“You propose to be married shortly?” Isabel asked, joining her hands together before her.
“As soon as will suit your convenience, Mrs. Clarendon.”
She could not hold back this little note of resentment, and, having uttered it, she turned and left the room. As she drew the door to, a servant approached to say that the carriage waited.
“I shall not want it,” Isabel replied shortly; “let it go back.”
She moved to the foot of the stairs, and in doing so, had to pass the drawing-room door, which stood open. Mrs. Stratton was within. Hearing the rustle of Isabel’s dress she came forward.
“Ready?” she said; and added with a smile, “pray remember me to Lord Winterset; he is sure to be there.”
Isabel was pale now. She stood with one foot on the stairs and a hand pressed against her side. For a moment she looked strangely into her friends face, then turned and called to the footman, who was in the doorway of the house.
“Whats this?” inquired Mrs. Stratton, looking puzzled. Only an extreme occasion would have called alarm to that heroic lady’s face.
“I sent the carriage away,” Isabel explained. “I had a faintness--thought I wouldn’t go. It has gone! I shall be late.”
“You certainly don’t look very well. A glass of sherry, dear----?”
“No, no; it has gone. Don’t sit up for me, Rose. Good-bye, dear.”
They kissed each other, and Mrs. Clarendon rustled to her carriage.
Mr. Saltash of Dunsey Priors was, by profession, a master of fox-hounds; in his leisure, Member of Parliament. He had won the county, in the Conservative interest, on the death of Mr. Clarendon, and proved an extremely useful man. His specialty consisted in “pairing” with Members of the opposite party. In his graver pursuit he held a high place, his knowledge and zeal being brought into brilliant evidence by the wealth which enabled him to entertain sumptuously those leaders of society whose appreciation grows keen on a satisfied palate. Essentially a country gentleman, he lived almost entirely at the Priors, a fine old dwelling of considerable archæological interest; known, among other things, for its piece of Roman pavement, discovered by Mr. Saltash himself, in the building of new stables. During the hunting season, he gathered at his table a succession of English and foreign notabilities. Half the Cabinet had been known to meet in festivity at Dunsey Priors, and men from other lands, desirous of studying British social life, were directed thither as to one of the most fruitful fields of observation. The misfortune of the house was, that it contained no son and heir; Miss Irene Saltash was her parent’s only child, and she, as we have seen, had degenerated from the type whereby her father desired to be represented. She did not even hunt, and was given over to ecclesiastical interests, which Mr. Saltash, utterly at a loss to account for, qualified with no reticence as condemned tomfoolery. Whether it was she who had infected Lady Florence Cootes with this singular frenzy, or who was the sufferer by contagion from Lord Winterset’s daughter, could not clearly be determined. At all events, she had it not from her mother. Mrs. Saltash possessed that solidity of physique and sterling commonplaceness of character which are, perhaps, the best qualifications of a country hostess. With every endowment of an admirable cook and housekeeper, the addition of aristocratic descent made her dulness respectable. She exacted nothing from her guests but the enjoyment of the fare she had provided; satisfied repose was the note of her conversation.