Our Friend the Charlatan | Page 7

round for possibilities, Constance hit upon the idea of studying pharmaceutics and becoming a dispenser; wherein, with long, steady effort, she at length succeeded. This project had already been shaped whilst the Brides were at Alverholme; Mrs. Lashmar had since heard of Constance as employed in the dispensary of a midland hospital.
"Hollingford?" remarked the vicar, as they walked on. "I think I remember that you have relatives there."
"I was born there, and I have an old aunt still living in the town--she keeps a little baker's shop."
Mr. Lashmar, though a philosopher, was not used to this bluntness of revelation; it gave him a slight shock, evinced in a troublous rolling of the eyes.
"Ha! yes!--I trust you will dine with us this evening, Miss Bride?"
"Thank you, I can't dine; I want to leave by an early evening train. But I should like to see Mrs. Lashmar, if she is at home."
"She will be delighted. I must beg you to pardon me for leaving you--an appointment at the schools; but I will get home as soon as possible. Pray excuse me."
"Why, of course, Mr. Lashmar. I haven't forgotten the way to the vicarage."
She pursued it, and in a few minutes rang the bell. Mrs. Lashmar was in the dining-room, busy with a female parishioner whose self-will in the treatment of infants' maladies had given the vicar's wife a great deal of trouble.
"It's as plain as blessed daylight, mum," the woman was exclaiming, "that this medicine don't agree with her."
"Mrs. Dibbs," broke in the other severely, "you will allow me to be a better judge--what is it?"
The housemaid had opened the door to announce Miss Bride.
"Miss Bride?" echoed the lady in astonishment. "Very well; show her into the drawing-room."
The visitor waited for nearly a quarter of an hour. She had placed herself on one of the least comfortable chairs, and sat there in a very stiff attitude, holding her umbrella across her knees. After a rather nervous survey of the room, (it had changed very little in appearance since her last visit six years ago), she fell into uneasy thoughtfulness, now and then looking impatiently towards the door. When the hostess at length appeared, she rose with deliberation, her lips just relaxed in a half-smile.
"So it is really you!" exclaimed Mrs. Lashmar, in a voice of forced welcome. "I thought you must have altogether forgotten us."
"It's the first time I have returned to Alverholme," replied the other, in a contrasting tone of calmness.
"And what are you doing? Where are you living? Tell me all about yourself. Are you still at the hospital? You did get a place at a hospital, I think? We were told so."
Mrs. Lashmar's patronage was a little more patronizing than usual, her condescension one or two degrees more condescending. She had various reasons for regarding Constance Bride with disapproval, the least of them that sense of natural antipathy which was inevitable between two such women. In briefest sentences Miss Bride made known that she had given up dispensing two years ago, and was now acting as secretary to a baronet's widow.
"A baronet's widow?" repeated the hostess, with some emphasis of candid surprise. "Row did you manage that? Who is she?"
"An old friend of my family," was the balanced reply. "Lady Ogram, of Rivenoak, near Hollingford."
"Oh! Indeed! I wasn't aware--"
Mrs. Lashmar thought better of her inclination to be trenchantly rude, and smoothed off into commonplaces. Presently the vicar entered, and found his wife conversing with the visitor more amiably than he had expected.
"You have seen Miss Bride already," said Mrs. Lashmar. "I am trying to persuade her to stay over-night with us. Is it really impossible?"
Constance civilly but decidedly declined. Addressing herself to the vicar, she spoke with more ease and friendliness than hitherto; nevertheless, it was obvious that she counted the minutes dictated by decency for the prolongation of her stay. Once or twice her look wandered to a certain part of the wall where hung a framed photograph--a portrait of Dyce Lashmar at the age of one and twenty; she regarded it for an instant with cold fixity, as though it interested her not at all. Just as she was on the point of rising, there came a sound of wheels on the vicarage drive.
"Who's that, I wonder?" said Mrs. Lashmar. "Why--surely it isn't--?"
A voice from without had reached her ears; surprise and annoyance darkened her countenance.
"It's certainly Dyce," said the vicar, who for his part, recognized the voice with pleasure.
"Impossible! He said he was coming in a week's time."
Mr. Lashmar would not have cared to correct this statement, and remark was rendered superfluous by the opening of the door and the appearance of Dyce himself.
"Afraid I'm taking you rather at unawares," said the young man, in a suave Oxford voice. "Unexpectedly I found myself free--"
His eyes fell