But now, would any rational being believe that Mrs. Nash had the cheek to send an invitation to Mrs. Tinkle and her son Henry? It was what Harry Tinkle called it--cheek. When poor Mrs. Tinkle broke the red seal of the huge envelope, and read the card of invitation, from Mr. and Mrs. Caromel, her eyes were dim.
"I think they must have sent it as a cruel joke," remarked Mrs. Tinkle, meeting the Squire a day or two before the fête. "She has never spoken to me in her life. When we pass each other she picks up her skirts as if they were too good to touch mine. Once she laughed at me, rudely."
"Don't believe she knows any better," cried the Squire in his hot partisanship. "Her skirts were not fit to touch your own Charlotte's."
"Oh, Charlotte! poor Charlotte!" cried Mrs. Tinkle, losing her equanimity. "I wish I could hear the particulars of her last moments," she went on, brushing away the tears. "If Mr. Caromel has had details--and that letter, telling of her death, promised them, you know--he does not disclose them to me."
"Why don't you write a note and ask him, Mrs. Tinkle?"
"I hardly know why," she answered. "I think he cannot have heard, or he would surely tell me; he is not bad-hearted."
"No, only too easy; swayed by anybody that may be at his elbow for the time being," concluded the Squire. "Nash Caromel is one of those people who need to be kept in leading-strings all their lives. Good-morning."
It was a fête worth going to. The afternoon as sunny a one as ever August turned out, and the company gay, if not numerous. Only a sprinkling of ladies could be seen; but amongst them was Miles Caromel's widow, with her four daughters. Being women of consideration, deserving the respect of the world, their presence went for much, and Mrs. Nash had reason to thank them. They scorned and despised her in their hearts, but they countenanced her for the sake of the honour of the Caromels.
Archery, dancing, promenading, and talking took up the afternoon, and then came the banquet. Altogether it must have cost Caromel's Farm a tidy sum.
"It is well for you to be able to afford this," cried the Squire confidentially to Nash, as they stood together in one of the shady paths beyond the light of the coloured lanterns, when the evening was drawing to an end. "Miles would never have done it."