FullReads

“One evening–some months after my ramble round the manor–the maids went out to tea, and I lay in peaceful silence watching the shadows which crept noiselessly about the room as the fire blazed, and wishing Sarah and her colleagues nothing less than a month of uninterrupted tea-parties. I was almost asleep when Aunt Harriet came into the room. She brought a candle, put up my screen (the red screen again!), and went to the work-table. She had not been rustling with the work things for many minutes when my grandmother followed her, and shut the door with an air which seemed to promise a long stay. She also gave a shove to my screen, and then the following conversation began:

“‘I have been to Lady Sutfield’s to-day, Harriet.’

“‘Indeed, ma’am.’ But my aunt respectfully continued her work, as I could hear by the scraping of the scissors along the table.

“‘I heard some news there. The manor is let.’

“I almost jumped in my bed, and Aunt Harriet’s scissors paused.

“‘Let, ma’am! To whom!’

“‘To a Mrs. Moss. You must have heard me speak of her. I knew her years ago, when we were both young women. Anastatia Eden, she was then.’

“I could hear my aunt move to the fire, and sit down.

“‘The beautiful Miss Eden? Whom did she marry at last? Was there not some love-affair of hers that you knew about?’

“‘Her love-affairs were endless. But you mean Mr. Sandford. She treated him very ill–very ill.’

“There was a pause, while the fire crackled in the silence; and then, to the infinite satisfaction of my curiosity, Aunt Harriet said:

“‘I’ve forgotten the story, ma’am. He was poor, was he not?’

“‘He had quite enough to marry on,’ my grandmother answered, energetically; ‘but he was not a great match. It was an old story, my dear. The world! The world! The world! I remember sitting up with Anastatia after a ball, where he had been at her side all the evening. We sipped hot posset, and talked of our partners. Ah, dear!’ and here my grandmother heaved a sigh; partly, perhaps, because of the follies of youth, and partly, perhaps, because youth had gone, and could come back no more.

“‘Anastatia talked of him,’ she continued. ‘I remember her asking me if “her man” were not a pretty fellow, and if he had not sweet blue eyes and the greatest simplicity I ever knew but in a child. It was true enough; and he was a great deal more than that–a great deal more than she ever understood. Poor Anastatia! I advised her to marry him, but she seemed to look on that as impossible. I remember her saying that it would be different if she were not an acknowledged beauty; but it was expected that she would marry well, and he was comparatively poor, and not even singular. He was accomplished, and the soul of honour, but simple, provokingly simple, with no pretensions to carry off the toast of a county. My dear, if he had been notorious in any way–for dissipation, for brawling, for extravagance–I believe it would have satisfied the gaping world, and he would have had a chance. But there was nothing to talk about, and Anastatia had not the courage to take him for himself. She had the world at her feet, and paid for it by being bound by its opinion.’

“Here my grandmother, who was apt to moralize, especially when relating biographies of young ladies, gave another sigh.

“‘Then why did she encourage him?’ inquired Aunt Harriet; who also moralized, but with more of indignation and less of philosophy.

“‘I believe she loved him in spite of herself; but at the last, when he offered, she turned prudent and refused him.’

“‘Poor man! Did he ever marry?’

“‘Yes, and very happily–a charming woman. But the strange part of the story is, that he came quite unexpectedly into a large property that was in his family.’

“‘Did he? Then he would have been as good a match as most of her admirers?’