One of Our Conquerors - World eBook Library

George Meredith
haunts of sin and slime, to such plain souls as Daniel Skepsey
and Matilda Pridden. And he could still be that, if Nesta, in
the chapters of the future, changed her mind. She might; for
her good she would; he reserved the hope. His light was one
to burn beneath an extinguisher.
At the luncheon table of the Duvidney ladies, it was a pain
to Dorothea and Virginia to witness how poor the appetite
their Nesta brought in from the briny blowy walk. They
prophesied against her chances of a good sleep at night, if
she did not eat heartily. Virginia timidly remarked on her
paleness. Both of them put their simple arts in motion to let
her know, that she was dear to them: so dear as to make
them dread the hour of parting. They named their dread of
it. They had consulted in private and owned to one another,
that they did really love the child, and dared not look forward
to what they would do without her. The dear child’s
paleness and want of appetite (they remembered they were
observing a weak innocent girl) suggested to them mutually
the idea of a young female heart sickening, for the old unhappy
maiden reason. But, if only she might return with
them to the Wells, the Rev. Stuart Rem would assure her to
convince her of her not being quite, quite forsaken. He, or
some one having sanction from Victor, might ultimately (the
ladies waiting anxiously in the next room, to fold her on the
warmth of their bosoms when she had heard) impart to her
the knowledge of circumstances, which would, under their
further tuition concerning the particular sentiments of great
families and the strict duties of the scions of the race, help to
account for and excuse the Hon. Dudley Sowerby’s behaviour.
They went up to the drawing-room, talking of Skepsey
and his tale of Miss Pridden, for Nesta’s amusement. Any
talk of her Skepsey usually quickened her lips to reminiscent
smiles and speech. Now she held on to gazeing; and sadly, it
seemed; as if some object were not present.
For a vague encouragement, Dorothea said: ‘One week,
and we are back home at Moorsedge!’—not so far from
Cronidge, was implied, for the administering of some foolish
temporary comfort. And it was as when a fish on land
springs its hollow sides in alien air for the sustaining element;
the girl panted; she clasped Dorothea’s hand and looked
at Virginia: ‘My mother—I must see her!’ she said. They
were slightly stupefied by the unwonted mention of her
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