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diff --git a/28463-h/28463-h.htm b/28463-h/28463-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fb61c91 --- /dev/null +++ b/28463-h/28463-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,19104 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Not Like Other Girls, by Rosa N. Carey. +</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.2em;} + hr.p30 {border:none;border-bottom:1px solid black;margin:5px auto;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center;} + p.tp {font-size:1em; margin-top:0em; margin-bottom:0em; text-align:center;} + .caption {font-size:.8em;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.4em;} +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Not Like Other Girls, by Rosa N. Carey + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Not Like Other Girls + +Author: Rosa N. Carey + +Release Date: March 31, 2009 [EBook #28463] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p class='tp' style='font-size:2em; margin-top:.4em; margin-bottom:4em;'>Not Like Other Girls</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;'>BY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em; margin-bottom:0.5em;'>ROSA N. CAREY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em; margin-bottom:0.5em;'>AUTHOR OF</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em; margin-bottom:8em;'> +“Aunt Diana,” “Averil,” “Lover or Friend,” “Merle’s Crusade,”<br /> +“Esther,” “Mary St. John,” “Queenie’s Whim,”<br />“We Wifie,” Etc., Etc.</p> +<p class='tp'>CHICAGO</p> +<p class='tp'>M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:2em;'>407-429 Dearborn Street</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/nlog-emb.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 176px; height: 74px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><span style='font-size:small;'>CHAPTER</span></td> + <td></td> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small;'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Five-o’clock Tea.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_I_FIVEOCLOCK_TEA'>7</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Dick objects to the Mountains.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_II_DICK_OBJECTS_TO_THE_MOUNTAINS'>14</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Mr. Mayne makes Himself Disagreeable.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_III_MR_MAYNE_MAKES_HIMSELF_DISAGREEABLE'>22</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Dick’s Fête.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IV_DICKS_FTE'>28</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“I am Quite Sure of Him.”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_V_I_AM_QUITE_SURE_OF_HIM'>35</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Mr. Trinder’s Visit.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VI_MR_TRINDERS_VISIT'>41</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Phillis’s Catechism.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VII_PHILLISS_CATECHISM'>48</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“We should have to carry Parcels.”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VIII_WE_SHOULD_HAVE_TO_CARRY_PARCELS'>55</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Long Day.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IX_A_LONG_DAY'>62</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>X.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Friary.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_X_THE_FRIARY'>68</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“Tell us all about it, Nan.”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XI_TELL_US_ALL_ABOUT_IT_NAN'>77</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“Laddie” puts in an Appearance.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XII_LADDIE_PUTS_IN_AN_APPEARANCE'>85</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“I must have Grace.”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIII_I_MUST_HAVE_GRACE'>91</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“You can dare to tell me These Things.”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIV_YOU_CAN_DARE_TO_TELL_ME_THESE_THINGS'>99</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Van in the Braidwood Road.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XV_A_VAN_IN_THE_BRAIDWOOD_ROAD'>108</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Visit to the White House.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVI_A_VISIT_TO_THE_WHITE_HOUSE'>118</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“A Friend in Need.”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVII_A_FRIEND_IN_NEED'>124</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Dorothy brings in the Best China.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVIII_DOROTHY_BRINGS_IN_THE_BEST_CHINA'>132</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Archie is in a Bad Humor.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIX_ARCHIE_IS_IN_A_BAD_HUMOR'>139</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“You are Romantic.”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XX_YOU_ARE_ROMANTIC'>147</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Breaking the Peace.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXI_BREAKING_THE_PEACE'>154</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“Trimmings, not Squails.”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXII_TRIMMINGS_NOT_SQUAILS'>162</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“Bravo, Atalanta!”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXIII_BRAVO_ATALANTA'>167</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Mothers are Mothers.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXIV_MOTHERS_ARE_MOTHERS'>174</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Mattie’s New Dress.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXV_MATTIES_NEW_DRESS'>181</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXVI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“Oh, You are Proud!”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXVI_OH_YOU_ARE_PROUD'>189</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXVII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Dark Hour.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXVII_A_DARK_HOUR'>196</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXVIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Mysterious Stranger.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXVIII_THE_MYSTERIOUS_STRANGER'>202</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXIX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Mrs. Williams’s Lodger.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXIX_MRS_WILLIAMSS_LODGER'>210</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“Now we understand Each Other.”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXX_NOW_WE_UNDERSTAND_EACH_OTHER'>219</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Dick thinks of the City.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXXI_DICK_THINKS_OF_THE_CITY'>226</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“Dick is to be our Real Brother.”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXXII_DICK_IS_TO_BE_OUR_REAL_BROTHER'>232</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“This is Life and Death to Me.”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXXIII_THIS_IS_LIFE_AND_DEATH_TO_ME'>240</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Miss Mewlstone has an Interruption.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXXIV_MISS_MEWLSTONE_HAS_AN_INTERRUPTION'>248</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“Barby, don’t You recollect Me?”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXXV_BARBY_DONT_YOU_RECOLLECT_ME'>255</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXVI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Motes in the Sunshine.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXXVI_MOTES_IN_THE_SUNSHINE'>262</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXVII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“A Man has a Right to His Own Thoughts.”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXXVII_A_MAN_HAS_A_RIGHT_TO_HIS_OWN_THOUGHTS'>268</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXVIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>About Nothing Particular.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXXVIII_ABOUT_NOTHING_PARTICULAR'>277</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXIX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“How do you do, Aunt Catherine?”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXXIX_HOW_DO_YOU_DO_AUNT_CATHERINE'>283</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XL.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Alcides.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XL_ALCIDES'>292</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XLI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Sir Harry Bides his Time.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XLI_SIR_HARRY_BIDES_HIS_TIME'>299</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XLII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“Come, now, I call that Hard.”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XLII_COME_NOW_I_CALL_THAT_HARD'>307</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XLIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“I will write no such Letter.”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XLIII_I_WILL_WRITE_NO_SUCH_LETTER'>315</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XLIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Mr. Mayne orders a Basin of Gruel.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XLIV_MR_MAYNE_ORDERS_A_BASIN_OF_GRUEL'>321</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XLV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>An Uninvited Guest.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XLV_AN_UNINVITED_GUEST'>328</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XLVI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A New Invasion of the Goths.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XLVI_A_NEW_INVASION_OF_THE_GOTHS'>336</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XLVII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“It was so Good of You to ask me Here.”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XLVII_IT_WAS_SO_GOOD_OF_YOU_TO_ASK_ME_HERE'>343</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XLVIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Mrs. Sparsit’s Poodle.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XLVIII_MRS_SPARSITS_POODLE'>349</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XLIX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Mattie in a New Character.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XLIX_MATTIE_IN_A_NEW_CHARACTER'>356</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>L.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Phillis’s Favorite Month.</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_L_PHILLISS_FAVORITE_MONTH'>362</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2>NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS</h2> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_I_FIVEOCLOCK_TEA' id='CHAPTER_I_FIVEOCLOCK_TEA'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> +<h3>FIVE-O’CLOCK TEA.</h3> +</div> +<p>Five-o’clock tea was a great institution in Oldfield.</p> +<p>It was a form of refreshment to which the female inhabitants +of that delightful place were strongly addicted. In vain did +Dr. Weatherby, the great authority in all that concerned the +health of the neighborhood, lift up his voice against the mild +feminine dram-drinking of these modern days, denouncing it in +no measured terms: the ladies of Oldfield listened incredulously, +and, softly quoting Cowper’s lines as to the “cup that cheers +and not inebriates,” still presided over their dainty little tea-tables, +and vied with one another in the beauty of their china +and the flavor of their highly-scented Pekoe.</p> +<p>In spite of Dr. Weatherby’s sneers and innuendoes, a great +deal of valuable time was spent in lingering in one or another +of the pleasant drawing-rooms of the place. As the magic hour +approached, people dropped in casually. The elder ladies sipped +their tea and gossiped softly; the younger ones, if it were +summer-time, strolled out through the open windows into the +garden. Most of the houses had tennis-grounds, and it was +quite an understood thing that a game should be played before +they separated.</p> +<p>With some few exceptions, the inhabitants of Oldfield were +wealthy people. Handsome houses standing in their own +grounds were dotted here and there among the lanes and country +roads. Some of the big houses belonged to very big people +indeed; but these were aristocrats who only lived in their country +houses a few months in the year, and whose presence added +more to the dignity than to the hilarity of the neighborhood.</p> +<p>With these exceptions, the Oldfield people were highly +gregarious and hospitable; in spite of a few peculiarities, they +had their good points; a great deal of gossip prevailed, but it +was in the main harmless and good-natured. There was a +wonderful simplicity of dress, too, which in these days might +be termed a cardinal virtue. The girls wore their fresh cambrics +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +and plain straw hats: no one seemed to think it necessary to +put on smart clothing when they wished to visit their friends. +People said this Arcadian simplicity was just as studied: nevertheless, +it showed perfection of taste and a just appreciation of +things.</p> +<p>The house that was considered the most attractive in Oldfield, +and where, on summer afternoons, the sound of youthful voices +and laughter were the loudest, was Glen Cottage, a small white +house adjoining the long village street, belonging to a certain +Mrs. Challoner, who lived here with her three daughters.</p> +<p>This may be accounted strange in the first instance, since the +Challoners were people of the most limited income,—an income +so small that nothing but the most modest of entertainments +could be furnished to their friends; very different from their +neighbors at Longmead, the large white house adjoining, where +sumptuous dinners and regular evening parties were given in the +dark days when pleasures were few and tennis impossible.</p> +<p>People said it was very good-natured of the Maynes; but then +when there is an only child in the case, an honest, pleasure-loving, +gay young fellow, on whom his parents dote, what is it +they will not do to please their own flesh and blood? and, as +young Richard Mayne—or Dick, as he was always called—loved +all such festive gatherings, Mrs. Mayne loved them too; and +her husband tried to persuade himself that his tastes lay in the +same direction, only reserving certain groans for private use, +that Dick could not be happy without a houseful of young +people.</p> +<p>But no such entertainments were possible at Glen Cottage: +nevertheless, the youth of the neighborhood flocked eagerly into +the pleasant drawing-room where Mrs. Challoner sat tranquilly +summer and winter to welcome her friends, or betook themselves +through the open French windows into the old-fashioned garden, +in which mother and daughters took such pride.</p> +<p>On hot afternoons the tea-table was spread under an acacia-tree, +low wicker-chairs were brought out, and rugs spread on +the lawn, and Nan and her sisters dispensed strawberries and +cream, with the delicious home-made bread and butter; while +Mrs. Challoner sat among a few chosen spirits knitting and talking +in her pleasant low-toned voice, quite content that the burden +of responsibility should rest upon her daughters.</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner always smiled when people told her that she +ought to be proud of her girls. No daughters were ever so +much to their mother as hers; she simply lived in and for them; +she saw with their eyes, thought with their thoughts,—was +hardly herself at all, but Nan and Phillis and Dulce, each by +turns.</p> +<p>Long ago they had grown up to her growth. Mrs. Challoner’s +nature was hardly a self-sufficing one. During her husband’s +lifetime she had been braced by his influence and cheered by his +example, and had sought to guide her children according to his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +directions; in a word, his manly strength had so supported her +that no one, not even her shrewd young daughters, guessed at +the interior weakness.</p> +<p>When her stay was removed, Mrs. Challoner ceased to guide, +and came down to her children’s level. She was more like their +sister than their mother, people said; and yet no mother was +more cherished than she.</p> +<p>Her very weakness made her sacred in her daughters’ eyes; +her widowhood, and a certain failure of health, made her the +subject of their choicest care.</p> +<p>It could not be said that there was much amiss, but years +ago a doctor whom Mrs. Challoner had consulted had looked +grave, and mentioned the name of a disease of which certain +symptoms reminded him. There was no ground for present +apprehension; the whole thing was very shadowy and unsubstantial,—a +mere hint,—a question of care; nevertheless the +word had been said, and the mischief done.</p> +<p>From that time Mrs. Challoner was wont to speak gloomily +of her health, as of one doomed. She was by nature languid +and lymphatic, but now her languor increased; always averse +to effort, she now left all action to her daughters. It was they +who decided and regulated the affairs of their modest household, +and rarely were such wise young rulers to be found in girls of +their age. Mrs. Challoner merely acquiesced, for in Glen Cottage +there was seldom a dissentient voice, unless it were that of +Dorothy, who had been Dulce’s nurse, and took upon herself the +airs of an old servant who could not be replaced.</p> +<p>They were all pretty girls, the three Misses Challoner, but Nan +was <i>par excellence</i> the prettiest. No one could deny that fact +who saw them together. Her features were more regular than +her sisters’, and her color more transparent. She was tall +too, and her figure had a certain willowy grace that was most +uncommon; but what attracted people most was a frankness +and unconsciousness of manner that was perfectly charming.</p> +<p>Phillis, the second sister, was not absolutely pretty, perhaps, +but she was nice-looking, and there was something in her expression +that made people say she was clever; she could talk on +occasions with a fluency that was quite surprising, and that +would cast Nan into the shade. “If I were only as clever as +Phillis!” Nan would sigh.</p> +<p>Then there was Dulce, who was only just eighteen, and whom +her sisters treated as the family pet; who was light and small +and nimble in her movements, and looked even younger than +she really was.</p> +<p>Nobody ever noticed if Dulce were pretty; and one questioned +if her features were regular or not, or cared to do such a thing. +Only when she smiled, the prettiest dimple came into her cheek, +and her eyes had a fearless child-like look in them; for the rest, +she was just Dulce.</p> +<p>The good-looking daughters of a good-looking mother, as somebody +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +called them; and there was no denying Mrs. Challoner +was still wonderfully well preserved, and, in spite of her languor +and invalid airs, a very pretty woman.</p> +<p>Five-o’clock tea had long been over at the cottage this afternoon, +and a somewhat lengthy game of tennis had followed; +after which the visitors had dispersed as usual, and the girls had +come in to prepare for the half-past seven-o’clock dinner; for +Glen Cottage followed the fashion of its richer neighbors, and +set out its frugal meal with a proper accompaniment of flower-vases +and evening toilet.</p> +<p>The three sisters came up the lawn together, but Nan carried +her racquet a little languidly; she looked a trifle grave.</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner laid down her knitting and looked at them, +and then she regarded her watch plaintively.</p> +<p>“Is it late, mother?” asked Nan, who never missed any of +her mother’s movements. “Ten minutes past seven! No +wonder the afternoon seemed long.”</p> +<p>“No one found it long but Nan,” observed Dulce, with an +arch glance at her sister at which Nan slightly colored, but +took no further notice. “By the bye,” she continued, as though +struck by a sudden recollection, “what can have become of +Dick this afternoon? he so seldom fails us without telling us +beforehand.”</p> +<p>“That will soon be explained,” observed Phillis, oracularly, +as the gate-bell sounded, and was immediately followed by +sharp footsteps on the gravel and the unceremonious entrance +of a young man through the open window.</p> +<p>“Better late than never,” exclaimed two of the girls. Nan +said, “Why, what has made you play truant, Dick?” in a +slightly injured voice. But Mrs. Challoner merely smiled at +him, and said nothing; young men were her natural enemies, +and she knew it. She was civil to them and endured their +company, and that was all.</p> +<p>Dick Mayne was not a formidable-looking individual; he was +a strong, thick-set young fellow, with broad shoulders, not much +above middle height, and decidedly plain, except in his mother’s +eyes; and she thought even Dick’s sandy hair beautiful.</p> +<p>But in spite of his plainness he was a pleasant, well-bred young +fellow, with a fund of good humor and drollery, and a pair of +honest eyes that people learned to trust. Every one liked him, +and no one ever said a word in his dispraise; and for the rest, +he could tyrannize as royally as any other young man who is +his family’s sole blessing.</p> +<p>“It was all my ill luck,” grumbled Dick. “Trevanion of +Exeter came over to our place, and of course the mater pressed +him to stay for luncheon, and then nothing would do but a long +walk over Hillberry Downs.”</p> +<p>“Why did you not bring him here?” interrupted Dulce, with +a pout. “You tiresome Dick, when you must know what a +godsend a strange young man is in these wilds!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span></p> +<p>“My dear!” reproved her mother.</p> +<p>“Oh, but it is true, mamma,” persisted the outspoken Dulce. +“Think how pleased Carrie and Sophy Paine would have been +at the sight of a fresh face! it was horrid of you, sir!”</p> +<p>“I wanted him to come,” returned the young man, in a deprecating +voice. “I told him how awfully jolly it always is +here, and that he would be sure to meet a lot of nice people, but +there was no persuading him: he wanted a walk and a talk +about our fellows. That is the worst of Trevanion, he always +will have his own way.”</p> +<p>“Never mind,” returned Nan, pleasantly; she seemed to have +recovered her sprightliness all at once. “It is very good of you +to come so often; and we had Mr. Parker and his cousin to look +after the Paines.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes! we did very well,” observed Phillis, tranquilly. +“Mother, now Dick has come so late, he had better stay.”</p> +<p>“If I only may do so?” returned Dick; but his inquiry was +directed to Nan.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, you may stay,” she remarked, carelessly, as she +moved away; but there was a little pleased smile on her face +that he failed to see. She nodded pleasantly to him as he darted +forward to open the door. It was Nan who always dispensed +the hospitalities of the house, whose decision was unalterable. +Dick had learned what it was to be sent about his business; only +once had he dared to remain without her sovereign permission, +and on that occasion he had been treated by her with such dignified +politeness that he would rather have been sent to Coventry.</p> +<p>This evening the fates were propitious, and Dick understood +that the sceptre of favor was to be extended to him. When +the girls had flitted into the little dusky hall he closed the door, +and sat down happily bedside Mrs. Challoner, to whom he descanted +eloquently of the beauties of Hilberry and the virtues +of Ned Trevanion.</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner listened placidly as the knitting-needles flashed +between her long white fingers. She was very fond of Dick, +after her temperate fashion; she had known him from a child, +and had seen him grow up among them until he had become like +a son of the house. Dick, who had no brothers and sisters of his +own, and whose parents had not married until they were long +past youth, had adopted brotherly airs with the Challoner girls; +they called each other by their Christian names, and he reposed +in them the confidences that young men are wont to give to their +belongings.</p> +<p>With Nan this easy familiarity had of late merged into something +different: a reserve, a timidity, a subtile suspicion of +change had crept into their intimacy. Nan felt that Dick’s +manner had altered, but somehow she liked it better: his was +always a sweet bountiful nature, but now it seemed to have +deepened into greater manliness. Dick was growing older; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +Oxford training was polishing him. After each one of his brief +absences Nan saw a greater change, a more marked deference, +and secretly hoped that no one else noticed it. When the young +undergraduate wrote dutiful letters home the longest messages +were always for Nan; when he carried little offerings of flowers +to his young neighbors, Nan’s bouquet was always the choicest; +he distinguished her, too, on all occasions by those small nameless +attentions which never fail to please.</p> +<p>Nan kept her own counsel, and never spoke of these things. +She said openly that Dick was very nice and very much improved, +and that they always missed him sadly during the Oxford +terms; but she never breathed a syllable that might make people +suspect that this very ordinary young man with the sandy +hair was more to her than other young men. Nevertheless +Phillis and Dulce knew that such was the case, and Mrs. Challoner +understood that the most dangerous enemy to her peace +was this lively-spoken Dick.</p> +<p>Dick was very amusing, for he was an eloquent young fellow: +nevertheless Mrs. Challoner sighed more than once, and her attention +visibly wandered; seeing which, Dick good-humoredly +left off talking, and began inspecting the different articles in +Nan’s work-basket.</p> +<p>“I am afraid I have given your mother a headache,” he said +when they were sitting round the circular table in the low, +oddly-shaped dining-room. There was a corner cut off, and the +windows were in unexpected places, which made it unlike other +rooms; but Dick loved it better than the great dining-room at +Longmead; and somehow it never had looked cosier to him +than it did this evening. It was somewhat dark, owing to the +shade of the veranda: so the lamp was lighted, and the pleasant +scent of roses and lilies came through the open windows. A belated +wasp hovered round the specimen glasses that Nan had +filled; Dick tried to make havoc of the enemy with his table-napkin. +The girls’ white dresses suited their fresh young faces. +Nan had fastened a crimson rose in her gown; Phillis and Dulce +had knots of blue ribbon. “Trevanion does not know what he +lost by his obstinacy,” thought Dick, as he glanced round the +table.</p> +<p>“What were you and the mother discussing?” asked Dulce, +curiously.</p> +<p>“Dick was telling me about his friend. He seemed a very +superior young man,” returned Mrs. Challoner. “I suppose +you have asked him for your party next week?”</p> +<p>Dick turned very red at this question. “Mater asked him, +you may trust her for that. If it were not for father, I think +she would turn the whole house out of the windows: every day +some one fresh is invited.”</p> +<p>“How delightful! and all in your honor,” exclaimed Dulce, +mischievously.</p> +<p>“That spoils the whole thing,” grumbled the heir of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +Maynes: “it is a perfect shame that a fellow cannot come +of age quietly, without his people making this fuss. I begin to +think I was a fool for my pains to refuse the ball.”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed; just because you were afraid of the supper +speeches,” laughed Dulce, “when we all wanted it so.”</p> +<p>“New mind,” returned Dick, sturdily; “the mater shall +give us one in the winter, and we will have Godfrey’s band, and +I will get all our fellows to come.”