On returning to the old order of things, Phoebe found Rhoda, as she expected, considerably changed for the worse. What had been a sort of good-humoured condescension was altered into absolute snappishness, and Phoebe was sorely tried. But the influence of Molly, bad as it had been, proved temporary. Rhoda sank by degrees--or shall I say rose?-- into her old self, and Phoebe presently had no more to bear than before the visit from Delawarr Court.

About a fortnight after the departure of Gatty and Molly, as Phoebe was sitting at the parlour window with her work, she perceived Mrs Jane Talbot, hooded, cloaked, and pattened,--for the afternoon was damp,-- marching up to the side door. The fact was communicated to Madam, who rose and glanced at herself in the chimney-gla.s.s, and ringing her little hand-bell, desired Baxter to show Mrs Jane into the parlour.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Jane; 'tis a pleasure I did not look for," said Madam, as she rose.

"Your servant, Madam," returned Mrs Jane, who had divested herself of cloak and pattens in the hall.

"Pray be seated, Mrs Jane. And what brings you hither?--for methinks some matter of import will have called you out on so rainy a day as this."

"Easy to guess," answered Mrs Jane, taking a seat as requested, and delivering her communication in short, blunt sentences, like small shot.

"A whim of Marcella's. Got a fancy for Port O Port. Sent me to beg a sup of you, Madam. Fancies it will cure her. Fiftieth time she has thought so, of something. All nonsense. Can't help it."

"Indeed, my dear Mrs Jane, I am happy to be capable of helping Mrs Marcella to her fancy, and trust it may be of the advantage she thinks.--Phoebe! tell Betty to bid Baxter bring hither a bottle of the best Port O Port--that from the little ark in the further cellar.--And how does Mrs Marcella this afternoon?"

"As cross as two sticks," said Mrs Jane.

"She is a great sufferer," observed Madam, in her kindest manner.

Mrs Jane made no reply, unless her next remark could properly be called one.

"Mrs Darcy came last night."

"Last night!" answered Madam, in accents of surprise. "Dear! I quite understood she was not to arrive before this evening. You have seen her, Mrs Jane?"

"Seen her! Oh dear, yes; I've seen her. We were schoolfellows."

"Were you, indeed? That I did not know. 'Twill be a pleasure to you, Mrs Jane, to have an old schoolfellow so near."

"Depends," said Mrs Jane sententiously.

"No doubt," answered Madam. "Were you and Mrs Eleanor friends at school, Mrs Jane?"

"No, Madam."

"Not? Perhaps you were not near enough of an age."

"Only six months between. No; that wasn't it. I was a silly scapegrace, and she was a decent, good maid. Too good for me. I haven't got any better. And she hasn't got any handsomer."

"Pray forgive me," replied Madam, with a smile, "but I cannot think that name applies to you now, Mrs Jane. And was her nephew with Mrs Eleanor; as he engaged?"

"Large as life," said Mrs Jane.

"And how large is that, in his case?" inquired Madam.

"Asking him or me?" retorted Mrs Jane. "_I_ should say, about as big as a field mouse. He thinks himself big enough to overtop all the elephants in creation. Marcus Welles! Oh, yes, I'll mark him well,-- you trust me."

It was tolerably evident that Mr Welles had not succeeded in fascinating Mrs Jane, whatever he might do to other people.

"I was told he was extreme handsome?" remarked Madam, in a tone of inquiry.

Mrs Jane's exclamation in response sounded very like--"Pish!"

"You think not, Mrs Jane?"

"Folks' eyes are so different, Madam," answered Mrs Jane. "Chinamen's beauties wouldn't go for much in England, I guess. He's a silly, whimsical, finnicking piece--that's what he is! Pink velvet coat, laced with silver. Buff breeches. White silk stockings with silver clocks.

No cloak. And raining cats and dogs and pitchforks. Reckon Eleanor got all the sense that was going in that family. None left for Mr Mark-me-well. Missed it, anyhow."

From that day forward, behind his back, Mark-me-well was the only name bestowed by Mrs Jane on the young man in question. To his face she gave him none,--an uncivil proceeding in 1714; but Mrs Jane being allowedly an eccentric character, no one expected her to conform to conventional rules on all occasions.

It would seem that Mr Welles wished to lose no time in paying his court to Madam; for that very evening, as soon as calling-hours began, he put in an appearance at White-Ladies.

Calling-hours and visiting-days were as common then as now; but the hours were not the same. From five to eight o'clock in the evening was the proper time for a visit of ceremony; candles were always lighted, there was a special form of knock, and the guests sat round the room in a prim circle.

Perhaps the "cats, dogs, and pitchforks" alluded to before had spoiled the pink and buff suit which had roused the scorn of Mrs Jane. The colours in which Mr Welles chose to make his _debut_ at White-Ladies were violet and white. A violet velvet coat, trimmed with silver lace, was fastened with little silver hasps; white satin breeches led downwards to violet silk stockings with silver clocks, girt below the knee with silver garters. A three-cornered hat, of violet silk and silver lace, was heavily adorned with white plumes, and b.u.t.toned up at one side with a diamond. He wore shoes with silver buckles and very high red heels, white-silver fringed gloves, a small m.u.f.f of violet velvet; and carried in his hand a slender amber-headed cane. Being a London beau of fashion, he was afflicted with a slight limp, and also with intense short-sightedness, which caused him to wear a gold eye-gla.s.s, constantly in use--except when alone, on which occasions Mr Welles became suddenly restored to the full use of his faculties.

