Lady Oversley embraced her, shedding a few tears of relief. “Oh, my dear Jenny, I am so very much obliged to you! Was she — was she still in such distress?”
“That’s more than I can tell, ma’am,” replied Jenny, in her blunt way. “There’s no saying — at least, I can’t say, because we’re no more like than a dock and a daisy, and I don’t understand her, and never did. She thinks she is, and it has always seemed to me that she’s one of those who’d die of the influenza only because she took it into her head it was smallpox!”
This was rather beyond Lady Oversley, but when she presently recounted it to her lord he looked a good deal struck, and said that Jenny was shrewder than he had supposed. “That daughter of yours, my dear,” he said, “lives always in alt, and now we see what comes of it!”
She was accustomed to his very unfair habit of disclaiming responsibility for the existence of any of his children who had vexed him, so she let this pass, agreeing that Julia was too imaginative.
“Ay, she takes after you,” said his lordship inexcusably.
Julia remained in her bedchamber all day, but she appeared at the breakfast-table on the following morning. She looked pale, and was obviously in depressed spirits; and when her father, forcibly admonished by Lady Oversley, greeted her with great heartiness, she responded with a wince, and the travesty of a smile. But by a lucky chance a new walking-dress of French cambric, trimmed with frills of broad-lace, was sent home that day, and it was so pretty, particularly when worn with one of the new Oldenburg hats, that Julia was insensibly cheered. It had seemed at one moment as if she meant to refuse to drive with Jenny, but when she had been persuaded to put on the new dress, and her mama, her maid, her two younger sisters, and their governess had all fallen into raptures she changed her mind, and went out perfectly readily when the Lynton barouche drew up before the door.
Jenny, herself expensively but not very becomingly attired in Brunswick gray lustring, admired the dress too, and so, when they reached the Park, did a number of other persons. If the carriage was not mobbed, at least the coachman had to pull up his horses a great many times. It was the hour of the fashionable promenade, and the Park thronged with vehicles, from ladies’ barouches to the Corinthians’ curricles; with horsemen, mounted on high-bred hacks; and with exquisites, strolling along the path beside the roadway. It seemed to Jenny that every second person bowed or waved to her lovely companion, and since Julia wished to exchange greetings with her friends, and a large number of gentlemen were eager to pay homage to her, Jenny resigned herself to a dawdling progress. She had the satisfaction of receiving several civil acknowledgements herself, but she privately considered this promenade a waste of time, and was rather bored. It was otherwise with Julia, always responsive to atmosphere, and reviving like a thirsty plant under a shower of compliments and gallantries. The colour returned to her cheeks, the sparkle to her eyes, and her pretty laugh was so spontaneous that no one could have supposed her to be nursing a broken heart.
Not all her admirers were youthful. The Marquis of Rockhill, riding with Brough beside him, stayed for longer than any beside the barouche. He was very civil to Jenny, but she saw the warm glint in his eyes when he looked at Julia, and was not deceived into thinking that he had stopped for any other purpose than to talk to her. She thought him an elderly flirt for Julia, but she guessed him to be a notable conquest, and realized that his caressing manner was attractive to Julia. It was plain that he had a tendre for her, but he did not try to monopolize her. When Brough claimed her attention he at once began to talk to Jenny, and did not let hiseyes stray towards Julia while doing so, which she thought unusually polite. He was apparently well-acquainted with the Deveril family, and when Jenny disclosed that her mother-in-law would be in Grosvenor Street during the following week he said that he must call to pay his respects to her. “Such a very old friend — almost a cradle-friend, one might say!”
On an impulse, she said abruptly: “Would you care to dine with us?” She saw his brows lift in surprise, and explained: “You see, she means to stay only two nights, so I fancy she won’t have time for morning-visitors. I mean to invite the Oversleys to dine, and to bring Miss Oversley as well, and it would — we should be very happy if you liked to come, and not care for its being an informal party.”
Under their heavy lids his penetrating eyes looked down into hers. A smile crept into them; he said softly: “But I shall be delighted to come, Lady Lynton! An excellent scheme! Parties composed of such intimate friends as the Deverils and the Oversleys are always better for a little leaven, are they not?” The smile deepened in his eyes as he saw the wary look in hers, but he said no more, only bowing and then turning away to tell Brough that they must not detain the carriage longer.
In another minute the gentlemen had ridden on, and Jenny, as a sudden apprehension smote her, demanded: “He is a bachelor, isn’t he?”
“Yes, of course. He’s a cousin of Rockhill’s, you know. Lady Adversane is Rockhill’s — ”
“No, no, not Brough! Rockhill!”
“Oh! No, not a bachelor. He — ”
“Oh, my goodness!” exclaimed Jenny, dismayed. “I invited him to dine with us next week! Whatever must he think of me? As though I didn’t know better! Oh, dear!”
“Stupid!” Julia said, laughing. “He’s a widower!”
“Thank heaven!” said Jenny devoutly.
Julia glanced curiously at her. “What made you invite him? I didn’t know you were acquainted with him.”
“I’m not — well, barely, at all events! He said he hoped to see Lady Lynton when she comes to town, so I asked him to dine. I told him it was to be quite informal. Your papa and mama are coming, and you too, I hope, for Lydia will be there, you know.”
“I?” gasped Julia. “Oh, no! You cannot ask that of me!”
Casting a warning glance at the back of the coachman, Jenny said: “Well, I own it won’t be a very lively party, but I mean to invite Brough as well, so I trust it won’t be such a dead bore as you think! I wish I knew some more gentlemen! But Adam’s friends are all in France, so there’s only Cousin Osbert, unless — Would your brother come, do you think?”
“Jenny, I won’t, I won’t!” said Julia, under her breath.
“Well, if that’s so Lord Rockhill will think it a regular take-in, for I told him you’d be there, which was why he accepted.”
Except for reiterating that she would not come, Julia said no more, but lapsed into pensive dejection.
At home she was not so forbearing. The only effect Lady Oversley’s entreaties had upon her was to cast her into agitation; and a fit of hysterics might have been the outcome had not her father come into the room, demanding to know what the devil was the matter now. Upon being told, he favoured his wife and daughter with a very tolerable impersonation of a Roman parent, announcing with such unusual sternness that Julia would obey him that she positively quailed, and ventured on no more contumacious a response than an imploring: “Oh, Papa, pray don’t make me go!”
“Not another word!” commanded his lordship. “I am very much displeased with you, Julia, and if you try my patience any further you will be sorry for it!”
At these terrible words both ladies dissolved into tears. His lordship, finding his role rather beyond his power to maintain, beat a dignified retreat, frowning heavily enough to lend colour to Lady Oversley’s statement that Papa was very, very angry. The thought that she, who had always been Papa’s pet, was now in his black books proved to be too much for Julia’s fortitude. She settled down to cry in good earnest, and so despairingly that Papa had to be recalled to soothe her with assurances of his continued regard. As soon as she knew herself to be still loved she grew calmer, and when he said that he sympathized with her much more than she guessed she was so passionately grateful that she was ready to promise to do anything he wished.