Such persons as delight in hearing of the mildly scandalous activities of Royalty, were edified, in July, to read of the Princess Charlotte’s sending her suitor, the young Prince of Orange, to the rightabout. Not having the smallest interest in the Princess, Juana merely said that the Prince of Orange was a wispy creature, with a startled expression, and no chin; and that she for one did not blame Charlotte for refusing him.
There was no news yet of the arrival of Ross’s expeditionary force in North America. Dreams of shipwreck began to disturb Juana’s nights. She felt herself so entirely cut off from Harry that sometimes a dread of never seeing him again would haunt her to such an extent that she could not shake it off. At every turn she missed him, so that sometimes she could fancy herself but half-alive.
That was the impression Mrs Sargant formed of her, when, towards the end of July, she had herself driven to town for the express purpose of calling upon her sister-in-law. Mrs Sargant was only twenty-five years old, but a decided manner, and the natural air of consequence belonging to a young matron, made her seem much older. She had a great look of Harry, and something of his quick way of speaking. When she was ushered into Juana’s parlour, in her best pelisse, and gown of French muslin, clasping in one hand an absurdly small parasol, she found her unwilling hostess shrinking instinctively behind the table, and looking so young and frightened that she could scarcely bring herself to believe that she was really confronting Harry’s wife. She exclaimed in astonishment: ‘Is this possible? Can you be my new sister?’
‘I am Juana Smith,’ said Juana, conscious of her plain, round morning-dress, and uncovered head.
‘My dear! You must forgive me! I had pictured you-different! though why I should, I’m sure I don’t know! You must let me make myself known to you: I am Harry’s sister Alice. I daresay he may have spoken of me!’
Juana murmured Yes, but it was Tom, not Harry, who had spoken of Mrs Sargant. ‘Alice,’ had said Tom, ‘is the only person Harry stands in awe of!’
Not a very encouraging introduction, nor did Mrs Sargant’s brisk, competent manner do much to allay Juana’s nervous qualms. The two ladies, having embraced, sat down opposite to each other, on either side of the empty fireplace, and embarked on a laborious conversation, which, since Juana’s command of the English tongue was negligible, rapidly deteriorated into questions and monosyllabic answers.
Mrs Sargant, trying in vain to kindle a spark in her timid-looking hostess, privately wrote her down as insipid, and wondered what Harry could have seen in her. She was pretty, she supposed, but lacked animation. Her voice was certainly good, very low and musical; her figure decidedly elegant; her ankle particularly well-turned; but what was there in all this to make Harry tumble head over ears in love with the child? Allowance had to be made, of course, for her inability to express herself in English, but Mrs Sargant thought she might have exerted herself to answer more fully questions put to her about Harry. She detected a certain stiffening when she mentioned her brother’s name, and did not guess that it concealed a bursting heart.
Just as she was wondering whether she could with propriety take her leave of this disappointing sister-in-law, the serving-maid opened the door, announcing the arrival of two gentlemen. The next instant, a very tall officer, followed by a shorter and much stouter one, both dressed in Rifle green, entered the room, and Juana had flown up out of her chair with a shriek of joy.
‘Oh, Johnny! Oh, George! Oh, my dear friends! To see you again!’
In considerable amazement, Mrs Sargant saw the prim girl of a moment earlier transformed into a creature glowing with animation. Such a babel of Spanish broke out that Mrs Sargant felt stunned. She was startled to see Juana actually embracing the visitors, throwing her arms round their necks and shedding tears down the frogs of their pelisses. ‘Poor little soul! There, there!’ said George, patting her shoulder.
‘Now, Juanita, what would Enrique say if he could see you crying?’ said Kincaid. ‘This won’t do at all! A pretty way to welcome old friends!’
‘Oh, do not heed me! I am so overjoyed!’ Juana said, mopping her eyes. ‘When did you land? How is the regiment? Tell me everything, everything!’
‘Of course we will, but you have a visitor,’ said George, becoming aware of Mrs Sargant. ‘Oh, how I forget my manners!’ Juana turned remorsefully towards her sister-in-law, saying in her broken English: ‘Please forgive! I must present Señor Kincaid, and Señor Simmons, of ours. This is Enrique’s sister, Johnny, Señora-I mean, Mrs Sargant!’ In spite of having been a good deal shocked by the manner of Juana’s reception of her friends. Mrs Sargant shook hands graciously with them, and soon had George sitting beside her on the sofa, conversing most amiably, while Juana plied Kincaid with eager questions. Were all her particular friends well? Was Charlie Beckwith in town? Had the 52nd come home with the Rifles? Was Kincaid heartbroken at leaving behind that French girl he had fallen so desperately in love with, or had he brought her home on his arm? ‘No, no, would you believe it, I was cured upon our last day at Castel Sarrasin? Positively cured, my dear! I overtook her and her sister, strolling by the river’s side, and instantly dismounting, I joined in their walk. My horse was following at the length of his bridle-reins, and while I was doing the polite with the sister, the other dropped behind, and when I looked round, I found her mounted astride upon my horse! And with such a pair of legs, too! It was rather too good: Richard was himself again!”
Juana’s delighted trill of laughter made Mrs Sargant break off in the middle of what she was saying to George, to interpolate: ‘It must be most gratifying to my sister to receive a visit from old friends. To see her suddenly so lively makes me realize how much she must feel her separation from the regiment.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ George answered, in his honest way. ‘She don’t really care a button for anyone but dear Harry. I must say, I don’t know how she contrives to go on without him. But then, she is equal to anything!’
She perceived that he knew a Juana other than the shy girl who had received her; watching the sparkle in the large eyes fixed on Kincaid’s face, the fluttering movements of Juana’s hands, she saw why Harry had fallen in love with her. She wondered whether Juana’s reserved manner with her arose from pride. One heard such tales of the Spaniards! Harry had mentioned, in one of his letters, hidalgo blood; and had written, in his vile scrawl, a name so long that one could not but suppose the child to be oppressively well-born. Did her reluctance to visit her husband’s family signify a grand lady’s contempt for a country surgeon? Mrs Sargant hoped that there might be no such nonsensical notions in that little curly head, and decided, as she rose to take her leave, that judgement must, for the present, be suspended. She got a shy kiss from her sister-in-law, a stammered apology for being able to speak only a few words of English, and went away reflecting that when the child smiled she was really enchantingly pretty.