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Here she pinched Arabella's arm. The latter said, "Where?" "In a miserable street, where he looked like a peacock in a quagmire." Arabella entreated Wilfrid to be careful in his management of their father. "Pray, do not thwart him. He has been anxious to know where you have gone. He he thinks you have conducted Mrs. Chump, and will bring her back. I did not say it I merely let him think so."
He talked the commonest local twaddle to Arabella with greater zest than he would have felt in discussing all the philosophies with all the Dons in the recently adored university, and passed the spot where he had knelt to Diana and Phoebus without remembering that there were any such people in the mythology, or that the sun was anything else than a useful lamp for illuminating Arabella's face.
He himself was almost as fond of Mary as of a daughter; and, though he too would have been desirous that his son should relieve the estate from its embarrassments by a rich marriage, he did not at all share Lady Arabella's feelings on the subject. No Countess de Courcy had ever engraved it on the tablets of his mind that the world would come to ruin if Frank did not marry money.
She sought to annihilate by the passion of her impetuous love the impressions left in my heart by the chaste and dignified love of my Henriette. Lady Dudley had seen the countess as plainly as the countess had seen her; each had judged the other. The force of Arabella's attack revealed to me the extent of her fear, and her secret admiration for her rival.
She trembled and wrung my hand. "One look," I said, "one more, one last of our old looks! The woman who gives herself wholly," I cried, my soul illumined by the glance she gave me, "gives less of life and soul than I have now received. Henriette, thou art my best-beloved my only love." "I shall live!" she said; "but cure yourself as well." That look had effaced the memory of Arabella's sarcasms.
Even when Adam took from his pocket Lady Arabella's letter, with the manifest intention of reading it, he did not make any comment. Finally, when Adam folded up the letter and put it, in its envelope, back in his pocket, as an intimation that he had now quite finished, the old diplomatist carefully made a few notes in his pocket-book. "Your narrative, my dear Adam, is altogether admirable.
Two or three times a day he would come rollicking up from the doctor's house, loudly chanting the praises of the "brave Canajen byes" who had met a watery grave; would swing open Miss Arabella's little gate with a force that nearly wrenched it from its hinges, and after teasing Polly into saying all the naughty things her mistress had hoped she had forgotten, he would bid little Annie Laurie put on the faded lilac gown he admired so much, and they would go off for a stroll through the village, the admiration of every one in the place.
What did affect her, however, absorbing her thoughts to the exclusion of all other matters, was that since the night of Lady Arabella's reception she had received neither word nor sign from Michael Quarrington. She could not understand it.
Over the baluster she flung cushion after cushion, until Arabella's curiosity forced her to question. "What ever are you going to do with all those cushions?" she asked. Patricia looked very wise. "Oh, you'll see," she said, and when she had reached the lower hall she peeped out. "Here it is!" she said. Arabella looked. "Why, that's an old pung!" she said "Well, who said it wasn't?"
What could have been more rude and ill-bred than to leave in such haste, thereby disturbing those who were enjoying the music? Arabella's first thought was to follow Patricia lest she be angry, but she saw Miss Fenler's effort to stay Patricia, and she dared not leave the room. Arabella felt as if she were between two desperate people.
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