Page:Once a Week Jun to Dec 1864.pdf/200

 6, 1864.] “Mrs. Smith’s child got a white swelling!” he exclaimed, in surprise. “It must have come on pretty quick. Which of the children is it?”

“Which of the children, sir?” echoed Nurse Pepperfly; “she’s got but one. Oh, I see; you be thinking of t’other Mrs. Smith, the cow-keeper’s wife. It’s not her, sir; it’s Mrs. Smith up at Tupper’s cottage in Blister Lane.”

“I did not know there was a Mrs. Smith at Tupper’s cottage,” he replied.

“She have not been long in it, sir; she’s come fresh to the place, and she have took a fancy to me, which is very sensible of her. She’d be glad if you’d go up some time to morrow, sir.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Carlton. “I won’t forget.”

“It’s good night to you, sir, then, and wishing you was a-coming to Mrs. Knaggs’s along with me; but it’s Mr. Lycett. Which is a safe gentleman too, and nothing to be said against.”

She sailed off towards the town, and Mr. Carlton closed his gate, and glanced up at his windows; in some of which lights were burning.

“I wonder whether I shall find Laura in tantrums to-night?” he said, half audibly.

By which expression the reader must not think that Mr. Carlton was in the habit of visiting those “tantrums” unpleasantly on his wife. If not a strictly faithful husband, he was always—when Laura allowed him to be so—an affectionate one. He loved her still as much as it was in the nature of such a man as Mr. Carlton, disenchanted by time and change of the first fond passion, to love. Had Laura but permitted him, he would have been ever tender to her; and that singular charm which distinguished his manner to all women, where he chose to put it forth, exercised its spell upon her still.

He opened the door with his latchkey, and a footman came forward into the hall and took his master’s hat. A civil, simple-mannered rustic, in spite of his fine livery.

“Is Lady Laura in, Jonathan?”

“My lady has been in this half hour, sir.”

Laura was lounging on the sofa in the drawing-room, half asleep. She had very few resources within herself: reading, working, albums, engravings, she was sure to yawn over all; music she had not much cared for of late. To spend a half hour alone at night, as she was doing now, was a very penance to Laura Carlton.

She rose up when her husband entered, and the mantle of lace, which she had worn in the carriage to return home, was still on her shoulders. It fell from them now; or rather she shook it off; and the rich silk dress she wore was displayed to view, and the gleaming jewels on her neck and arms shone in the gas-light. She had been to a dinner party; made up by a lady, whose husband had some motive for not wishing to attend the public dinner at the Lion.

“Well, Laura!” he said, pleasantly. “Home, I see.”

“Oh, Lewis, it was so stupid!” she exclaimed. “Only fancy it!—two gentlemen and ten ladies. I went to sleep in the carriage coming home, and I have been asleep here, I think. I am glad you are come.”

He sat down on the sofa by her side. She held out her wrist, asking him to unclasp a certain bracelet, which was tight. Mr. Carlton put the bracelet on the table and kept the hand.

“I scarcely hoped,” he said, “to find you back so soon.”

“There was nothing to stay for. What could ten women do for themselves? I was so thankful when the carriage came. They made a fuss at my leaving, but I said my head ached. And so it did, with the stupidity. It’s dreadfully dull in the country at this season of the year. Everybody’s at the watering-places.”

“A town like this is dull at most seasons,” remarked Mr. Carlton. “At times I regret that I am tied to it.”

Laura passed over the remark without notice, almost without hearing it. The fact of his being “tied” to it was so indisputable a one, that comment was unnecessary. “The Goughs are going to Scarborough next week,” she said. “Heigho!”

The sigh was a weary one. Mr. Carlton turned to her.

“Laura, you know, if you would like to go to any of those places, you have but to say so. If it would do you good, or give you pleasure"

“I don’t think I care about it,” she interrupted. “You would not go with me.”

“How could I? I am tied here, I say. 1 wish my practice was a different one!”

“In what way?”

“A physician’s—where patients, for the most part, had to come to me. The most wearing life of all is a general practitioner’s; and it is the least profitable. Compare my gains here with those of a London physician.”

“Leave it, and set up in London,” said she.

“I am seriously thinking of doing so.”

Laura had spoken carelessly, without meaning, and the words astonished her excessively.