In possession of the
news of that darling angel's death ever since Friday night, and to have
bottled it up within him till Sunday! She wondered what he thought of
himself!
After all, Val had not quite "bottled it up." He had made it known to his
brother-in-law, Lord Kirton, and also to Mr. Carr. Both had agreed that
nothing had better be said until the christening-day was over.
But there came a reaction. When Lady Hartledon had got over her first
grief, the other annoyance returned to her, and she fell again to
brooding over it in a very disturbing fashion. She merited blame for this
in a degree; but not so much as appears on the surface. If that idea,
which she was taking up very seriously, were correct--that her husband's
succession was imperilled--it would be the greatest misfortune that could
happen to her in life. What had she married for but position?--rank,
wealth, her title? any earthly misfortune would be less keen than this.
Any earthly misfortune! Poor Maude!
It was a sombre dinner that evening; the news of Captain Kirton's death
making it so. Besides relatives, very few guests were staying in the
house; and the large and elaborate dinner-party of the previous day was
reduced to a small one on this. The first to come into the drawing-room
afterwards, following pretty closely on the ladies, was Mr. Carr. The
dowager, who rarely paid attention to appearances, or to anything else,
except her own comfort, had her feet up on a sofa, and was fast asleep;
two ladies were standing in front of the fire, talking in undertones;
Lady Hartledon sat on a sofa a little apart, her baby on her knee; and
her sister-in-law, Lady Kirton, a fragile and rather cross-looking young
woman, who looked as if a breath would blow her away, was standing over
her, studying the infant's face.
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