, and dare the worst himself could do. 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 258 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 Throughout the past week he had been cast- 
 ino' about in his mind how to evade this mo- 
 ment. He had never meant to see Matilda 
 again, should he once turn his back on the 
 grim walls of Overton Hall ; he had seen once, 
 and it had been enouo^h ; ever since the nig;ht 
 on which she had knelt by his side, clasping 
 her hands upon his arm, with her lovely, 
 weary, patient face turned from him, and her 
 rin^ino; voice silent to him, and no smiles for 
 him, and no eyes for him, he had never had 
 her image far from his fancy. He told him- 
 self that he had escaped by the skin of his 
 teeth. That had he been in Whewell's place 
 — the favoured Whewell's place — he had fallen 
 a victim far, far more mortally wounded than 
 "Whewell had been. Whewell ? Pah ! How 
 could he, or such as he, appreciate a Matilda ? 
 
 And Matilda's fair form night and day, 
 sometimes beautiful and gracious, sometimes 
 frownino' and scornful, but mino^led ever with 
 that of another, had run through and through, 
 and twisted subtly in and out of every feverish
 
 TEMPTED BY OPPORTUNITY. 259 
 
 vision — Matilda, always Matilda, — and always 
 Matilda beheld with love, distress, and shame. 
 
 If he had only gone while those feelings 
 prevailed ! If only that miserable doctor had 
 not been suffered to interfere and bar the door 
 with his preposterous dictums ! Tempting a 
 man who was doing what he could to escape 
 from temptation ; drawing back a man into 
 the flames who was flying from fire ! 
 
 Well, it was all over now ; it was at an 
 end now ; it was of no use looking back and 
 lamentiDor over what mio;ht have been. He 
 would stand aloof no lono^er : the o-ods were 
 against it : here he was, fast bound, losing not 
 a note of the soft voice, a fall of the dark eye- 
 lash, a turn of the graceful head ; here he was, 
 drinking in with every sense the draught that 
 should have been to him a deadly poison, 
 breathing the fumes of the intoxicating cup, 
 bending over it, clasping it in his arms, — 
 here he was, and here he would remain ; he 
 had thrown up the contest for the nonce, 
 overpowered.
 
 260 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 And this was the unobserving, indiscrimi- 
 nating, passive, stony Challoner : this the dis- 
 creet friend ; the uninteresting and uninter- 
 ested man ; the over - modest stranger, who 
 now stood in such excellent contrast to the 
 over-bold one. No, my lady, you are the very 
 least bit out in your calculations this time. 
 Talk away ; it is all very nice and simple, 
 isn't it ? Mr Whewell may come now if he 
 chooses, may he not? Whewell is the person 
 to be thought about ; Whewell has to be cold- 
 shouldered unfortunately; and Whewell should 
 have known better, and he is a troublesome 
 fellow, and must be got rid of : but poor Mr 
 Challoner, who is so good and so cold, and 
 who has been so very, very badly used, he 
 shall see now that Matilda can own herself in 
 the wrong, and is not ashamed to show it. 
 
 And she does show it, and she has never 
 shown to greater advantage in her life. 
 
 " If only those Endliills will stop away 
 now," inwardly comments Teddy, observant 
 and delighted. '' If only this hurricane will
 
 TEMPTED BY OPPORTUNITY. 261 
 
 keep up and blow them all in at their own 
 door, should they ever attempt to come out of 
 it 1 Challoner gets on first-rate with Matilda 
 to-day ; how they are talking ! That chap 
 can talk, I see, when he chooses. We shall 
 have them quite good friends directly, and 
 then he can stay on as long as he likes." 
 
 Meantime his sister's thoughts ran thus : 
 " Well, now I see the man, he is not at all dis- 
 agreeably ugly. His eyes are grey and soft ; 
 I rather like them ; they do not look very 
 clever or penetrating — but then we caunot all 
 be clever and penetrating. They look nice 
 good quiet eyes, — not suggestive, perhaps, not 
 capable of a vast amount of damage, but very 
 well in their way; C[uite up to the rest of the 
 face, in fact." 
 