</p> +<p>“That will be delightful,” observed Nan, and her eyes sparkled,—already +she saw herself led out for the first dance by the +son of the house,—but Dulce interrupted her:</p> +<p>“But all the same I wish Dick had not been so stupid about +it. No one knows what may happen before the winter. I hate +put-off things.”</p> +<p>“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,—eh, Miss +Dulce?”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed; that proverb is truer than people think,” she +replied, with a wise nod of her head. “Don’t you remember, +Nan, when the Parkers’ dance was put off, and then old Mr. +Parker died; and nearly the same thing happened with the +Normatons, only it was an uncle in that case.”</p> +<p>“Moral: never put off a dance, in case somebody dies.”</p> +<p>“Oh, hush, please!” groaned Nan, in a shocked voice; “I +don’t like to hear you talk about such dreadful things. After +all, it is such delicious weather that I am not sure a garden-party +will not be more enjoyable; and you know, Dulce, that +we are to dance on the lawn if we like.”</p> +<p>“And supposing it should rain,” put in that extremely +troublesome young person, at which suggestion Dick looked +very gloomy.</p> +<p>“In that case I think we must persuade Mrs. Mayne to clear +a room for us,” returned Nan, cheerfully. “If your mother +consults me,” she continued, addressing Dick, who visibly +brightened at this, “I shall recommend her to empty the front +drawing-room as much as possible. There is the grand piano, +or the band might come in-doors; there will be plenty of room +for the young people, and the non-dancers can be drafted off +into the inner drawing-room and conservatory.”</p> +<p>“What a head you have!” exclaimed Dick, admiringly; and +Phillis, who had not joined in the argument, was pleased to +observe that she was quite of Nan’s opinion: dancing was +imperative, and if the lawns were wet they must manage in-doors +somehow. “It would never do for people to be bored and +listless,” finished the young lady, sententiously, and such was +Phillis’s cleverness that it was understood at once that the oracle +had spoken; but then it was never known for Nan and Phillis +to differ.</p> +<p>Things being thus amicably arranged, the rest of the conversation +flowed evenly on every other point, such as the arrangements +of the tennis-matches in the large meadow, and the exact +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +position of the marquees; but just as they were leaving the +table Dick said another word to Nan in a somewhat low +voice:</p> +<p>“It is all very well, but this sort of thing does make a fellow +feel such a conceited fool.”</p> +<p>“If I were you I would not think about it at all,” she returned, +in her sensible way. “The neighborhood will expect something +of the kind, and we owe a little to other people; then it pleases +your mother to make a fuss, as you call it, and it would be too +ungrateful to disappoint her.”</p> +<p>“Well, perhaps you are right,” he returned, in a slightly +mollified tone, for he was a modest young fellow, and the whole +business had occasioned him some soreness of spirit. “Take it +all in all, one has an awful lot to go through in life: there are +the measles, you know, and whooping cough, and the dentist, +and one’s examination, and no end of unpleasant things; but to +be made by one’s own mother to feel like an idiot for a whole +afternoon! Never mind; it can be got through somehow,” +finished the young philosopher, with a sigh that sent Nan into +a fit of laughter.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_II_DICK_OBJECTS_TO_THE_MOUNTAINS' id='CHAPTER_II_DICK_OBJECTS_TO_THE_MOUNTAINS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> +<h3>DICK OBJECTS TO THE MOUNTAINS.</h3> +</div> +<p>“Shall we have our usual stroll?” asked Phillis, as Nan and +Dick joined her at the window.</p> +<p>This was one of the customs at Glen Cottage. When any +such fitting escort offered itself, the three girls would put on +their hats, and, regardless of the evening dews and their crisp +white dresses, would saunter, under Dick’s guidance through +the quiet village, or down and up the country roads “just for +a breath of air,” as they would say.</p> +<p>It is only fair to Mrs. Challoner’s views of propriety to say +that she would have trusted her three pretty daughters to no +other young man but Dick; and of late certain prudential +doubts had crossed her mind. It was all very well for Phillis +to say Dick was Dick, and there was an end of it. After all, he +belonged to the phalanx of her enemies, those shadowy invaders +of her hearth that threatened her maternal peace. Dick was +not a boy any longer; he had outgrown his hobbledehoy ways; +the slight sandy moustache that he so proudly caressed was not +a greater proof of his manhood than the undefinable change +that had passed over his manners.</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner began to distrust these evening strolls, and to +turn over in her own mind various wary pretexts for detaining +Nan on the next occasion. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span></p> +<p>“Just this once, perhaps, it does not matter,” she murmured +to herself, as she composed herself to her usual nap.</p> +<p>“We shall not be long, little mother; so you must not be +dull,” Dulce had said, kissing her lightly over her eyes. This +was just one of the pleasant fictions at the cottage,—one of those +graceful little deceptions that are so harmless in families.</p> +<p>Dulce knew of those placid after-dinner naps. She knew her +mother’s eyes would only unclose when Dorothy brought in the +tea-tray; but she was also conscious that nothing would displease +her mother more than to notice this habit. When they +lingered in-doors, and talked in whispers so as not to disturb +her, Mrs. Challoner had an extraordinary facility for striking +into the conversation in a way that was somewhat confusing.</p> +<p>“I don’t agree with you at all,” she would say, in a drowsy +voice. “Is it not time for Dorothy to bring in the tea? I wish +you would all talk louder. I must be getting a little deaf, I +think, for I don’t hear half you say.”</p> +<p>“Oh, it was only nonsense talk, mammie,” Dulce would answer; +and the sisterly chit-chat would recommence, and her +mother’s head nid-nodded on the cushions until the next interruption.</p> +<p>“We shall not have many more of these strolls,” observed +Dick, regretfully, as they all walked together through the village, +and then branched off into a long country road, where the +air blew freshly in their faces and low mists hung over the +meadow land. Though it was not quite dark, there was a +tiny moon, and the glimmer of a star or two; and there was +a pleasant fragrance as of new-mown grass.</p> +<p>They were all walking abreast, and keeping step, and Dick +was in the middle, with Nan beside him. Dulce was hanging +on to her arm, and every now and then breaking into little +snatches of song.</p> +<p>“How I envy you!” exclaimed Phillis. “Think of spending +three whole months in Switzerland. Oh, you lucky Dick!”</p> +<p>For the Maynes had decided to pass the long vacation in the +Engadine. Some hints had been dropped that Nan should accompany +them, but Mrs. Challoner had regarded the invitation +with some disfavor, and Mrs. Mayne had not pressed the point. +If only Nan had known! but her mother had in this matter +kept her own counsel.</p> +<p>“I don’t know about that,” dissented Dick; he was rather +given to argue from the mere pleasure of opposition. “Mountains +and glaciers are all very well in their way; but I think, +on the whole, I would as soon be here. You see, I am so accustomed +to mix with a lot of fellows, that I am afraid of finding +the pater’s sole company rather slow.”</p> +<p>“For shame!” remarked his usual monitress. But she spoke +gently: in her heart she knew why Dick failed to find the +mountains alluring.</p> +<p>“Why could not one of you girls join us?” he continued, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +wrathfully. The rogue had fairly bullied the unwilling Mrs. +Mayne into giving that invitation.</p> +<p>“Do ask her, mother; she will be such a nice companion +for you when the pater and I are doing our climbing; do, there’s +a dear good soul!” he had coaxed. And the dear good soul, +who was secretly jealous of Nan, and loved her about as much +as mothers usually love an only son’s choice, had bewailed her +hard fate in secret; and had then stepped over to the cottage +with a bland and cheerful exterior, which grew more cheerful +as Mrs. Challoner’s reluctance made itself felt.</p> +<p>“It is not wise; it will throw them so much together,” Nan’s +mother had said. “If it were only Phillis or Dulce; but you +must have noticed––”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I have noticed!” returned Mrs. Mayne, hastily. +She was a stout, comely-looking woman, but beside Mrs. Challoner +she looked like a housekeeper dressed in her mistress’s +smart clothes. Mrs. Mayne’s dresses never seemed to belong to +her; it could not be said that they fitted her ill, but there was +a want of adaptability,—a lack of taste that failed to accord +with her florid style of beauty.</p> +<p>She had been a handsome woman when Richard Mayne married +her, but a certain deepening of tints and broadening of contour +had not improved the mistress of Longmead. Her husband +was a decided contrast: he was a small, wiry man, with sharp +features that expressed a great deal of shrewdness. Dick had +got his sandy hair; but Richard Mayne the elder had not his +son’s honest, kindly eyes. Mr. Mayne’s were small and twinkling; +he had a way of looking at people between his half-closed +lids, in a manner half sharp and half jocular.</p> +<p>He was not vulgar, far from it; but he had a homely air about +him that spoke of the self-made man. He was rather fond of telling +people that his father had been in trade in a small way and +that he himself had been the sole architect of his fortune. +“Look at Dick,” he would say; “he would never have a penny, +that fellow, unless I made it for him: he has come into the +world to find his bread ready buttered. I had to be content +with a crust as I could earn it. The lad’s a cut above us both, +though he has the good taste to try and hide it.”</p> +<p>This sagacious speech was very true. Dick would never +have succeeded as a business man; he was too full of crotchets +and speculations to be content to run in narrow grooves. The +notion of money-making was abhorrent to him; the idea of a +city life, with its hard rubs and drudgery, was utterly distasteful +to him. “One would have to mix with such a lot of cads,” +he would say. “English, pure and undefiled, is not always +spoken. If I must work, I would rather have a turn at law or +divinity; the three old women with the eye between them knows +which.”</p> +<p>It could not be denied that Dick winced a little at his father’s +homely speeches; but in his heart he was both proud and fond +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +of him, and was given to assert to a few of his closest friends +“that, take it all in all, and looking at other fellows’ fathers, he +was a rattling good sort, and no mistake.”</p> +<p>When Mrs. Challoner had entered her little protest against +her daughter’s acceptance of the invitation, Mrs. Mayne had +risen and kissed her with some effusion as she took her leave.</p> +<p>“It is so nice of you to say this to me; of course I should have +been pleased, delighted to have had Nan with us” (oh, Mrs. +Mayne, fie for shame! when you want your boy to yourself), +“but all the same I think you are so wise.”</p> +<p>“Poor child! I am afraid I am refusing her a great treat,” +returned Mrs. Challoner, in a tone of regret. It was the first +time since her husband’s death that she had ever decided anything +without reference to her daughters; but for once her maternal +fears were up in arms, and drove her to sudden resolution.</p> +<p>“Yes, but, as you observed, it would throw them so entirely +together; and Dick is so young. Richard was only saying the +other night that he hoped the boy would not fancy himself in +love for the next two years, as he did not approve of such early +engagements.”</p> +<p>“Neither do I,” returned Mrs. Challoner, quickly. “Nothing +would annoy me more than for one of my daughters to +entangle herself with so young a man. We know the world too +well for that, Mrs. Mayne. Why, Dick may fall in and out of +love half a dozen times before he really makes up his mind.”</p> +<p>“Ah, that is what Richard says,” returned Dick’s mother, +with a sigh; in her heart she was not quite of her husband’s +opinion. She remembered how that long waiting wasted her +own youth,—waiting for what? For comforts that she would +gladly have done without,—for a well-furnished house, when +she would have lived happily in the poorest lodging with the +Richard Mayne who had won her heart,—for whom she would +have toiled and slaved with the self-abnegating devotion of a +loving woman; only he feared to have it so.</p> +<p>“‘When poverty enters the door, love flies out of the window:’ +we had better make up our minds to wait, Bessie. I can +better work in single than double harness just now.” That was +what he said to her, and Bessie waited,—not till she grew thin, +but stout, and the spirit of her youth was gone; and it was +a sober, middle-aged woman who took possession of the long-expected +home.</p> +<p>Mrs. Mayne loved her husband, but during that tedious engagement +her ardor had a little cooled, and it may be doubted +whether the younger Richard was not dearer to her than his +father; which was ungrateful, to say the least of it, as Mr. +Mayne doted on his comely wife, and thought Bessie as handsome +now as in the days when she came out smiling to welcome +him, a slim young creature with youthful roses in her cheeks.</p> +<p>From this brief conversation it may be seen that none of the +elders quite approved of this budding affection. Mrs. Challoner, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +who belonged to a good old family, found it hard to forgive the +Maynes’ lowliness of birth; and though she liked Dick, she +thought Nan could do better for herself. Mr. Mayne pooh-poohed +the whole thing so entirely that the women could only +speak of it among themselves.</p> +<p>“Dick is a clever fellow; he ought to marry money,” he would +say. “I am not a millionaire, and a little more would be acceptable;” +and though he was always kind to Nan and her sisters, he +was forever dealing sly hits at her. “Phillis has the brains of the +family,” he would say: “that is the girl for my money. I call +her a vast deal better looking than Nan, though people make +such a fuss about the other one;” a speech he was never tired +of repeating in his son’s presence, and at which Dick snapped his +fingers metaphorically and said nothing.</p> +<p>When Dick wished that one of them were going to Switzerland, +Nan sighed furtively. Dick was going away for three +months, for the remainder of the long vacation. After next +week they would not see him until Christmas,—nearly six +months. A sense of dreariness, as new as it was strange, swept +momentarily over Nan as she pondered this. The summer +months would be grievously clouded. Dick had been the moving +spirit of all the fun; the tennis-parties, the pleasant dawdling +afternoons, would lose their zest when he was away.</p> +<p>She remembered how persistently he had haunted their footsteps. +When they paid visits to the Manor House, or Gardenhurst, +or Fitzroy Lodge, Dick was sure to put in an appearance. +People had nicknamed him the “Challoners’ Squire;” but now +Nan must go squireless for the rest of the summer, unless she +took compassion on Stanley Parker, or that dreadful chatterbox +his cousin.</p> +<p>The male population was somewhat sparse at Oldfield. There +were a few Eton boys, and one or two in that delightful transition +age when youth is most bashful and uninteresting,—a sort +of unfledged manhood, when the smooth boyish cheek contradicts +the deepened bass of the voice,—an age that has not +ceased to blush, and which is full of aggravating idosyncrasies +and unexpected angles.</p> +<p>To be sure, Lord Fitzroy was a splendid specimen of a young +guardsman, but he had lately taken to himself a wife; and Sir +Alfred Mostyn, who was also somewhat attractive and a very +pleasant fellow, and unattached at present, had a tiresome habit +of rushing off to Norway, or St. Petersburg, or Niagara, or the +Rocky Mountains, for what he termed sport, or a lark.</p> +<p>“It seems we are very stupid this evening,” observed Phillis +for Dick had waxed almost as silent as Nan. “I think the +mother must nearly have finished her nap, so I propose we go +back and have some tea;” and, as Nan languidly acquiesced +they turned their faces towards the village again, Dulce still +holding firmly to Nan’s arm. By and by Dick struck out in a +fresh direction. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span></p> +<p>“I say, don’t you wish we could have last week over +again?”</p> +<p>“Yes! oh, yes! was it not too delicious?” from the three +girls; and Nan added, “I never enjoyed anything so much in +my life,” in a tone so fervent that Dick was delighted.</p> +<p>“What a brick your mother was, to be sure, to spare you +all!”</p> +<p>“Yes; and she was so dull, poor dear, all the time we were +away. Dorothy gave us quite a pitiful account when we got +home.”</p> +<p>“It was a treat one ought to remember all one’s life,” observed +Phillis, quite solemnly; and then ensued a most animated +discussion.</p> +<p>The treat to which Phillis alluded had been simply perfect in +the three girls’ eyes. Dick, who never forgot his friends, had so +worked upon his mother that she had consented to chaperon the +three sisters during Commemoration; and a consent being +fairly coaxed out of Mrs. Challoner, the plan was put into +execution.</p> +<p>Dick, who was in the seventh heaven of delight, found roomy +lodgings in the High Street, in which he installed his enraptured +guests.</p> +<p>The five days that followed were simply hours snatched out of +fairyland to these four happy young creatures. No wonder +envious looks were cast at Dick as he walked in Christ Church +Meadows with Nan and Dulce, Phillis bringing up the rear +somewhat soberly with Mrs. Mayne.</p> +<p>“One pretty face would content most fellows,” his friends +grumbled; “but when you come to three, and not his own +sisters either, why, it isn’t fair on other folk.” And to Dick +they said, “Come, it is no use being so awfully close. Of course +we see what’s up: you are a lucky dog. Which is it, Mayne?—the +pretty one with the pink and white complexion or the +quiet one in gray, or the one with the mischievous eyes?”</p> +<p>“Faix, they are all darlints and jewels, bless their purty +faces!” drawled one young rogue, in his favorite brogue. +“Here’s the top of the morning to ye, Mayne; and it is mavourneen +with the brown eyes and the trick of the smile like the +sunshine’s glint that has stolen poor Paddy’s heart.”</p> +<p>“Oh, shut up, you fellows!” returned Dick, in a disgusted +voice. “What is the good of your pretending to be Irish, +Hamilton, when you are a canny Scotchman?”</p> +<p>“Hoots, man, mind your clavers! You need not grizzle at +a creature because he admires a wee gairl that is just beyond +the lave,—a sonsie wee thing with a glint in her een like diamonds.”</p> +<p>“Hamilton, will you leave off this foolery?”</p> +<p>“Nae doubt, nae doubt; would his honor pe axing if he pe +wrang in the head, puir thing? Never mind that, put pe giving +me the skene-dhu, or I will fight with proud-swords like a gentleman +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +for the bit lassie;” but here a wary movement on Dick’s +part extinguished the torrent of Highland eloquence, and +brought the canny Scotchman to the ground.</p> +<p>Perfectly oblivious of all these compliments, the Challoners +enjoyed themselves with the zest of healthy, happy English +girls. They were simply indefatigable: poor Mrs. Mayne succumbed +utterly before the fine days were over.</p> +<p>They saw the procession of boats; they were at the flower-show +at Worcester; Sunday afternoon found them in the Broad +Walk; and the next night they were dancing at the University +ball.</p> +<p>They raved about the beauty of Magdalen cloisters; they +looked down admiringly into the deer-park; Addison’s Walk +became known to them, and the gardens of St. John’s. Phillis +talked learnedly about Cardinal Wolsey as she stood in Christ +Church hall: and in the theatre “the young ladies in pink” +invoked the most continuous cheers.</p> +<p>“Can they mean us?” whispered Dulce, rather alarmed, +to their faithful escort Dick. “I don’t see any other pink +dresses!”</p> +<p>And Dick said, calmly,—</p> +<p>“Well, I suppose so. Some of those fellows up there are such +a trumpery lot.”</p> +<p>So Dulce grew more reassured.</p> +<p>But the greatest fun of all was the afternoon spent in Dick’s +room, when all his special friends were bidden to five o’clock tea, +over which Nan, in her white gown, presided so gracefully.</p> +<p>What a dear, shabby old room it was, with old-fashioned window-seats, +where one could look down into the quadrangle. +Dick was an Oriel man, and thought his college superior even +to Magdalen.</p> +<p>It became almost too hot and crowded at last, so many were +the invitations given; but then, as Dick said afterwards, “he +was such a soft-hearted beggar that he could not refuse the fellows +that pestered him for invitations.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Mayne, looking very proud and happy, sat fanning herself +in one of these windows. Phillis and Dulce were in the +other attended by that rogue Hamilton and half a dozen more. +Nan was the centre of another clique, who hemmed her and the +tea-table in so closely that Dick had to wander disconsolately +round the outskirts: there was no getting a look from Nan that +afternoon.</p> +<p>How hot it was! It was a grand <i>coup</i> when the door opened +and the scout made his appearance carrying a tray of ices.</p> +<p>“It is well to be Mayne!” half grumbled young Hamilton, +as Dulce took one gratefully from his hand. “He is treating +us like a prince, instead of the thin bread-and-butter entertainment +he led us to expect. Put down that tea, Miss Challoner. +I see iced claret-cup and strawberries in the corner. There is +nothing like being an only child; doting parents are extremely +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +useful articles. I am one of ten; would you believe it?” continued +the garrulous youth. “When one has six brothers older +than one’s self, I will leave you to imagine the consequences.”</p> +<p>“How nice!” returned Dulce, innocently; “I have always +so longed for a brother. If it had not been for Dick, we should +have had no one to do things for us.”</p> +<p>“Oh, indeed! Mayne is a sort of adopted brother!” observed +her companion, looking at her rather sharply.</p> +<p>“We have always looked upon him as one. We do just as we +like with him,—scold and tease him, and send him on our errands;” +which intelligence fairly convinced the envious Hamilton +that the youngest Miss Challoner was not his friend’s fancy.</p> +<p>Dick always recalled that evening with a sense of pride. +How well and gracefully Nan had fulfilled her duties! how +pretty she had looked, in spite of her flushed cheeks! He had +never seen a girl to compare with her,—not he!</p> +<p>They were so full of these delightful reminiscences that they +were at the cottage gate before they knew it; and then Dick +astonished them by refusing to come in. He had quite forgotten, +he said, but his mother had asked him to come home early, as +she was not feeling just the thing.</p> +<p>“Quite right; you must do as she wishes,” returned Nan, +dismissing him far too readily, as he thought; but she said +“Good-night!” with so kind a smile after that, that the foolish +young fellow felt his pulses quicken.</p> +<p>Dick lingered at the corner until the cottage door was closed, +and then he raced down the Longmead shrubbery and set the +house-bell pealing.</p> +<p>“They are in the library, I suppose?” he asked of the butler +who admitted him; and, on receiving an answer in the affirmative, +he dashed unceremoniously into the room, while his +mother held up her finger and smiled at the truant.</p> +<p>“You naughty boy, to be so late; and now you have spoiled +you father’s nap!” she said, pretending to scold him.</p> +<p>“Tut! tut! what nonsense you talk sometimes!” said Mr. +Mayne, rather crossly, as he stood on the hearth-rug rubbing his +eyes. “I was not asleep, I will take my oath of that; only I +wish Dick could sometimes enter a room without making people +jump;” by which Dick knew that his father was in one of his +contrary moods, when he could be very cross,—very cross indeed!</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_III_MR_MAYNE_MAKES_HIMSELF_DISAGREEABLE' id='CHAPTER_III_MR_MAYNE_MAKES_HIMSELF_DISAGREEABLE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> +<h3>MR. MAYNE MAKES HIMSELF DISAGREEABLE.</h3> +</div> +<p>The library at Longmead was a very pleasant room, and it was +the custom of the family to retire thither on occasions when +guests were not forthcoming, and Mr. Mayne could indulge in +his favorite nap without fear of interruption.</p> +<p>A certain simplicity, not to say homeliness, of manners prevailed +in the house. It was understood among them that the dining-room +was far too gorgeous for anything but occasions of +ceremony. Mrs. Mayne, indeed, had had the good taste to cover +the satin couches with pretty, fresh-looking cretonne, and had +had arranged hanging cupboards of old china until it had been +transformed into a charming apartment, notwithstanding which +the library was declared to be the family-room, where the usual +masculine assortment of litter could be regarded with indulgent +eyes, and where papers and pamphlets lay in delightful confusion.</p> +<p>Longmead was not a pretentious house—it was a moderate-sized +residence, adapted to a gentleman of moderate means; but in +summer no place could be more charming. The broad gravel +walk before the house had a background of roses; hundreds +of roses climbed up the railings or twined themselves about the +steps: a tiny miniature lake, garnished with water-lilies, lay in +the centre of the lawn; a group of old elm-trees was beside it; +behind the house lay another lawn, and beyond were meadows +where a few sheep were quietly grazing. Mr. Mayne, who +found time hang a little heavily on his hands, prided himself a +good deal on his poultry-yard and kitchen-garden. A great deal +of his spare time was spent among his favorite Bantams and +Dorkings, and in superintending his opinionated old gardener—on +summer mornings he would be out among the dews in his +old coat and planter’s hat, weeding among the gooseberry-bushes.</p> +<p>“It is the early bird that finds the worm,” he would say, +when Dick sauntered into the breakfast-room later on; for, in +common with the youth of his generation, he had a wholesome +horror of early rising, which he averred was one of the barbarous +usages of the dark ages in which his elders had been bred.</p> +<p>“I never took any interest in worms, sir,” returned Dick, +helping himself to a tempting rasher that had just been brought +in hot for the pampered youth. “By the bye, have you seen +Darwin’s work on ‘The Formation of Vegetable Mould’? he +declares that worms have played a more important part in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +history of the world than most people would at first suppose: +they were our earliest ploughmen.”</p> +<p>“Oh, ah! indeed, very interesting!” observed his father, +dryly; “but all the same, I beg to observe, no one succeeded in +life who was not an early riser.”</p> +<p>“A sweeping assertion, and one I might be tempted to argue, +if it were not for taking up your valuable time,” retorted Dick, +lazily, but with a twinkle in his eye. “I know my constitution +better than to trust myself out before the world is properly +aired and dried. I am thinking it is less a case of worms than +of rheumatism some early birds will be catching;” to which +Mr. Mayne merely returned an ungracious “Pshaw!” and +marched off, leaving his son to enjoy his breakfast in peace.</p> +<p>When Dick entered the library on the evening in question, +Mr. Mayne’s querulous observation as to the noisiness of his +entrance convinced him at once that his father was in a very +bad humor indeed, and that on this account it behooved him to +be exceedingly cool.</p> +<p>So he kissed his mother, who looked at him a little anxiously, +and then sat down and turned out her work-basket, as he had +done Nan’s two or three hours ago.