There was a warmth of friendship and cordial kindness in all this, that was very soothing to the widow; but yet, though she gave way to it, she was hardly reconciled to doing so. It never occurred to her, that now that she had killed one dragon, another was about to spring up in her path; she had no remote idea that she would have to encounter another suitor in her proposed protector, but she hardly liked the idea of putting herself so much into the hands of young Stanhope. She felt that if she wanted protection, she should go to her father. She felt that she should ask him to provide a carriage for her back to Barchester. Mrs Clantantram she knew would give her a seat. She knew that she should not throw herself entirely upon friends whose friendship dated as it were but from yesterday. But yet she could not say, 'no,' to one who was so sisterly in her kindness, so eager in her good nature, so comfortably sympathetic as Charlotte Stanhope.
They first went into the dining-room, looking for their champion, and from thence to the drawing-room. Here they found Mr Arabin, still hanging over the signora's sofa; or, rather, they found him sitting near her head, as a physician might have sat, had the lady been his patient. There was no other person in the room. The guests were some in the tent, some few still in the dining-room, some at the bows and arrows, but most of them walking with Miss Thorne through the park, and looking at the games that were going on.
All that had passed, and was passing between Mr Arabin and the lady, it is unnecessary to give in detail. She was doing with him as she did with all others. It was her mission to make fools of men, and she was pursuing her mission with Mr Arabin. She had almost got him to own his love for Mrs Bold, and had subsequently almost induced him to acknowledge a passion for herself. He, poor man, was hardly aware what he was doing or saying, hardly conscious whether he was in heaven or hell. So little had he known of female attractions of that peculiar class which the signora owned, that he became affected with a temporary delirium, when first subjected to its power. He lost his head rather than his heart, and toppled about mentally, reeling in his ideas as a drunken man does on his legs. She had whispered to him words that really meant nothing, but which coming from such beautiful lips, and accompanied by such lustrous glances, seemed to have a mysterious significance, which he felt though he could not understand.
In being thus be-sirened, Mr Arabin behaved himself very differently from Mr Slope. The signora had said truly, that the two men were the contrasts of each other; that the one was all for action, the other all for thought. Mr Slope, when this lady laid upon his senses the overpowering breath of her charms, immediately attempted to obtain some fruition, to achieve some mighty triumph.
He began by catching at her hand, and progressed by kissing it. He made vows of love, and asked for vows in return. He promised everlasting devotion, knelt before her, and swore that had she been on Mount Ida, Juno would have no cause to hate the offspring of Venus. But Mr Arabin uttered no oaths, kept his hand mostly in his trousers pocket, and had no more thought of kissing Madam Neroni than of kissing the Countess De Courcy.
As soon as Mr Arabin saw Mrs Bold enter the room, he blushed and rose from his chair; then he sat down again, and then again got up.
The signora saw the blush at once, and smiled at the poor victim, but Eleanor was too much confused to see anything.
'Oh, Madeline,' said Charlotte, 'I want to speak to you particularly; we must arrange about the carriage, you know,' and she stooped down to whisper to her sister. Mr Arabin immediately withdrew to a little distance, and as Charlotte had in fact much to explain before she could make the new arrangement intelligible, he had nothing to do but to talk to Mrs Bold.
'We have had a very pleasant party,' said he, using the tone he would have used had he declared that the sun was shining very brightly, or the rain was falling very fast.
'Very,' said Eleanor, who never in her life had passed a more unpleasant day.
'I hope Mr Harding has enjoyed himself.'
'Oh, yes, very much,' said Eleanor, who had not seen her father since she parted from him soon after her arrival.
'He returns to Barchester to-night, I suppose.'
'Yes, I believe so; that is, I think he is staying at Plumstead.'
'Oh, staying at Plumstead,' said Mr Arabin.
'He came from there this morning. I believe he is going back; he didn't exactly say, however.'
'I hope Mrs Grantly is quite well.'
'She seemed to be quite well. She is here; that is, unless she has gone away.'
'Oh, yes, to be sure. I was talking to her. Looking very well indeed.' Then there was a considerable pause: for Charlotte could not at once make Madeline understand why she was to be sent home in a hurry without her brother.
'Are you returning to Plumstead, Mrs Bold?' Mr Arabin merely asked this by way of ****** conversation, but he immediately perceived that he was approaching dangerous ground.
'No,' said Mrs Bold, very quietly; 'I am going home to Barchester.'
'Oh, ah, yes. I had forgotten that you had returned.' And then Mr Arabin, finding it impossible to say anything further, stood silent till Charlotte had completed her plans, and Mrs Bold stood equally silent, intently occupied as it appeared in the arrangement of her rings.
And yet these two people were thoroughly in love with each other;and though one was a middle-aged clergyman, and the other a lady at any rate past the wishy-washy bread-and-butter period of life, they were as unable to tell their own minds to each other as any Damon and Phillis, whose united ages would not make up that to which Mr Arabin had already attained.
Madeline Neroni consented to her sister's proposal, and then the two ladies again went off in quest of Bertie Stanhope.
