Nevertheless in defiance of the poet's wrathful concern for undefiled
refinement there were some quiet, melancholy strolls to and fro in the
great avenue of chestnuts leading to the park-gate, during which Mrs. de
Barral came to call Miss Anthony 'my dear'--and even 'my poor dear.' The
lonely soul had no one to talk to but that not very happy girl. The
governess despised her. The housekeeper was distant in her manner.
Moreover Mrs. de Barral was no foolish gossiping woman. But she made
some confidences to Miss Anthony. Such wealth was a terrific thing to
have thrust upon one she affirmed. Once she went so far as to confess
that she was dying with anxiety. Mr. de Barral (so she referred to him)
had been an excellent husband and an exemplary father but "you see my
dear I have had a great experience of him. I am sure he won't know what
to do with all that money people are giving to him to take care of for
them. He's as likely as not to do something rash. When he comes here I
must have a good long serious talk with him, like the talks we often used
to have together in the good old times of our life.
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