</p> +<p>“You are late after all, Dick,” she said, with a little reproach +in her voice. It was hardly a safe observation, to judge by +her husband’s cloudy countenance; but the poor thing sometimes +felt her evenings a trifle dull when Dick was away. +Mr. Mayne would take up his paper, but his eyes soon closed +over it; that habit of seeking for the early worm rather disposed +him to somnolent evenings, during which his wife knitted +and felt herself nodding off out of sheer <i>ennui</i> and dulness. +These were not the hours she had planned during those +years of waiting; she had told herself that Richard would +read to her or talk to her as she sat over her work, that they +would have so much to say to each other; but now, as she +regarded his sleeping countenance evening after evening, it +may be doubted whether matrimony was quite what she expected, +since its bliss was so temperate and so strongly infused +with drowsiness.</p> +<p>Dick looked up innocently. “Am I late, mother?”</p> +<p>“Oh, of course not,” returned his father, with a sneer; “it +is not quite time to ring for Nicholson to bring our candles. +Bessie, I think I should like some hot water to-night; I feel a +little chilly.” And Bessie rang the bell obediently, and without +any surprise in her manner. Mr. Mayne often woke up +chilly from his long nap.</p> +<p>“Are you going to have a ‘drap of the cratur’?” asked his +son, with alacrity. “Well, I don’t mind joining you, and +that’s the truth, for we have been dawdling about, and I am a +trifle chilly myself.”</p> +<p>“You know I object to spirits for young men,” returned Mr. +Mayne, severely: nevertheless he pushed the whiskey to Dick +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +as soon as he had mixed his own glass, and his son followed his +example.</p> +<p>“I am quite of your opinion, father,” he observed, as he regarded +the handsome cut-glass decanter somewhat critically; +“but there are exceptions to every rule, and when one is +chilly––”</p> +<p>“I wish you would make an exception and stay away from +the cottage sometimes,” returned Mr. Mayne, with ill-suppressed +impatience. “It was all very well when you were all young +things together, but it is high time matters should be different.”</p> +<p>Dick executed a low whistle of surprise and dismay. He had +no idea his father’s irritability had arisen from any definite +cause. What a fool he had been to be so late! it might lead to +some unpleasant discussion. Well, after all, if his father chose +to be so disagreeable it was not his fault; and he was no longer +a boy, to be chidden, or made to do this or that against his own +will.</p> +<p>Mr. Mayne was sufficiently shrewd to see that his son was +somewhat taken aback by this sudden onslaught, and he was +not slow to press his advantage. He had wanted to give Dick +a bit of his mind for some time, and after all there is no time +like the present.</p> +<p>“Yes, it was all very well when you were a lot of children +together,” he continued. “Of course, it is hard on you, Dick, +having no brothers and sisters to keep you company; your +mother and I were always sorry about that for your sake.”</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t mention it,” interrupted Dick: “on the whole, +I am best pleased as it is.”</p> +<p>“But it would have been better for you,” returned his father, +sharply: “we should not have had all this fooling and humbug +if you had had sisters of your own.”</p> +<p>“Fooling and humbug!” repeated Dick, hotly; “I confess, +sir, I don’t quite understand to what you are referring.” He +was growing very angry, but his mother flung herself between +the combatants.</p> +<p>“Don’t, my boy, don’t; you must not answer your father in +that way. Richard, what makes you so hard on him to-night? +It must be the gout, Dick: we had better send for Dr. Weatherby +in the morning,” continued the anxious woman, with tears +in her eyes, “for your dear father would never be so cross to +you as this unless he were going to be ill.”</p> +<p>“Stuff and nonsense, Bessie! Dr. Weatherby indeed!” but +his voice was less wrathful. “What is it but fooling, I should +like to know, for Dick to be daundering his time away with a +parcel of girls as he does with these Challoners!”</p> +<p>“I suppose you were never a young man yourself, sir.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I was, my boy,” and the corners of Mr. Mayne’s +mouth relaxed in spite of his efforts to keep serious. “I fell in +love with your mother, and stuck to her for seven or eight +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +years; but I did not make believe that I was brother to a lot of +pretty girls, and waste all my time dancing attendance on them +and running about on their errands.”</p> +<p>“You ought to have taken a lesson out of my book,” returned +his son, readily.</p> +<p>“No, I ought to have done no such thing, sir!” shouted back +Mr. Mayne, waxing irate again. It could not be denied that +Dick could be excessively provoking when he liked. “Don’t I tell +you it is time this sort of thing was stopped? Why, people will +begin to talk, and say you are making up to one of them, it is +not right, Dick; it is not, indeed,” with an attempted pathos.</p> +<p>“I don’t care that for what people say,” returned the young +fellow, snapping his fingers. “Is it not a pity you are saying +all this to me just when I am going away and am not likely to +see any of them for the next six months? You are very hard +on me to-night, father; and I can’t think what it is all about.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mayne was silent a moment, revolving his son’s pathetic +speech. It was true he had been cross, and had said more than +he had meant to say. He had not wished to hinder Dick’s innocent +enjoyments; but if he were unknowingly picking flowers at +the edge of a precipice, was it not his duty as a father to warn +him?</p> +<p>“I think I have been a little hard, my lad,” he said, candidly, +“but there, you and your mother know my bark is worse than +my bite. I only wanted to warn you; that’s all, Dick.”</p> +<p>“Warn me!—against what, sir?” asked the young man, +quickly.</p> +<p>“Against falling in love, really, with one of the Challoner +girls!” returned Mr. Mayne, trying to evade the fire of Dick’s +eyes, and blustering a little in consequence. “Why, they have +not a penny, one of them, and, if report be true, Mrs. Challoner’s +money is very shakily invested. Paine told me so the +other day. He said he should never wonder if a sudden crash +came any minute.”</p> +<p>“Is this true, Richard?”</p> +<p>“Paine declares it is; and think of Dick saddling himself +with the support of a whole family!”</p> +<p>“It strikes me you are taking things very much for granted,” +returned his son, trying to speak coolly, but flushing like a girl +over his words. “I think you might wait, father, until I proposed +bringing you home a daughter-in-law.”</p> +<p>“I am only warning you, Dick, that the Challoner connection +would be distasteful to me,” replied Mr. Mayne, feeling that he +had gone a little too far. “If you had brothers and sisters it +would not matter half so much; but it would be too hard if my +only son were to cross my wishes.”</p> +<p>“Should you disinherit me, father?” observed Dick, cheerfully. +He had recovered his coolness and pluck, and began to +feel more equal to the occasion.</p> +<p>“We should see about that, but I hardly think it would be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +for your advantage to oppose me too much,” returned his father +with an ominous pucker of his eyebrows, which warned Dick, +that it was hardly safe to chaff the old boy too much to-night.</p> +<p>“I think I will go to bed, Richard,” put in poor Mrs. Mayne. +She had wisely forborne to mix in the discussion, fearing that +it would bring upon her the vials of her husband’s wrath. Mr. +Mayne was as choleric as a Welshman, and had a reserve force +of sharp cynical sayings that were somewhat hard to bear. He +was disposed to turn upon her on such occasions, and to accuse +her of spoiling Dick and taking his part against his father; +between the two Richards she sometimes had a very bad time +indeed.</p> +<p>Dick lighted his mother’s candle, and bade her good-night; +but all the same she knew she had not seen the last of him. A +few minutes afterwards there was a hasty tap at the bedroom +door, and Dick thrust in his head.</p> +<p>“Come in, my dear; I have been expecting you,” she said, +with a pleased smile. He always came to her when he was +ruffled or put out, and brought her all his grievances; surely +this was the very meaning and essence of her motherhood,—this +healing and comfort that lay in her power of sympathy.</p> +<p>When he was a little fellow, had she not extracted many a +thorn and bound up many a cut finger? and now he was a man, +would she be less helpful to him when he wanted a different +kind of comfort?</p> +<p>“Come in, my son,” she said, beckoning him to the low chair +beside her, into which Dick threw himself with a petulant yawn.</p> +<p>“Mother, what made the pater so hard on me to-night? he +cut up as rough as though I had committed some crime.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think he is quite himself to-night,” returned Mrs. +Mayne, in her soft, motherly voice. “I fancy he misses you, +Dick, and is half jealous of the Challoners for monopolizing you. +You are all we have, that’s where it is,” she finished, stroking +the sandy head with her plump hand; but Dick jerked away +from her with a little impatience.</p> +<p>“I think it rather hard that a fellow is to be bullied for doing +nothing at all,” replied Dick, with a touch of sullenness. “When +the pater is in this humor it is no use saying anything to him; +but you may as well tell him, mother, that I mean to choose my +wife for myself.”</p> +<p>“Oh, my dear, I dare not tell him anything of the kind,” +returned Mrs. Mayne, in an alarmed voice; and then, as she +glanced at her son, her terror merged into amusement. There +was something so absurdly boyish in Dick’s appearance, such a +ludicrous contrast between the manliness of his speech and his +smooth cheek; the little fringe of hirsute ornament, of which +Dick was so proud, was hardly visible in the dim light; his +youthful figure, more clumsy than graceful, had an unfledged +air about it, nevertheless, the boldness of his words took away +her breath. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span></p> +<p>“Every man has a right to his own choice in such a matter,” +continued Dick, loftily. “You may as well tell him, mother, +that I intend to select my own wife.”</p> +<p>“My dear, I dare not for worlds––” she began; and then she +stopped, and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Why do you say +this to me? there is plenty of time,” she went on hastily; +“that is what your father says, and I think he is right. You +are too young for this sort of thing yet. You must see the +world; you must look about you; you must have plenty of +choice,” continued the anxious mother. “I shall be hard to +please, Dick, for I shall think no one good enough for my boy; +that is the worst of having only one, and he the best son that +ever lived,” finished Mrs. Mayne, with maternal pride in her +voice.</p> +<p>Dick took this effusion very coolly. He was quite used to all +this sort of worship; he did not think badly of himself; he was +not particularly humble-minded or given to troublesome introspection; +on the whole, he thought himself a good fellow, +and was not at all surprised that people appreciated him.</p> +<p>“There are such a lot of cads in the world, one is always glad +to fall in with a different sort,” he would say to himself. He was +quite of his mother’s opinion, that an honest, God-fearing young +fellow, who spoke the truth and shamed the devil, who had no +special vices but a dislike for early rising, who had tolerable +brains, and more than his share of muscle, who was in the +Oxford eleven, and who had earned his blue ribbon,—that such +a one might be considered to set an example to his generation.</p> +<p>When his mother told him she would be hard to please, Dick +looked a little wicked, and thought of Nan; but the name was +not mentioned between them. Nevertheless, Mrs. Mayne felt +with unerring maternal instinct that, in spite of his youth, Dick’s +choice was made, and sighed to herself at the thought of the +evil days that were to come.</p> +<p>Poor woman, she was to have little peace that night! Hardly +had Dick finished his grumble and sauntered away, before her +husband’s step was heard in his dressing-room.</p> +<p>“Bessie,” he called out to her, “why do you allow that boy +to keep you up so late at night? Do you know that it is eleven, +and you are still fully dressed?”</p> +<p>“Is it so late, Richard?”</p> +<p>“Yes, of course,” he snapped; “but that is the care you take +of your health; and the way you cosset and spoil that boy is +dreadful.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think Dick is easily spoiled,” plucking up a little +spirit to answer him.</p> +<p>“That shows how little you understand boys,” returned her +husband. Evidently the whiskey, though it was the best +Glenlivat, had failed to mollify him. It might be dangerous to +go too far with Dick, for he had a way of turning around and +defending himself that somewhat embarrassed Mr. Mayne, but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +with his wife there would be no such danger. He would dominate +her by his sharp speeches, and reduce her to abject submission +in a moment, for Bessie was the meekest of wives. +“Take care how you side with him,” he continued, in a threatening +voice. “He thinks that I am not serious in what I said +just now, and is for carrying it off with a high hand; but I tell +you, and you had better tell him, that I was never more in +earnest in my life. I won’t have one of those Challoner girls +for a daughter-in-law!”</p> +<p>“Oh, Richard! and Nan is such a sweet girl!” returned his +wife, with tears in her eyes. She was awfully jealous of Nan, at +times she almost dreaded her; but for her boy’s sake she would +have taken her now to her heart and defied even her formidable +husband. “She is such a pretty creature, too; no one can +help loving her.”</p> +<p>“Pshaw!” returned her husband; “pretty creature indeed! +that is just your soft-hearted nonsense. Phillis is ten times +prettier, and has heaps more sense. Why couldn’t Dick have +taken a fancy to her?”</p> +<p>“Because I am afraid he cares for the other one,” returned +Mrs. Mayne, sadly. She had no wish to deceive her husband +and she knew that the golden apple had rolled to Nan’s feet.</p> +<p>“Stuff and rubbish!” he responded, wrathfully. “What is +a boy of his age to know about such things? Tell him from me +to put this nonsense out of his head for the next year or two; +there is plenty of time to look out for a wife after that. But I +won’t have him making up his mind until he has left Oxford.” +And Mrs. Mayne, knowing that her husband had spoken his +last word, thankfully withdrew, feeling that in her heart she +secretly agreed with him.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV_DICKS_FTE' id='CHAPTER_IV_DICKS_FTE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> +<h3>DICK’S FÊTE.</h3> +</div> +<p>As Mr. Mayne’s wrath soon evaporated, and Dick was a +sweet-tempered fellow and bore no malice, this slight altercation +produced no lasting effect, except that Dick, for the next few +days, hurried home to his dinner, talked a good deal about +Switzerland, and never mentioned a Challoner in his father’s +hearing.</p> +<p>“We must keep him in a good temper for the 25th,” he said +to his mother, with a touch of the Mayne shrewdness.</p> +<p>That day was rapidly approaching, and all sorts of festive +preparations were going on at Longmead. Dick himself gravely +superintended the rolling of the tennis-ground in the large +meadow, and daubed himself plentifully with lime in marking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +out the courts, while Mr. Mayne stood with his hands in the +pockets of his shooting-coat watching him. The two were a +great deal together just then: Dick rather stuck to +his father during one or two mornings; the wily young +fellow knew that Nan was closeted with his mother, helping her +with all sorts of feminine arrangements, and he was determined +to keep them apart. Nan wondered a great deal why Dick did +not come to interrupt or tease them as usual, and grew a little +absent over Mrs. Mayne’s rambling explanations. When the +gong sounded, no one asked her to stay to luncheon. Mrs. +Mayne saw her put on her hat without uttering a single protest.</p> +<p>“It is so good of you to help me, dear,” she said, taking the +girl into her embrace. “You are quite sure people won’t +expect a sit-down supper?”</p> +<p>“Oh no; the buffet system is best,” returned Nan, decidedly. +“Half the people will not stay, and you need not make a fuss +about the rest. It is an afternoon party, you must remember +that; only people who are very intimate will remain for the fun +of the thing. Tell Nicholson to have plenty of ices going; +people care most for that sort of refreshment.”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear; I will be sure to remember,” returned her friend, +meekly.</p> +<p>She was very grateful to Nan for these hints, and was quite +willing to follow her guidance in all such matters; but when +Nan proposed once sending for Dick to ask his opinion on some +knotty point that baffled their women’s wits, Mrs. Mayne +demurred.</p> +<p>“It is a pity to disturb him; he is with his father; and we +can settle these things by ourselves,” she replied, not venturing +to mar the present tranquillity by sending such a message to +Dick. Mr. Mayne would have accompanied his son, and the +consultation would hardly have ended peaceably. “Men have +their hobbies. We had better settle all this together, you and +I,” she said hurriedly.</p> +<p>Nan merely nodded, and cut the Gordian knot through somewhat +ruthlessly; but on that occasion she put on her hat +before the gong sounded.</p> +<p>“You must be very busy, for one never has a glimpse of you +in the morning,” she could not help saying to Dick, as he came +in that afternoon to escort them to Fitzroy Lodge.</p> +<p>“Well, yes, I am tolerably busy,” he drawled. “I am never +free to do things in the afternoons,”—a fact that Nan felt was +unanswerable.</p> +<p>When Nan and her sisters woke on the morning of the memorable +day, the bright sunshine of a cloudless June day set all +their fears at rest. If the sun smiled on Dick’s fête, all would +be well. If Nan’s devotions were longer than usual that morning, +no one was the wiser; if she added a little clause, calling +down a blessing on a certain head, no one would be the poorer +for such pure prayers; indeed, it were well if many such were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +uttered for the young men who go forth morning after morning +into the temptations of life.</p> +<p>Such prayers might stretch like an invisible shield before the +countless foes that environ such a one; fiery darts may be +caught upon it; a deadly thrust may be turned away. What if +the blessing would never reach the ear of the loved one, who +goes out unconscious of sympathy? His guardian angel has +heard it, and perchance it has reached the very gate of heaven.</p> +<p>Nan came down, smiling and radiant, to find Dick waiting for +her in the veranda and chattering to Phillis and Dulce.</p> +<p>“Why, Dick!” she cried, blushing with surprise and pleasure, +“to think of your being here on your birthday morning!”</p> +<p>“I only came to thank you and the girls for your lovely presents,” +returned Dick, becoming rather incoherent and red at +the sight of Nan’s blush. “It was so awfully good of you all, +to work all those things for me;” for Nan had taken secret +measurements in Dick’s room, and had embroidered a most exquisite +mantelpiece valance, and Phillis and Dulce had worked +the corners of a green cloth with wonderful daffodils and bulrushes +to cover Dick’s shabby table: and Dick’s soul had been +filled with ravishment at the sight of these gifts.</p> +<p>Nan would not let him go on, but all the same his happy face +delighted her.</p> +<p>“No, don’t thank us, we liked doing it,” she returned, rather +coolly. “You know we owed you something after all your +splendid hospitality, and work is never any trouble to us.”</p> +<p>“But I never saw anything I liked better,” blurted out Dick. +“All the fellows will be jealous of me. I am sure I don’t know +what Hamilton will say. It was awfully good of you, Nan, and so +it was of the others: and if I don’t make it up to you somehow, +my name is not Dick:” and he smiled round at them as he +spoke. “Fancy putting in all those stitches for me!” he thought +to himself.</p> +<p>“We are so glad you are pleased,” returned Nan, with one of +her sweet, straightforward looks; “that is what we wanted to +give you,—a little surprise on your birthday. Now you must +tell us about your other presents.” And Dick, nothing loath, +launched into eloquent descriptions of the silver-fitted dressing-case +from his mother, and the gun and thorough-bred collie that +had been his father’s gifts.</p> +<p>“He is such a fine fellow; I must show him to you this afternoon,” +went on Dick, eagerly. “His name is Vigo, and he has +such a superb head. Was it not good of the pater? he knew I +had a fancy for a collie, and he has been in treaty for one ever +so long. Is he not a dear old boy?” cried Dick, rapturously. +But he did not tell his friends of the crisp bundle of bank-notes +with which Mr. Mayne had enriched his son; only as Dick +fingered them lovingly, he wondered what pretty foreign thing +he could buy for Nan, and whether her mother would allow her +to accept it. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span></p> +<p>After this Nan dismissed him somewhat peremptorily; he +must go back to his breakfast, and allow them to do the same.</p> +<p>“Mind you come early,” were Dick’s last words as he waved +his straw hat to them. How often the memory of that morning +recurred to him as he stood solitarily and thoughtful, contemplating +some grand sketch of Alpine scenery!</p> +<p>The snow peaks and blue glaciers melted away before his +eyes; in their place rose unbidden a picture framed in green +trellis-work, over which roses were climbing.</p> +<p>Fresh girlish faces smiled back at him; the brightest and +kindest of glances met his. “Good-bye, Dick; a thousand good +wishes from us all.” A slim white hand had gathered a rose-bud +for him; how proudly he had worn it all that day! Stop, +he had it still; it lay all crushed and withered in his pocket-book. +He had written the date under it; one day he meant to +show it to her. Oh, foolish days of youth, so prodigal of minor +memories and small deeds of gifts, when a withered flower can +hold the rarest scent, and in a crumpled roseleaf there is a +whole volume of ecstatic meaning! Oh, golden days of youth, +never to be surpassed!</p> +<p>Never in the memory of Oldfield had there been a more delicious +day.</p> +<p>The sky was cloudless; long purple shadows lay under the elm-trees; +a concert of bird-music sounded from the shrubberies: +in the green meadows flags were waving, tent-draperies fluttering; +the house-doors stood open, showing a flower-decked hall +and vista of cool shadowy rooms.</p> +<p>Dick, looking bright and trim, wandering restlessly over the +place, and Mr. Mayne fidgeted after him; while Mrs. Mayne +sat fanning herself under the elm-trees and hoping the band +would not be late.</p> +<p>No there it was turning in now at the stable-entrance, and +playing “The girl I left behind me;” and there at the same +moment was Nan coming up the lawn in her white gown, closely +followed by her mother and sisters.</p> +<p>“Are we the first?” she asked, as Dick darted across the +grass to meet her. “That is nice; we shall see all the people +arrive. How inspiriting that music is, and how beautiful everything +looks!”</p> +<p>“It is awfully jolly of you to be the first,” whispered Dick; +“and how nice you look, Nan! You always do, you know, but +to-day you are first-rate. Is this a new gown?” casting an +approving look over Nan’s costume, which was certainly very +fresh and pretty.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes; we have all new dresses in your honor, and we +made them ourselves,” returned Nan, carelessly. “Mother has +got her old silk, but for her it does not so much matter; at least +that is what she says.”</p> +<p>“And she is quite right. She is always real splendid, as the +Yankees say, whatever she wears,” returned Dick, wishing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +secretly that his mother in her new satin dress looked half so +well as Mrs. Challoner in her old one. But it was no use. Mrs. +Mayne never set off her handsome dresses; with her flushed, +good-natured face and homely ways, she showed to marked disadvantage +beside Mrs. Challoner’s faded beauty. Mrs. Challoner’s +gown might be antique, but nothing could surpass the +quiet grace of her carriage, or the low pleasant modulations of +her voice. Her figure was almost as slim as her daughters’, +and she could easily have passed for their elder sister.</p> +<p>Lady Fitzroy, who was a Burgoyne by birth,—and every one +knows that for haughtiness and a certain exclusive intoleration +none could match the Burgoynes,—always distinguished Mrs. +Challoner by the marked attention she paid her.</p> +<p>“A very lady-like woman, Percival. Certainly the most +lady-like person in the neighborhood,” she would say to her +husband, who was not quite so exclusive, and always made himself +pleasant to his neighbors; and she would ask very graciously +after her brother-in-law, Sir Francis Challoner. “He is +still in India, I suppose?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes; he is still in India,” Mrs. Challoner would reply, +rather curtly. She had not the faintest interest in her husband’s +brother, whom she had never seen more than twice in +her life, and who was understood to be small credit to his family. +The aforesaid Sir Francis Challoner had been the poorest of English +baronets. His property had dwindled down until it consisted +simply of a half ruined residence in the north of England.</p> +<p>In his young days Sir Francis had been a prodigal, and, like +the prodigal in the parable, he had betaken himself into far +countries, not to waste his substance, for he had none, but if possible +to glean some of the Eastern riches.</p> +<p>Whether he had been successful or not Mrs. Challoner hardly +knew. That he had married and settled in Calcutta,—that he +had a son named Harry, who had once written to her in round +hand and subscribed himself as her affectionate nephew, Henry +Ford Challoner—this she knew; but what manner of person +Lady Challoner might be, or what sort of home her brother-in-law +had made for himself, those points were enveloped in +mystery.</p> +<p>“I suppose she is so civil to me because of your uncle Francis,” +she used to say to her girls, which was attributing to Lady +Fitzroy a degree of snobbishness that was quite undeserved. +Lady Fitzroy really liked Mrs. Challoner and found intercourse +with her very pleasant and refreshing. When one is perfectly +well-bred, there is a subtile charm in harmony of voice and +manner. Mrs. Challoner might have dressed in rags if she +liked, and the young countess would still have aired her choicest +smiles for her.</p> +<p>It was lucky Nan had those few words from Dick, for they +fell apart after this, and were separated the greater portion of +the afternoon. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span></p> +<p>Carriages began to drive in at the gates; groups of well-dressed +people thronged the lawn, and were drafted off to the field where +the band was playing.</p> +<p>Nan and her sisters had their work cut out for them; they +knew everybody and they were free of the house. It was they +who helped Dick arrange the tennis-matches, who pointed out +to the young men of the party which was the tea-tent, and +where the ices and claret-cup were to be found. They marshalled +the elder ladies into pleasant nooks, where they could be +sheltered from the sun and see all that was going on.</p> +<p>“No, thank you; I shall not play tennis this afternoon; there +are too many of us, and I am so busy,” Nan said, dismissing +one after another who came up to her. “If you want a partner, +there is Carrie Paine, who is dying for a game.”</p> +<p>Dick, who was passing with Lady Fitzroy on his arm, whom +he was hurrying somewhat unceremoniously across the field, +threw her a grateful glance as he went by.