Page:Once a Week Volume 7.djvu/472

464 at Verner’s Pride grew to be eagerly sought. The women liked the attractive master; the men bowed to the attractive mistress, and Verner’s Pride was never free. On the contrary, it was generally unpleasantly crammed: and Mrs. Tynn, who was a staid, old-fashioned housekeeper, accustomed to nothing beyond the regular, quiet household maintained by the late Mr. Verner, was driven to the verge of desperation.

“It would be far pleasanter if we had only half the number of guests,” Lionel had said to his wife in the winter. He no longer remonstrated against any: he had given that up as hopeless. “Pleasanter for them, pleasanter for us, pleasanter for the servants.”

“The servants!” ejaculated Sibylla. “I never knew before that the pleasure of servants was a thing to be studied.”

“But their comfort is. At least, I have always considered so, and I hope I always shall. They complain much, Sibylla.”

“Do they complain to you?”

“They do. Tynn and his wife say they are nearly worked to death. They hint at leaving. Mrs. Tynn is continually subjected also to what she calls insults from your French maid. That of course I know nothing of; but it might be as well for you to listen to her on the subject.”

“I cannot have Benoite crossed. I don’t interfere in the household myself, and she does it for me.”

“But, my dear, if you would interfere a little more, just so far as to ascertain whether these complaints have grounds, you might apply a remedy.”

“Lionel, you are most unreasonable! As if I could be worried with looking into things! What are servants for? You must be a regular old bachelor to think of my doing it.”

“Well—to go to our first point,” he rejoined. “Let us try half the number of guests, and see how it works. If you do not find it better, more agreeable in all ways, I’ll say no more about it.”

He need not have said anything, then. Sibylla would not listen to it. At any rate, would not act upon it. She conceded so far as to promise that she would not invite so many next time. But, when that next time came, and the new sojourners arrived, they turned out to be more. Beds had to be improvised in all sorts of impossible places; the old servants were turned out of their chambers and huddled into corners; nothing but confusion and extravagance reigned. Against some of the latter, Mrs. Tynn ventured to remonstrate to her mistress. Fruits and vegetables out of season; luxuries in the shape of rare dishes, many of which Verner’s Pride had never heard of, and did not know how to cook—all of the most costly nature—were daily sent down from London purveyors. Against this expense Mary Tynn spoke. Mrs. Verner laughed good-naturedly at Tynn, and told her it was not her pocket that would be troubled to pay the bills. Additional servants were obliged to be had; and, in short, to use an expression that was much in vogue at Deerham about that time, Verner’s Pride was going the pace.

This continued until early spring. In February Sibylla fixed her heart upon a visit to London; “of course,” she told Lionel, “he would treat her to a season in town.” She had never been to London in her life to stay. For Sibylla to fix her heart upon a thing, was to have it: Lionel was an indulgent husband.

To London they proceeded in February. And there the cost was great. Sibylla was not one to go to work sparingly in any way; neither, in point of fact, was Lionel. Lionel would never have been unduly extravagant; but, on the other hand, he was not accustomed to spare. A furnished house in a good position was taken; servants were imported to it from Verner’s Pride; and there Sibylla launched into all the follies of the day. At Easter she “set her heart” upon a visit to Paris, and Lionel acquiesced. They remained there three weeks: Sibylla laying in a second stock of toilettes for Mademoiselle Benoite to rule over: and then they went back to London.

The season was prolonged that year. The house sat until August, and it was not until the latter end of that month that Mr. and Mrs. Verner returned to Verner’s Pride. Though scarcely home a week yet, the house was filled again—filled to overflowing: Lionel can hear sounds of talking and laughter from the various rooms, as he bends over his table. He was opening his letters, three or four of which lay in a stack. He had gone out in the morning before the post was in.

Tynn knocked at the door and entered, bringing a note.

“Where’s this from?” asked Lionel, taking it from the salver. Another moment, and he had recognised the hand-writing of his mother.

“From Deerham Court, sir. My lady’s footman brought it. He asks whether there is any answer.”

Lionel opened the note, and read as follows:

“I will call on Lady Verner this afternoon, say, Tynn.”

Tynn withdrew with the answer. Lionel leaned his brow upon his hand; the weary expression terribly plain just then.

“My mother shall have it at once—no matter what my own calls may be,” was his soliloquy. “Let me never forget that Verner’s Pride might have been hers all these years. Looking at it from our own point of view, my father’s branch in contradistinction to my uncle’s, it ought to have been hers. It might have been her jointure-house now, had my father lived, and so willed it. I am glad to help my mother,” he continued, an