Leonore Stubbs. Lucy Bethia Walford
laughed. "'Trying it on,' was all I was going to say, sir. Any one who knows you wouldn't back them for a brass farthing." There was a touch of bitterness in the last words which called forth a "Pshaw!" from the general's lips. He knew, as they all did, to what the sneer referred, and Sue, as usual, made haste to avert an explosion.
"I don't think we need fear that Leo will be in any hurry to marry again; she was very fond of poor Godfrey–"
"Then she must keep up appearances for his sake," struck in her father eagerly. "Tell her it's for his sake, mind; and see that she does it. As for that nonsense of Sybil's–" and he enlarged till he had worn out the subject.
When he left the room, the girls looked at each other. "He doesn't know Leo," said Maud at last. She was always the last to speak, it was the easiest way; Syb could rattle, and sometimes rattle did well enough with a parent who as has been said could be managed when not openly contradicted, but she preferred silence and apparent submission. She could, however, emit a sentiment when alone with her sisters. "He won't find it as easy as he thinks to get Leo to pretend. She was always a truthful little thing."
"At the same time, it is her duty to obey our father's wishes," quoth Miss Boldero gently. "And one cannot wonder that he should dislike to have her unfortunate circumstances known."
"Meaning that she is as poor as a rat, Madam Grandiloquence. Ah, well, I don't mind. Didn't I say it would be fun to take in everybody?—and as I am not particularly truthful," laughed Sybil, "I'll play any part the old gentleman chooses, with all the pleasure in life. Maud, if I catch you tripping, I'll tread on your toes till you squeak. It is understood that our poor dear bereaved one—eh, Sue? that's the style, isn't it?—that she only comes to us because she needs the paternal advice for her oceans of money, and the paternal arm to prevent its being grabbed by needy adventurers. Again I say, what fun!"
But she had not grasped, nor had any of them, what was in General Boldero's mind.
He rather overdid his part presently on the station platform. He had elected to go alone, and have out the big carriage. He had given orders loudly for it and the luggage cart,—and so entirely was he engrossed in his own view of the subject, that the sight of a pale little face, with heavy eyes, and quivering lips, irritated him. "They'll see through her like a shot," he muttered to himself. "Why on earth need she—by George! I had forgotten though–" for he had actually forgotten that only a bare three weeks had elapsed since Godfrey's death.
Instantly his countenance changed. A mournful air was de rigueur, he must be tenderly and sympathetically sad, while yet respectful. He was aware of having been a little too talkative before, and of having given brisk and cheerful greetings to acquaintances whom he had informed of his errand. Hang it all, he wished he had thought of that sooner; and he now bent over the little black-gloved hand with his best air, hoping that he was watched. If he had been accused of any lack of feeling—he patted the hand, and tucked it within his arm.
And he noted with satisfaction the splendid furs, and handsome travelling bag, and all the paraphernalia which still clung to poor Leo and gave her the appearance of a princess.
Mr. Jonas had smiled grimly when asked about this,—but he had given such a decided opinion, and that in so kind a tone, for he was pleased and touched—that the little girl had thankfully received his word as law, and her personal possessions were intact.
In consequence, she had to apologise for the amount of her luggage.
"The more the better, my dear," said the general, graciously,—and everyone within hearing distance was edified by his directions freely delivered anent portmanteaux and dress-baskets. If there were too many for the cart, some of the smaller things could be put on the carriage box. William could walk. They could take a few light articles inside. Leo felt again the old feeling of being treated as company, but it took off the edge of a trying moment, and she was glad of anything that did that.
"Ahem, my dear!" The carriage door was shut, and the general opened his lips.
"Yes, father?"
"There were several kind friends looking on just now, whom I daresay you did not see. You did very well; there was no occasion for you to notice them. And in your place, I may add, I should not bother about seeing people—quite so, quite so—you were not thinking of such a thing, of course not,—you will just keep quiet, and let us say what has to be said. What I mean is," as he caught a bewildered look, "money matters are not in your line, and at such a time as this less than ever. Don't mention them. Don't know anything about them. I will tell people all they need to know–"
"But—but do they need to know at all?"
"Certainly not," said General Boldero, promptly. No answer could have pleased him better. "They see you return, very properly, to the home of your childhood, where in future I shall provide for you," he gulped in his throat, and drew the rug further over his knees, but continued; "so that it is nobody's business how you are left by—by your husband."
"Godfrey never knew," murmured she.
"Ahem!" escaped the general.
"Mr. Jonas is afraid he had some anxiety," continued Leonore, bravely; "but he had told some one only the day before—before he died, that he hoped things were going to pull round all right."
"They all think that. But," proceeded her father, curbing the momentary snap, "we need not distress ourselves by entering into details about which I am as ignorant as you. I never thought a business man could—however, leave it. What we have to do is to bolster up his memory, to prevent nasty things being said of him—in short, to keep our neighbours in the dark as to the real state of affairs, for if they knew, they would certainly think it disgraceful."
The word was out and he felt the better for it.
Leonore started, and held her breath.
"Aye, disgraceful," resumed her father with increasing emphasis. "I fear I must say it, and there's not a person who if he knew all that I know, would not join me in saying it. But Godfrey Stubbs was your husband, and–"
"And they shan't dare to speak a word against him—oh, they shan't—they shall not,"—with a face of fire she turned towards him, "and, father, you can't and you mustn't, either; Godfrey–" but she could speak no more for sobbing.
"You shall protect his memory, Leonore."
And when the carriage drew up beneath the Abbey portico, General Boldero felt that he had accomplished the object for which he had met his daughter, and met her alone.
CHAPTER III.
SPECULATIONS
"I saw old Brown-boots Boldero at the station to-day," quoth Dr. Humphrey Craig, the doctor of the neighbourhood, as he shook himself out of his greatcoat and wiped the October mist from his beard, within the hall of his comfortable house. "Spick and span as usual, and boots as glossy as if there were no such things as muddy lanes in the world. To be sure he had his carriage to-day, though."
"His carriage?" The doctor's cheerful little wife was at once all interest; something in her husband's tone awakened interest.
"He was bringing home that poor girl of his."
"Leonore? Did you speak to them?"
"To him—not to her. We had to stand together on the platform, but I sheered off directly the train came in. He had told me what he was there for."
"But you saw Leonore arrive?"
"I saw her, yes,—poor black little thing. There seemed nothing of her at all beneath her widow's trappings. Handsome trappings they were too; the furs of a millionairess."
"Did she look–?"
"Rather miserable and frightened. Scared at seeing her father, I daresay. Bland and civil as the old ruffian is, every one knows how the girls quake before him. There he was, doing the polite, footman in attendance, big carriage outside—all to be taken note of as evidence that Mrs. Godfrey Stubbs was worth it."
"You are always down on that poor old man."
"Can't