"Why should not I solve in the simplest way the problem of meeting Betsy Linley, by seeking such a meeting myself? Why should not I go to her at her father's house on the chance of finding her there?"
He wondered how it was that it had not occurred to him long ago to take such a step. Surely, since his aim was to show her and the rest of the world how little he was touched by the news of her having promised to marry Mr. Long, no more effective step than this could be taken by him!
Of course her father would be in the room when he should meet her--certainly Mr. Long would be there; perhaps Tom would be scraping away at his violin, and Polly would be squalling--that was the word which was in his mind when he thought of the likelihood of Mary Linley's being engaged in practising some of her songs in the music-room--Polly would be squalling at the top of her voice. But any one, or all, of these incidents would only tend to make him more at home--more at ease when meeting Betsy for the first time under the changed conditions of her life. The Linleys' house in Pierrepont Street would not seem like the same place to him if Polly's voice were not ringing through it--if the children were not making a noise on the stairs--if Mrs. Linley was not bustling about with a kitchen apron on, or, in the moments of her leisure, with her knitting-needles clicking over half a yard of worsted hose. Yes, he felt that he would be quite at his ease under the usual conditions of the Linleys' house; and that was why he took no pains to dress himself for the visit. With an instinct of what was dramatically appropriate--he never lost this instinct--he put on the old coat which he had been accustomed to wear when he had enjoyed what Mr. Linley called the "freedom of the Guild of Linley." That would show Betsy and the rest of them--though it didn't matter about the rest of them--that, whoever had changed, he was still the same.
He got his first surprise when the door was opened for him by Mrs. Linley. She had on her working-apron, and her hands were not free from a suspicion of flour. She beamed on Dick and wiped one of her hands on her apron to greet him.
"Come within, Dick," she cried. "Come within, man; though there's no one at home but Betsy and me. These are busy days with us, Dick, and this is the first quiet hour we have had since Tom returned from Italy. Of course you have heard the news--all Bath is talking of it, and I shouldn't wonder if it had gone as far as the Wells! 'Tis great news, to be sure; but it means a deal of extra house-work, and more pastry. The children are all gone to Monsieur Badier's assembly. The boys are taking part in the minuet, and Polly is to sing for the company between the dances. Mr. Linley and Mr. Long are at Lawyer Stott's. These settlements are always a trouble, though I will say that Mr. Long is more than liberal in his views. Poor Betsy! What will the house be without her, Dick? You will find her in the music-room. She sings every day now, but not real singing--only for her own pleasure. There she goes. Oh lud! why am I standing talking like this when I should be turning my tartlets in the oven? Sniff, Dick, sniff! You have a fine nose. Do you smell the smell of burning paste, or is it only a bit over-crisp?"