She was
five-and-thirty, and had only just begun to tell herself that she was no
longer a girl. She got on admirably with Clarissa, as she informed her
husband afterwards when she described the visit.
The girl was fascinated at once by that frank cordial manner, and was quite
ready to accept Lady Laura for her friend, ready to be patronised by her
even, with no sense of humiliation, no lurking desire to revolt against the
kind of sovereignty with which her new friend took possession of her.
Mr. Lovel came strolling in by-and-by, with his favourite tan setter,
looking as cool as if there were no such thing as blazing midsummer
sunshine, and found the two ladies sauntering up and down the grassy walk
by the mill-stream, under the shadow of gnarled old pear and quince trees.
He was charmed to see his dear Lady Laura. Clarissa had never known him
so enthusiastic or so agreeable. It was quite a new manner which he put
on--the manner of a man who is still interested in life. Lady Laura began
almost at once with her reproaches. How could he be so cruel to this dear
child? How could he be so absurd as to bury her alive in this way?
"She visits no one, I hear," cried the lady; "positively no one."
"Humph! she has been complaining, has she?" said Mr. Lovel, with a sharp
glance at his daughter.
"Complaining! O no, papa! I have told Lady Laura that I do not care about
gaiety, and that you do not allow me to visit.
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