 The rest of the face was nothing much to 
 boast of : skin, dark-red and sunburnt ; nose, 
 hard and a little crooked ; mouth, large, steady, 
 and slightly drawn down at the corners ; the 
 mild and pensive expression of the whole just 
 dashed by a certain squareness and ruggedness
 
 262 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 of the cliin, which seemed out of harmony 
 if one had time to think about it, but which 
 was usually overlooked by the people who 
 characterised Mr Challoner as a quiet-looking 
 man. 
 
 He had neither moustache, beard, nor 
 whiskers, although his hair, which was of no 
 particular shade of dusky colour, grew so 
 closely round the temples that it suggested 
 these would have been easily forthcoming, 
 and would have been good of their kind. 
 The head was well shapen, and well set on a 
 pair of magnificent shoulders. 
 
 All of this was for the first time manifest 
 to Lady Matilda. Until now she had seen 
 Challoner without seeing him ; she had been 
 conscious of a lay figure somewhere behind 
 other people, of a dim outline tall enough 
 and broad enough to block up half the win- 
 dow at Endhill, and of a somewhat coarse, 
 and, as she had then fancied it, stolid visage, 
 now and then coming^ into the focus when 
 she had looked at random up and down the
 
 TEMPTED BY OPPORTUNITY. 263 
 
 table on the occasion of her last dinner-party. 
 Afterwards she had contemplated the face 
 with a shudder, when her own excited im- 
 agination had run riot over the accident, and 
 that had been all ; to the real Challoner not a 
 moment's attention had been given. 
 
 Now, however, he was to be treated differ- 
 ently. " See," said the hostess, pointing to a 
 piece of needlework on an antique screen in 
 front of her, — " see, Mr Challoner, I must 
 tell you the story of this. This is a fine 
 piece of old tapestry, worked, it is said, by 
 one of my very greatest of great-grand- 
 mothers. Good lady, she must have had 
 little time for anything else, if all the w^ork 
 in this house wherewith she is accredited, 
 really and truly was done by her. Now, look 
 at this piece. These are Moors : here sits the 
 Moorish king among his beauties ; that one is 
 the favourite, or has been the favourite so far, 
 but you see he now turns from her and be- 
 stows his royal attention elsewhere, on this 
 damsel wnth the musical instrument in her
 
 264 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 hand, which he is pointing to as he presses 
 her to play and sing. She is willing enough, 
 I should say, smiling and nodding her con- 
 sent ; but the other, the neglected fair one, is 
 very much put out indeed, and a fit of the 
 sulks is to my mind inevitable. What do you 
 think? Am I right? Is his Moorish majesty 
 to have a bad time of it ; or will the lady 
 pocket her affront, and be content to play 
 when she is asked in her turn, but to play — 
 second fiddle ? " 
 
 " An awkward position certainly, Lady 
 Matilda." Challoner looked calmly in the 
 speaker's face. " A bad business. The king 
 should — should have managed better.'' 
 
 " Oh, poor man, that is being too severe ! " 
 * How happy could he be with either ! ' you 
 know ; but that is what a man never does 
 know, and never will learn. A woman is 
 different ; she is less exorbitant, less exacting. 
 One lover, that is to say, one whole lover, one 
 lover all to herself, suffices her. Of course 
 she does not like to share him — witness this
 
 TEMPTED BY OPPORTUNITY. 265 
 
 scene," nodding to the picture ; " but then 
 that is only fair. AVho would have an eye 
 or an ear of a man with two eyes and two 
 ears 1 " 
 
 " You think she should have all or no- 
 thing." 
 
 " Precisely ; all or nothing." 
 
 ''Yet, Lady Matilda, half a loaf is better 
 than no bread." 
 
