"I want to know what about Mrs. Marks, Sir."
"Tell her to come, of course."
The girl never moved. He asked, impatiently:
"What are you waiting for, creature?"
"Please, Sir, Mrs. Marks will not come."
"She will not come!"
"No, Sir; she has just had her luncheon. Mrs. Marks never stirs after her luncheon."
She spoke confidently. Mr. Thornton reclined back in his chair, uttered an amazed "Ah!" but, recovering himself, he said, with great suavity:
"Charlotte, be so good as to give my compliments to Mrs. Marks, and say that I shall feel indebted to her if she will favour me with her company for a few minutes, now," he added, with some stress.
Charlotte shook her head sceptically; but she obeyed, and proved more successful than she had anticipated, for, ere long, the door again opened, and admitted Mrs. Marks. In dress and appearance, she looked exactly the same as seven years before.
"Mrs. Marks," said Mr. Thornton, with great politeness, "will you have the kindness to show Miss Burns, my grand-daughter, to her room?"
Mrs. Marks gave me a look of her cold, fishy eye, and said, "Yes, Sir,"
in a tone of ice.
I saw she remembered me with no pleasant feelings. I followed her out of the study, determined that both she and my grandfather should learn I was no longer a child. She took me to a room on the first floor, large, but plainly furnished, and informed me "this was my apartment."
"Thank you," I replied, quietly; "but it is too gloomy. I prefer the room I had formerly."
Mrs. Marks did not understand. Mrs. Marks was in a state of obliviousness concerning all that had passed before this day. Mrs. Marks knew Miss Burns, the grand-daughter of Mr. Thornton; of the obstinate little girl whom she had called Burns, Mrs. Marks had no recollection, nor of anything concerning her. Without heeding this, I described to her so minutely the locality of my old apartment, that she could not feign ignorance; but when, in answer to her objection that it was "quite empty," I civilly requested her to cause the furniture around me to be removed to it as soon as possible, Mrs. Marks looked figuratively knocked down. I left her in that prostrate condition, to go down and speak to my grandfather.
I could not understand why he had so suddenly claimed me, and what he wanted with me. He did not look as if he liked me a bit better than formerly; certainly not as if inclined to make me "the charm of his home, and the delight of his heart and eyes." "There is something in it," I thought. "Cornelius may fancy that every body is as fond of me as he is, and look for no other motive; but I am sure there is, and I must find it out, if it were only to help him in his mysterious design."
I knocked at the door of the study, and, receiving no answer, opened it and looked in. My grandfather never raised his eyes from his book.
Unwilling to disturb him, I entered quietly, and, without speaking, sat down by the window. It was a broad, arched casement, partly veiled with ivy hanging down from above, and facing a magnificent avenue of beech trees that stretched far on into the park. They communicated some of their solemn gloom to the apartment; and the contrast of that green woodland aspect with the dusty tomes and air of venerable learning within; of that solitary look out, and of the quiet, white-headed figure bending so intently over its open volume, struck me. "There is a pretty picture for Cornelius," I thought. "I must bear every detail of it in my mind's eye to tell him when we meet." The contrast recalled me to the object of my presence in my grandfather's apartment. I coughed gently; Mr. Thornton started, looked up, and said, "Ah!" with evident astonishment. I looked at him quietly.
"Well!" he ejaculated.
"Yes," I replied.
"Yes what?" he asked, impatiently.
I thought I might have asked, "Well what?" with as much reason; but I merely said:
"Yes, Sir, I am here."
"What for?"
"To speak to you, if you please."
"What about?"
"Is there any lady in the house besides myself?"
"No."
"Is there to be?"
"No."
"Am I to keep house?"
"Mrs. Marks is my housekeeper."
"Then what am I to do?"
"Nothing."
This was not encouraging; but I persisted.
"Then there is nothing for me to do?"
"Nothing."
"Are you quite sure?" I asked, earnestly.
He gave me a surprised look. I continued:
"Are you quite sure I cannot be of any use to you, Sir?"
"Of none," was his somewhat contemptuous reply.
"Well then," I rejoined, with great alacrity, "as I am not to keep house, not to do anything, don't you think, Sir, you had better send me back to Mr. and Miss O'Reilly? You know," I added, impressively, "that I must be of some expense to you here, whereas with them, I should cost you nothing at all; and, though it was very kind of you to think of me, I assure you they did not find me in the way."
My grandfather drew in a long breath, and, folding his arms, looked at me from head to foot.
"So you are not an hour here, and you already want to be off," he said.
"But since you don't want me--" I remonstrated.
"I beg your pardon--I do want you," he replied, with ironical politeness; "and the proof I do want you, is, that I have taken the trouble of procuring you, and that I mean to keep you."
He spoke as if I were a piece of furniture. I felt very indignant, and reddening, asked:
"May I know, Sir, what you want me for?"
"No," was the laconic and decisive reply.
"Am I to stay here whether I like or not?"