Ellen accepted the rebuke good-humouredly. She had grown more mellow of
late, and was settling into her life at Ansdore as she had never settled
since she went to school. She relished her widowed state, for it
involved the delectable business of looking about for a second husband.
She was resolved to act with great deliberation. This time there should
be no hustling into matrimony. It seemed to her now as if that
precipitate taking of Arthur Alce had been at the bottom of all her
troubles; she had been only a poor little schoolgirl, a raw contriver,
hurling herself out of the frying-pan of Ansdore's tyranny into the fire
of Donkey Street's dullness. She knew better now--besides, the increased
freedom and comfort of her conditions did not involve the same urgency
of escape.
She made up her mind that she would not take anyone of the farming
classes; this time she would marry a gentleman--but a decent sort. She
did not enjoy all her memories of Sir Harry Trevor. She would not take
up with that kind of man again, any more than with a dull fellow like
poor Arthur.
She had far better opportunities than in the old days. The exaltation of
Ansdore from farm to manor had turned many keys, and Joanna now received
calls from doctors' and clergymen's wives, who had hitherto ignored her
except commercially. It was at Fairfield Vicarage that Ellen met the
wife of a major at Lydd camp, and through her came to turn the heads of
various subalterns. The young officers from Lydd paid frequent visits to
Ansdore, which was a novelty to both the sisters, who hitherto had had
no dealings with military society. Ellen was far too prudent to engage
herself to any of these boys; she waited for a major or a captain at
least. But she enjoyed their society, and knew that their visits gave
her consequence in the neighbourhood. She was invariably discreet in her
behaviour, and was much reproached by them for her coldness, which they
attributed to Joanna, who watched over her like a dragon, convinced that
the moment she relaxed her guard her sister would inevitably return to
her wicked past.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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