They were laughing and talking together like friends of old standing, De Craye as Irish as he could be: and the Irish tongue and gentlemanly manner are an irresistible challenge to the opening steps of familiarity when accident has broken the ice.
Flitch was their theme; and: "Oh, but if we go tip to Willoughby hand in hand; and bob a courtesy to "m and beg his pardon for Mister Flitch, won't he melt to such a pair of suppliants? of course he will!" Miss Middleton said he would not. Colonel De Craye wagered he would; he knew Willoughby best. Miss Middleton looked simply grave; a way of asserting the contrary opinion that tells of rueful experience. "We'll see," said the colonel. They chatted like a couple unexpectedly discovering in one another a common dialect among strangers. Can there be an end to it when those two meet? They prattle, they fill the minutes, as though they were violently to be torn asunder at a coming signal, and must have it out while they can; it is a meeting of mountain brooks; not a colloquy, but a chasing, impossible to say which flies, which follows, or what the topic, so interlinguistic are they and rapidly counterchanging. After their conversation of an hour before, Laetitia watched Miss Middleton in surprise at her lightness of mind. Clara bathed in mirth. A boy in a summer stream shows not heartier refreshment of his whole being. Laetitia could now understand Vernon's idea of her wit. And it seemed that she also had Irish blood. Speaking of Ireland, Miss Middleton said she had cousins there, her only relatives.
"The laugh told me that," said Colonel De Craye.
Laetitia and Vernon paced up and down the lawn. Colonel De Craye was talking with English sedateness to the ladies Eleanor and Isabel. Clara and young Crossjay strayed.
"If I might advise, I would say, do not leave the Hall immediately, not yet," Laetitia said to Vernon.
"You know, then?"
"I cannot understand why it was that I was taken into her confidence."
"I counselled it."
"But it was done without an object that I can see."
"The speaking did her good."
"But how capricious! how changeful!"
"Better now than later."
"Surely she has only to ask to be released?--to ask earnestly: if it is her wish."
"You are mistaken."
"Why does she not make a confidant of her father?"
"That she will have to do. She wished to spare him."
"He cannot be spared if she is to break the engagement."
She thought of sparing him the annoyance. "Now there's to be a tussle, he must share in it."
"Or she thought he might not side with her?"
"She has not a single instinct of cunning. You judge her harshly."
"She moved me on the walk out. Coming home I felt differently."
Vernon glanced at Colonel De Craye.
"She wants good guidance," continued Laetitia.
"She has not an idea of treachery."
"You think so? It may be true. But she seems one born devoid of patience, easily made reckless. There is a wildness ... I judge by her way of speaking; that at least appeared sincere. She does not practise concealment. He will naturally find it almost incredible. The change in her, so sudden, so wayward, is unintelligible to me. To me it is the conduct of a creature untamed. He may hold her to her word and be justified."
"Let him look out if he does!"
Is not that harsher than anything I have said of her?"
"I'm not appointed to praise her. I fancy I read the case; and it's a case of opposition of temperaments. We never can tell the person quite suited to us; it strikes us in a flash."
"That they are not suited to us? Oh, no; that comes by degrees."
"Yes, but the accumulation of evidence, or sentience, if you like, is combustible; we don't command the spark; it may be late in falling. And you argue in her favour. Consider her as a generous and impulsive girl, outwearied at last."
"By what?"
By anything; by his loftiness, if you like. He flies too high for her, we will say."
"Sir Willoughby an eagle?"
"She may be tired of his eyrie."
The sound of the word in Vernon's mouth smote on a consciousness she had of his full grasp of Sir Willoughby and her own timid knowledge, though he was not a man who played on words.
If he had eased his heart in stressing the first syllable, it was only temporary relief. He was heavy-browed enough.
"But I cannot conceive what she expects me to do by confiding her sense of her position to me," said Laetitia.
"We none of us know what will be done. We hang on Willoughby, who hangs on whatever it is that supports him: and there we are in a swarm."
"You see the wisdom of staying, Mr. Whitford."
"It must be over in a day or two. Yes, I stay."
"She inclines to obey you."
"I should be sorry to stake my authority on her obedience. We must decide something about Crossjay, and get the money for his crammer, if it is to be got. If not, I may get a man to trust me.
I mean to drag the boy away. Willoughby has been at him with the tune of gentleman, and has laid hold of him by one ear. When I say 'her obedience,' she is not in a situation, nor in a condition to be led blindly by anybody. She must rely on herself, do everything herself. It's a knot that won't bear touching by any hand save hers."
"I fear . . ." said Laetitia.
"Have no such fear."
"If it should come to his positively refusing."
"He faces the consequences."
"You do not think of her."
Vernon looked at his companion.