</p> +<p>“What a sweet-looking girl that is!” said Lady Fitzroy, +graciously, as she panted a little over her exertion.</p> +<p>“Who?—Nan? Yes; isn’t she a brick?—and the others +too?” for Phillis and Dulce were just as self-denying in their +labors. As Mr. Mayne said afterwards, “They were just everywhere, +those Challoners, like a hive of swarming bees;” which, +as it was said in a grumbling tone, was ungrateful, to say the +least of it.</p> +<p>Dick worked like a horse too; he looked all the afternoon as +though he had a tough job in hand that required the utmost +gravity and despatch. He was forever hurrying elderly ladies +across the field towards the refreshment-tent, where he deposited +them, panting and heated, in all sorts of corners.</p> +<p>“Are you quite comfortable? May I leave you now? or shall +I wait and take you back again?” asked Dick, who was eager +for a fresh convoy.</p> +<p>“No, no; I would rather stay here a little,” returned Mrs. +Paine, who was not desirous of another promenade with the hero +of the day. “Go and fetch some one else, Dick: I am very +well off where I am,” exchanging an amused glance with one of +her friends, as Dick, hot and breathless, started off on another +voyage of discovery.</p> +<p>Dick’s behavior had been simply perfect all the afternoon in +his father’s eyes; but later on, when the band struck up a set of +quadrilles, he committed his first solecism in manners: instead +of asking Lady Fitzroy to dance with him, he hurried after Nan.</p> +<p>“This is our dance; come along,” he said, taking her unwilling +hand; but she held back a moment.</p> +<p>“Are you sure? Is there not some one else you ought to +choose?—Lady Fitzroy, for example?” questioned Nan, with +admirable forethought.</p> +<p>“Bother Lady Fitzroy!” exclaimed Dick, under his breath; +he had had quite enough of that lady. “Why are you holding +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +back, Nan, in this fashion?” a cloud coming over his face. +“Haven’t you promised weeks ago to give me the first dance?” +And Nan, seeing the cloud on his face, yielded without another +word. Dick always managed to have his own way somehow.</p> +<p>“Dick! Dick!” cried his father, in a voice of agony, as they +passed him.</p> +<p>“All in good time; coming presently,” returned the scapegrace, +cheerfully. “Now, Nan, this is our place. We will +have Hamilton and Dulce for our <i>vis-a-vis</i>. What a jolly day; +and isn’t this first-rate?” exclaimed Dick, rubbing his hands, +and feeling as though he were only just beginning to enjoy +himself.</p> +<p>Nan was not quite so easy in her mind.</p> +<p>“Your father does not look very pleased. I am afraid, after +all, you ought to have asked Lady Fitzroy,” she said, in a low +voice; but Dick turned a deaf ear. He showed her the rose in +his buttonhole; and when Nan told him it was withered, and +wanted him to take it out, he gave her a reproachful look that +made her blush.</p> +<p>They were very happy after this; and, when the dance was +over, Dick gave her his arm, and carried her off to see Vigo, +who was howling a deep mournful bass at the back of the +gardener’s cottage.</p> +<p>Nan made friends with him, and stroked his black curly +head, and looked lovingly into his deep melancholy eyes; and +then, as her flowers were fading, they strolled off into the conservatory, +where Dick gathered her a fresh bouquet and then +sat down and watched her arrange it.</p> +<p>“What clever fingers you have got!” he said, looking at +them admiringly, as Nan sorted the flowers in her lap; and at +this unlucky moment they were discovered by Mr. Mayne, +who was bringing Lady Fitzroy to see a favorite orchid.</p> +<p>He shot an angry suspicious glance at his son.</p> +<p>“Dick, your mother is asking for you,” he said, rather +abruptly; but Dick growled something in an undertone, and +did not move.</p> +<p>Nan gave him a frightened nudge. Why was he so imprudent?</p> +<p>“I cannot move, because of my flowers; do go, Dick. You +must indeed, if your mother wants you;” and she looked at +him in such a pleading way that Dick dared not refuse. It was +just like his father to come and disturb his first happy moments +and to order him off to go and do something disagreeable. He +had almost a mind to brave it out, and remain in spite of him; +but there was Nan looking at him in a frightened, imploring +way.</p> +<p>“Oh, do go, Dick,” giving him a little impatient push in her +agitation; “if your mother wants you, you must not keep her +waiting.” But Nan in her heart knew, as Dick did in his, that +the message was only a subterfuge to separate them.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_V_I_AM_QUITE_SURE_OF_HIM' id='CHAPTER_V_I_AM_QUITE_SURE_OF_HIM'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> +<h3>“I AM QUITE SURE OF HIM.”</h3> +</div> +<p>Nan would willingly have effected her escape too, but she was +detained by the flowers that Dick had tossed so lightly into her +lap. She was rather dismayed at her position, and her fingers +trembled a little over their work. There was a breath—a sudden +entering current—of antagonism and prejudice that daunted +her. Lady Fitzroy cast an admiring look at the girl as she sat +there with glowing cheeks and downcast lids.</p> +<p>“How pretty she is!” she said, in a low voice, as Mr. Mayne +pointed out his favorite orchid. “She is like her mother; there +is just the same quiet style, only I suspect Mrs. Challoner was +even better looking in her time.”</p> +<p>“Humph! yes, I suppose so,” returned her host, in a dissatisfied +tone. He had not brought Lady Fitzroy there to talk +of the Challoners, but to admire his orchids. Then he shot +another glance at Nan between his half-closed eyes, and a little +spice of malice flavored his next words.</p> +<p>“Shall we sit here a moment? Let me see: you were asking +me, Lady Fitzroy, about Dick’s prospects. I was talking to his +mother about them the other day. I said to her then, Dick +must settle in life well; he must marry money.”</p> +<p>“Indeed?” replied Lady Fitzroy, somewhat absently; she +even indulged in a slight yawn behind her fan. She liked Dick +well enough, as every one else did, but she was not partial to +his father. How tiresome it was of Fitzroy to insist so much +on their neighborly duties!</p> +<p>Mr. Mayne was not “one of them,” as she would have phrased +it; he did not speak their language or lead their life; their +manners and customs, their little tricks and turns of thought +were hieroglyphics to him.</p> +<p>A man who had never had a grandfather,—at least a grandfather +worth knowing,—whose father’s hands had dabbled in +trade,—actually trade,—such a one might be a very worthy +man, an excellent citizen, an exemplary husband and father, +but it behooved a woman in her position not to descend too +freely to his level.</p> +<p>“Percival is such a sad Radical,” she would say to herself; +“he does not make sufficient distinction between people. I +should wish to be neighborly, but I cannot bring myself to be +familiar with these Maynes;” which was perhaps the reason +why Lady Fitzroy was not as popular at Longmead and in other +places as her good-natured husband. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span></p> +<p>“Oh, indeed?” she said, with difficulty repressing another +slight yawn behind her fan, but speaking in a fatigued voice: +but Mr. Mayne was too intent on his purpose to notice it.</p> +<p>“If Dick had brothers and sisters it would not matter so +much; but when one has only a single hope—eh, Lady Fitzroy?—things +must be a little different then.”</p> +<p>“He will have plenty of choice,” she returned, with an effort +at graciousness. “Oldfield is rich in pretty girls:” and she +cast another approving glance at poor Nan, but Mr. Mayne +interrupted her almost rudely.</p> +<p>“Ah, as to that,” he returned, with a sneer, “we want no +such nonsense for Dick. Here are the facts of the case. Here +is an honest, good-tempered young fellow, but with no particular +push in him; he has money, you say,—yes, but not enough to +give him the standing I want him to have. I am ambitious for +Dick. I want him to settle in life well. Why, he might be +called to the bar; he might enter Parliament; there is no limit +to a man’s career nowadays. I will do what I can for him, but +he must meet me half-way.”</p> +<p>“You mean,” observed Lady Fitzroy, with a little perplexity +in her tone, “that he must look out for an heiress.” She was +not in the secret, and she could not understand why her host +was treating her to this outburst of confidence. “It was so disagreeable +to be mixed up with this sort of thing,” as she told +her husband afterwards. “I never knew him quite so odious +before; and there was that pretty Miss Challoner sitting near +us, and he never let me address a word to her.”</p> +<p>Nan began to feel she had had enough of it. She started up +hastily as Lady Fitzroy said the last words, but the entrance +of some more young people compelled her to stand inside a +moment, and she heard Mr. Mayne’s answer distinctly: “Well, +not an heiress exactly; but the girl I have in view for him has +a pretty little sum of money, and the connection is all that +could be wished; she is nice-looking, too, and is a bright, talking +little body––” But here Nan made such a resolute effort +to pass, that the rest of the sentence was lost upon her.</p> +<p>Dick, who was strolling up and down the lawn rather discontentedly, +hurried up to her as she came out.</p> +<p>“They are playing a valse; come, Nan,” he said, holding out +his hand to her with his usual eagerness; but she shook her +head.</p> +<p>“I cannot dance; I am too tired: there are others you ought +to ask.” She spoke a little ungraciously, and Dick’s face wore +a look of dismay, as she walked away from him with quick +even footsteps.</p> +<p>Tired! Nan tired! he had never heard of such a thing. +What had put her out? The sweet brightness had died out of +her eyes, and her cheeks were flaming. Should he follow her +and have it out with her, there and then? But, as he hesitated, +young Hamilton came over the grass and linked his arm in his. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span></p> +<p>“Come and introduce me to that girl in blue gauze, or whatever +you call that flimsy manufacture. Come along, there’s a +good fellow,” he said, coaxingly; and Dick’s opportunity was +lost.</p> +<p>But he was wrong; for once in her life Nan was tired; the +poor girl felt a sudden quenching of her bright elasticity that +amounted to absolute fatigue.</p> +<p>She had spoken to Dick sharply; but that was to get rid of +him and to recall him to a sense of his duty. Not for worlds +would she be seen dancing with him, or even talking to him, +again!</p> +<p>She sat down on a stump of a tree in the shrubbery, and +wondered wearily what had taken it out of her so much. And +then she recalled, sentence by sentence, everything that had +passed in the conservatory.</p> +<p>She had found out quite lately that Mr. Mayne did not approve +of her intimacy with Dick. His manner had somewhat +changed to her, and several times he had spoken to her in a +carping, fault-finding way,—little cut-and-dried sentences of +elderly wisdom that she had not understood at the time.</p> +<p>She had not pleased him of late, somehow, and all her little +efforts and overtures had been lost upon him. Nan had been +quite aware of this, but it had not troubled her much: it was a +way he had, and he meant nothing by it. Most men had humors +that must be respected, and Dick’s father had his. So she bore +herself very sweetly towards him, treating his caustic remarks +as jokes, and laughing pleasantly at them, never taking his hints +in earnest; he would know better some day, that was all; but +she had no idea of any deeply-laid plan against their happiness. +She felt as though some one had struck her hard; she had received +a blow that set all her nerves tingling. It was very +funny, what he said; it was so droll that it almost made her +laugh; and yet her eyes smarted, and her cheeks felt on +fire.</p> +<p>“‘Dick must marry money.’ Why must he?—that was so +droll. ‘Well, not an heiress exactly, but a pretty little sum of +money, and a bright, taking little body.’ Who was this mysterious +person whom he had in view, whose connections were +so desirable, who was to be Dick’s future wife? Dick’s future +wife!” repeated Nan, with an odd little quiver of her lip. +“And was it not droll, settling it all for him like that?”</p> +<p>Nan fell into a brown study, and then woke up with a little +gasp. It was all clear to her now, all these cut-and-dried sentences,—all +those veiled sneers and innuendoes.</p> +<p>They were poor,—poor as church-mice,—and Dick must marry +money. Mr. Mayne had laid his plans for his son, and was +watching their growing intimacy with disapproving eyes. Perhaps +“the bright, taking little body” might accompany them +to Switzerland; perhaps among the mountains Dick would forget +her, and lend a ready acquiescence to his father’s plans. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +Who was she? Had Nan ever seen her? Could she be here +this afternoon, this future rival and enemy of her peace?</p> +<p>“Ah, what nonsense I am thinking!” she exclaimed to herself, +starting up with a little shame and impatience at her own +thoughts. “What has this all got to do with me? Let them +settle it between them,—money-bags and all. Dick is Dick, and +after all, I am not afraid!” And Nan marched back to the +company, with her head higher, and a great assumption of +cheerfulness, and a little gnawing feeling of discomfort at her +heart, to which she would not have owned for worlds.</p> +<p>Nan was the gayest of the gay that evening, but she would +not dance again with Dick: she sent the poor boy away from +her with a decision and peremptoriness that struck him with +fresh dismay.</p> +<p>“You are not tired now, Nan; and have been waltzing ever +so long with Cathcart and Hamilton.”</p> +<p>“Never mind about me to-night: you must go and ask Lady +Fitzroy. No, I am not cross. Do you think I would be cross +to you on your birthday? but all the same I will not have you +neglect your duties. Go and ask her this moment, sir!” And +Nan smiled in his face in the most bewitching way, and gave a +little flutter to her fan. She accepted Mr. Hamilton’s invitation +to a valse under Dick’s very eyes, and whirled away on his arm, +while Dick stood looking at her ruefully.</p> +<p>Just at the very last moment Nan’s heart relented.</p> +<p>“Walk down to the gate with us,” she whispered, as she +passed him on her way to the cloak-room.</p> +<p>Dick, who was by this time in a somewhat surly humor, +make no sort of response; nevertheless Nan found him out on +the gravel path waiting for them in company with Cathcart and +Hamilton.</p> +<p>Nan shook off the latter rather cleverly, and took Dick’s arm, +in cheerful unconsciousness of his ill-humor.</p> +<p>“It is so good of you to come with us. I wanted to get you a +moment to myself, to congratulate you on the success of the +evening. It was admirably managed; every one says so: +even Lady Fitzroy was pleased, and her ladyship is a trifle fastidious. +Have the band in-doors, and set them to dancing,—that +is what I said; and it has turned out a complete success,” +finished Nan, with a little gush of enthusiasm; but she did not +find Dick responsive.</p> +<p>“Oh! bother the success and all that!” returned that very +misguided young man; “it was the slowest affair to me, I +assure you, and I am thankful it is over. You have spoiled the +evening to me, and that is what you have done,” grumbled +Dick, in his most ominous voice.</p> +<p>“I spoiled your evening, you ungrateful boy!” replied Nan, +innocently; but she smiled to herself in the darkness, and the +reproach was sweet to her. They had entered the garden of +Glen Cottage by this time, and Dick was fiercely marching her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +down a side-path that led to the kitchen. The hall door stood +open. Cathcart and Hamilton were chattering with the girls in +the porch, while Mrs. Challoner went inside. They peered +curiously into the summer dusk, as Dick’s impatient footsteps +grated on the gravel path.</p> +<p>“I spoiled your evening!” repeated Nan, lifting her bright +eyes with the gleam of fun still in them.</p> +<p>“Yes,” blurted out Dick. “Why have you kept me at such +a distance all the evening? Why would you not dance with me? +and you gave Hamilton three valses. It was not like you, Nan, +to treat me so,—and on my birthday too,” went on the poor +fellow, with a pathos that brought another sort of gleam to Nan’s +eyes, only she still laughed.</p> +<p>“Ah, you foolish boy!” she said, and gave his coat-sleeve a +coaxing little pat. “I would rather have danced with you than +Mr. Hamilton, though he does reverse beautifully, and I never +knew any one who waltzed more perfectly.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I do not presume to rival Hamilton,” began Dick +hotly, but she silenced him.</p> +<p>“Listen to me, you foolish Dick! I would have danced +with you, and willingly, but I knew my duty better, or rather +I knew yours. You were a public man to-day; the eyes of the +county were upon you. You had to pay court to the big ladies, +and to take no notice of poor little me. I sent you away for +your own good, and because I valued your duty above my +pleasure,” continued this heroic young person, in a perfectly +satisfied tone.</p> +<p>“And you wanted to dance with me, Nan, and not with that +goose of a Hamilton?” in a wheedling voice.</p> +<p>“Yes, Dick; but he is not a goose for all that: he is more of +a swan in my opinion.”</p> +<p>“He is a conceited ass!” was the very unexpected reply, +which was a little hard on Dick’s chum, who was in many ways +a most estimable young man and vastly his superior. “Why +are you laughing, when you know I hate prigs? and Hamilton +is about the biggest I ever knew.” But this did not mend +matters, and Nan’s laugh still rang merrily in the darkness.</p> +<p>“What are those two doing?” asked Phillis, trying to peep +between the lilac-bushes, but failing to discover more than the +white glimmer of Nan’s shawl.</p> +<p>Nan’s laugh, though it was full of sweet triumph, only irritated +Dick; the lord of the evening was still too sore and humiliated +by all these rebuffs and repulses to take the fun in good +part.</p> +<p>“What is it that amuses you so?” he asked, rather crossly. +“That is the worst of you girls; you are always so ready to +make merry at a fellow’s expense. You are taking Hamilton’s +part against me, Nan,—I, who am your oldest friend, who have +always been faithful to you ever since you were a child,” continued +the young man, with a growing sense of aggravation. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></p> +<p>“Oh, Dick!” and Nan’s voice faltered a little; she was +rather touched at this.</p> +<p>Dick took instant note of the change of key, and went on in +the same injured voice:</p> +<p>“Why should I look after all the big people and take no +notice of you? Have I not made it my first duty to look after +you as long as I can remember? Though the whole world were +about us, would you not be the first and the principal to me?”</p> +<p>“Don’t, Dick,” she said, faintly, trying to repress him; “you +must not talk in that way, and I must not listen to you; your +father would not like it.” The words were sweet to her,—precious +beyond everything,—but she must not have him speak +them. But Dick, in his angry excitement, was not to be +repressed.</p> +<p>“What does it matter what he likes? This is between you +and me, Nan; no one shall meddle between us two.” But what +imprudent speech Dick was about to add was suddenly +quenched in light-pealing laughter. At this critical moment +they were met and surrounded; before them was the red glow +of Cathcart’s cigar, the whiteness of Phillis’s gown; behind +were two more advancing figures. In another second the young +people had joined hands: a dusky ring formed round the +startled pair.</p> +<p>“Fairly caught!” cried Dulce’s sunshiny voice; the mischievous +little monkey had no idea of the sport she was spoiling. +None of the young people thought of anything but fun; Dick +was just Dick, and he and Nan were always together.</p> +<p>Dick muttered something inaudible under his breath; but +Nan was quite equal to the occasion; she was still palpitating a +little with the pleasure Dick’s words had given her, but she +confronted her tormentors boldly.</p> +<p>“You absurd creatures,” she said, “to steal a march on us +like that! Dick and I were having a quarrel; we were fighting +so hard that we did not hear you.”</p> +<p>“I enjoy a good fight above everything,” exclaimed Cathcart, +throwing away his cigar. He was a handsome dark-eyed +boy, with no special individuality, except an overweening +sense of fun. “What’s the odds, Mayne? and who is likely to +be the winner?”</p> +<p>“Oh, Nan, of course,” returned Dick, trying to recover himself. +“I am the captive of her spear and of her bow: she is in +possession of everything, myself included.”</p> +<p>The rest laughed at Dick’s jest, as they thought it; and Mr. +Hamilton said, “Bravo, Miss Challoner! we will help to drag +him at your chariot-wheels.” But Nan changed color in the +darkness.</p> +<p>They went in after this, and the young men took their leave +in the porch. Dick’s strong grip of the hand conveyed his +meaning fully to Nan: “Remember, I meant it all,” it seemed +to say to her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span></p> +<p>“What did it matter? I am quite sure of him. Dick is +Dick,” thought Nan, as she laid her head happily on the +pillow.</p> +<p>As for Dick, he had a long ordeal before him ere he could +make his escape to the smoking-room, where his friends awaited +him. Mr. Mayne had a great deal to say to him about the day, +and Dick had to listen and try to look interested.</p> +<p>“I am sure Dick behaved beautifully,” observed Mrs. Mayne, +when the son and heir had at last lounged off to his companions.</p> +<p>“Well, yes; he did very well on the whole,” was the +grudging response; “but I must say those Challoner girls +made themselves far too conspicuous for my taste;” but to +this his wife prudently made no reply.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_VI_MR_TRINDERS_VISIT' id='CHAPTER_VI_MR_TRINDERS_VISIT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> +<h3>MR. TRINDER’S VISIT.</h3> +</div> +<p>The next few days passed far too quickly for Nan’s pleasure, +and Dick’s last morning arrived. The very next day the +Maynes were to start for Switzerland, and Longmead was to +stand empty for the remainder of the summer. It was a dreary +prospect for Nan, and in spite of her high spirits her courage +grew somewhat low. Six months! who could know what +might happen before they met again? Nan was not the least +bit superstitious, neither was it her wont to indulge in useless +speculations or forebodings; but she could not shake off +this morning a strange uncanny feeling that haunted her in +spite of herself—a presentiment that things were not going to +be just as she would have them,—that Dick and she would not +meet again in exactly the same manner.</p> +<p>“How silly I am!” she thought, for the twentieth time, as +she brushed out her glossy brown hair and arranged it in her +usual simple fashion.</p> +<p>Nan and her sisters were a little behind the times in some +ways; they had never thought fit to curl their hair <i>en garcon</i>, +or to mount a pyramid of tangled curls in imitation of a poodle; +no pruning scissors had touched the light-springing locks that +grew so prettily about their temples; in this, as in much else, +they were unlike other girls, for they dared to put individuality +before fashion, and good taste and a sense of beauty against the +specious arguments of the multitude.</p> +<p>“How silly I am!” again repeated Nan. “What can happen, +what should happen, except that I shall have a dull summer, and +shall be very glad when Christmas and Dick come together;” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +and then she shook her little basket of housekeeping keys until +they jingled merrily, and ran downstairs with a countenance +she meant to keep bright for the rest of the day.</p> +<p>They were to play tennis at the Paines’ that afternoon, and +afterwards the three girls were to dine at Longmead. Mrs. Challoner +had been invited also; but she had made some excuse, +and pleaded for a quiet evening. She was never very ready to +accept these invitations; there was nothing in common between +her and Mrs. Mayne; and in her heart she agreed with Lady +Fitzroy in thinking the master of Longmead odious.</p> +<p>It was Mr. Mayne who had tendered this parting hospitality +to his neighbors, and he chose to be much offended at Mrs. +Challoner’s refusal.</p> +<p>“I think it is very unfriendly of your mother, when we are +such old neighbors, and on our last evening, too,” he said to +Nan, as she entered the drawing-room that evening bringing her +mother’s excuses wrapped up in the prettiest words she could +find.</p> +<p>“Mother is not quite well; she does not feel up to the exertion +of dining out to-night,” returned Nan, trying to put a good face +on it, but feeling as though things were too much for her this +evening. It was bad enough for Mr. Mayne to insist on them +all coming up to a long formal dinner, and spoiling their chances +of a twilight stroll; but it was still worse for her mother to +abandon them after this fashion.</p> +<p>The new novel must have had something to do with this sudden +indisposition; but when Mrs. Challoner had wrapped herself up +in her white shawl, always a bad sign with her, and had declared +herself unfit for any exertion, what could a dutiful daughter do +but deliver her excuses as gracefully as she could? Nevertheless, +Mr. Mayne frowned and expressed himself ill pleased.</p> +<p>“I should have thought an effort could have been made on +such an occasion,” was his final thrust, as he gave his arm ungraciously +to Nan, and conducted her with ominous solemnity +to the table.</p> +<p>It was not a festive meal, in spite of all Mrs. Mayne’s efforts. +Dick looked glum. He was separated from Nan by a vast silver +epergne, that fully screened her from view. Another time she +would have peeped merrily round at him and given him a +sprightly nod or two; but how was she to do it when Mr. Mayne +never relaxed his gloomy muscles, and when he insisted on keeping +up a ceremonious flow of conversation with her on the subjects +of the day?</p> +<p>When Dick tried to strike into their talk, he got so visibly +snubbed that he was obliged to take refuge with Phillis.</p> +<p>“You young fellows never know what you are talking about,” +observed Mr. Mayne, sharply, when Dick had hazarded a remark +about the Premier’s policy; “you are a Radical one day, and a +Conservative another. That comes of your debating societies. +You take contrary sides, and mix up a balderdash of ideas, until +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +you don’t know whether you are standing on your head or your +heels;” and it was after this that Dick found his refuge with +Phillis.</p> +<p>It was little better when they were all in the drawing-room +together. If Mr. Mayne had invited them there for the purpose +of keeping them all under his own eyes and making them uncomfortable, +he could not have managed better. When Dick suggested +a stroll in the garden, he said,—</p> +<p>“Pshaw! what nonsense proposing such a thing, when the +dews are heavy and the girls will catch their deaths of cold!”</p> +<p>“We do it every evening of our life,” observed Nan, hardily; +but even she dared not persevere in the face of this protest, +though she exchanged a rebellious look with Dick that did him +good and put him in a better humor.</p> +<p>They found their way into the conservatory after that, but +were hunted out on pretence of having a little music; at least +Nan would have it that it was pretence.</p> +<p>“Your father does not care much for music, I know,” she +whispered, as she placed herself at the grand piano, while Dick +leaned against it and watched her. It was naughty of Nan, but +there was no denying that she found Mr. Mayne more aggravating +than usual this evening.</p> +<p>“Come, come, Miss Nancy!” he called out,—he always called +her that when he wished to annoy her, for Nan had a special +dislike to her quaint, old-fashioned name; it had been her +mother’s and grandmother’s name; in every generation there +had been a Nancy Challoner,—“come, come, Miss Nancy! we +cannot have you playing at hide-and-seek in this fashion. We +want some music. Give us something rousing, to keep us all +awake.” And Nan had reluctantly placed herself at the piano.