 " Better, indeed ! What a base idea, Mr 
 Challoner ! Half such a loaf as that too," 
 indicating the luckless Moor. " No, indeed ; 
 the fair one is not so simple as to content 
 herself with a paltry share, and no more 
 would any true woman." 
 
 " You would not, I bet," said Teddy, find- 
 ino; at last somethins; to understand in all 
 this. " I pity the poor beggar who tries it on 
 with you." 
 
 " We are not talking of me, dear ; we are 
 talking about pictures, or rather about this 
 trumpery imitation of one," yawned his sister, 
 pushing back the screen. " There, Moor, re-
 
 266 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHEE. 
 
 tire to oblivion." But Teddy had been cogi- 
 tating as she spoke. 
 
 "It's all very fine for Matilda to talk," 
 observed he now to Challoner ; " she pretends 
 to be down on other women, but she wouldn't 
 like it herself. She can't stand anybody in- 
 terfering Avith her ■" 
 
 " My dear boy, take your elbows out 
 
 of my lap," impatiently. 
 
 " And if a fellow made up to her and to 
 any one else at the same time," proceeded 
 Teddy, doggedly bent on a hearing 
 
 '' Nonsense ! " cried Matilda, with a 
 
 frown. 
 
 " Oh, it's very well to say ' nonsense,' but 
 the very devil's in you, — oh, I say, you are 
 not going ? " 
 
 She was, with tears in her eyes ; but they 
 brought her back, and placed her again be- 
 tween them, and Teddy knelt at her feet, and 
 Challoner beo^g^ed for formveness as tliouo;h 
 he too had offended, and the ruffled brow
 
 TEMPTED BY OPPORTUNITY. 267 
 
 smoothed again, and the burning cheek cooled 
 as the afternoon wore on, and seemed only to 
 wear too fast away. But it was curious that 
 the trifling episode was destined never alto- 
 gether to pass from the minds of two of those 
 present.
 
 268 
 
 CHAPTER Xy. 
 
 HOPING STILL. 
 
 " There are none so blind as those that will not see." 
 
 Wind and rain could not continue for ever, so 
 that although there was no abatement of the 
 blast which still howled and moaned among 
 the ocean cliffs, and whistled over the bare 
 unprotected downs above, there was on the 
 following day a decided cessation of the tor- 
 rents which had hitherto poured down as it 
 had seemed from exhaustless fountains. 
 
 Towards afternoon, indeed, the clouds ceased 
 to empty themselves at all, and scurried harm- 
 lessly across the shy, leaving here and there 
 openings through which gleams of pale sun- 
 light stole ; and thus it came to pass that,
 
 HOPING STILL. 269 
 
 after repeated tappings of the barometer, and 
 investigations from the front door, Mr Frank 
 Whew ell at length found himself in a position 
 to point out that there was nothing to prevent 
 any one — any one, at least, wdth thick boots 
 and a greatcoat — from indulging in a good 
 walk. A good walk would do them both 
 good — the " both " referring to his friend 
 Hanwell and himself, and the " good walk " 
 being: of course to Overton Hall. 
 
 As the weather had really improved, and as 
 nothing could be brouo^ht forward on the 
 other hand, host and hostess were graciously 
 pleased to approve the proposal — Eobert not 
 unwilling himself to escape from four walls 
 and Sunday magazines, and Lotta to hear 
 what was going on at the other house. 
 
 Moreover, she aflSrmed that as nothing had 
 been heard of Mr Challoner for a wdiole day, 
 and as he was still their guest, though detained 
 by misfortune elsewhere, it w^ould be only 
 right to look after his welfare. To have gone 
 the day before, that frightful day, would have
 
