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I can understand your mortification at the tone in which it is written, and your distress at the manner in which this unhappy woman has interpreted the conversation that she overheard at your house. I cannot honestly add that I lament what has happened. My opinion has never altered since the Combe-Raven time. I believe Mrs.
Clare the elder inhabited an unpretending little cottage, situated just outside the shrubbery fence which marked the limit of the Combe-Raven grounds.
"'I shall sleep when we have left Combe-Raven, she said. 'I shall be better when it is all over, and I have bid Frank good-by. She had in her hand our father's will, and the letter he wrote to you; and when she had done speaking, she gave them into my possession. I tried to propose to her that we should divide them; but she shook her head.
"In that case," pursued Magdalen, "I shall best explain the object that causes me to intrude on you by mentioning who I am. I lived for many years as governess in the family of the late Mr. Andrew Vanstone, of Combe-Raven, and I come here in the interest of his orphan daughters." Mrs. Lecount's hands, which had been smoothly sliding one over the other up to this time, suddenly stopped; and Mrs.
Any curious stranger who chooses to pay a shilling for the privilege may enter that office, and may read any will in the place at his or her discretion. Do you see what I am coming to, Mr. Noel? Your disinherited widow pays her shilling, and reads your will. Your disinherited widow sees that the Combe-Raven money, which has gone from your father to you, goes next from you to Mr. George Bartram.
She tried to shut him out to feel above him and beyond him again, as she had felt up to this time. After a little trifling with her dress, she took from her bosom the white silk bag which her own hands had made on the farewell night at Combe-Raven. It drew together at the mouth with delicate silken strings.
Leaving a message with the servant requesting Norah to make the tea that morning, she went upstairs at once to the solitude and security of her own room. Mrs. Vanstone's letter extended to some length. The first part of it referred to Captain Wragge, and entered unreservedly into all necessary explanations relating to the man himself and to the motive which had brought him to Combe-Raven.
"She's not one of my round dozen of nice girls aha, Master George, I see that in your face already! Why are you anxious?" "I am afraid you will disapprove of my choice, sir." "Don't beat about the bush! How the deuce can I say whether I disapprove or not, if you won't tell me who she is?" "She is the eldest daughter of Andrew Vanstone, of Combe-Raven." "Who!!!" "Miss Vanstone, sir."
The glorious prospect of his son's banishment to China appeared to turn his brain. The firm pedestal of his philosophy sank under him; the prejudices of society recovered their hold on his mind. He seized Frank by the arm, and actually accompanied him to Combe-Raven, in the amazing character of visitor to the house! "Here I am with my lout," said Mr.
Vanstone had announced his intention, at the breakfast-table, of paying a morning visit to his old ally, Mr. Clare, and of rousing the philosopher's sarcastic indignation by an account of the dramatic performance. None of the other ladies at Combe-Raven ever ventured themselves inside the cottage. But Magdalen was reckless enough for anything and Magdalen might have gone there.
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