</p> +<p>She did her little best according to orders, for she dared not +offend Dick’s father. None of the Challoners were accomplished +girls. Dulce sang a little, and so did Nan, but Phillis could not +play the simplest piece without bungling and her uncertain little +warblings, which were sweet but hardly true, were reserved for +church.</p> +<p>Dulce sang very prettily, but she could only manage her own +accompaniments or a sprightly valse. Nan, who did most of +the execution of the family, was a very fair performer from a +young lady’s point of view, and that is not saying much. She +always had her piece ready if people wanted her to play. She +sat down without nervousness and rose without haste. She had +a choice little repertory of old songs and ballads, that she could +produce without hesitation from memory,—“My mother bids +me bind my hair,” or “Bid your faithful Ariel fly,” and such-like +old songs, in which there is more melody than in a hundred +new ones, and which she sang in a simple, artless fashion that +pleased the elder people greatly. Dulce could do more than this, +but her voice had never been properly tutored, and she sang her +bird-music in bird-fashion, rather wildly and shrilly, with small +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +respect to rule and art, nevertheless making a pleasing noise, +a young foreigner once told her.</p> +<p>When Nan had exhausted her little stock, Mr. Mayne peremptorily +invited them to a round game; and the rest of +the evening was spent in trying to master the mysteries of a +new game, over the involved rules of which Mr. Mayne as +usual, wrangled fiercely with everybody, while Dick shrugged +his shoulders and shuffled his cards with such evident ill-humor +that Nan hurried her sisters away half an hour before the usual +time, in terror of an outbreak.</p> +<p>It was an utterly disappointing evening; and, to make matters +worse, Mr. Mayne actually lit his cigar and strolled down the +garden-paths, keeping quite close to Nan, and showing such +obvious intention of accompanying them to the very gate of the +cottage that there could be no thought of any sweet lingering in +the dusk.</p> +<p>“I will be even with him,” growled Dick, who was in a state +of suppressed irritation under this unexpected surveillance; +and in the darkest part of the road he twitched Nan’s sleeve to +attract her attention, and whispered, in so low a voice that his +father could not hear him, “This is not good-bye. I will be +round at the cottage to-morrow morning;” and Nan nodded +hurriedly, and then turned her head to answer Mr. Mayne’s +last question.</p> +<p>If Dick had put all his feelings in his hand-shake, it could not +have spoken to Nan more eloquently of the young man’s wrath +and chagrin and concealed tenderness. Nan shot him one of +her swift straightforward looks in answer.</p> +<p>“Nevermind,” it seemed to say; “we shall have to-morrow;” +and then she bade them cheerfully good-night.</p> +<p>Dorothy met her in the hall, and put down her chamber-candlestick.</p> +<p>“Has the mother gone to bed yet, Dorothy?” questioned the +young mistress, speaking still with that enforced cheerfulness.</p> +<p>“No, Miss Nan; she is still in there,” jerking her head in the +direction of the drawing-room. “Mr. Trinder called, and was +with her a long time. I thought she seemed a bit poorly when +I took in the lamp.”</p> +<p>“Mamsie is never fit for anything when that old ogre has +been,” broke in Dulce, impatiently. “He always comes and +tells her some nightmare tale or other to prevent her sleeping. +Now we shall not have the new gowns we set our hearts on, +Nan.”</p> +<p>“Oh, never mind the gowns,” returned Nan, rather wearily.</p> +<p>What did it matter if they had to wear their old ones when +Dick would not be there to see them? And Dorothy, who was +contemplating her favorite nursling with the privileged tenderness +of an old servant, chimed in with the utmost cheerfulness:</p> +<p>“It does not matter what she wears; does it, Miss Nan? She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +looks just as nice in an old gown as a new one; that is what I +say of all my young ladies; dress does not matter a bit to +them.”</p> +<p>“How long are you all going to stand chattering with +Dorothy?” interrupted Phillis, in her clear decided voice. +“Mother will wonder what conspiracy we are hatching, and why +we leave her so long alone.” And then Dorothy took up her +candlestick, grumbling a little, as she often did, over Miss +Phillis’s masterful ways, and the girls went laughingly into their +mother’s presence.</p> +<p>Though it was summer-time, Mrs. Challoner’s easy-chair was +drawn up in front of the rug, and she sat wrapped in her white +shawl, with her eyes fixed on the pretty painted fire-screen that +hid the blackness of the coals. She did not turn her head or +move as her daughters entered; indeed, so motionless was her +attitude that Dulce thought she was asleep, and went on tiptoe +round her chair to steal a kiss. But Nan, who had caught sight +of her mother’s face, put her quickly aside.</p> +<p>“Don’t, Dulce; mother is not well. What is the matter, +mammie, darling?” kneeling down and bringing her bright +face on a level with her mother’s. She would have taken her +into her vigorous young arms, but Mrs. Challoner almost pushed +her away.</p> +<p>“Hush, children! Do be quiet, Nan; I cannot talk to you. +I cannot answer questions to-night.” And then she shivered, +and drew her shawl closer round her, and put away Nan’s caressing +hands, and looked at them all with a face that seemed +to have grown pinched and old all at once, and eyes full of +misery.</p> +<p>“Mammie, you must speak to us,” returned Nan, not a whit +daunted by this rebuff, but horribly frightened all the time. +“Of course, Dorothy told us that Mr. Trinder has been here, +and of course we know that it is some trouble about money.” +Then, at the mention of Mr. Trinder’s name, Mrs. Challoner +shivered again.</p> +<p>Nan waited a moment for an answer: but, as none came, she +went on in coaxing voice:</p> +<p>“Don’t be afraid to tell us, mother darling; we can all bear +a little trouble, I hope. We have had such happy lives, and we +cannot go on being happy always,” continued the girl, with the +painful conviction coming suddenly into her mind that the +brightness of these days was over. “Money is very nice, and +one cannot do without it, I suppose; but as long as we are together +and love each other––”</p> +<p>Then Mrs. Challoner fixed her heavy eyes on her daughter and +took up the unfinished sentence:</p> +<p>“Ah, if we could only be together!—if I were not to be separated +from my children! it is that—that is crushing me!” and +then she pressed her dry lips together, and folded her hands +with a gesture of despair; “but I know that it must be, for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +Mr. Trinder has told me everything. It is no use shutting our +eyes and struggling on any longer; for we are ruined—ruined!” +her voice sinking into indistinctness.</p> +<p>Nan grew a little pale. If they were ruined, how would it be +with her and Dick! And then she thought of Mr. Mayne, and +her heart felt faint within her. Nan, who had Dick added to +her perplexities, was hardly equal to the emergency; but it was +Phillis who took the domestic helm as it fell from her sister’s +hand.</p> +<p>“If we be ruined, mother,” she said, briskly, “it is not half so +bad as having you ill. Nan, why don’t you rub her hands! she +is shivering with cold, or with the bad news, or something. +I mean to set Dorothy at defiance, and to light a nice little fire, +in spite of the clean muslin curtains. When one is ill or unhappy, +there is nothing so soothing as a fire,” continued Phillis +as she removed the screen and kindled the dry wood, not heeding +Mrs. Challoner’s feeble remonstrances.</p> +<p>“Don’t, Phillis: we shall not be able to afford fires now;” and +then she became a little hysterical. But Phillis persisted, and +the red glow was soon coaxed into a cheerful blaze.</p> +<p>“That looks more comfortable. I feel chilly myself; these +summer nights are sometimes deceptive. I wonder what Dorothy +will say to us; I mean to ask her to make us all some tea. +No, mamma, you are not to interfere; it will do you good, and +we don’t mean to have you ill if we can help it.” And then she +looked meaningly at Nan, and withdrew.</p> +<p>There was no boiling water, of course, and the kitchen fire +was raked out; and Dorothy was sitting in solitary state, looking +very grim.</p> +<p>“It is time for folks to be in their beds, Miss Phillis,” she said, +very crossly. “I don’t hold with tea myself so late: it excites +people, and keeps them awake.”</p> +<p>“Mother is not just the thing, and a cup of tea will do her +good. Don’t let us keep you up, Dorothy,” replied Phillis, +blandly. “I have lighted the drawing-room-fire, and I can boil +the kettle in there. If mother has got a chill, I would not answer +for the consequences.”</p> +<p>Dorothy grew huffy at the mention of the fire, and would not +aid or abet her young lady’s “fad,” as she called it.</p> +<p>“If you don’t want me, I think I will go to bed, Miss Phillis. +Susan went off a long time ago.” And, as Phillis cheerfully +acquiesced in this arrangement, Dorothy decamped with a frown +on her brow, and left Phillis mistress of the situation.</p> +<p>“There, now, I have got rid of the cross old thing,” she observed, +in a tone of relief, as she filled the kettle and arranged +the little tea-tray.</p> +<p>She carried them both into the room, poising the tray skilfully +in her hand. Nan looked up in a relieved way as she entered. +Mrs. Challoner was stretching out her chilled hands to the blaze. +Her face had lost its pinched unnatural expression; it was as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +though the presence of her girls fenced her in securely, and her +misfortune grew more shadowy and faded into the background. +She drank the tea when it was given to her, and even begged +Nan to follow her example. Nan took a little to please her, +though she hardly believed its solace would be great; but Phillis +and Dulce drank theirs in a business-like way, as though they +needed support and were not ashamed to own it. It was Nan +who put down her cup first, and leaned her cheek against her +mother’s hand.</p> +<p>“Now, mother dear, we want to hear all about it. Does Mr. +Trinder say we are really so dreadfully poor?”</p> +<p>“We have been getting poorer for along time,” returned her +mother, mournfully; “but if we had only a little left us I +would not complain. You see, your father would persist in +these investments in spite of all Mr. Trinder could say, and now +his words have come true.” But this vague statement did not +satisfy Nan; and patiently, and with difficulty, she drew from +her mother all that the lawyer had told her.</p> +<p>Mr. Challoner had been called to the bar early in life, but his +career had hardly been a successful one. He had held few +briefs, and, though he worked hard, and had good capabilities, +he had never achieved fortune; and as he lived up to his income, +and was rather fond of the good things of this life, he got through +most of his wife’s money, and, contrary to the advice of older +and wiser heads, invested the remainder in the business of a +connection who only wanted capital to make his fortune and +Mr. Challoner’s too.</p> +<p>It was a grievous error; and yet, if Mr. Challoner had lived, +those few thousands would hardly have been so sorely missed. +He was young in his profession, and if he had been spared, success +would have come to him as to other men; but he was cut +off unexpectedly in the prime of life, and Mrs. Challoner gave +up her large house at Kensington, and settled at Glen Cottage +with her three daughters, understanding that life was changed +for her, and that they should have to be content with small +means and few wants.</p> +<p>Hitherto they had had sufficient; but of late there had been +dark whispers concerning that invested money; things were not +quite square and above-board; the integrity of the firm was +doubted. Mr. Trinder, almost with tears in his eyes, begged +Mrs. Challoner to be prudent and spend less. The crash which +he had foreseen, and had vainly tried to avert, had come to-night. +Gardiner & Fowler were bankrupt, and their greatest +creditor, Mrs. Challoner, was ruined.</p> +<p>“We cannot get our money. Mr. Trinder says we never +shall. They have been paying their dividends correctly, keeping +it up as a sort of blind, he says: but all the capital is eaten +away. George Gardiner, too, your father’s cousin, the man he +trusted above every one,—he to defraud the widow and the +fatherless, to take our money—my children’s only portion—and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +to leave us beggared.” And Mrs. Challoner, made tragical by +this great blow, clasped her hands and looked at her girls with +two large tears rolling down her face.</p> +<p>“Mother, are you sure? is it quite as bad as that?” asked +Nan; and then she kissed away the tears, and said something +rather brokenly about having faith, and trying not to lose courage; +then her voice failed her, and they all sat quiet together.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_VII_PHILLISS_CATECHISM' id='CHAPTER_VII_PHILLISS_CATECHISM'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> +<h3>PHILLIS’S CATECHISM.</h3> +</div> +<p>A veil of silence fell over the little party. After the first few +moments of dismay, conjecture, and exclamation, there did not +seem to be much that any one could say. Each girl was busy +with her own thoughts and private interpretation of a most sorrowful +enigma. What were they to do? How were they to +live without separation, and without taking a solitary plunge +into an unknown and most terrifying world?</p> +<p>Nan’s frame of mind was slightly monotonous. What would +Dick say, and how would this affect certain vague hopes she +had lately cherished? Then she thought of Mr. Mayne, and +shivered, and a sense of coldness and remote fear stole over +her.</p> +<p>One could hardly blame her for this sweet dual selfishness, +that was not selfishness. She was thinking less of herself than +of a certain vigorous young life that was becoming strongly +entwined with hers. It was all very well to say that Dick was +Dick; but what could the most obstinate will of even that most +obstinate young man avail against such a miserable combination +of adverse influences,—“when the stars in their courses fought +against Sisera”? And at this juncture of her thoughts she +could feel Phillis’s hand folding softly over hers with a most +sisterly pressure of full understanding and sympathy. Phillis +had no Dick to stand sentinel over her private thoughts; she +was free to be alert and vigilant for others. Nevertheless, her +forehead was puckered up with hard thinking, and her silence +was so very expressive that Dulce sat and looked at her with +grave unsmiling eyes, the innocent child-look in them growing +very pathetic at the speechlessness that had overtaken them. +As for Mrs. Challoner, she still moaned feebly from time to time, +as she stretched her numb hands towards the comforting +warmth. They were fine delicate hands, with the polished look +of old ivory, and there were diamond rings on them that +twinkled and shone as she moved them in her restlessness.</p> +<p>“They shall all go; I will keep nothing,” she said, regarding +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +them plaintively; for they were heirlooms, and highly valued +as relics of a wealthy past. “It is not this sort of thing that I +mind. I would live on a crust thankfully, if I could only keep +my children with me.” And she looked round at the blooming +faces of her girls with eyes brimming over with maternal fondness.</p> +<p>Poor Dulce’s lips quivered, and she made a horrified gesture.</p> +<p>“Oh, mamsie, don’t talk so. I never could bear crusts, unless +they were well buttered. I like everything to be nice, and to +have plenty of it,—plenty of sunshine, and fun, and holiday-making, +and friends; and—and now you are talking as though +we must starve, and never have anything to wear, and go nowhere +and be miserable forever?” And here Dulce broke into +actual sobs; for was she not the petted darling? and had she not +had a life so gilded by sunshine that she had never seen the dark +edge of a single cloud? So that even Nan forgot Dick for a +moment, and looked at her young sister pityingly; but Phillis +interposed with bracing severity:</p> +<p>“Don’t talk such nonsense, Dulce. Of course we must eat to +live, and of course we must have clothes to wear. Aren’t Nan +and I thinking ourselves into headaches by trying to contrive +how even the crusts you so despise are to be bought?” which +was hardly true as far as Nan was concerned, for she blushed +guiltily over this telling point in Phillis’s eloquence. “It only +upsets mother to talk like this.” And then she touched the +coals skilfully, till they spluttered and blazed into fury. “There +is the Friary, you know,” she continued, looking calmly round +on them, as though she felt herself full of resources. “If Dulce +chooses to make herself miserable about the crusts, we have, at +least, a roof to shelter us.”</p> +<p>“I forgot the Friary,” murmured Nan, looking at her sister +with admiration; and, though Mrs. Challoner said nothing, she +started a little as though she had forgotten it too. But Dulce +was not to be comforted.</p> +<p>“That horrid, dismal, pokey old cottage!” she returned, with +a shrill rendering of each adjective. “You would have us go +and live in that damp, musty, fusty place?”</p> +<p>Phillis gave a succession of quick little nods.</p> +<p>“I don’t think it particularly dismal, or Nan either,” she +returned, in her brisk way. Phillis always answered for Nan, +and was never contradicted. “It is not dear Glen Cottage, of +course, but we could not begin munching our crusts here,” she +continued, with a certain grim humor. Things were apparently +at their worst; but at least she,—Phillis,—the clever one, as she +had heard herself called, would do her best to keep the heads of +the little family above water. “It is a nice little place enough +if we were only humble enough to see it; and it is not damp, and +it is our own,” running up the advantages as well as she could.</p> +<p>“The Friary!” commented her mother, in some surprise: +“to think of that queer old cottage coming into your head! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +And it so seldom lets. And people say it is dear at forty pounds +a year; and it is so dull that they do not care to stay.”</p> +<p>“Never mind all that, mammy,” returned Phillis, with a grave +business-like face. “A cottage, rent-free, that will hold us, is +not to be despised; and Hadleigh is a nice place, and the sea +always suits you. There is the house, and the furniture, that +belongs to us; and we have plenty of clothes for the present. +How much did Mr. Trinder think we should have in hand?”</p> +<p>Then her mother told her, but still mournfully, that they +might possibly have about a hundred pounds. “But there are +my rings and that piece of point-lace that Lady Fitzroy admired +so––” but Phillis waved away that proposition with an impatient +frown.</p> +<p>“There is plenty of time for that when we have got through +all the money. Not that a hundred pounds would last long, +with moving, and paying off the servants, and all that sort of +thing.”</p> +<p>Then Nan, who had worn all along an expression of admiring +confidence in Phillis’s resources, originated an idea of her own.</p> +<p>“The mother might write to Uncle Francis, perhaps;” but +at this proposition Mrs. Challoner sat upright and looked almost +offended.</p> +<p>“My dear Nan, what a preposterous idea! Your uncle +Francis!”</p> +<p>“Well, mammy, he is our uncle; and I am sure he would be +sorry if his only brother’s children were to starve.”</p> +<p>“You are too young to know any better,” returned Mrs. Challoner, +relapsing into alarmed feebleness; “you are not able to +judge. But I never liked my brother-in-law,—never; he was +not a good man. He was not a person whom one could trust,” +continued the poor lady, trying to soften down certain facts to +her innocent young daughters.</p> +<p>Sir Francis Challoner had been a black sheep,—a very black +sheep indeed: one who had dyed himself certainly to a most +sable hue; and though, for such prodigals, there may be a late +repentance and much killing of fatted calves, still Mrs. Challoner +was right in refusing to intrust herself and her children to +the uncertain mercies of such a sinner.</p> +<p>Now, Nan knew nothing about the sin; but she did think +that an uncle who was a baronet threw a certain reflected glory +or brightness over them. Sir Francis might be that very suspicious +character, a black sheep; he might be landless, with the +exception of that ruined tenement in the North; nevertheless, +Nan loved to know that he was of their kith and kin. It seemed +to settle their claims to respectability, and held Mr. Mayne in +some degree of awe; and he knew that his own progenitors had +not the faintest trace of blue blood, and numbered more aldermen +than baronets.</p> +<p>It would have surprised and grieved Nan, especially just now, +if she had known that no such glory remained to her,—that Sir +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +Francis Challoner had long filled the cup of his iniquities, and +lay in his wife’s tomb in some distant cemetery, leaving a certain +red-headed Sir Harry to reign in his stead.</p> +<p>“I don’t think we had better talk anymore,” observed Phillis, +somewhat brusquely: and then she exchanged meaning looks +with Nan. The two girls were somewhat dismayed at their +mother’s wan looks; her feebleness and uncertainty of speech, +the very vagueness of her lamentations, filled them with sad +forebodings for the future. How were they to leave her, when +they commenced that little fight with the world? She had +leaned on them so long that her helplessness had become a +matter of habit.</p> +<p>Nan understood her sister’s warning glance, and she made no +further allusion to Sir Francis; she only rose with assumed +briskness, and took her mother in charge.</p> +<p>“Now I am going to help you to bed, mammy darling,” she +said, cheerfully. “Phillis is quite right: we will not talk any +more to-night; we shall want all our strength for to-morrow. +We will just say our prayers, and try and go to sleep, and hope +that things may turn out better than we expect.” And, as Mrs. +Challoner was too utterly spent to resist this wise counsel, Nan +achieved her pious mission with some success. She sat down by +the bedside and leaned her head against her mother’s pillow, +and soon had the satisfaction of hearing the even breathing that +proved that the sleeper had forgotten her troubles for a little +while.</p> +<p>“Poor dear mother! how exhausted she must have been!” +thought Nan, as she closed the door softly. She was far too +anxious and wide awake herself to dream of retiring to rest. +She was somewhat surprised to find her sisters’ room dark and +empty as she passed. They must be still downstairs, talking +over things in the firelight: they were as little inclined for sleep +as she was. Phillis’s carefully decocted tea must have stimulated +them to wakefulness.</p> +<p>The room was still bright with firelight. Dulce was curled +up in her mother’s chair, and had evidently been indulging in +what she called “a good cry.” Phillis, sombre and thoughtful, +was pacing the room, with her hands clasped behind her head,—a +favorite attitude of hers when she was in any perplexity. +She stopped short as Nan regarded her with some astonishment +from the threshold.</p> +<p>“Oh, come in, Nan: it will be such a relief to talk to a +sensible person. Dulce is so silly, she does nothing but cry.”</p> +<p>“I can’t help it,” returned Dulce, with another sob; +“everything is so horrible, and Phillis will say such dreadful +things.”</p> +<p>“Poor little soul!” said Nan, in a sympathetic voice, sitting +down on the arm of the chair and stroking Dulce’s hair; “it +is very hard for her and for us all,” with a pent-up sigh.</p> +<p>“Of course it is hard,” retorted Phillis, confronting them +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +rather impatiently from the hearth-rug; “it is bitterly hard. +But it is not worse for Dulce than for the rest of us. Crying will +not mend matters, and it is a sheer waste of tears. As I tell +her, what we have to do now is to make the best of things, and +see what is to be done under the circumstances.”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed,” repeated Nan, meekly; but she put her arm +round Dulce, and drew her head against her shoulder. The +action comforted Dulce, and her tears soon ceased to flow.</p> +<p>“I am thinking about mother,” went on Phillis, pondering +her words slowly as she spoke; “she does look so ill and weak. +I do not see how we are to leave her.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner’s moral helplessness and dread of responsibility +were so sacred in her daughters’ eyes that they rarely +alluded to them except in this vague fashion. For years they +had shielded and petted her, and given way to her little fads +and fancies, until she had developed into a sort of gentle +hypochondriac.</p> +<p>“Mother cannot bear this; we always keep these little worries +from her,” Nan had been accustomed to say; and the +others had followed her example.</p> +<p>The unspoken thought lay heavy upon them now. How were +they to prevent the rough winds of adversity from blowing too +roughly upon their cherished charge? The roof, and perhaps +the crust, might be theirs; but how were they to contrive that +she should not miss her little comforts? They would gladly +work; but how, and after what fashion?</p> +<p>Phillis was the first to plunge into the unwelcome topic, for +Nan felt almost as helpless and bewildered as Dulce.</p> +<p>“We must go into the thing thoroughly,” began Phillis, +drawing a chair opposite to her sisters. She was very pale, but +her eyes had a certain brightness of determination. She looked +too young for that quiet care-worn look that had come so suddenly +to her; but one felt she could be equal to any emergency. +“We are down-hearted, of course; but we have plenty of time +for all that sort of thing. The question is, how are we to live?”</p> +<p>“Just so,” observed Nan, rather dubiously; and Dulce gave +a little gasp.</p> +<p>“There is the Friary standing empty; and there is the furniture; +and there will be about fifty pounds, perhaps less, +when every thing is settled. And we have clothes enough to last +some time, and––” here Dulce put her hands together pleadingly, +but Phillis looked at her severely, and went on: “Forty +or fifty pounds will soon be spent, and then we shall be absolutely +penniless; we have no one to help us. Mother will not +hear of writing to Uncle Francis; we must work ourselves or +starve.”</p> +<p>“Couldn’t we let lodgings?” hazarded Dulce, with quavering +voice; but Phillis smiled grimly.</p> +<p>“Let lodgings at the Friary! why, it is only big enough to +hold us. We might get a larger house in Hadleigh; but no, it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +would be ruinous to fail, and perhaps we should not make it +answer. I cannot fancy mother living in the basement story; +she would make herself wretched over it. We are too young. +I don’t think that would answer, Nan: do you?”</p> +<p>Nan replied faintly that she did not think it would. The +mere proposition took her breath away. What would Mr. +Mayne say to that? Then she plucked up spirit and went into +the question vigorously.</p> +<p>There were too many lodging-houses in Hadleigh now; it +would be a hazardous speculation, and one likely to fail; they +had not sufficient furniture for such a purpose, and they dare +not use up their little capital too quickly. They were too +young, too, to carry out such a thing, Nan did not add “and +too pretty,” though she colored and hesitated here. Their +mother could not help them; she was not strong enough for +housework or cooking. She thought that plan must be given up.</p> +<p>“We might be daily governesses, and live at home,” suggested +Dulce, who found a sort of relief in throwing out feelers in every +direction. Nan brightened up visibly at this, but Phillis’s +moody brow did not relax for a moment.</p> +<p>“That would be nice,” acquiesced Nan, “and then mother +would not find the day so long if we came home in the evening; +she could busy herself about the house, and we could leave her +little things to do, and she would not find the hours so heavy. +I like that idea of yours, Dulce; and we are all so fond of +children.”</p> +<p>“The idea is as nice as possible,” replied Phillis, with an +ominous stress on the noun, “if we could only make it practicable.”