 270 THE baby's grandmothee. 
 
 been foolish, — it would have been more, an 
 unnecessary attention, since Mr Whewell had 
 called at Overton on the Friday, and had sat 
 an hour in Mr Challoner's room ; but as no 
 one had gone yesterday, and as no messenger 
 had come over from the Hall either, she must 
 own she thought it a good arrangement for 
 the two gentlemen to walk thither now, in- 
 quire after the invalid, and find out when he 
 would be able to return to Endhill. Eeturn to 
 Endhill he certainly must, to complete his visit. 
 Mr Whewell joyfully undertook to satisfy 
 her, both as friend and hostess. He had been 
 in his own mind bitterly indignant with Lotta 
 all the evening before, considering that to her 
 more than to Robert he owed it that he had 
 been prevented going to Lord Overton's as 
 usual : Lotta had stood out against all his 
 representations and entreaties, had assured 
 him she had no anxiety for tidings, and no 
 desire to send messages ; and he had not been 
 able even to make her see that her mother and 
 uncles would expect him.
 
 HOPING STILL. 271 
 
 She had been sure that they would not 
 expect him, and had, indeed, told her husband 
 apart that what would be said would be this, 
 that they were unable to amuse their own 
 guest for a single day, and that he had been 
 driven to Overton from sheer dearth of enter- 
 tainment at home. This had touched Eobert's 
 weakest part, and he too had strenuously set 
 himself against the a'oino:, so that a dull and 
 sullen evening had been spent, and an equally 
 uncongenial morning had followed, until the 
 first lucky break in the clouds had induced 
 the resolute barrister to make his proposition 
 afresh. It had been met amiably, and he was 
 at once restored to good-humour. 
 
 He was now anxious to wipe out of every- 
 body's recollection the fact that he had pre- 
 viously been annoyed and had shown his annoy- 
 ance ; and so well did he succeed, and so entirely 
 was peace restored, that Mrs Hanwell sent 
 her love twice over, and begged Mr Whewell 
 to remember to tell her mother that she would 
 not be at home on Wednesday, and ivould be
 
 272 THE BABYS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 at home on Thursday, should Lady Matilda 
 say anything about coming over. 
 
 All smooth behind : now forward ; now for 
 Overton. 
 
 "And what did you do with yourselves 
 yesterday ? How did you pass the time yes- 
 terday ? " he began with animation, the first 
 greetings past. " We had a miserable day of 
 it," aside to Lady Matilda. " You pitied us, 
 I hope ? Our only consolation was, that you 
 were pitying us, as we were you ; we were in 
 sympathy, at all events. But how wretched it 
 was ! Hanwell and I had had enough of each 
 other hours before dinner-time ; and I am sure 
 Mrs Hanwell wished us both anywhere else. 
 Had it rested with me," lower still, " had it 
 been left to me, I need hardly say where I 
 should have been." 
 
 " Back in London, of course," rejoined she, 
 easily; "back in your dear Pall Mall and 
 Piccadilly. No one blames you," as he looked 
 denial ; " no one expects anything else. Lon- 
 don people can scarcely be supposed to enter
 
 HOPING STILL. 273 
 
 into the delights of a really wet day in the 
 country ; I do not mean a half-and-half wet 
 day, when it rains and clears and rains again, 
 but a perfectly hopeless, eventless, dead-and- 
 buried wet day, without the chance of a visitor, 
 or the sound of the door-bell " 
 
 "I know — I know. But," said Whewell, 
 delighted, "your door-bell would have rung 
 once at least yesterday, if I had had my will 
 I protested as much as I could ; I did indeed. 
 And could I have, — I mean, would Mr and 
 ]\Irs Hanwcll have allowed it, I should have 
 been in the body where I already was in the 
 spirit — here." 
 
 "Here? Oh no. We never" — Lady Ma- 
 tilda opened her eyes, and drew herself up 
 ever so slightly — " never expected any of you. 
 Had you come here, you would have wished 
 yourself back again, I assure you. You like 
 lively doings, and there was nothing going on 
 here — nothingr amusino: to brino^ you. We did 
 not even go into the billiard-room; we just 
 sat round the fire and talked." 
 
 VOL. L s
 
 274 THE baby's grandmothee. 
 
 "And yawned in each .other's faces." 
 
