Silverbeach Manor Read Free

physicians tell me. But I used
to paint once." Mrs. Adair sighs a little, perhaps in memory of
long-past struggling days, when she knew all the rapture and
anxieties of an art career before she chose the luxury offered by a
loveless marriage with an elderly, wealthy man who lifted her
beyond the reach of want, and clad her in "purple and fine linen."
Somehow, from that time her artistic power began to wane.
    Mrs. Adair is
a widow now, with far more money than she can spend on her own ease
and enjoyment, but from the hour she turned her back on Truth, and
promised her love to one who had not in the remotest degree reached
her heart, she lost the capacity of an artist in its highest, best,
and most glorious degree. Still, as she says, her "tastes lie that
way," and her beautiful riverside mansion, Silverbeach Manor, far
away from here in the County of Surrey is the resort of artists,
both amateur and professional.
    Pansy tells
the story of the elopement of her mother, an officer's daughter,
with her father, who was her music teacher.
    "Of course it
was a marriage considered by many to be much beneath my mother's
family," she says. "Grandfather cast her off, being related himself
to the nobility."
    After the
death of Pansy's parents, Aunt Temperance Piper had wholly provided
for Pansy, planning for her, trying ineffectually to save money for
her, dreaming of her, adoring her, counting the pretty, clever
child as the apple of her eye. Polesheaton people could relate
considerably more than Pansy now tells Mrs. Adair, who forms the
opinion that it is rather a pity for such an attractive-looking
girl to be hidden away in a remote country post office. She is
amused to see Pansy's cheeks flush and her eyes brighten to hear of
London and London gaieties.
    Mrs.
Adair is entrancing the girl by an account of the occasion when she
was presented at Court, and in imagination Pansy is sailing up to
her Majesty Queen Victoria in a low-necked dress and feathers, and
a brocaded train (a full account of which would, of course, appear
in The Polesheaton Herald, to the dismay
and envy of the Sotham girls from the farm), when a face peers
through the open garden door, catches sight of a glimpse of Pansy's
dress amid the trees, and Deb rushes excitedly into the
garden.
    "There, Miss
Pansy, if the girl at the baker's didn't say she saw you come in
here! But I couldn't never believe it!"
    "Go away,
Deborah!" says Pansy with forced dignity, adding in a low voice,
"Please excuse her, your ladyship. She is only a common girl we
took out of the workhouse -- a girl who does not belong to anybody.
Who gave you permission to come into the lady's garden, Deborah?
"
    "Nobody
didn't, Miss Pansy, but mistress is out, and there's a party came
after Spanish onions, and mistress didn't tell me nothing about
them. What is Spanish onions a pound, please, Miss Pansy? "
    Deb takes no
notice of the fair, frizzled hair, the dainty bonnet, or the
magnificent cloak. Her whole soul is engrossed in the necessity of
obtaining the price of the onions for her mistress.
    "I know
nothing about it -- go away directly," says Pansy, haughtily.
    "Anyways, I
can book them onions," cries Deb, a happy thought suddenly striking
her, as she runs off to debit the customer with the purchase.
    "What a
little barbarian!" says Mrs. Adair. " A
workhouse child must be hopeless material as regards uplifting. But
here comes Robson to take me in. You will lunch with me, of course?
Pray do, for I am all alone today, and shall be miserably
dull."
    Pansy detects
no selfishness in the invitation. It is market day, and Miss Piper
will not be home for some time. As a rule, Pansy would dine off
mince and suet pudding in company with Deb. Her heart thrills
within her as she follows the Bath chair to the thick, dark yew
hedge near the old entrance hall, and passes beneath the portals
whence bygone Tatlocks issued to marriage, ball, and rout -- ay,
and to more than these; but Pansy's excited thoughts can