“It’s a fine night,” said Annis to Bradley. “Walk up the hill and hev a bite of supper with me.” The invitation was almost an oath of renewed friendship, and Bradley could on no account refuse it. Then the squire sent his man ahead to notify the household, and the two men took the hill at each other’s side, talking eagerly of the election and its probabilities. As they neared the Hall, Bradley was silent and a little troubled. “Antony,” he said, “how about the women-folk?”
“I am by thy side. As they treat me they will treat thee. Josepha was allays thy friend. Mistress Annis hed a kind side for thee, so hed my little Kitty. For awhile, they hev been under the influence of a lie set going by thy awn son.”
“To be sure. But Harry was misinformed, by that mean little lawyer that lives in Bradley. I hev forgotten the whole story, and I won’t hev it brought up again. It was a lie out of the whole cloth, and was varry warmly taken up by Dick, and you know how our women are--they stand by ivery word their men say.”
The men entered together. Josepha was not the least astonished. In fact, she was sure this very circumstance would happen. Had she not advised and directed John Thomas that very afternoon what to do, and had he not been only too ready and delighted to follow her advice? When the door opened she rose, and with some enthusiasm met John Thomas, and while she was welcoming him the squire had said the few words that were sufficient to insure Annie’s welcome. An act of oblivion was passed without a word, and just where the friendship had been dropped, it was taken up again. Kitty excused herself, giving a headache as her reason, and Dick was in Liverpool with Hartley, looking over a large importation of South American wool.
The event following this rearrangement of life was the return of Josepha to her London home. She said a combination of country life and November fogs was beyond her power of cheerful endurance; and then she begged Katherine to go back to London with her. Katherine was delighted to do so. Harry’s absence no longer troubled her. She did not even wish to see him and the home circumstances had become stale and wearisome. The coming and going of many strangers and the restlessness and uncertainty of daily life was a great trial to a family that had lived so many years strictly after its own ideals of reposeful, regular rule and order. Annie, very excusably, was in a highly nervous condition, the squire was silent and thoughtful, and in the evenings too tired to talk. Katherine was eager for more company of her own kind, and just a little weary of Dick’s and Faith’s devotion to each other. “I wish aunt would go to London and take me with her,” she said to herself one morning, as she was rather indifferently dressing her own hair.