 " Yawned ? Well, no ; I do not think we 
 did yawn ; I have no recollection of yawn- 
 ing." 
 
 ''You were not so ill-mannered: you only 
 wished you could have taken the liberty, in- 
 stead of taking it ; you said as we did, ' When, 
 oh, when, will it be — dinner-time ? ' '' 
 
 " I doubt if we made the remark," said Ma- 
 tilda, drily. 
 
 " Challoner is all right again, I see," con- 
 tinued her companion, after a momentary 
 pause. " Is this — I presume this is his first 
 appearance down-stairs ? " 
 
 " Down-stairs ; yes. He sat in the boudoir 
 yesterday ; the doctor thought he ought not 
 to go down-stairs, the day was so bad." 
 
 " For fear of a chill, you know. In a large 
 house like this there are so many passages," 
 responded Whewell, conversant with every- 
 thing; "where you have so many passages 
 there must be draughts, and, of course, about 
 dinner-time all the spring -doors would be
 
 HOPING STILL. 275 
 
 open. I — all — I suppose Challoner only got 
 up at dinner-time 1 '^ 
 
 " Oh no ; he was up in his room ail day, I 
 believe, and he came into the boudoir about 
 four." 
 
 " And you were all there till eight 1 '^ 
 
 *' We were; we were all there till eight. 
 And after eight, too ; we returned there for 
 the evenino;." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 " Even Overton made one of the party. 
 You may imagine how we vv ere flattered ; at 
 least you may not imagine, as you don't know 
 Overton, but to any one else that would tell 
 its own tale." 
 
 " Of Lord Overton's boredom ? " 
 
 " Oh dear, no ; of our agreeability. Overton 
 never is bored — I mean by his own company; 
 and therein lay the compliment. He sought 
 us out, actually sought us out, of his own 
 choice and for his own benefit." 
 
 " You were a merry party then, it seems ? " 
 He was not to be disconcerted.
 
 276 THE baby's GKANDMOTHER. 
 
 " Very. We usually are." 
 
 " It was nob Mr Challoner's doing 
 tlienr' 
 
 Whether she heard or not he could not be 
 sure ; she was appealed to at the moment, and 
 responded to the appeal, and let Mr Whewell's 
 playfulness pass ; and after all, it did not 
 signify, he considered, since whatever cause 
 he might have to feel chagrined at the cheery 
 aspect which Lady Matilda persisted in giving 
 to reminiscences in which he had had no share, 
 it would have been absurd to be jealous of Chal- 
 loner. She might choose to torment him, but 
 she would never take any notice of Challoner ; 
 and as being tormented was many degrees 
 better than being let alone, he presently 
 plucked up spirit to try again. 
 
 '' We are not in the little room to-day," 
 he said. 
 
 " We are too large a number to-day," re- 
 plied the lady. 
 
 "Might we not make an adjournment? 
 Some of us, at least 1 "
 
 HOPING STILL. 277 
 
 " And for that, we are again too small 
 a number." 
 
 ''It is unfortunate. We are only two 
 more than yesterday." 
 
 "Two too many." But Lady Matilda 
 smiled, and it was impossible to tell how 
 much was meant. 
 
 "You are — are terribly exact, I perceive," 
 rejoined Whewell, trying to laugh ; " are you 
 always so '? Would one more, for instance, 
 have been too many yesterday '? " 
 
 " Well, you could have had no chair, you 
 know." 
 
 " I should have been de trop, evidently." 
 
 " You could have been accommodated with 
 a footstool." 
 
 '' At your feet ? " 
 
 Again she had to affect not to hear ; she 
 was determined not to quarrel with the man. 
 He was going on the morrow — she had heard 
 Robert say he was going on the morrow — 
 and to hold on only a little longer would 
 not be hard.
 