He certainly was very handsome, and his taste was good. His wig was always suited to his complexion, and he rarely wore more than two colours, of which one was frequently black or white. Mr Welles was highly accomplished and highly fashionable; he played ombre and ba.s.set, the spinnet and the violin; he sang and danced well, composed anagrams and acrostics, was a good rider, hunted fearlessly and gamed high, interlarded his conversation with puns, and was a thorough adept at small talk. He was personally acquainted with every actor on the London stage, and by sight with every politician in the Cabinet. His manners were of the new school then just rising--which means, that they were very free and easy, removed from all the minute and often c.u.mbersome ceremonies which had distinguished the old school. He generally rose about noon, dined at three p.m., spent the evening at the opera or theatre, and went to bed towards morning. Add to this, that he collected old china, took much snuff, combed his wig in public, and was unable to write legibly or spell correctly--and a finished portrait is presented of Mr Marcus Welles, and through him of a fashionable London gentleman of his day.

The impression made by Mr Welles on the ladies at the Abbey was of varied character. Madam commended him, but with that faint praise which is nearly akin to censure. He was well favoured, she allowed, and seemed to be a man of parts; but in her young days it was considered courteous to lead a lady to a chair before a gentleman seated himself; and it was not considered courteous to omit the Madam in addressing her.

Rhoda said very little in her grandmother's presence, reserving her opinion for Phoebe's private ear. But as soon as they were alone, the girls stated their ideas explicitly.

"Isn't he a love of a dear?" cried Rhoda, in ecstasy.

"No, I don't think he is," responded Phoebe, in a tone of unmistakable disgust.

"Why, Phoebe! Are you not sensible of the merit of such a man as that?"

"No, I am sure I did not see any," said Phoebe, as before.

"Oh, Phoebe! Such taste as he has! And his discourse! I never saw so quick a wit. I am sure he is a man of great reach, and a man of figure too. I shall think the time long till I see him again."

"Dear me! I shan't!" exclaimed Phoebe. "Taste? Well, I suppose you may dress a doll with taste. His clothes are well enough, only they are too fine for anything but visiting."

"Well, wasn't he visiting, you silly Phoebe?"

"And he may be a man of figure--I don't know; but as to reach! I wonder what you saw in his discourse to admire; it seemed to me all about nothing."

"Why, that's just his parts!" said Rhoda. "Any man can talk about something; but to be able to talk in a clever, sprightly way about nothing--that takes a man of reach."

"Well! he may take his reach out of my reach," answered Phoebe, in a disgusted tone. "I shall think the time uncommonly short, I can promise you, till I see him again; for I never wish to do it."

"Phoebe, I do believe you haven't one bit of discernment!"

But Phoebe held her peace.

Madam called in due form on her new guest at the Maidens' Lodge, and Mrs Darcy returned the visit next day. She proved to be a short, stout, little woman, with a face which, while undeniably and excessively plain, was so beaming with good humour that it was difficult to remember her uncomeliness after the first _coup d'oeil_. Mr Welles accompanied her on the return visit. What had induced him to take up his quarters at the Bear, at Tewkesbury, was an enigma to the inhabitants of White-Ladies. Of course he could not live at the Maidens' Lodge, Madam being rigidly particular with respect to the intrusion of what Betty called "he creeturs" into that enchanted valley, and not tolerating the habitual presence even of a servant of the obnoxious s.e.x. According to the representations of Mr Welles himself, he was fascinated by the converse and character of Madam, and was also completely devoted to his dear Aunt Eleanor. But Mr Welles had not favoured the Bear with very much of his attention before it dawned upon one person at least that neither Madam nor Mrs Eleanor had much to do with his frequent visits to Cressingham. Mrs Dorothy Jennings quickly noticed that Mr Welles was quite clever enough to discover what pleased different persons, and to adapt himself accordingly with surprising facility; and she soon perceived that the attraction was Rhoda, or rather Rhoda's prospects as the understood heiress of White-Ladies. Mr Welles accommodated himself skilfully to the prejudices of Madam; his manners a.s.sumed a graver and more courtly air, his conversation a calm and sensible tone; and Madam at length remarked to her grand-daughters, how very much that young man had improved since his first arrival at Cressingham.

With Rhoda, in the absence of her grandmother, he was an entirely different being. A great deal of apparent interest in herself, and deference to her opinions; a very little skilful flattery, too delicately administered for its hollowness to be perceived; a quick apprehension of what pleased and amused her, and a ready adaptation to her mood of the moment--these were Mr Welles' tactics with the heiress for whom he was angling. As to Phoebe, he simply let her alone. He soon saw that she was of no account in Rhoda's eyes, and was not her chosen _confidante_, but simply the person to whom she talked for want of any other listener. There was not, therefore, in his opinion, any reason why he should trouble himself to propitiate Phoebe.

Ever since the visit of the Delawarrs, Rhoda had seemed disinclined for another call on Mrs Dorothy Jennings. Now and then she went to see Mrs Clarissa, when the conversation usually turned on the fashions and cognate topics; sometimes she drank tea with Lady Betty, whose discourse was of rather a more sensible character. Rarely, she looked in on Mrs Marcella. Mrs Jane had thoroughly estranged her by persisting in her sarcastic nickname for Rhoda's chosen hero, and letting off little shafts against him, more smart than nattering. On Mrs Darcy she called perpetually, perhaps with a view to meet him at her house; but all Mr Welles' alleged devotion to his dear Aunt Eleanor scarcely ever seemed to result in his going to see her at the Maidens' Lodge. When Rhoda met him, which she very often did, it was either by his calling at the Abbey, or by an accidental _rencontre_--if accidental it were--in some secluded glade of the Park.