</p> +<p>“Phil is going to find fault,” pouted Dulce, who knew every +inflection of Phillis’s voice.</p> +<p>“Oh, dear, no, nothing of the kind!” she retorted, briskly. +“Nan is quite right: we all dote on children. I should dearly +like to be a governess myself; it would be more play than +work; but I am only wondering who would engage us.”</p> +<p>“Who?—oh, anybody!” returned Nan, feeling puzzled by +the smothered satire of Phillis’s speech. “Of course we are not +certificated, and I for one could only teach young children; +but––” here Phillis interrupted her:</p> +<p>“Don’t think me horrid if I ask you and Dulce some questions, +but do—do answer me just as though I were going through +the Catechism: we are only girls, but we must sift the whole +thing thoroughly. Are we fit for governesses? what can you +and I and Dulce teach?”</p> +<p>“Oh, anything!” returned Nan, still more vaguely.</p> +<p>“My dear Nanny, anything won’t do. Come, I am really in +earnest; I mean to catechise you both thoroughly.”</p> +<p>“Very well,” returned Nan, in a resigned voice; but Dulce +looked a little frightened. As for Phillis, she sat erect, with +her finger pointed at them in a severely ominous fashion. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span></p> +<p>“How about history, Nan? I thought you could never +remember dates; you used to jumble facts in the most marvellous +manner. I remember your insisting that Anne of Cleves +was Louis XII.’s second wife; and you shocked Miss Martin +dreadfully by declaring that one of Marlborough’s victories was +fought at Cressy.”</p> +<p>“I never could remember historical facts,” returned Nan, +humbly. “Dulce always did better than I; and so did you, +Phillis. When I teach the children I can have the book before +me.” But Phillis only shook her head at this, and went on:</p> +<p>“Dulce was a shade better, but I don’t believe she could tell +me the names of the English sovereigns in proper sequence;” +but Dulce disdained to answer. “You were better at arithmetic, +Nan. Dulce never got through her rule of three; but +you were not very advanced even at that. You write a pretty +hand, and you used to talk French very fluently.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I have forgotten my French!” exclaimed Nan, in a +panic-stricken voice. “Dulce, don’t you remember me quite +settled to talk in French over our work three times a week, and +we have always forgotten it; and we were reading Madame de +Sevigne’s ‘Letters’ together, and I found the book the other +day quite covered with dust.”</p> +<p>“I hate French,” retuned Dulce, rebelliously. “I began +German with Phillis, and like it much better.”</p> +<p>“True, but we are only beginners,” returned the remorseless +Phillis: “it was very nice, of course, and the Taugenichts’ was +delicious; but think how many words in every sentence you +had to hunt out in the dictionary. I am glad you feel so competent, +Dulce; but I could not teach German myself, or French +either. I don’t remember enough of the grammar; and I do not +believe Nan does either, though she used to chatter so to +Miss Martin.”</p> +<p>“Did I not say she would pick our idea to pieces?” returned +Dulce, with tears in her eyes.</p> +<p>“My dear little sister don’t look so dreadfully pathetic. I am +quite as disheartened and disappointed as you are. Nan says +she has forgotten her French, and she will have to teach history +with an open book before her; we none of us draw—no, Dulce +please let me finish our scanty stock of accomplishments. I +only know my notes,—for no one cares to hear me lumber +through my pieces,—and I sing at church. You have the +sweetest voice Dulce, but it is not trained; and I cannot compliment +you on your playing. Nan sings and plays very nicely, +and it is a pleasure to listen to her; but I am afraid she knows +little about the theory of music, harmony and thorough-bass: +you never did anything in that way, did you, Nan?”</p> +<p>Nan shook her head sadly. She was too discomfited for +speech. Phillis looked at them both thoughtfully; her trouble +was very real, but she could not help a triumphant inflection in +her voice. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span></p> +<p>“Dear Nan, please do not look so unhappy. Dulce, you shall +not begin to cry again. Don’t you remember what mother was +reading to us the other day, about the country being flooded with +incompetent governesses,—half-educated girls turned loose on +the world to earn their living? I can remember one sentence of +that writer, word for word: ‘The standard of education is so +high at the present day, and the number of certificated reliable +teachers so much increased, that we can afford to discourage the +crude efforts to teach, or un-teach, our children.’ And then he +goes on to ask, ‘What has become of womanly conscientiousness, +when such ignorance presses forward to assume such sacred +responsibilities? Better the competent nurse than the incompetent +governess.’ ‘Why do not these girls,’ he asks, ‘who, +through their own fault or the fault of circumstances, are not +sufficiently advanced to educate others—why do they not rather +discharge the exquisitely feminine duties of the nursery? What +an advantage to parents to have their little ones brought into +the earliest contact with refined speech and cultivated manners,—their +infant ears not inoculated by barbarous English!’” but +here Phillis was arrested in her torrent of reflected wisdom by +an impatient exclamation from Dulce.</p> +<p>“Oh, Nan, do ask her to be quiet! She never stops when she +once begins. How can we listen to such rubbish, when we are +so wretched? You may talk for hours, Phil, but I never, never +will be a nurse!” And Dulce hid her face on Nan’s shoulder +in such undisguised distress that her sisters had much ado to +comfort her.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_VIII_WE_SHOULD_HAVE_TO_CARRY_PARCELS' id='CHAPTER_VIII_WE_SHOULD_HAVE_TO_CARRY_PARCELS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> +<h3>“WE SHOULD HAVE TO CARRY PARCELS.”</h3> +</div> +<p>It was hard work to tranquillize Dulce.</p> +<p>“I never, never will be a nurse!” she sobbed out at intervals.</p> +<p>“You little goose, who ever thought of such a thing? Why +will you misunderstand me so?” sighed Phillis, almost in despair +at her sister’s impracticability. “I am only trying to prove to +you and Nan that we are not fit for governesses.”</p> +<p>“No, indeed; I fear you are right there,” replied poor Nan, +who had never realized her deficiences before. They were all +bright, taking girls, with plenty to say for themselves, lady-like, +and well-bred. Who would have thought that, when +weighed in the balance, they would have been found so wanting? +“I always knew I was a very stupid person; but you are different,—you +are so clever, Phil.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense, Nanny! It is a sort of cleverness for which there is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +no market. I am fond of reading. I remember things, and do +a great deal of thinking; but I am destitute of accomplishments: +my knowledge of languages is purely superficial. We are equal +to other girls,—just young ladies, and nothing more; but when +it comes to earning our bread-and-butter––” Here Phillis +paused, and threw out her hands with a little gesture of despair.</p> +<p>“But you work so beautifully; and so does Nan,” interrupted +Dulce, who was a little comforted, now she knew Phillis had no +prospective nurse-maid theory in view. “I am good at it myself,” +she continued, modestly, feeling that, in this case, self-praise +was allowable. “We might be companions,—some nice +old lady who wants her caps made, and requires some one to +read to her,” faltered Dulce, with her child-like pleading look.</p> +<p>Nan gave her a little hug; but she left the answer to Phillis, +who went at once into a brown study, and only woke up after +a long interval.</p> +<p>“I am looking at it all round,” she said, when Nan at last +pressed for her opinion; “it is not a bad idea. I think it very +possible that either you or I, Nan,—or both, perhaps,—might +find something in that line to suit us. There are old ladies +everywhere; and some of them are rich and lonely and want +companions.”</p> +<p>“You have forgotten me?” exclaimed Dulce, with natural +jealousy, and a dislike to be overlooked, inherent in most young +people. “And it is I who have always made mammy’s caps +and you know how Lady Fitzroy praised the last one.”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes; we know all that,” returned Phillis, impatiently. +“You are as clever as possible with your fingers; but one of us +must stop with mother, and you are the youngest, Dulce; that +is what I meant by looking at it all round. If Nan and I were +away, it would never do for you and mother to live at the Friary. +We could not afford a servant, and we should want the +forty pounds a year to pay for bare necessaries; for our salary +would not be very great. You would have to live in lodgings,—two +little rooms, that is all; and even then I am afraid you +and mother would be dreadfully pinched, for we should have to +dress ourselves properly in other people’s houses.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Phillis, that would not do at all!” exclaimed Nan, in +a voice of despair. She was very pale by this time: full realization +of all this trouble was coming to her, as it had come to +Phillis. “What shall we do? Who will help us to any decision? +How are you and I to go away and live luxuriously in +other people’s houses, and leave mother and Dulce pining in two +shabby little rooms, with nothing to do, and perhaps not enough +to eat, and mother fretting herself ill, and Dulce losing her +bloom? I could not rest; I could not sleep for thinking of it. +I would rather take in plain needlework, and live on dry bread +if we could only be together, and help each other.”</p> +<p>“So would I,” returned Phillis, in an odd, muffled voice.</p> +<p>“And I too,” rather hesitatingly from Dulce. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span></p> +<p>“If we could only live at the Friary, and have Dorothy to do +all the rough work,” sighed Nan, with a sudden yearning towards +even that very shabby ark of refuge: “if we could only +be together, and see each other every day, things would not be +quite so dreadful.”</p> +<p>“I am quite of your opinion,” was Phillis’s curt observation: +but there was a sudden gleam in her eyes.</p> +<p>“I have heard of ladies working for fancy-shops; do you +think we could do something of that kind?” asked Nan, anxiously. +“Even mother could help us in that; and Dulce does +work so beautifully. It is all very well to say we have no accomplishments,” +went on Nan, with apathetic little laugh, “but +you know that no other girls work as we do. We have always +made our own dresses. And Lady Fitzroy asked me once who +was our dressmaker, because she fitted us so exquisitely; and +I was so proud of telling her that we always did our own, with +Dorothy to help––”</p> +<p>“Nan,” interrupted Phillis, eagerly, and there was a great +softness in her whole mien, and her eyes were glistening,—“dear +Nan, do you love us all so that you could give up the whole +world for our sakes,—for the sake of living together, I mean?”</p> +<p>Nan hesitated. Did the whole world involve Dick, and could +even her love for her sisters induce her voluntarily to give him +up? Phillis, who was quick-witted, read the doubt in a moment, +and hastened to qualify her words:</p> +<p>“The outside world, I mean,—mere conventional acquaintances, +not friends. Do you think you could bear to set society +at defiance, to submit to be sent to Coventry for our sakes; to +do without it, in fact to live in a little world of our own and +make ourselves happy in it?”</p> +<p>“Ah, Phillis, you are so clever, and I don’t understand you,” +faltered Nan. It was not Dick she was to give up; but what +could Phillis mean? “We are all fond of society; we are like +other girls, I suppose. But if we are to be poor and work for +our living, I dare say people will give us up.”</p> +<p>“I am not meaning that,” returned her sister, earnestly; “it +is something far harder, something far more difficult, something +that will be a great sacrifice and cost us all tremendous efforts. +But if we are to keep a roof over our heads, if we are to live together +in anything like comfort, I don’t see what else we can +do, unless we go out as companions and leave mother and Dulce +in lodgings.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no, no; pray don’t leave us!” implored Dulce, feeling +that all her strength and comfort lay near Nan.</p> +<p>“I will not leave you, dear, if I can possibly help it,” returned +Nan, gently. “Tell us what you mean, Phillis, for I see you +have some sort of plan in your head. There is nothing,—nothing,” +she continued, more firmly, “that I would not do to make +mother and Dulce happy. Speak out; you are half afraid that +I shall prove a coward, but you shall see.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span></p> +<p>“Dear Nan, no; you are as brave as possible. I am rather a +coward myself. Yes; I have a plan; but you have yourself +put it into my head by saying what you did about Lady +Fitzroy.”</p> +<p>“About Lady Fitzroy?”</p> +<p>“Yes; your telling her about our making our own dresses. +Nan, you are right: needlework is our forte; nothing is a +trouble to us. Few girls have such clever fingers, I believe; +and then you and Dulce have such taste. Mrs. Paine once told +me that we were the best-dressed girls in the neighborhood, and +she wished Carrie looked half as well. I am telling you this, +not from vanity, but because I do believe we can turn our one +talent to account. We should be miserable governesses; we do +not want to separate and seek situations as lady helps or companions; +we do not mean to fail in letting lodgings; but if we +do not succeed as good dressmakers, never believe me again.”</p> +<p>“Dressmakers!” almost shrieked Dulce. But Nan, who had +expressed herself willing to take in plain needlework, only +looked at her sister with mute gravity; her little world was +turned so completely upside down, everything was so unreal, +that nothing at this moment could have surprised her.</p> +<p>“Dressmakers!” she repeated, vaguely.</p> +<p>“Yes, yes,” replied Phillis, still more eagerly. The inspiration +had come to her in a moment, full-fledged and grown up, +like Minerva from the head of Jupiter. Just from those chance +words of Nan’s she had grasped the whole thing in a moment. +Now, indeed she felt that she was clever; here at least was +something striking and original; she took no notice of Dulce’s +shocked exclamation; she fixed her eyes solemnly on Nan. +“Yes, yes; what does it matter what the outside world says? +We are not like other girls; we never were; people always +said we were so original. Necessity strikes out strange paths +some times. We could not do such a thing here; no, no, I never +could submit to that myself,” as Nan involuntarily shuddered; +“but at Hadleigh, where no one knows us, where we shall +be among strangers. And then, you see, Miss Monks is +dead.”</p> +<p>“Oh, dear! oh, dear! what does she mean?” cried Dulce, +despairingly; “and what do we care about Miss Monks, if the +creature be dead, or about Miss Anybody, if we have got to do +such dreadful things?”</p> +<p>“My dear,” returned Phillis, with compassionate irony, “if +we had to depend upon you for ideas––” and here she made +an eloquent pause. “Our last tenant for the Friary was Miss +Monks, and Miss Monks was a dressmaker; and, though perhaps +I ought not to say it, it does seem a direct leading of Providence, +putting such a thought into my head.”</p> +<p>“I am afraid Dulce and I are very slow and stupid,” returned +Nan, putting her hair rather wearily from her face: her +pretty color had quite faded during the last half-hour. “I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +think if you would tell us plainly, exactly what you mean, +Phillis, we should be able to understand everything better.”</p> +<p>“My notion is this,” began Phillis, slowly: “remember, I +have not thought it quite out, but I will give you my ideas just +as they occur to me. We will not say anything to mother just +yet, until we have thoroughly digested our plan. You and I, +Nan, will run down to the Friary, and reconnoitre the place, +judge of its capabilities, and so forth; and when we come back +we will hold a family council.”</p> +<p>“That will be best,” agreed Nan, who remembered, with +sudden feelings of relief, that Dick and his belongings would be +safe in the Engadine by that time. “But, Phillis, do you really +and truly believe that we could carry out such a scheme?”</p> +<p>“Why not?” was the bold answer. “If we can work for +ourselves, we can for other people. I have a presentiment that +we shall achieve a striking success. We will make the old +Friary as comfortable as possible,” she continued, cheerfully. +“The good folk of Hadleigh will be rather surprised when they +see our pretty rooms. No horse-hair sofa; no crochet antimacassars +or hideous wax flowers; none of the usual stock-in-trade. +Dorothy will manage the house for us; and we will all sit and +work together, and mother will help us, and read to us. Aren’t +you glad, Nan, that we all saved up for that splendid sewing-machine?”</p> +<p>“I do believe there is something, after all, in what you +say,” was Nan’s response; but Dulce was not so easily won +over.</p> +<p>“Do you mean to say that we shall put up a brass plate on +the door, with ‘Challoner, dressmaker,’ on it?” she observed, +indignantly. A red glow mounted to Nan’s forehead; and +even Phillis looked disconcerted.</p> +<p>“I never thought of that: well, perhaps not. We might +advertise at the Library, or put cards in the shops. I do not +think mother would ever cross the threshold if she saw a brass +plate.”</p> +<p>“No, no; I could not bear that,” said Nan, faintly. A dim +vision of Dick standing at the gate, ruefully contemplating +their name—her name—in juxtaposition with “dressmaker,” +crossed her mind directly.</p> +<p>“But we should have to carry parcels, and stand in people’s +halls, and perhaps fit Mrs. Squails, the grocer’s wife,—that fat +old thing, you know. How would you like to make a dress for +Mrs. Squails, Phil?” asked Dulce, with the malevolent desire +of making Phillis as uncomfortable as possible; but Phillis, +who had rallied from her momentary discomfiture, was not to +be again worsted.</p> +<p>“Dulce, you talk like a child; you are really a very silly +little thing. Do you think any work can degrade us or that +we shall not be as much gentlewomen at Hadleigh as we are +here?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span></p> +<p>“But the parcels?” persisted Dulce.</p> +<p>“I do not intend to carry any,” was the imperturbable reply, +“Dorothy will do that; or we will hire a boy. As for waiting +in halls, I don’t think any one will ask me to do that, as I +should desire to be shown into a room at once; and as for Mrs. +Squails, if the poor old woman honors me with her custom, I +will turn her out a gown that shall be the envy of Hadleigh.”</p> +<p>Dulce did not answer this, but the droop of her lip was +piteous; it melted Phillis at once.</p> +<p>“Oh, do cheer up, you silly girl!” she said, with a coaxing +face. “What is the good of making ourselves more miserable +than we need? If you prefer the two little rooms with mother, +say so; and Nan and I will look out for old ladies at once.”</p> +<p>“No! no! Oh, pray don’t leave me!” still more piteously.</p> +<p>“Well, what will you have us do? we cannot starve; and +we don’t mean to beg. Pluck up a little spirit, Dulce; see how +good Nan is! You have no idea how comfortable we should +be!” she went on, with judicious word-painting. “We should +all be together,—that is the great thing. Then we could talk +over our work; and in the afternoon, when we felt dreary, +mother could read some interesting novel to us,”—a tremulous +sigh from Nan at this point.</p> +<p>What a contrast to the afternoons at Glen Cottage,—tennis, +and five-o’clock tea, and the company of their young friends! +Phillis understood the sigh, and hurried on.</p> +<p>“It will not be always work. We will have long country +walks in the evening; and then, there will be the garden and +the sea-shore. Of course we must have exercise and recreation, +I am afraid we shall have to do without society, for no one will +visit ladies under such circumstances; but I would rather do +without people than without each other, and so would Nan.”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed!” broke in Nan; and now the tears were in +her eyes.</p> +<p>Dulce grew suddenly ashamed of herself. She got up in a +little flurry, and kissed them both.</p> +<p>“I was very naughty; but I did not mean to be unkind. I +would rather carry parcels, and stand in halls,—yes, and even +make gowns for Mrs. Squails,—than lose you both. I will be +good. I will not worry you any more, Phil, with my nonsense; +and I will work; you will see how I will work,” finished +Dulce, breathlessly.</p> +<p>“There’s a darling!” said Nan; and then she added, in a +tired voice, “But it is two o’clock; and Dick is coming this +morning to say good-bye; and I want to ask you both particularly +not to say a word to him about this. Let him go away +and enjoy himself, and think we are going on as usual; it +would spoil his holiday; and there is always time enough for +bad news,” went on Nan, with a little tremble of her lip.</p> +<p>“Dear Nan, we understand,” returned Phillis, gently; “and +you are right, as you always are. And now to bed,—to bed,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +she continued, in a voice of enforced cheerfulness; and then +they all kissed each other very quietly and solemnly, and crept +up as noiselessly as possible to their rooms.</p> +<p>Phillis and Dulce shared the same room; but Nan had a little +chamber to herself very near her mother’s: a door connected +the two rooms. Nan closed this carefully, when she had ascertained +that Mrs. Challoner was still sleeping, and then sat down +by the window, and looked out into the gray glimmering light +that preceded the dawn.</p> +<p>Sleep; how could she sleep with all these thoughts surging +through her mind, and knowing that in a few hours Dick would +come and say good-bye? and here Nan broke down, and had +such a fit of crying as she had not had since her father died,—nervous, +uncontrollable tears, that it was useless to stem in her +tired, overwrought state.</p> +<p>They exhausted her, and disposed her for sleep. She was so +chilled and weary that she was glad to lie down in bed at last +and close her eyes; and she had scarcely done so before drowsiness +crept over her, and she knew no more until she found the +sunshine flooding her little room, and Dorothy standing by her +bed asking rather crossly why no one seemed disposed to wake +this beautiful morning.</p> +<p>“Am I late? Oh, I hope I am not late!” exclaimed Nan, +springing up in a moment. She dressed herself in quite a flurry, +for fear she should keep any one waiting. It was only at the +last moment she remembered the outburst of the previous night, +and wondered with some dismay what Dick would think of her +pale cheeks and the reddened lines round her eyes, and only +hoped that he would not attribute them to his going away. +Nan was only just in time, for as she entered the breakfast-room +Dick came through the veranda and put in his head at the window.</p> +<p>“Not at breakfast yet? and where are the others?” he asked +in some surprise, for the Challoners were early people, and very +regular in their habits.</p> +<p>“We sat up rather late last night, talking,” returned Nan, +giving him her hand without looking at him, and yet Dick +showed to advantage this morning in his new tweed travelling +suit.</p> +<p>“Well, I have only got ten minutes. I managed to give the +pater the slip: he will be coming after me, I believe, if I stay +longer. This is first-rate, having you all to myself this last +morning. But what’s up, Nan? you don’t seem quite up to the +mark. You are palish, you know, and––” here Dick paused +in pained embarrassment. Were those traces of tears? had Nan +really been crying? was she sorry about his going away? And +now there was an odd lump in Dick’s throat.</p> +<p>Nan understood the pause and got frightened.</p> +<p>“It is nothing. I have a slight headache; there was a little +domestic worry that wanted putting to right,” stammered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +Nan; “it worried me, for I am stupid at such things, you +know.”</p> +<p>She was explaining herself somewhat lamely, and to no purpose, +for Dick did not believe her in the least. “Domestic +worry!” as though she cared for such rubbish as that; as though +any amount could make her cry,—her, his bright, high spirited +Nan! No; she had been fretting about their long separation, +and his father’s unkindness, and the difficulties ahead of them.</p> +<p>“I want you to give me a rose,” he said, suddenly, <i>a propos</i> +of nothing, as it seemed; but looking up, Nan caught a wistful +gleam in his eyes, and hesitated. Was it not Dick who had +told her that anecdote about the queen, or was it Lothair? and +did not a certain meaning attach to this gift? Dick was forever +picking roses for her; but he had never given her one, except +with that meaning look on his face.</p> +<p>“You are hesitating,” he said, reproachfully; “and on my +last morning, when we shall not see each other for months;” +And Nan moved towards the veranda slowly, and gathered a +crimson one without a word, and put it in his hand.</p> +<p>“Thank you,” he said, quite quietly; but he detained the +hand as well as the rose for a moment. “One day I will show +you this again, and tell you what it means if you do not know; +and then we shall see, ah, Nan, my––” He paused as Phillis’s +step entered the room, and said hurriedly, in a low voice, +“Good-bye; I will not go in again. I don’t want to see any of +them, only you,—only you. Good-bye: take care of yourself +for my sake, Nan.” And Dick looked at her wistfully, and +dropped her hand.</p> +<p>“Has he gone?” asked Phillis, looking up in surprise as her +sister came through the open window; “has he gone without +finding anything out?”</p> +<p>“Yes, he has gone, and he does not know anything,” replied +Nan, in a subdued voice, as she seated herself behind the urn. +It was over now, and she was ready for anything. “Take care +of yourself for my sake, Nan!”—that was ringing in her ears; +but she had not said a word in reply. Only the rose lay in his +hand,—her parting gift, and perhaps her parting pledge.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_IX_A_LONG_DAY' id='CHAPTER_IX_A_LONG_DAY'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> +<h3>A LONG DAY.</h3> +</div> +<p>Nan never recalled the memory of that “long gray day,” as +she inwardly termed it, without a shiver of discomfort.</p> +<p>Never but once in her bright young life had she known such +a day, and that was when her dead father lay in the darkened +house, and her widowed mother had crept weeping into her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +arms as to her only remaining refuge; but that stretched so far +back into the past that it had grown into a vague remembrance.</p> +<p>It was not only that Dick was gone, though the pain of that +separation was far greater than she would have believed possible, +but a moral earthquake had shattered their little world, involving +them in utter chaos.</p> +<p>It was only yesterday that she was singing ballads in the +Longmead drawing-room,—only yesterday; but to-day everything +was changed. The sun shone, the birds sang, every one +ate and drank and moved about as usual. Nan talked and +smiled, and no stranger would have guessed that much was +amiss; nevertheless, a weight lay heavy on her spirits, and +Nan knew in her secret heart that she could never be again the +same light-hearted, easy-going creature that she was yesterday.</p> +<p>Later on, the sisters confessed to each other that the day had +been perfectly interminable; the hours dragged on slowly; +the sun seemed as though it never meant to set; and to add to +their trouble, their mother looked so ill when she came downstairs, +wrapped in her soft white shawl in spite of the heat, that +Nan thought of sending for a doctor, and only refrained at the +remembrance that they had no right to such luxuries now except +in cases of necessity.