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That I can understand; but" Miss Ramsbotham sunk her voice to a more confidential tone "what I cannot understand is that I have never fallen in love with any man, because I like them all." "You have given the explanation yourself," suggested the bosom friend one Susan Fossett, the "Aunt Emma" of The Ladies' Journal, a nice woman, but talkative. "You are too sensible."
Suitors more fit and proper were now not lacking, for Miss Ramsbotham, though a woman less desirable when won, came readily to the thought of wooing. But to all such she turned a laughing face. "I like her for it," declared Susan Fossett; "and he has improved there was room for it though I wish it could have been some other. There was Jack Herring it would have been so much more suitable.
Miss Ramsbotham found interest once again in the higher branches of her calling; became again, by slow degrees, the sensible, frank, 'good sort' that Bohemia had known, liked, respected everything but loved. Years later, to Susan Fossett, the case was made clear; and through Susan Fossett, a nice enough woman but talkative, those few still interested learned the explanation.
"It is bound to leak out sooner or later," Susan Fossett was convinced, "so I may as well tell you: that gaby Mary Ramsbotham has got herself engaged." "Nonsense!" was Peter Hope's involuntary ejaculation. "Precisely what I mean to tell her the very next time I see her," added Susan. "Who to?" demanded Tommy.
His villa was at Clapham, not a showy but a solid edifice, with lodge, lawn, and gardens chiefly notable for what is technically called glass viz. a range of glass-houses on the most improved principles, the heaviest pines, the earliest strawberries. "I'm no judge of flowers," quoth Mr. Fossett, meekly. "Give me a plain lawn, provided it be close-shaven.
But I say to my gardener: 'Forcing is my hobby a cucumber with my fish all the year round!" Yet do not suppose Mr Fossett ostentatious quite the reverse. He would no more ruin himself for the sake of dazzling others, than he would for the sake of serving them. He liked a warm house, spacious rooms, good living, old wine, for their inherent merits: He cared not to parade them to public envy.
"I wonder sometimes how conversation was ever carried on before it was invented." "De man who would fall in love wid our dear frent Mary," thought Dr. Smith, "he must be quite egsceptional." "You needn't talk about her as if she was a monster I mean were," corrected herself Miss Fossett, with a hasty glance towards the Wee Laddie. "There isn't a man I know that's worthy of her."
When he dined alone, or with a single favoured guess, the best Lafitte, the oldest sherry! when extending the rites of miscellaneous hospitality to neighbours, relations, or other slight acquaintances for Lafitte, Julien; and for sherry, Cape! Thus not provoking vanity, nor courting notice, Mr. Fossett was without an enemy, and seemed without a care.
"Dear Susan," read Miss Fossett, "I shall not be able to be with you to-morrow. Please get me out of it nicely. I can't remember at the moment what it is. You'll be surprised to hear that I'm engaged to be married, I mean, I can hardly realise it. I hardly seem to know where I am. Have just made up my mind to run down to Yorkshire and see grandmamma. I must do something.
But certainly, if she was so clever first-rate musician, exquisite artist, accomplished linguist, "it was very nice in old Fossett to bear it so meekly, never crying her up, nor showing her off to less fortunate parents very nice in him good sense greatness of mind."
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