Page:All the Year Round - Series 2 - Volume 1.djvu/252

242[February 13, 1869] "Well, then, I will send and say we expect him; will that satisfy you?"

"No, certainly not! Seriously, Margaret, for one minute. You know that I was only in fun, and that it cannot matter one atom to me whether this young man is asked to join your party or not. Only, if you do ask him, don't send. You know the sort of message which the footman would deliver, no matter what formula had been entrusted to him; and I should be very sorry to think that Mr. Joyce, or any other gentleman, should be caused a mortification through any folly of mine."

"Perhaps you think I ought to go to him and offer him a verbal invitation?"

"Certainly, if you want him at all—I mean if you intend asking him to dinner. You'll be sure to find him in the library. Now I'm dying to get rid of this soaked habit and this clinging skirt! So I'm off to dress." And Lady Caroline Mansergh gave her sister a short nod, and left the room.

Left alone, Lady Hetherington took a few minutes to recover herself. Her pet sister Caroline had always been a spoiled child, and accustomed to have her own way in the old home, in her own house when she married Mr. Mansergh—the richest, idlest, kindest old gentleman that ever slept in St. Stephen's first, and in Glasnevin Cemetery scarcely more soundly afterwards—and generally everywhere since she had lost him. But she had been always remarkable for particularly sound sense, and had a manner of treating objectionably pushing people, which succeeded in keeping them at a distance, better even than the frigid hauteur which Lady Hetherington indulged in. The countess knew this, and, acknowledging it in her inmost heart, felt that she could make no great mistake in acceding to her sister's wishes. Moreover, she reflected, after all it was a mere small country-house dinner that day; there was no one expected about whose opinion she particularly cared; and as the man was domiciled in the house, was useful to Lord Hetherington, and was presentable, it was only right to show him some civility.

So, after leaving the drawing-room on her way to dress for dinner, Lady Hetherington crossed the hall to the library, and at the far end of the room saw Mr. Joyce at work, under a shaded lamp. She went straight up to him, and was somewhat amused at finding that he, either not hearing her entrance, or imagining that it was merely some servant with a message, never raised his head, but continued grinding away at his manuscript.

"Mr. Joyce!" said her ladyship, slightly bending forward.

"Hey?" replied the scribe, in whose ear the tones, always haughty and imperious, however she might try to soften them, rang like a trumpet call. "I beg your pardon, Lady Hetherington," he added, rising from his seat; "I had no idea you were in the room."

"Don't disturb yourself, Mr. Joyce; I only looked in to say that we have a few friends coming to dinner to-night, and it will afford Lord Hetherington and myself much pleasure if you will join us."

"I shall be most happy," said Mr. Joyce. And then Lady Hetherington returned his bow, and he preceded her down the room and opened the door to let her pass.

"As if he'd been a squire of dames from his cradle," said her ladyship to herself. "The man has good hands, I noticed, and there was no awkwardness about him."

"What does this mean?" said Walter Joyce, when he reached his own room and was dressing for dinner. "These people have been more civil than I could have expected them to be to a man in my position, and Lord Hetherington especially has been kindness itself; but they have always treated me as what I am—'his lordship's secretary.' Whence this new recognition? One comfort is that, thanks to old Jack Byrne's generosity, I can make a decent appearance at their table. I laughed when he insisted on providing me with dress clothes, but he knew better. 'They can't do you any harm, my boy,' I recollect his saying, 'and they may do you some good;' and now I see how right he was. Fancy my going into society, and beginning at this phase of it! I wonder whether Marian would be pleased? I wonder" And he sat down on the edge of his bed, and fell into a dreamy, abstracted state; the effect caused by Marian's last long letter was upon him yet. He had answered it strongly—far more strongly than he had ever written to her before—pointing out that, at the outset, they had never imagined that life's path was to be made smooth and easy to them; they had always known that they would have to struggle, and that it was specially unlike her to fold her hands and beg for the unattainable, simply because she saw it in the possession of other people. "She dared not tell him how little hope for the future, she had." That was a bad sign