The Clever Woman of the Family [103]
almost a child to this Comyn Menteith, very young too at the time, and who has turned out a good-natured, reckless, dissipated fellow, who is making away with his property as fast as he can, and to whom Keith's advice is like water on a duck's back. It is all rack and ruin and extravagance, a set of ill-regulated children, and Isabel smiling and looking pretty in the midst of them, and perfectly impervious to remonstrance. He is better out of sight of them, for it is only pain and vexation, an example of the sort of match he likes to make. Mary, the other daughter, was the favourite, and used to her own way, and she took it. Keith was obliged to consent so as to prevent an absolute runaway wedding, but he has by no means forgiven her husband, and they are living on very small means on a Government appointment in Trinidad. I believe it would be the bitterest pill to him that either son-in-law should come in for any part of the estate." "I thought it was entailed." "Gowanbrae is, but as things stand at present that ends with me, and the other estates are at his disposal." "Then it would be very hard on the daughters not to have them." "So hard that the death of young Alexander may have been one of the greatest disasters of my life, as well as of poor Keith's. However, this is riding out to meet perplexities. He is most likely to outlive me; and, moreover, may marry and put an end to the difficulty. Meantime, till my charge is relieved, I must go and see after him, and try if I can fulfil Hubert's polite request that I would take him away. Rosie, my woman, I have hardly spoken to you. I have some hyacinth roots to bring you to-morrow." In spite of these suspicions, Colonel Keith was not prepared for what met him on his return to Myrtlewood. On opening the drawing-room door, he found Lady Temple in a low arm-chair in an agony of crying, so that she did not hear his approach till he stood before her in consternation. Often had he comforted her before, and now, convinced that something dreadful must have befallen one of the children, he hastily, though tenderly, entreated her to tell him which, and what he could do. "Oh, no, no!" she exclaimed, starting up, and removing her handkerchief, so that he saw her usually pale cheeks were crimson-- "Oh, no," she cried, with panting breath and heaving chest. "It is all well with them as yet. But--but--it's your brother." He was at no loss now as to what his brother could have done, but he stood confounded, with a sense of personal share in the offence, and his first words were-- "I am very sorry. I never thought of this." "No, indeed," she exclaimed, "who could? It was too preposterous to be dreamt of by any one. At his age, too, one would have thought he might have known better." A secret sense of amusement crossed the Colonel, as he recollected that the disparity between Fanny Curtis and Sir Stephen Temple had been far greater than that between Lady Temple and Lord Keith, but the little gentle lady was just at present more like a fury than he had thought possible, evidently regarding what had just passed as an insult to her husband and an attack on the freedom of all her sons. In answer to a few sympathising words on the haste of his brother's proceeding, she burst out again with indignation almost amusing in one so soft-- "Haste! Yes! I did think that people would have had some respect for dear, dear Sir Stephen," and her gush of tears came with more of grief and less of violence, as if she for the first time felt herself unprotected by her husband's name. "I am very much concerned," he repeated, feeling sympathy safer than reasoning. "If I could have guessed his intentions, I would have tried to spare you this; at least the suddenness of it. I could not have guessed at such presumptuous expectations on so short an acquaintance." "He did not expect me to answer at once," said Fanny. "He said he only meant to let me know his hopes in coming here. And, oh, that's the worst of it! He won't believe me, though