Shadows

Mr. Heriton, a portly, handsome man, scarcely past the middle age, was walking about the drawing room, addressing an occasional observation to his lady, who was sitting near a window which commanded the route Frank and Florence had taken an hour previously.

She had the hectic color and fragile form of continual suffering, and every time Mr. Heriton raised his voice or pushed a chair out of his way she put her hand to her side as if to stay the quickened beating of her heart. But she answered him cheerfully, with a smile on her lip, though a close observer might have detected in her eyes an anxious scrutiny of her restless husband, who was both moody and irritable.

“Is it not time we dined?” he asked. “It seems to me that our servants do as they please with us.”

“It is my fault,” Mrs. Heriton replied. “I bade them put the dinner back for a quarter of an hour. Mr. Dormer is out; Florence has carried him off on one of her wild excursions.”

Mr. Heriton knitted his brow.

“She has too much liberty. Her manners are terribly unformed, and she is quite childish for her age.”

“She is so young!” replied the mother deprecatingly. “I thought, dear Richard, we had agreed not to bring her forward too early?”

He ahemmed, and looked slightly embarrassed.

“Yes, yes—of course! But, as Morrison of Carnbraes was remarking this morning, the heiress of the Heritons is—is, in fact—is not an ordinary person.”

Mrs. Heriton looked at him inquiringly as he walked to and fro, but was silent. She knew that he would be more likely to explain himself if she did not attempt to question him.

“A year or two will transform Florence into a lovely woman, and, with her advantages and wealth, she ought to marry well—very well. By the bye, Mrs. Morrison made a remark about your protégé—this Mr. Dormer—a remark that I thought very impertinent.”

Mrs. Heriton forbore to remind him that she had nothing to do with Mr. Dormer’s introduction to the priory, but gently observed:

“An impertinence of any description is not worthy your notice, Richard.”

“True—true. But it was annoying, very annoying, to be asked if it was not dangerous to domesticate a young adventurer with my heiress.”

Mrs. Heriton reddened slightly.

“Surely Mr. Dormer does not merit such a name as that?”

“Well, no—not in the common acceptation of the term. He is an agreeable, intelligent young fellow. But you must acknowledge, my dear, that you are permitting too close an intimacy between him and our daughter. He might be tempted to try and entangle her into an engagement or elopement. Really,” and Mr. Heriton began to look quite excited at the idea, “really, it looks very serious.”

His lady smiled.

“I have too much faith in his honor and my little Florence’s simplicity to fear such a dénouement. Yet I know and feel that you are right; and if it were not that he will soon leave us, I should, for his sake, keep Florence more closely to her studies.”

Mr. Heriton stared.

“For his sake! Well, yes, I suppose you are right. Florence will have too much good sense to throw herself away. She must not marry until she has been properly presented. She must have a season in London, and——”

“Dear Richard, is it worth while to form plans that cannot be carried out for two or three years to come?” the lady asked, wearily leaning back with closed eyes, as if the mere prospect of her merry, artless daughter being converted into a fashionable belle alarmed her.

Mr. Heriton came to her side directly with affectionate solicitude.