 278 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 '' AVell, no," said Matilda, pleasantly ; " I 
 think, after all, I should have yielded you 
 my chair. I think that if there had been 
 four gentlemen / should have been the per- 
 son de trop ; I should have had to make 
 my exit, and leave you and the other three 
 in possession of the field. You must own, 
 Mr Whewell, that four to one is too many, 
 altogether too many ; as it was " 
 
 " Your party was complete ? " He was 
 scanning her keenly. 
 
 No, she would not go as far as that. 
 "The room was full, quite another thing," 
 said Matilda ; "but happily there are more 
 rooms than one in the house, and no one 
 need pretend that he was not wanted," with 
 a charming smile, "because he was lazy and 
 preferred staying indoors to a tiresome dis- 
 agreeable wet walk." 
 
 " Indeed, indeed," began Whewell, earn- 
 estly. 
 
 "Oh dear me, there is nothing to 'indeed' 
 about. Why, Mr Whewell, cannot you see
 
 HOPING STILL. 279 
 
 that I was jesting? Pray do not look so 
 serious ; you appal me." 
 
 He began to feel appalled himself. "I am 
 sorry to offend you, Lady Matilda." 
 
 " I grant you my pardon, Mr Whewell." 
 With her finest mock curtsey she laughed 
 in his face, and he thought he had never 
 seen any one more incomprehensible. ''Come," 
 continued she, throwing off the look the next 
 instant — " come, let us understand each other. 
 My son-in-law has, I perceive, been infecting 
 you with some of his notions as to the 
 exactions of propriety. He and you have 
 already been beyond praise in the way you 
 have done your duty by your sick friend 
 — Robert's sick friend, I mean — and still 
 your consciences are not satisfied, because 
 you failed to come over in a deluge yester- 
 day, when no sensible person would ever 
 have thouorht of settino^ foot outside ; when 
 none of us did'"' (she had forgotten Teddy, 
 but perhaps Teddy could hardly be reckoned 
 a sensible person), " and when we should not
 
 280 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 have thought very highly of — to be precisely 
 truthful — of you or Kobert if you had. In 
 short, nothing would have amazed us more 
 than to see you walk in," added she, happily 
 oblivious at the moment of another fact — 
 namely, that she had listened throughout 
 most of the afternoon, and through a part 
 of it in what was almost an agony of ap- 
 prehension, for his approaching step, and that 
 she had only dared to give him up when dark- 
 ness had fairly set in. 
 
 At last she felt that she had disposed of 
 the question, and had done so without abat- 
 ing a hair's-breadth of her dignity and sweet- 
 ness, and without, she hoped, giving more 
 pain than was absolutely necessary. That 
 she had 2:1 ven some was a matter of course 
 — he had forced it from her; and his now 
 saying nothing further showed that he was 
 suffering. 
 
 " Are they to be asked to stay dinner ? " 
 presently whispered Teddy in her ear. " Eh 1 
 I can't hear. Are they 1 "
 
 HOPING STILL. 281 
 
 "As Overton likes," replied his sister, in- 
 differently. 
 
 "Are they, or are they not? What do 
 you mean "? Who is to know what Overton 
 likes \ " 
 
 "Let him ask them." 
 
 " Him ? Overton ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Am I to tell him to ask them ? " 
 
 " Oh dear, Teddy, yes ; I tell you, yes. 
 I think he had better. I think it would 
 be better. Go you and tell him. But pray 
 do not show that you come straight from 
 me ; it will make it seem at once as if it 
 Tvere all my doing, which is just what I 
 do not want it to be," cried poor Matilda, 
 under her breath. " Mr Whewell is lookinof 
 at us now." 
 
 And Mr Whewell Avas ; and it was all as 
 plain as day to him — or he thought it was 
 — when, a very few minutes afterwards, he 
 noted Lord Overton drawn aside in Teddy's 
 most diplomatic fashion, and charged with
 
 282 THE baby's grandmother. 
 
 an invitation which was fired off on the 
 instant. His depressed spirits rose on elastic 
 springs once more, and all Matilda's work had 
 to be done over again. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUMK 
 
 TRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AST) SONS