'Mamma never objects to anything. I should like to see her objecting to that!' And Lily shook her head at her mother.
'Bernard says that Miss Dunstable particularly wants to see you.'
'Does she, indeed? And I particularly want to see Miss Dunstable. How nice! Mamma, I don't think I've ever been in London since I wore short frocks. Do you remember taking us to the pantomime? Only think how many years ago that is. I'm quite sure it's time that Bernard should get married. Uncle, I hope you're prepared to take me to the play.'
'We must see about that.'
'And the opera, and Madame Tussaud, and the Horticultural Gardens, and the new conjuror who makes a woman lie upon nothing. The idea of my going to London! And then I suppose I shall be one of the bridesmaids. Ideclare a new vista of life is opening out to me! Mamma, you mustn't be dull while I'm away. It won't be very long, I suppose, uncle?'
'About a month, probably,' said the squire.
'Oh, mamma; what will you do?'
'Never mind me, Lily.'
'You must get Bell and the children to come. But I cannot imagine living away from home a month. I was never away from home a month in my life.'
And Lily did go up to town with her uncle, two days only after having been allowed to her for her preparations. There was very much for to think of in such a journey. It was not only that she would see Emily Dunstable who was to be her cousin's wife, and that she would go to the play and visit the new conjurer's entertainment, but that she would be in the same city both with Adolphus Crosbie and with John Eames. Not having personal experience of the wideness of London, and of the wilderness which it is--of the distance which is set there between persons who are not purposely brought together--it seemed to her fancy as though for this month of her absence from home she would be brought into close contiguity with both her lovers. She had hitherto felt herself to be at any rate safe in her fortress at Allington. When Crosbie had written to her mother, ****** a renewed offer which had been rejected, Lily had felt that she certainly need not see him unless it pleased her to do so. He could hardly force himself upon her at Allington. And as to John Eames, though he would, of course, be welcome at Allington as often as he pleased to show himself, still there was a security in the place. She was so much at home there that she could always be the mistress of the occasion. She knew that she could talk to him at Allington as though from ground higher than that on which he stood himself; but she felt that this would hardly be the case if she should chance to meet him in London. Crosbie probably would not come in her way. Crosbie, she thought--and she blushed for the man she loved, as the idea came across her mind--would be afraid of meeting her uncle. But John Eames would certainly find her; and she was led by the experience of latter days to image that John would never cross her path without renewing his attempts.
But she said no word of this, even to her mother. She was contented to confine her outspoken expectations to Emily Dunstable, and the play, and the conjurer. 'The chances are ten to one against my liking her, mamma,' she said.
'I don't see that, my dear.'
'I feel to be too old to think that I shall ever like any more new people. Three years ago I should have been quite sure that I should love a new cousin. It would have been like having a new dress. But I've come to think that an old dress is the most comfortable, and an old cousin certainly the best.'
The squire had taken for them a gloomy lodging in Sackville Street.
Lodgings in London are always gloomy. Gloomy colours wear better than bright ones for curtains and carpets, and the keepers of lodgings in London seem to think that a certain dinginess of appearance is respectable. I never saw a London lodging in which any attempt at cheerfulness had been made, and I do not think that any such attempt, if made, would pay. The lodging-seeker would be frightened and dismayed, and would unconsciously be led to fancy that something was wrong. Ideas of burglars and improper persons would present themselves. This is so certainly the case that I doubt whether any well-conditioned lodging-house matron could be induced to show rooms that were prettily draped or pleasantly coloured. The big drawing-room and two large bedrooms which the squire took were all that was proper, and were as brown, and as gloomy, and as ill-suited for the comforts of ordinary life as though they had been prepared for two prisoners. But Lily was not so ignorant as to expect cheerful lodgings in London, and was satisfied. 'And what are we to do now?' said Lily, as soon as they found themselves settled. It was still March, and whatever may have been the nature of the weather at Allington, it was very cold in London. They reached Sackville Street about five in the evening, and an hour was taken up in unpacking their trunks and ****** themselves as comfortable as their circumstances allowed. 'And now what are we to do now?' said Lily.
'I told them to have dinner for us at half-past six.'
'And what after that? Won't Bernard come to us tonight? I expected him to be standing on the door-steps waiting for us with his bride in his hand.'
'I don't suppose Bernard will be here tonight,' said the squire. 'He did not say that he would, and as for Miss Dunstable, I promised to take you to her aunt's house tomorrow.'
