Mrs. Kirkpatrick had been reading aloud till Lady Cumnor fell asleep,
the book rested on her knee, just kept from falling by her hold. She
was looking out of the window, not seeing the trees in the park, nor
the glimpses of the hills beyond, but thinking how pleasant it would
be to have a husband once more;--some one who would work while she
sate at her elegant ease in a prettily-furnished drawing-room; and
she was rapidly investing this imaginary breadwinner with the form
and features of the country surgeon, when there was a slight tap
at the door, and almost before she could rise, the object of her
thoughts came in. She felt herself blush, and she was not displeased
at the consciousness. She advanced to meet him, making a sign towards
her sleeping ladyship.
"Very good," said he, in a low voice, casting a professional eye on
the slumbering figure; "can I speak to you for a minute or two in the
library?"
"Is he going to offer?" thought she, with a sudden palpitation, and
a conviction of her willingness to accept a man whom an hour before
she had simply looked upon as one of the category of unmarried men to
whom matrimony was possible.
He was only going to make one or two medical inquiries; she found
that out very speedily, and considered the conversation as rather
flat to her, though it might be instructive to him. She was not aware
that he finally made up his mind to propose, during the time that
she was speaking--answering his questions in many words, but he was
accustomed to winnow the chaff from the corn; and her voice was so
soft, her accent so pleasant, that it struck him as particularly
agreeable after the broad country accent he was perpetually hearing.
Then the harmonious colours of her dress, and her slow and graceful
movements, had something of the same soothing effect upon his nerves
that a cat's purring has upon some people's. He began to think
that he should be fortunate if he could win her, for his own sake.
Yesterday he had looked upon her more as a possible stepmother
for Molly; to-day he thought more of her as a wife for himself.
The remembrance of Lord Cumnor's letter gave her a very becoming
consciousness; she wished to attract, and hoped that she was
succeeding. Still they only talked of the countess's state for some
time: then a lucky shower came on. Mr. Gibson did not care a jot for
rain, but just now it gave him an excuse for lingering.
"It's very stormy weather," said he.