‘And I told him, ma’am,’ said the keeper, touching his hat, ‘that if he was ten nephews I wouldn’t have him throwing stones at my pheasants, nor his Lordship wouldn’t neither, and then he sauced me, and I said I would see what his Lordship said to that.’
‘You must excuse him this time, Best,’ said Miss Morton; ‘he is a town-bred boy, and knows no better, and you had better not worry his Lordship about it.’
‘Very well, Miss Morton, if it is your pleasure, but them pheasants are my province, and I must do my dooty.’
‘Of course, quite right, Best,’ she answered; ‘but my cousin here did not understand, and you must make allowance for him.’
Best touched his hat again, and went off with an undercurrent of growl.
‘Oh, Herbert, this is a pity!’ Miss Morton exclaimed.
‘Cheeky chap!’ said Herbert sulkily. ‘What business had he to meddle with me? A great big wild bird gets up with no end of a row, and I did nothing but shy a stone, and out comes this fellow at me in a regular wax, and didn’t care half a farthing when I told him who I was. I fancy he did not believe me.’
‘I don’t wonder,’ said Bertha; ‘you have yet to learn that in the eyes of any gentleman, nothing is much more sacred than a pheasant.’
‘I never meant to hurt the thing, only one just chucks a stone,’ muttered Herbert, abashed, but still defensive and offended. ‘I thought my uncle would teach the rascal how to speak to me.’
‘I’ll tell you what, Herbert, if you take that line with good old servants, who are only doing their duty, you won’t have a happy time of it here. I suppose you wish to take your place as a gentleman. Well, the greatest sign of a gentleman is to be courteous and well-behaved to all about him.’
‘He wasn’t courteous or well-behaved to me.’
‘No, because you did not show yourself such a gentleman as he has been used to. If you acted like a tramp or a poacher, no wonder he thought you one’; then, after a pause, ‘You will find that much of your pleasure in sport depends on the keepers, and that it would be a great disadvantage to be on bad terms with them, so I strongly advise you, on every account, to treat them with civility, and put out of your head that there is any dignity in being rude.’
Herbert liked Miss Morton, and had been impressed as well as kindly treated by her, and though he sulked now, there was an after-effect.
CHAPTER X
COMING HONOURS
With great trepidation did Mary Marshall set forth on her visit to Coles Kenton. She had made up her mind—and a determined mind it could be on occasion—that on it should turn her final acceptance of her twenty years’ lover.
Utterly inexperienced as she was, even in domestic, not to say high life, she had perhaps an exaggerated idea, alike of its requirements and of her own deficiencies; and she was resolved to use her own judgment, according to her personal experience, whether she should be hindrance or help to him whom she loved too truly and unselfishly to allow herself to be made the former.
She was glad that for the first few days she should not see him, and should thus be less distracted and biased, but it was with a sinking heart that she heard that Lady Kenton had called to take her up in the carriage. Grateful as she was for the kindness, which saved her the dreariness of a solitary arrival, she was a strange mixture of resolution and self-distrust, of moral courage and timidity, as had been shown by her withstanding all Miss Lang’s endeavours to make her improve her dress beyond what was absolutely necessary for the visit, lest it should be presuming on the future.
Lady Kenton had a manner such as to smooth away shyness, and, with tact that perceived with what kind of nature she had to deal, managed to make the tea-table serve only as a renewal of acquaintance with Frederica, and an introduction to Sir Edward, after which Mary was taken to the schoolroom and made known to the governess, a kindly, sensible woman, who, according to previous arrangement, made the visitor free of her domains as a refuge.
The prettiness and luxury of the guest-chamber was quite a shock, and Mary would rather have faced a dozen naughty girls than have taken Sir Edward’s arm to go in to dinner. However, her hostess had decided on a quiet course of treatment such as not to frighten this pupil, and it had been agreed only to take enough notice of her to prevent her from feeling herself neglected, until she should begin to be more at ease. Nor was it long before a certain sparkle in the brown eyes showed that she was amused by, and appreciative of, the family talk.
It was true, as Lady Kenton had told her, that she had nothing to unlearn, all she wanted was confidence, experience, and ease, and in so humble, gentle, and refined a nature as hers, the acquisition of these could not lead to the disclosure of anything undesirable. So, after the first day of novelty, when she had learnt the hours, could distinguish between the young people, knew her way about the house so as to be secure of not opening the wrong doors, and when she had learnt where and when she would be welcome and even helpful, she began to enjoy herself and the life, the beauty, and the leisure.
She made friends heartily with the governess, fraternised with Freda, taught the younger girls new games, could hold a sort of conversation with Sir Edward, became less afraid of George, and daily had more of filial devotion to Lady Kenton. The books on the tables were a real delight and pleasure to her, when she found that it was not ill-mannered to sit down and read in the forenoon, and the discussion of them was a great help in what Freda called teaching her to talk. Visitors were very gradually brought upon her, a gentleman or two at first, who knew nothing about her, perhaps thought her the governess and merely bowed to her. There was only one real contretemps, when some guests, who lived rather beyond the neighbourhood, arrived for afternoon tea, and, moreover, full of curiosity about Lord Northmoor. Was it true that he was an attorney’s clerk, and was not he going to marry a very inferior person?
‘Certainly not,’ said Lady Kenton. ‘He is engaged to my friend, Miss Marshall.’
The said Miss Marshall was handing the sugar, while Freda was pouring out the tea. She had been named on the ladies’ entrance, and the colour rose to her eyes but she said nothing, while there was a confusion of, ‘I beg pardon. I understand.’
‘Report makes a good many mistakes,’ said Lady Kenton coolly. ‘Mary, my dear, you have given me no sugar.’
It was the first time of calling her by her Christian name, and done for the sake of making the equal intimacy apparent. In fact, Mary was behaving herself better than the visitors, as Lady Kenton absolutely told her when a sort of titter was heard in the hall, where they were expressing to Freda their horror at the scrape, and extorting that Miss Marshall was really a governess.
‘But quite a lady,’ said Freda stoutly, ‘and we are all as fond of her as possible.’
It showed how much progress she had made that even this shock did not set her to express any more faint-hearted doubts, and, when Lord Northmoor arrived the next day, the involuntary radiance on both their faces was token enough that they were all the world to each other. Mary allowed herself to venture on getting Lady Kenton’s counsel on the duties of household headship that would fall on her; and instead of being terrified at the great garden-party and dinner-party to be held at Coles Kenton, eagerly availed herself of instruction in the details of their management. She had accepted her fate, and when the two were seen moving about among the people of the party they neither of them looked incongruous with the county aristocracy. Quiet, retiring, and insignificant they might be, but there was nothing to remark by the most curious eyes of those who knew they were to see the new peer and his destined bride; in fact, as George and Freda privately remarked, they were just the people that nobody ever would see at all, unless they were set up upon a pedestal.
Mary still feebly suggested, when the marriage was spoken of, that it might be wiser for Frank to wait a year, get over his first expenses and feel his way; but he would not hear