Chapter 7

One of the consequences, for the Mulvilles, of the sacrifices they
made for Frank Saltram was that they had to give up their carriage.
Adelaide drove gently into London in a one-horse greenish thing, an
early Victorian landau, hired, near at hand, imaginatively, from a
broken-down jobmaster whose wife was in consumption--a vehicle that
made people turn round all the more when her pensioner sat beside
her in a soft white hat and a shawl, one of the dear woman's own.
This was his position and I dare say his costume when on an
afternoon in July she went to return Miss Anvoy's visit. The wheel
of fate had now revolved, and amid silences deep and exhaustive,
compunctions and condonations alike unutterable, Saltram was
reinstated. Was it in pride or in penance that Mrs. Mulville had
begun immediately to drive him about? If he was ashamed of his
ingratitude she might have been ashamed of her forgiveness; but she
was incorrigibly capable of liking him to be conspicuous in the
landau while she was in shops or with her acquaintance. However,
if he was in the pillory for twenty minutes in the Regent's Park--I
mean at Lady Coxon's door while his companion paid her call--it
wasn't to the further humiliation of any one concerned that she
presently came out for him in person, not even to show either of
them what a fool she was that she drew him in to be introduced to
the bright young American. Her account of the introduction I had
in its order, but before that, very late in the season, under
Gravener's auspices, I met Miss Anvoy at tea at the House of
Commons. The member for Clockborough had gathered a group of
pretty ladies, and the Mulvilles were not of the party. On the
great terrace, as I strolled off with her a little, the guest of
honour immediately exclaimed to me: "I've seen him, you know--I've
seen him!" She told me about Saltram's call.

"And how did you find him?"

"Oh so strange!"

"You didn't like him?"

"I can't tell till I see him again."

"You want to do that?"

She had a pause. "Immensely."

We went no further; I fancied she had become aware Gravener was
looking at us. She turned back toward the knot of the others, and
I said: "Dislike him as much as you will--I see you're bitten."

"Bitten?" I thought she coloured a little.

"Oh it doesn't matter!" I laughed; "one doesn't die of it."

"I hope I shan't die of anything before I've seen more of Mrs.
Mulville." I rejoiced with her over plain Adelaide, whom she
pronounced the loveliest woman she had met in England; but before
we separated I remarked to her that it was an act of mere humanity
to warn her that if she should see more of Frank Saltram--which
would be likely to follow on any