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Poynsett's, quite prepared to be intimate with Raymond Poynsett's wife, if only Cecil would have taken to her. But that lady's acceptance of any one recommended in this manner was not to be thought of, and besides, the family were lively, merry people, and Cecil was one of those who dislike and distrust laughter, lest it should be at themselves.
Anne started up, Lenore buried her face on Mrs. Poynsett's bosom, the mother clasped her hands over her convulsively, then beheld, as the door opened, a tall figure, with a dark bright face full of ineffable softness and joy. Frank himself, safe and sound, with his two brothers behind him.
Mrs. Poynsett's letter had gone on Friday, and still there was no answer, and this was a vexation, adding to the fear that the poor fellow's rejection had been final. Yet she might have missed the letter by being summoned home. Close to the lodge, they overtook Sir Harry, riding dejectedly homewards, and, glad to be saved going up to the house, they stopped and inquired for Lady Tyrrell.
"The only pity is that Swanslea is no further off," returned Bessie. And so it was that Cecil, backed by her two counsellors, held her purpose, and Raymond sadly spoke of the plan of separation to Julius. Both thought Mrs. Poynsett's own plan the best, though they could not bear the idea of her leaving her own house. Raymond was much displeased.
"No, no, sir, I be coming to hear ye next Sunday. Sally have turned my black bonnet a purpose. It be one of the Lady Poynsett's, as her gave I when my old gentleman was took two years after the Squire when bonnets was bonnets, you know, ma'am. Now tell me true, be ye to preach morning or arternoon, sir?" "In the morning, I hope, Betty."
Terry, looking tired to death, descended from his post as assistant showman; and, with some gentlemen who were to dine at Compton Poynsett, Cecil drove home to dress in haste, and act hostess to a large dinner-party. All the time she felt giddy at the words she had heard "Mr. Poynsett's old flame." It was constantly ringing in her ears, and one conviction was before her mind.
But Joe had brought her a pound of tea, and an 'image' for her mantelpiece, which quite satisfied her, though the image, being a Parian angel of Thorwaldsen's, better suited his taste than its surroundings. The whole scene served Rosamond for a narrative in her most lively style for Mrs. Poynsett's amusement that evening.
Poynsett's beautiful old dressing-room, where he sat writing amid all the old associations. Anne was discovered hanging over the dining-room fire, looking whiter and more exhausted than the night before, having indeed been the first to come down-stairs. She was rebuked for fatiguing herself, and again murmured something about family worship. "We must begin to-morrow," said Raymond.
The family circle had grown much more stiff and quiet, and the chief difference caused by Mrs. Poynsett's presence was that Raymond was deprived of his refuge in her room. Cecil had taken a line of polite contempt. There was always a certain languid amount of indifferent conversation, 'from the teeth outward, as Rosamond said.
She let him help her to rise, but held Mrs. Poynsett's hand wistfully, as if she wished to say something but could not; and all Mrs. Poynsett could bring out was a hope of hearing how she bore the journey. It was as if they were both frozen up.
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