“The thing,” he said, “now, is to think what we must do. I sha’n’t hurry the Russell Pentons; they can take their time; and in the meantime we must look about us. The thing is there will be no rents coming in till Lady-day, and it’s only Christmas. I never thought I should have seen it in this light. To succeed to Penton seemed always the thing to look forward to. It is you that have put it in this light.”
“What other light could I put it in, Edward? Penton is very different from this, and we have never been much at our ease here. I was always frightened for what would happen when you began to realize--But, dear me,” she added, “what is the use of talking? We must just make the best of it. Nothing is quite so bad as it seems likely to be. With prudence and taking care, perhaps, after all, we may do--”
“Do!” he said, “to go to Penton, the great house of the family, and to be the head of the family, and to have nothing better before one than a hope that we shall be able to _do_--” And then there was a pause between this careful and troubled pair; and of all things in the world, any stranger who had seen them, would have imagined last of all that they had succeeded to a great inheritance, and that the man at least had attained to what had been his hope and dream for years.
“Well,” she said at last, “I can’t do you any good, Edward, and the bell for dinner will be ringing directly. You must have had an agitating morning, and I dare say eat no breakfast, and you will be the better for your dinner. I suppose we ought to draw down all the blinds.”
“Why should you draw down the blinds? There is not too much light.”
“I should not like,” said Mrs. Penton, “to be wanting in any mark of respect. And after all, Sir Walter was your nearest relation, and you are his successor, so that it is really a death in the family.”
She walked to the window as she spoke, and began to draw down the blind. He followed her hastily, and stopped her with an impatient hand.
“My windows look into the garden. Who is coming into the garden to see whether we pay respect or not? I won’t have it anywhere. On the funeral day if you please, but no more. I won’t have it!” It did him a little good to have an object for his irritation. She turned round upon him with some surprise, feeling the imperative grasp of his hand upon her arm. Perhaps that close encounter and her startled look affected him; perhaps only the disturbed state in which he was, with all emotions close to the surface. He put his other hand upon her further shoulder, and held her for a moment, looking at her. “My dear,” he said, “do you know you’re Lady Penton now?”