When I met him on the morrow, under his own roof, he did not offend me with any more of his virtuous indignation against Arthur or unwelcome sympathy for me; and, indeed, when his mother began, in guarded terms, to intimate her sorrow and surprise at my husband's conduct, he, perceiving my annoyance, instantly came to the rescue, and delicately turned the conversation, at the same time warning her, by a sidelong glance, not to recur to the subject again. He seemed bent upon doing the honours of his house in the most unexceptionable manner, and exerting all his powers for the entertainment of his guest, and the display of his own qualifications as a host, a gentleman, and a companion; and actually succeeded in making himself very agreeable--only that he was too polite.--And yet, Mr Hargrave, I don't much like you; there is a certain want of openness about you that does not take my fancy, and a lurking selfishness, at the bottom of all your fine qualities, that I do not intend to lose sight of. No; for, instead of combating my slight prejudice against you as uncharitable, I mean to cherish it, until I am convinced that I have no reason to distrust this kind, insinuating friendship you are so anxious to push upon me.
In the course of the following six weeks, I met him several times, but always, save once, in company with his mother or his sister, or both.
When I called upon them, he always happened to be at home, and when they called on me, it was always he that drove them over in the phaeton. His mother, evidently, was quite delighted with his dutiful attentions and newly-acquired domestic habits.
The time that I met him alone was on a bright but not oppressively hot day in the beginning of July: I had taken little Arthur into the wood that skirts the park, and there seated him on the moss-cushioned roots of an old oak; and, having gathered a hand full of bluebells and wild roses, I was kneeling before him, and presenting them, one by one, to the grasp of his tiny fingers; enjoying the heavenly beauty of the flowers, through the medium of his smiling eyes; forgetting, for the moment, all my cares, laughing at his gleeful laughter, and delighting myself with his delight,--when a shadow suddenly eclipsed the little space of sunshine on the grass before us; and, looking up, I beheld Walter Hargrave standing and gazing upon us.
`Excuse me, Mrs Huntingdon,' said he, `but I was spellbound; I had neither the power to come forward and interrupt you, nor to withdraw from the contemplation of such a scene.--How vigorous my little godson grows! and how merry he is this morning.' He approached the child and stooped to take his hand; but, on seeing that his caresses were likely to produce tears and lamentations instead of a reciprocation of friendly demonstrations, he prudently drew back.
`What a pleasure and comfort that little creature must be to you, Mrs Huntingdon!' he observed, with a touch of sadness in his intonation, as he admiringly contemplated the infant.
`It is,' replied I; and then I asked after his mother and sister.
He politely answered my enquiries, and then returned again to the subject I wished to avoid; though with a degree of timidity that witnessed his fear to offend.
`You have not heard from Huntingdon lately?' he said.
`Not this week,' I replied,--Not these three weeks, I might have said.
`I had a letter from him this morning. I wish it were such a one as I could show to his lady.' He half drew from his waistcoat pocket a letter with Arthur's still beloved hand on the address, scowled at it, and put it back again, adding--`But he tells me he is about to return next week.'
`He tells me so every time he writes.'
`Indeed!--Well it is like him.--But to me he always avowed it his intention to stay till the present month.'
It struck me like a blow, this proof of premeditated transgression and systematic disregard of truth.
`It is only of a piece with the rest of his conduct,' observed Mr Hargrave, thoughtfully regarding me, and reading, I suppose, my feelings in my face.
`Then he is really coming next week?' said I, after a pause.
`You may rely upon it--if the assurance can give you any pleasure.--And is it possible, Mrs Huntingdon, that you can rejoice at his return?' he exclaimed, attentively perusing my features again.
`Of course, Mr Hargrave; is he not my husband?'
`Oh, Huntingdon, you know not what you slight!' he passionately murmured.
I took up my baby and, wishing him good morning, departed, to indulge my thoughts unscrutinized, within the sanctum of my home.
And was I glad?--Yes, delighted;--though I was angered by Arthur's conduct, and though I felt that he had wronged me, and was determined he should feel it too.