</p> +<p>Then Dorothy was in one of her impracticable moods, throwing +cold water on all her young mistress’s suggestions, and doing +her best to disarrange the domestic machinery. Dorothy +suspected a mystery somewhere; her young ladies had sat up +half the night, and looked pale and owlish in the morning. If +they chose to keep her in the dark and not take her into their +confidence, it was their affair; but she meant to show them +what she thought of their conduct. So she contradicted and +snapped, until Nan told her wearily that she was a disagreeable +old thing, and left her and Susan to do as they liked. She knew +Mr. Trinder was waiting for her in the dining-room, and, as +Mrs. Challoner was not well enough to see him, she and Phillis +must entertain him.</p> +<p>He had slept at a friend’s house a few miles from Oldfield, +and was to lunch at Glen Cottage and take the afternoon train +to London.</p> +<p>He was not sorry when he heard that Mrs. Challoner was +too indisposed to receive him. In spite of his polite expressions +of regret, he had found the poor lady terribly trying on the +previous evening. She was a bad manager, and had muddled +her affairs, and she did not seem to understand half of what he +told her; and her tears and lamentations when she had realized +the truth had been too much for the soft hearted old bachelor, +though people did call him a woman-hater.</p> +<p>“But I never could bear to see a woman cry; it is as bad as +watching an animal in pain,” he half growled, as he drew out +his red pocket-handkerchief and used it rather noisily. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span></p> +<p>It was easier work to explain everything to these two bright, +sensible girls. Phillis listened and asked judicious questions; +but Nan sat with downcast face, plaiting the table-cloth between +her restless fingers, and thinking of Dick at odd intervals.</p> +<p>She took it all in, however, and roused up in earnest when +Mr. Trinder had finished his explanations, and Phillis began to +talk in her turn; she was actually taking the old lawyer into +her confidence, and detailing their scheme in the most business-like +way.</p> +<p>“The mother does not know yet,—this is all in confidence; +but Nan and I have made up our minds to take this step,” +finished the young philosopher, calmly.</p> +<p>“Bless my soul,” ejaculated Mr. Trinder,—he had given vent +to this expression at various intervals, but had not further interrupted +her. “Bless my soul! my dear young ladies, I think—but +excuse me if I am too abrupt, but you must be dreaming.”</p> +<p>Phillis shook her head smilingly; and as Dorothy came into +the room that moment to lay the luncheon, she proposed a turn +in the garden, and fetched Mr. Trinder’s hat herself, and guided +him to a side-walk, where they could not be seen from the drawing-room +windows. Nan followed them, and tried to keep step +with Mr. Trinder’s shambling footsteps, as he walked between +the girls with a hot perplexed face, and still muttering to himself +at intervals.</p> +<p>“It is all in confidence,” repeated Phillis, in the same calm +voice.</p> +<p>“And you are actually serious? you are not joking?”</p> +<p>“Do your clients generally joke when they are ruined?” returned +Phillis, with natural exasperation. “Do you think Nan +and I are in such excellent spirits that we could originate such +a piece of drollery? Excuse me, Mr. Trinder, but I must say I +do not think your remark quite well timed.” And Phillis +turned away with a little dignity.</p> +<p>“No, no! now you are put out, and no wonder!” returned +Mr. Trinder, soothingly; and he stood quite still on the gravel +path, and fixed his keen little eyes on the two young creatures +before him,—Nan, with her pale cheeks and sad eyes, and +Phillis, alert, irritated, full of repressed energy. “Dear, dear! +what a pity!” groaned the old man; “two such bonnie lasses +and to think a little management and listening to my advice +would have kept the house over your heads, if only your mother +would have hearkened to me!”</p> +<p>“It is too late for all that now, Mr. Trinder,” replied Phillis, +impatiently: “isn’t it waste of time crying over spilt milk when +we must be taking our goods to market? We must make the +best of our little commodities,” sighed the girl. “If we were +only clever and accomplished, we might do better; but now––” +and Phillis left her sentence unfinished, which was a way she +had, and which people thought very telling. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span></p> +<p>“But, my dear young lady, with all your advantages, +and––” Here Phillis interrupted him rather brusquely.</p> +<p>“What advantages? do you mean we had a governess? Well, +we had three, one after the other; and they were none of them +likely to turn out first-rate pupils. Oh, we are well enough, +compared to other girls: if we had not to earn our own living, +we should not be so much amiss. But, Nan, why don’t you +speak? why do you leave me all the hard work? Did you not +tell us last night that you were not fit for a governess?”</p> +<p>Nan felt rather ashamed of her silence after this. It was true +that she was leaving all the onus of their plan on Phillis, and it +was certainly time for her to come to her rescue. So she quietly +but rather shyly endorsed her sister’s speech, and assured Mr. +Trinder that they had carefully considered the matter from +every point of view, and, though it was a very poor prospect +and involved a great deal of work and self-sacrifice, she, Nan, +thought that Phillis was right, and that it was the best—indeed +the only—thing they could do under the circumstances.</p> +<p>“For myself, I prefer it infinitely to letting lodgings,” finished +Nan: and Phillis looked at her gratefully.</p> +<p>But Mr. Trinder was obstinate and had old-fashioned views, +and argued the whole thing in his dictatorial masculine way. +They sat down to luncheon, and presently sent Dorothy away,—a +piece of independence that bitterly offended that crabbed +but faithful individual,—and wrangled busily through the +whole of the meal.</p> +<p>Mr. Trinder never could remember afterwards whether it was +lamb or mutton he had eaten; he had a vague idea that Dulce +had handed him the mint-sauce, and that he had declined it and +helped himself to salad. The doubt disturbed him for the first +twenty miles of his homeward journey. “Good gracious! for +a man not to know whether he is eating lamb or mutton!” he +soliloquized, as he vainly tried to enjoy his usual nap; “but +then I never was so upset in my life. Those pretty creatures, +and Challoners too,—bless my soul!” And here the lawyer’s +cogitations became confused and misty.</p> +<p>Nan, who had more than once seen tears in the lawyer’s shrewd +little gray eyes, had been very gentle and tolerant over the old +man’s irritability; but Phillis had resented his caustic speeches +somewhat hotly. Dulce, who was on her best behavior, was +determined not to interfere or say a word to thwart her sisters: +she even went so far as to explain to Mr. Trinder that they would +not have to carry parcels, as Phillis meant to hire a boy. She +had no idea that this magnanimous speech was in a figurative +manner the last straw that broke the camel’s back. Mr. Trinder +pushed back his chair hastily, made some excuse that his train +must be due, and beat a retreat an hour before the time, unable +to pursue such a painful subject any longer.</p> +<p>Nan rose, with a sigh of relief, as soon as the door closed upon +their visitors, and took refuge in the shady drawing-room with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +her mother, whom she found in a very tearful, querulous state, +requiring a great deal of soothing. They had decided that no +visitors were to be admitted that afternoon.</p> +<p>“You may say your mistress is indisposed with a bad headache, +Dorothy, and that we are keeping the house quiet,” Nan +remarked, with a little dignity, with the remembrance of that +late passage of arms.</p> +<p>“Very well, Miss Nan,” returned the old servant. However, +she was a little cowed by Nan’s manner: such an order had never +before been given in the cottage. Mrs. Challoner’s headaches +were common events in every-day life, and had never been known +before to interfere with their afternoon receptions. A little eau +de Cologne and extra petting, a stronger cup of tea served up +to her in her bedroom, had been the only remedies; the girls +had always had their tennis as usual, and the sound of their +voices and laughter had been as music in their mother’s ears.</p> +<p>“Very well, Miss Nan,” was all Dorothy ventured to answer; +but she withdrew with a face puckered up with anxiety. She +took in the tea-tray unbidden at an earlier hour than usual; +there were Dulce’s favorite hot cakes, and some rounds of delicately-buttered +toast, “for the young ladies have not eaten +above a morsel at luncheon,” said Dorothy in explanation to her +mistress.</p> +<p>“Never mind us,” returned Nan, with a friendly nod at the +old woman: “it has been so hot to-day,” And then she coaxed +her mother to eat, and made believe herself to enjoy the repast +while she wondered how many more evenings they would spend +in the pretty drawing-room on which they had expended so much +labor.</p> +<p>Nan had countermanded the late dinner, which they all felt +would be a pretence and mockery; and as Mrs. Challoner’s headache +refused to yield to the usual remedies, she was obliged to +retire to bed as soon as the sun set, and the three girls went out +in the garden, and walked up and down the lawn with their arms +interlaced, while Dorothy watched them from the pantry window, +and wiped away a tear or two, as she washed up the tea-things.</p> +<p>“How I should like a long walk?” exclaimed Dulce, impatiently. +“It is so narrow and confined here; but it would never +do: we should meet people.”</p> +<p>“No, it would never do,” agreed her sisters, feeling a fresh +pang that such avoidance was necessary. They had never hidden +anything before, and the thought that this mystery lay between +them and their friends was exquisitely painful.</p> +<p>“I feel as though I never cared to see one of them again!” +sighed poor Nan, for which speech she was rather sharply rebuked +by Phillis.</p> +<p>They settled a fair amount of business before they went to bed +that night; and when Dorothy brought in the supper-tray, bearing +a little covered dish in triumph, which she set down before +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +Nan, Nan looked at her with grave, reproachful eyes, in +there was a great deal of kindness.</p> +<p>“You should not do this, Dorothy,” she said, very gently: +“we cannot afford such delicacies now.”</p> +<p>“It is your favorite dish, Miss Nan,” returned Dorothy, quite +ignoring this remark. “Susan has cooked it to a nicety; but +it will be spoiled if it is not eaten hot.” And she stood over +them, while Nan dispensed the dainty. “You must eat it while +it is hot,” she kept saying, as she fidgeted about the room, taking +up things and putting them down again. Phillis looked at Nan +with a comical expression of dismay.</p> +<p>“Dorothy, come here,” she exclaimed, at last, pushing away +her plate. “Don’t you see that Susan is wasting all her talents +on us, and that we can’t eat to-day?”</p> +<p>“Every one can eat if they try, Miss Phillis,” replied Dorothy, +oracularly. “But a thing like that must be hot, or it is +spoiled.”</p> +<p>“Oh, never mind about it being hot,” returned Phillis, beginning +to laugh. She was so tired, and Dorothy was such a +droll old thing; and how were even stewed pigeons to be appetizing +under the circumstances?</p> +<p>“Oh, you may laugh,” began Dorothy, in an offended tone; +but Phillis took hold of her and nearly shook her.</p> +<p>“Oh, what a stupid old thing you are! Don’t you know +what a silly, aggravating old creature you can be when you +like? If I laugh, it is because everything is so ludicrous and +wretched. Nan and Dulce are not laughing.”</p> +<p>“No, indeed,” put in Dulce; “we are far, far too unhappy!”</p> +<p>“What is it, Miss Nan?” asked Dorothy, sidling up to her +in a coaxing manner. “I am only an old servant, but it was +me that put Miss Dulce in her father’s arms,—‘the pretty lamb,’ +as he called her, and she with a skin like a lily. If there is +trouble, you would not keep it from her old nurse, surely?”</p> +<p>“No, indeed, Dorothy: we want to tell you,” returned Nan +touched by this appeal; and then she quietly recapitulated the +main points that concerned their difficulties,—their mother’s +loss, their future poverty, the necessity for leaving Glen Cottage +and settling down at the Friary.</p> +<p>“We shall all have to work,” finished Nan, with prudent +vagueness, not daring to intrust their plan to Dorothy: “the +cottage is small, and, of course, we can only keep one servant.”</p> +<p>“I dare say I shall be able to manage if you will help me a +little,” returned Dorothy, drying her old eyes with the corner +of her apron. “Dear, dear! to think of such an affliction coming +upon my mistress and the dear young ladies! It is like an +earthquake or a flood, or something sudden and unexpected,—Lord +deliver us! And to think of my speaking crossly to you +Miss Nan, and you with all this worry on your mind!”</p> +<p>“We will not think of that,” returned Nan, soothingly. +“Susan’s quarter will be up shortly, and we must get her away +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +as soon as possible. My great fear is that the work may be too +much for you, poor Dorothy; and that—that—we may have to +keep you waiting sometimes for your wages,” she added, rather +hesitatingly fearing to offend Dorothy’s touchy temper, and yet +determined to put the whole matter clearly before her.</p> +<p>“I don’t think we need talk about that,” returned Dorothy, +with dignity. “I have not saved up my wages for nineteen +years without having a nest-egg laid up for rainy days. Wages,—when +I mention the word, Miss Nan,” went on Dorothy, waxing +somewhat irate, “it will be time enough to enter upon that +subject. I haven’t deserved such a speech; no, that I haven’t,” +went on Dorothy, with a sob. “Wages, indeed!”</p> +<p>“Now, nursey, you shan’t be cross with Nan,” cried Dulce, +throwing her arms round the old woman; for, in spite of her +eighteen years, she was still Dorothy’s special charge. “She’s +quite right; it may be an unpleasant subject, but we will not +have you working for us for nothing.”</p> +<p>“Very well, Miss Dulce,” returned Dorothy, in a choked voice +preparing to withdraw; but Nan caught hold of the hard work-worn +hand, and held her fast.</p> +<p>“Oh, Dorothy, you would not add to our trouble now, when +we are so terribly unhappy! I never meant to hurt your feelings +by what I said. If you will only go to the Friary and help +us to make the dear mother comfortable, I, for one, will be +deeply grateful.”</p> +<p>“And you will not talk of wages?” asked Dorothy, mollified +by Nan’s sweet, pleading tones.</p> +<p>“Not until we can afford to do so,” returned Nan, hastily, +feeling that this was a safe compromise, and that they should +be eked out somehow. And then, the stewed pigeons being regarded +as a failure, Dorothy consented to remove the supper +tray, and the long day was declared at an end.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_X_THE_FRIARY' id='CHAPTER_X_THE_FRIARY'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> +<h3>THE FRIARY.</h3> +</div> +<p>Oldfield was rather mystified by the Challoners’ movements. +There were absolutely three afternoons during which Nan and +her sisters were invisible. There was a tennis-party at the +Paines’ on one of these days, but at the last minute they +had excused themselves. Nan’s prettily-worded note was declared +very vague and unsatisfactory, and on the following +afternoon there was a regular invasion of the cottage,—Carrie +Paine, and two of the Twentyman girls, and Adelaide Sartoris +and her young brother Albert. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span></p> +<p>They found Dulce alone, looking very sad and forlorn.</p> +<p>Nan and Phillis had gone down to Hadleigh that morning, +she explained in rather a confused way: they were not expected +back until the following evening.</p> +<p>On being pressed by Miss Sartoris as to the reason of this +sudden trip, she added, rather awkwardly, that it was on business; +her mother was not well,—oh, very far from well; and +they had to look at a house that belonged to them, as the +tenant had lately died.</p> +<p>This was all very plausible; but Dulce’s manner was so constrained, +and she spoke with such hesitation, that Miss Sartoris +was convinced that something lay behind. They went out in +the garden, however, and chose sides for their game of tennis; +and, though Dulce had never played so badly in her life, the +fresh air and exercise did her good, and at the end of the afternoon +she looked a little less drooping.</p> +<p>It was felt to be a failure, however, by the whole party; and +when tea was over, there was no mention of a second game. +“No, we will not stay any longer,” observed Isabella Twentyman, +kissing the girl with much affection. “Of course we +understand that you will be wanting to sit with your mother.”</p> +<p>“Yes, and if you do not come in to-morrow we shall quite +know how it is,” added Miss Sartoris, good-naturedly, for which +Dulce thanked her and looked relieved.</p> +<p>She stood at the hall door watching them as they walked +down the village street, swinging their racquets and talking +merrily.</p> +<p>“What happy girls!” she thought, with a sigh. Miss +Sartoris was an heiress, and the Twentymans were rich, and +every one knew that Carrie and Sophy Paine would have +money. “None of them will have to work,” said poor Dulce +sorrowfully to herself: “they can go on playing tennis and +driving and riding and dancing as long as they like.” And +then she went up to her mother’s room with lagging footsteps +and a cloudy brow.</p> +<p>“You may depend upon it there is something amiss with +those Challoners,” said Miss Sartoris, as soon as they were out +of sight of the cottage; “no one has seen anything of them for +the last three or four days, and I never saw Dulce so unlike +herself.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I hope not,” returned Carrie, gravely, who had heard +enough from her father to guess that there was pecuniary embarrassment +at the bottom. “Poor little thing, she did seem +rather subdued. How many people do you expect to muster to-morrow, +Adelaide?” and then Miss Sartoris understood that +the subject was to be changed.</p> +<p>While Dulce was trying to entertain her friends, Nan and +Phillis were reconnoitring the Friary.</p> +<p>They had taken an early train to London, and had contrived +to reach Hadleigh a little before three. They went first to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +Beach House,—a small unpretending house on the Parade, kept +by a certain Mrs. Mozley, with whom they had once lodged +after Dulce had the measles.</p> +<p>The good woman received them with the utmost cordiality. +Her place was pretty nearly filled, she told them proudly; the +drawing-room had been taken for three months, and an elderly +couple were in the dining-room.</p> +<p>“But there is a bedroom I could let you have for one night,” +finished Mrs. Mozley, “and there is the little side parlor where +you could have your tea and breakfast.” And when Nan had +thanked her, and suggested the addition of chops to their evening +meal, they left their modest luggage and set out for the +Friary.</p> +<p>Phillis would have gone direct to their destination, but Nan +pleaded for one turn on the Parade. She wanted a glimpse of +the sea, and it was such a beautiful afternoon.</p> +<p>The tide was out, and the long black breakwaters were uncovered; +the sun was shining on the wet shingles and narrow +strip of yellow sand. The sea looked blue and unruffled, with +little sparkles and gleams of light, and white sails glimmered +on the horizon. Some boatmen were dragging a boat down the +beach; it grated noisily over the pebbles. A merry party were +about to embark,—a tall man in a straw hat, and two boys in +knickerbockers. Their sisters were watching them. “Oh, +Reggie, do be careful!” Nan heard one of the girls say, as he +waded knee-deep into the water.</p> +<p>“Come, Nan, we ought not to dawdle like this!” exclaimed +Phillis, impatiently; and they went on quickly, past the long +row of old-fashioned white houses with the green before them +and that sweet Sussex border of soft feathery tamarisk, and +then past the cricket-field, and down to the whitewashed cottage +of the Preventive Station; and then they turned back and +walked towards the Steyne, and after that Nan declared herself +satisfied.</p> +<p>There were plenty of people on the Parade, and most of them +looked after the two girls as they passed. Nan’s sweet bloom +and graceful carriage always attracted notice; and Phillis, +although she generally suffered from comparison with her sister, +was still very uncommon-looking.</p> +<p>“I should like to know who those young ladies are,” observed +a military-looking man with a white moustache, who was standing +at the Library door waiting for his daughter to make some +purchases. “Look at them, Elizabeth: one of them is such a +pretty girl, and they walk so well.”</p> +<p>“Dear father, I suppose they are only some new-comers: we +shall see their names down in the visitors’ list by and by;” and +Miss Middleton smiled as she took her father’s arm, for she was +slightly lame. She knew strangers always interested him, and +that he would make it his business for the next few days to find +out everything about them. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span></p> +<p>“Did you see that nice-looking woman?” asked Phillis, when +they had passed. “She was quite young, only her hair was +gray: fancy, a gray-haired girl!”</p> +<p>“Oh, she must be older than she looks,” returned Nan, indifferently.</p> +<p>She was not looking at people: she was far too busily engaged +identifying each well-remembered spot.</p> +<p>There was the shabby little cottage, where she and her mother +had once stayed after an illness of Mrs. Challoner’s. What odd +little rooms they had occupied, looking over a strip of garden-ground +full of marigolds! “Marigolds-all-in-a-row Cottage,” +she had named it in her home letters. It was nearly opposite +the White House where Mrs. Cheyne lived. Nan remembered +her,—a handsome, sad-looking woman, who always wore black, +and drove out in such handsome carriages.</p> +<p>“Always alone; how sad!” Nan thought; and she wondered, +as they walked past the low stone walls with grassy mounds +slopping from them, and a belt of shrubbery shutting out views +of the house, whether Mrs. Cheyne lived there still.</p> +<p>They had reached a quiet country corner now; there was a +clump of trees, guarded by posts and chains; a white house +stood far back. There were two or three other houses, and a +cottage dotted down here and there. The road looked shady +and inviting. Nan began to look about her more cheerfully.</p> +<p>“I am glad it is so quiet, and so far away from the town, and +that our neighbors will not be able to overlook us.”</p> +<p>“I was just thinking of that as a disadvantage,” returned +Phillis, with placid opposition. “It is a pity, under the +circumstances, that we are not nearer the town.” And after that +Nan held her peace.</p> +<p>They were passing an old-fashioned house with a green door in +the wall, when it suddenly opened, and a tall, grave looking +young man, in clerical attire, came out quickly upon them, and +then drew back to let them pass.</p> +<p>“I suppose that is the new vicar?” whispered Phillis, when +they had gone a few steps. “You know poor old Dr. Musgrave +is dead, and most likely that is his successor.”</p> +<p>“I forgot that was the vicarage,” returned Nan. But happily +she did not turn round to look at it again; if she had done +so, she would have seen the young clergyman still standing by +the green door watching them. “It is a shabby, dull old house +in front; but I remember that when mother and I returned +Mrs. Musgrave’s call we were shown into such a dear old-fashioned +drawing-room, with windows looking out on such a +pleasant garden. I quite fell in love with it.”</p> +<p>“Well, we shall be near neighbors,” observed Phillis, somewhat +shortly, as she paused before another green door, set in a +long blank wall; “for here we are at the Friary, and I had +better just run over the way and get the key from Mrs. Crump.”</p> +<p>Nan nodded, and then stood like an image of patience before +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +the shabby green door. Would it open and let them into a new +untried life? What sort of fading hopes, of dim regrets, would +be left outside when they crossed the threshold? The thought +of the empty rooms, not yet swept and garnished, made her +shiver: the upper windows looked blankly at her, like blind, +unrecognizing eyes. She was quite glad when Phillis joined her +again, swinging the key on her little finger, and humming a +tune in forced cheerfulness.</p> +<p>“What a dull, shut-in place! I think the name of Friary +suits it exactly,” observed Nan, disconsolately, as they went up +the little flagged path, bordered with lilac-bushes. “It feels +like a miniature convent or prison: we might have a grating in +the door, and answer all outsiders through it.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense!” returned Phillis, who was determined to take +a bright view of things. “Don’t go into the house just yet, I +want to see the garden.” And she led the way down a gloomy +side-path, with unclipped box and yews, that made it dark and +decidedly damp. This brought them to a little lawn, with tall, +rank grass that might have been mown for hay, and some side-beds +full of old fashioned flowers, such as lupins and monkshood, +pinks and small pansies; a dreary little greenhouse, with a few +empty flower-pots and a turned-up box was in one corner, and +an attempt at a rockery, with a periwinkle climbing over it, +and an undesirable number of oyster-shells.</p> +<p>An old medlar tree, very warped and gnarled, was at the +bottom of the lawn, and beyond this a small kitchen-garden, +with abundance of gooseberry and currant-bushes, and vast +resources in the shape of mint, marjoram, and lavender.</p> +<p>“Oh, dear! oh, dear! what a wretched little place after our +dear old Glen Cottage garden!” And in spite of her good resolutions, +Nan’s eyes grew misty.</p> +<p>“Comparisons are odious,” retorted Phillis, briskly. “We +have just to make the best of things,—and I don’t deny they are +horrid,—and put all the rest away, between lavender, on the +shelves of our memory.” And she smiled grimly as she picked +one of the gray spiky flowers.</p> +<p>And then, as they walked round the weedy paths, she pointed +out how different it would look when the lawn was mown, and +all the weeds and oyster-shells removed, and the box and yews +clipped, and a little paint put on the greenhouse.</p> +<p>“And look at that splendid passion-flower, growing like a +weed over the back of the cottage,” she remarked, with a wave of +her hand: “it only wants training and nailing up. Poor Miss +Monks has neglected the garden shamefully; but then she was +always ailing.”</p> +<p>They went into the cottage after this. The entry was +rather small and dark. The kitchen came first: it was a tolerable-sized +apartment, with two windows looking out on the lilacs +and the green door and the blank wall.</p> +<p>“I am afraid Dorothy will find it a little dull,” Nan observed, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +rather ruefully. And again she thought the name of Friary was +well given to this gruesome cottage; but she cheered up when +Phillis opened cupboards and showed her a light little scullery, +and thought that perhaps they could make it comfortable for +Dorothy.</p> +<p>The other two rooms looked upon the garden: one had three +windows, and was really a very pleasant parlor.</p> +<p>“This must be our work-room,” began Phillis, solemnly, as she +stood in the centre of the empty room, looking round her with +bright knowing glances. “Oh, what an ugly paper, Nan! but +we can easily put up a prettier one. The smaller room must be +where we live and take our meals: it is not quite so cheerful as +this. It is so nice having this side-window; it will give us more +light, and we shall be able to see who comes in at the door.”</p> +<p>“Yes, that is an advantage,” assented Nan. She was agreeably +surprised to find such a good-sized room in the cottage; +it was decidedly low, and the windows were not plate-glass, +but she thought that on summer mornings they might sit there +very comfortably looking out at the lawn and the medlar-tree.