trees, pulling the husks off a lapful of Indian corn. That will be local color, you know. There isn’t much of it here—you don’t mind my saying that, do you?—so one must make the most of what one can get. I shall be most happy to dine with you whenever you will let me; but I want to be able to ask you sometimes. And I want to be able to ask Mr. Acton,” added the Baroness.

“You must come and ask me at home,” said Acton. “You must come and see me; you must dine with me first. I want to show you my place; I want to introduce you to my mother.” He called again upon Madame Münster, two days later. He was constantly at the other house; he used to walk across the fields from his own place, and he appeared to have fewer scruples than his cousins with regard to dropping in. On this occasion he found that Mr. Brand had come to pay his respects to the charming stranger; but after Acton’s arrival the young theologian said nothing. He sat in his chair with his two hands clasped, fixing upon his hostess a grave, fascinated stare. The Baroness talked to Robert Acton, but, as she talked, she turned and smiled at Mr. Brand, who never took his eyes off her. The two men walked away together; they were going to Mr. Wentworth’s. Mr. Brand still said nothing; but after they had passed into Mr. Wentworth’s garden he stopped and looked back for some time at the little white house. Then, looking at his companion, with his head bent a little to one side and his eyes somewhat contracted, “Now I suppose that’s what is called conversation,” he said; “real conversation.”

“It’s what I call a very clever woman,” said Acton, laughing.

“It is most interesting,” Mr. Brand continued. “I only wish she would speak French; it would seem more in keeping. It must be quite the style that we have heard about, that we have read about—the style of conversation of Madame de Staël, of Madame Récamier.”

Acton also looked at Madame Münster’s residence among its hollyhocks and apple trees. “What I should like to know,” he said, smiling, “is just what has brought Madame Récamier to live in that place!”

CHAPTER V

Mr. Wentworth, with his cane and his gloves in his hand, went every afternoon to call upon his niece. A couple of hours later she came over to the great house to tea. She had let the proposal that she should regularly dine there fall to the ground; she was in the enjoyment of whatever satisfaction was to be derived from the spectacle of an old negress in a crimson turban shelling peas under the apple trees. 

 Prev. P 42/149 next