Faversham wanted her.
She thought of Mainstairs--that dying girl--the sickly children--the
helpless old people. Indignant pity gripped her. That surely would be the
first--the very first step; a mere question of weeks--or days. It was so
simple, so obvious! Mr. Melrose would be _shamed_ into action! Mr.
Faversham could not fail there.
But she must go. She had her profession; and she must earn money.
Also--the admission caused her discomfort--the sooner she went, the
sooner would it be possible for Lady Tatham to induce her son to migrate
to the Scotch moor where, as a rule, she and he were always to be found
settled by the first days of August. It was evident that she was anxious
to be gone. Lydia confessed it, sorely, to herself. It seemed to her that
she had been spending some weeks in trying hard to make friends with Lady
Tatham; and she had not succeeded.
"Why won't she talk to me!" she thought; "and I daren't--to her. It would
be so easy to understand each other!"
Three days later, Green Cottage was in the occupation of a Manchester
solicitor, who was paying a rent for it, which put Mrs. Penfold in
high spirits; especially when coupled with the astonishing fact that
Lydia had sold all her three drawings which had been sent to a London
exhibition--also, apparently, to a solicitor. Mrs. Penfold expressed her
surprise to her daughter that the practice of the law should lead both to
a love of scenery and the patronage of the arts; she had been brought up
to think of it as a deadening profession.
Pages:
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288