</p> +<p>“We shall be glad of these cupboards,” she suggested, after +a pause, while Phillis, took out sundry pieces of tape from her +pocket and commenced making measurements in a business-like +manner. “Our work will make such a litter, and I should like +things to be as tidy as possible. I am thinking,” she continued, +“we might have mother’s great carved wardrobe in the recess +behind the door. It is really a magnificent piece of furniture, +and in a work-room it would not be so out of place; we could +hang up the finished and unfinished dresses in it out of the dust. +And we could have the little drawing-room chiffonnier between +the windows for our pieces, and odds and ends in the cupboards. +It is a pity our table is round; but perhaps it will look all the +more comfortable. The sewing-machine must be in the side-window,” +added Nan, who was quite in her element now, for she +loved all housewifely arrangements; “and mother’s easy-chair +and little table must stand by the fireplace. My davenport will +be useful for papers and accounts.”</p> +<p>“It is really a very convenient room,” returned Phillis, in a +satisfied voice, when they had exhausted its capabilities; and, +though the second parlor was small and dull in comparison, +even Nan dropped no disparaging word.</p> +<p>Both of them agreed it would do very well. There was a +place for the large roomy couch that their mother so much affected, +and their favorite chairs and knick-knacks would soon +make it look cosey: and after this they went upstairs hand in +hand.</p> +<p>There were only four bedrooms, and two of these were not +large; the most cheerful one was, of course, allotted to their +mother, and the next in size must be for Phillis and Dulce. +Nan was to have a small one next to her mother.</p> +<p>The evening was drawing on by the time they had finished +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +their measurements and left the cottage. Nan, who was tired +and wanted her tea, was for hurrying on to Beach House; but +Phillis insisted on calling at the Library. She wanted to put +some questions to Miss Milner. To-morrow they would have +the paper-hanger, and look out for a gardener, and there was +Mrs. Crump to interview about cleaning down the cottage.</p> +<p>“Oh, very well,” returned Nan, wearily, and she followed +Phillis into the shop, where good-natured bustling Miss Milner +came to them at once.</p> +<p>Phillis put the question to her in a low voice, for there were +other customers exchanging books over the counter. The +same young clergyman they had before noticed had just bought +a local paper, and was waiting evidently for a young lady who +was turning over some magazines quite close to them.</p> +<p>“Do we know of a good dressmaker in the place?” repeated +Miss Milner, in her loud cheerful voice, very much to Nan’s +discomfort, for the clergyman looked up from his paper at +once. “Miss Monks was a tolerable fit, but, poor thing! she +died a few weeks ago; and Mrs. Slasher, who lives over Viner’s +the haberdasher’s, cannot hold a candle to her. Miss Masham +there,”—pointing to a smart ringleted young person, evidently +her assistant,—“had her gown ruined by her: hadn’t you, Miss +Masham?”</p> +<p>Miss Masham simpered, but her reply was inaudible; but the +young lady who was standing near them suddenly turned +round:</p> +<p>“There is Mrs. Langley, who lives just by. I shall be very +happy to give these ladies her address, for she is a widow with +little children, and I am anxious to procure her work—” and +then she looked at Nan, and hesitated; “that is, if you are not +very particular,” she added, with sudden embarrassment, for +even in her morning dress there was a certain style about Nan +that distinguished her from other people.</p> +<p>“Thank you, Miss Drummond,” returned Miss Milner, gratefully. +“Shall I write down the address for you, ma’am?”</p> +<p>“Yes,—no,—thank you very much, but perhaps it does not +matter,” returned Nan, hurriedly, feeling awkward for the first +time in her life. But Phillis, who realized all the humor of the +situation, interposed:</p> +<p>“The address will do us no harm, and we may as well have +it, although we should not trouble Mrs. Langley. I will call in +again, Miss Milner, to-morrow morning, and then I will explain +what it is we really want. We are in a hurry now,” continued +Phillis, loftily, turning away with a dignified inclination of her +head toward the officious stranger.</p> +<p>Phillis was not prepossessed in her favor. She was a dark, +wiry little person, not exactly plain, but with an odd, comical +face; and she was dressed so dowdily and with such utter disregard +of taste that Phillis instinctively felt Mrs. Langley was +not to be dreaded. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span></p> +<p>“What a queer little body! Do you think she belongs to +him?” she asked Nan, as they walked rapidly toward Beach +House.</p> +<p>“What in the world made you strike in after that fashion?” +demanded the young man, as he and his companion followed +more slowly in the strangers’ footsteps. “That is just your +way, Mattie, interfering and meddling in other folks’ affairs. +Why cannot you mind your own business sometimes,” he +continued, irritably, “instead of putting your foot into other +people’s?”</p> +<p>“You are as cross as two sticks this afternoon, Archie,” returned +his sister, composedly. She had a sharp little pecking +voice that seemed to match her, somehow; for she was not unlike +a bright-eyed bird, and had quick pouncing movements. +“Wait a moment: my braid has got torn, and is dragging.”</p> +<p>“I wish you would think a little more of my position, and +take greater pains with your appearance,” returned her brother, +in an annoyed voice. “What would Grace say to see what a +fright you make of yourself? It is a sin and a shame for a +woman to be untidy or careless in her dress; it is unfeminine! +it is unlady-like!” hurling each separate epithet at her.</p> +<p>Perhaps Miss Drummond was used to these compliments, for +she merely pinned her braid without seeming the least put out.</p> +<p>“I think I am a little shabby,” she remarked, tranquilly, as +they at last walked on. “Perhaps Mrs. Langley had better +make me a dress too,” with a laugh, for, in spite of her sharp +voice, she was an even-tempered little body; but this last remark +only added fuel to his wrath.</p> +<p>“You really have less sense than a child. The idea of recommending +a person like Mrs. Langley to those young ladies,—a +woman who works for Miss Masham!”</p> +<p>“They were very plainly dressed, Archie,” returned poor +Mattie, who felt this last snub acutely; for, if there was one +thing upon which she prided herself, it was her good sense. +“They had dark print dresses,—not as good as the one I have +on,—and nothing could be quieter.”</p> +<p>“Oh, you absurd little goose!” exclaimed her brother, and he +burst into a laugh, for the drollery of the comparison restored +him to instant good humor. “If you cannot see the difference +between that frumpish gown of yours, with its little bobtails +and fringes, and those pretty dresses before us, I must say you +are as blind as a bat, Mattie.”</p> +<p>“Oh, never mind my gown,” returned Mattie, with a sigh.</p> +<p>She had had these home-thrusts to meet and parry nearly +every day, ever since she had come to keep house for this fastidious +brother. She was a very active, bustling little person, +who had done a great deal of tough work in her day, but she +never could be made to see that unless a woman add the graces +of life to the cardinal virtues she is, comparatively speaking, a +failure in the eyes of the other sex. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span></p> +<p>So, though Mattie was a frugal housekeeper, and worked from +morning to night in his service,—the veriest little drudge that +was ever seen,—she was a perpetual eyesore to her brother, who +loved feminine grace and repose,—whose tastes were fastidious +and somewhat arbitrary. And so it was poor Mattie had more +censure than praise, and wrote home piteous letters complaining +that nothing she did seemed to satisfy Archie, and that her +mother had made a great mistake in sending her, and not +Grace, to preside over his bachelor establishment.</p> +<p>“Oh, Phillis, how shall we have courage to publish our +plan?” exclaimed Nan, when they were at last discussing the +much-needed tea and chops in the little parlor at Beach House.</p> +<p>The window was wide open. The returning tide was coming +in with a pleasant ripple and wash over the shingle. The Parade +was nearly empty; but some children’s voices sounded from +the green space before the houses. The brown sail of a fishing +craft dipped into the horizon. It was so cool, so quiet, so restful; +but Nan’s eyes were weary, and she put the question wistfully.</p> +<p>Phillis looked into the teapot to gain a moment’s reprieve; +the corners of her mouth had an odd pucker in them.</p> +<p>“I never said it was not hard,” she burst out at last. “I felt +like a fool myself while I was speaking to Miss Milner; but +then that clergyman was peeping at us between the folds of his +paper. He seemed a nice-looking, gentlemanly sort of man. +Do you think that queer little lady in the plaid dress could be +his wife? Oh, no; I remember Miss Milner addressed her as +Miss Drummond. Then she must be his sister: how odd!”</p> +<p>“Why should it be odd?” remarked Nan, absently, who had +not particularly noticed them.</p> +<p>“Oh, she was such a dowdy little thing, not a bit nice-looking, +and he was quite handsome, and looked rather distinguished. +You know I always take stock of people, and make +up my mind about them at once. And then we are to be such +close neighbors.”</p> +<p>“I don’t suppose we shall see much of them,” was Nan’s somewhat +depressed reply; and then, as they had finished their tea +they placed themselves at the open window, and began to talk +about the business of next day; and, in discussing cupboards +and new papers, Nan forgot her fatigue, and grew so interested +that it was quite late before they thought of retiring to rest.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XI_TELL_US_ALL_ABOUT_IT_NAN' id='CHAPTER_XI_TELL_US_ALL_ABOUT_IT_NAN'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> +<h3>“TELL US ALL ABOUT IT, NAN.”</h3> +</div> +<p>Nan overslept herself, and was rather late the next morning; +but as she entered the parlor, with an exclamation of penitence +for her tardiness, she found her little speech was addressed to +the empty walls. A moment after, a shadow crossed the window, +and Phillis came in.</p> +<p>She went up to Nan and kissed her, and there was a gleam +of fun in her eyes.</p> +<p>“Oh, you lazy girl!” she said; “leaving me all the hard +work to do. Do you know, I have been around to the Library, +and have had it all out with Miss Milner; and in the Steyne I +met the clergyman again, and—would you believe it; he looked +quite disappointed because you were not there!”</p> +<p>“Nonsense!” returned Nan, sharply. She never liked this +sort of joking speeches: they seemed treasonable to Dick.</p> +<p>“Oh, but he did,” persisted Phillis, who was a little excited +and reckless after her morning’s work. “He threw me a disparaging +glance, which said, as plainly as possible, ‘Why are +you not the other one?’ That comes from having a sister handsomer +than one’s self.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Phillis! when people always think you so nice, and +when you are so clever!”</p> +<p>Phillis got up and executed a little courtesy in the prettiest +way, and then she sank down upon her chair in pretended exhaustion.</p> +<p>“What I have been through! But I have come out of it +alive. Confess, now, there’s a dear, that you could not have +done it!”</p> +<p>“No; indeed,” with an alarmed air. “Do you really mean +to say that you actually told Miss Milner what we meant to +do?”</p> +<p>“I told her everything. There, sit down and begin your +breakfast, Nan, or we shall never be ready. I found her alone +in the shop. Thank goodness, that Miss Masham was not there. +I have taken a dislike to that simpering young person, and +would rather make a dress for Mrs. Squails any day than for +her. I told her the truth, without a bit of disguise. Would you +believe it, the good creature actually cried about it! she quite +upset me too. ‘Such young ladies! dear, dear: one does not +often see such,’ she kept saying over and over again. And then +she put out her hand and stroked my dress, and said, ‘Such a +beautiful fit, too; and to think you have made it yourself! such +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +a clever young lady! Oh, dear! whatever will Mr. Drummond +and Miss Mattie say?’ Stupid old thing! as though we cared +what he said!”</p> +<p>“Oh, Phillis! and she cried over it?”</p> +<p>“She did indeed. I am not exaggerating. Two big round +tears rolled down her cheeks. I could have kissed her for them. +And then she made me sit down in the little room behind the +shop, where she was having her breakfast, and poured me out +a cup of tea and––” But here Nan interrupted her, and there +was a trace of anxiety in her manner.</p> +<p>“Poured you out a cup of tea! Miss Milner! And you +drank it!”</p> +<p>“Of course I drank it; it was very good, and I was thirsty.”</p> +<p>But here Nan pounced upon her unexpectedly, and dragged +her to the window.</p> +<p>“Your fun is only make-believe: there is no true ring about +it. Let me see your eyes. Oh, Phil, Phil! I thought so! +You have been crying, too!”</p> +<p>Phillis looked a little taken aback. Nan was too sharp for +her. She tried to shake herself free a little pettishly.</p> +<p>“Well, if I choose to make a fool of myself for once in my +life, you need not be silly about it; the old thing was so upsetting, +and—and it was so hard to get it out.” Phillis would not +have told for worlds how utterly she had broken down over +that task of hers; how the stranger’s sympathy had touched so +painful a chord that, before she knew what she was doing, she +had laid her head down on the counter and was crying like a +baby,—all the more that she had so bravely pent up her feelings +all these days that she might not dishearten her sisters.</p> +<p>But, as Nan petted and praised her, she did tell how good Miss +Milner had been to her.</p> +<p>“Fancy a fat old thing like that having such fine feelings,” +she said, with an attempt to recover her sprightliness. “She +was as good as a mother to me,—made me sit in the easy-chair, +and brought me some elder-flower water to bathe my eyes, and +tried to cheer me up by saying that we should have plenty of +work. She has promised not to tell any one just yet about +us; but when we are really in the Friary she will speak to people +and recommend us: and—” here Phillis gave a little laugh—“we +are to make up a new black silk for her that her brother +has just sent her. Oh, dear, what will mother say to us, Nan?” +And Phillis looked at her in an alarmed, beseeching way, as +though in sore need of comfort.</p> +<p>Nan looked grave; but there was no hesitation in her answer:</p> +<p>“I am afraid it is too late to think of that now, Phil: it has +to be done, and we must just go through with it.”</p> +<p>“You are right, Nanny darling, we must just go through with +it,” agreed Phillis; and then they went on with their unfinished +breakfast, and after that the business of the day began. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span></p> +<p>It was late in the evening when they reached home. Dulce +who was at the gate looking out for them, nearly smothered +them with kisses.</p> +<p>“Oh, you dear things! how glad I am to get you back,” she +said, holding them both. “Have you really only been away +since yesterday morning? It seems a week at least.”</p> +<p>“You ridiculous child! as though we believe that! But how +is mother?”</p> +<p>“Oh, pretty well: but she will be better now you are back. +Do you know,” eying them both very gravely, “I think it was +a wise thing of you to go away like that? it has shown me that +mother and I could not do without you at all: we should have +pined away in those lodgings; it has quite reconciled me to the +plan,” finished Dulce, in a loud whisper that reached her +mother’s ears.</p> +<p>“What plan? What are you talking about, Dulce? and why +do you keep your sisters standing in the hall?” asked Mrs. +Challoner, a little irritably. But her brief nervousness vanished +at the sight of their faces: she wanted nothing more, she told +herself, but to see them round her, and hear their voices.</p> +<p>She grew quite cheerful when Phillis told her about the new +papers, and how Mrs. Crump was to clean down the cottage, +and how Crump had promised to mow the grass and paint the +greenhouse, and Jack and Bobbie were to weed the garden-paths.</p> +<p>“It is a perfect wilderness now, mother: you never saw +such a place.”</p> +<p>“Never mind, so that it will hold us, and that we shall +all be together,” she returned, with a smile. “But Dulce talked +of some plan: you must let me hear it, my dears; you must +not keep me in the dark about anything. I know we shall all +have to work,” continued the poor lady; “but if we be all together, +if you will promise not to leave me, I think I could bear +anything.”</p> +<p>“Are we to tell her!” motioned Nan with her lips to Phillis; +and as Phillis nodded, “Yes,” Nan gently and quietly began +unfolding their plan.</p> +<p>But, with all her care and all Phillis’s promptings, the revelation +was a great shock to Mrs. Challoner; in her weakened state +she seemed hardly able to bear it.</p> +<p>Dulce repented bitterly her incautious whisper when she saw +her sisters’ tired faces, and their fruitless attempts to soften the +effects of such a blow. For a little while, Mrs. Challoner seemed +on the brink of despair; she would not listen; she abandoned +herself to lamentations; she became so hysterical at last that +Dorothy was summoned from the kitchen and taken into confidence.</p> +<p>“Mother, you are breaking our hearts,” Nan said, at last. +She was kneeling at her feet, chafing her hands, and Phillis +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +was fanning her; but she pushed them both away from her with +weak violence.</p> +<p>“It is I whose heart is breaking! Why must I live to see +such things? Dorothy, do you know my daughters are going +to be dressmakers?—my daughters, who are Challoners,—who +have been delicately nurtured,—who might hold up their heads +with any one?”</p> +<p>“Dorothy, hold your tongue!” exclaimed Phillis, peremptorily. +“You are not to speak; this is for us to decide, and no +one else. Mammy, you are making Nan look quite pale: she is +dreadfully tired, and so am I. Why need we decide anything +to-night? Every one is upset and excited, and when that is +the case one can never arrive at any proper conclusion. Let us +talk about it to-morrow, when we are rested.” And, though +Mrs. Challoner would not allow herself to be comforted, Nan’s +fatigue and paleness were so visible to her maternal eyes that +they were more eloquent than Phillis’s words.</p> +<p>“I must not think only of myself. Yes, yes, I will do as you +wish. There will be time enough for this sort of talk to-morrow. +Dorothy, will you help me? The young ladies are tired; they +have had a long journey. No, my dear, no,” as Dulce pressed +forward; “I would rather have Dorothy.” And, as the old +servant gave them a warning glance, they were obliged to let +her have her way.</p> +<p>“Mammy has never been like this before,” pouted Dulce, +when they were left alone. “She drives us away from her as +though we had done something purposely to vex her.”</p> +<p>“It is because she cannot bear the sight of us to-night,” +returned Phillis, solemnly. “It is worse for her than for us; a +mother feels things for her children more than for herself; it is +nature, that is what it is,” she finished philosophically; “but +she will be better to-morrow.” And after this the miserable +little conclave broke up.</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner passed a sleepless night, and her pillow was +sown with thorns. To think of the Challoners falling so low as +this! To think of her pretty Nan, her clever, bright Phillis, +her pet Dulce coming to this; “oh, the pity of it!” she cried +in the dark hours, when vitality runs lowest, and thoughts seem +to flow involuntarily towards a dark centre.</p> +<p>But with the morning came sunshine, and her girl’s faces,—a +little graver than usual, perhaps, but still full of youth and the +brightness of energy; and the sluggish nightmare of yesterday’s +grief began to fade a little.</p> +<p>“Now, mammy, you are not going to be naughty to-day!” +was Dulce’s morning salutation as she seated herself on the bed.</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner smiled faintly:</p> +<p>“Was I very naughty last night, Dulce?”</p> +<p>“Oh, as bad as possible. You pushed poor Nan and Phillis +away, and would not let any one come near you but that cross +old Dorothy, and you never bade us good-night; but if you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +promise to be good, I will forgive you and make it up,” finished +Dulce, with those light butterfly kisses to which she was +addicted.</p> +<p>“Now, Chatterbox, it is my turn,” interrupted Phillis; and +then she began a carefully concocted little speech, very carefully +drawn out to suit her mother’s sensitive peculiarities.</p> +<p>She went over the old ground patiently point by point. Mrs. +Challoner shuddered at the idea of letting lodgings.</p> +<p>“I knew you would agree with us,” returned Phillis, with a +convincing nod; and then she went on to the next clause.</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner argued a great deal about the governess +scheme. She was quite angry with Phillis, and seemed to +suffer a great deal of self-reproach, when the girl spoke of their +defective education and lack of accomplishments. Nan had to +come to her sister’s rescue; but the mother was slow to yield +the point:</p> +<p>“I don’t know what you mean. My girls are not different +from other girls. What would your poor father say if he were +alive? It is cruel to say this to me, when I stinted myself to +give you every possible advantage, and I paid Miss Martin +eighty pounds a year,” she concluded, tearfully, feeling as +though she were the victim of a fraud.</p> +<p>She was far more easily convinced that going out as companions +would be impracticable under the circumstances. “Oh, no, +that will never do!” she cried, when the two little rooms with +Dulce were proposed; and after this Phillis found her task less +difficult. She talked her mother over at last to reluctant +acquiescence. “I never knew how I came to consent,” she +said, afterwards, “but they were too much for me.”</p> +<p>“We cannot starve. I suppose I must give in to you,” she +said, at last; “but I shall never hold up my head again.” And +she really believed what she said.</p> +<p>“Mother, you must trust us,” replied Phillis, touched by this +victory she had won. “Do you know what I said to Dulce? +Work cannot degrade us. Though we are dressmakers, we are +still Challoners. Nothing can make us lose our dignity and +self-respect as gentlewomen.”</p> +<p>“Other people will not recognize it,” returned her mother, +with a sigh. “You will lose caste. No one will visit you. +Among your equals you will be treated as inferiors. It is this +that bows me to the earth with shame.”</p> +<p>“Mother, how can you talk so?” cried Nan, in a clear, indignant +voice. “What does it matter if people do not visit us? +We must have a world of our own, and be sufficient for ourselves, +if we can only keep together. Is not that what you +have said to us over and over again? Well, we shall be together, +we shall have each other. What does the outside world +matter to us after all?”</p> +<p>“Oh, you are young; you do not know what complications +may arise,” replied Mrs. Challoner, with the gloomy forethought +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +of middle age. She thought she knew the world better than +they, but in reality she was almost as guileless and ignorant as +her daughters. “Until you begin, you do not know the difficulties +that will beset you,” she went on.</p> +<p>But notwithstanding this foreboding speech, she was some +what comforted by Nan’s words: “they would be together!” +Well, if Providence chose to inflict this humiliation and +afflictive dispensation on her, it could be borne as long as she had +her children around her.</p> +<p>Nan made one more speech,—a somewhat stern one for her.</p> +<p>“Our trouble will be a furnace to try our friends. We shall +know the true from the false. Only those who are really worth +the name will be faithful to us.”</p> +<p>Nan was thinking of Dick; but her mother misunderstood her, +and grew alarmed.</p> +<p>“You will not tell the Paines and the other people about here +what you intend to do, surely? I could not bear that! no, +indeed, I could not bear that!”</p> +<p>“Do not be afraid, dear mother,” returned Nan, sadly, “we +are far too great cowards to do such a thing, and, after all, +there is no need to put ourselves to needless pain. If the Maynes +were here we might not be able to keep it from them, perhaps, +and so I am thankful they are away.”</p> +<p>Nan said this quite calmly, though her mother fixed her eyes +upon her in a most tenderly mournful fashion. She had quite +forgotten their Longmead neighbors, but now, as Nan recalled +them to her mind, she remembered Mr. Mayne, and her look +had become compassionate.</p> +<p>“It will be all over with those poor children,” she thought to +herself: “the father will never allow it,—never; and I cannot +wonder at him.” And then her heart softened to the memory +of Dick, whom she had never thought good enough for Nan, for +she remembered now with a sore pang that her pride was laid +low in the dust, and that she could not hope now that her +daughters would make splendid matches: even Dick would be +above them, though his father had been in trade, and though he +had no grandfather worth mentioning.</p> +<p>A few days after their return from Hadleigh, there was an +other long business interview with Mr. Trinder, in which every +thing was settled. A tenant had already been found for the +cottage. A young couple, on the eve of their marriage, who +had long been looking for a suitable house in the neighborhood +had closed at once with Mr. Trinder’s offer, and had taken the +lease off their hands. The gentleman was a cousin of the Paines +and, partly for the convenience of the in-coming tenants, and +partly because the Challoners wished to move as soon as possible, +there was only a delay of a few weeks before the actual +flitting.</p> +<p>It would be impossible to describe the dismay of the neighborhood +when the news was circulated. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span></p> +<p>Immediately after their return from Hadleigh, Nan and Phillis +took counsel together, and, summoning up their courage, went +from one to another of their friends and quietly announced their +approaching departure.</p> +<p>“Mother has had losses, and we are now dreadfully poor, and +we are going to leave Glen Cottage and go down to a small house +we have at Hadleigh,” said Nan, who by virtue of an additional +year of age was spokeswoman on this occasion. She had fully +rehearsed this little speech, which she intended to say at every +house in due rotation. “We will not disguise the truth; we +will let people know that we are poor, and then they will not +expect impossibilities,” she said, as they walked down the shady +roads towards the Paines’ house,—for the Paines were their most +intimate friends and had a claim to the first confidence.</p> +<p>“I think that will be sufficient; no one has any right to know +more,” she continued, decidedly, fully determined that no +amount of coaxing and cross-examination should wring from +her one unnecessary word.</p> +<p>But she little knew how difficult it would be to keep their own +counsel. The Paines were not alone: they very seldom were. +Adelaide Sartoris was there, and the younger Miss Twentyman, +and a young widow, a Mrs. Forbes, who was a distant connection +of Mrs. Paine.</p> +<p>Nan was convinced that they had all been talking about +them, for there was rather an embarrassed pause as she and +Phillis entered the room. Carrie looked a little confused as she +greeted them.</p> +<p>Nan sat down by Mrs. Paine, who was rather deaf, and in +due time made her little speech. She was rather pale with the +effort, and her voice faltered a little, but every word was heard +at the other end of the room.</p> +<p>“Leave Glen Cottage, my dear? I can’t have heard you +rightly. I am very deaf, to-day,—very. I think I must have +caught cold.” And Mrs. Paine turned a mild face of perplexity +on Nan; but, before she could reiterate her words, Carrie +was on the footstool at her feet, and Miss Sartoris, with a grave +look of concern on her handsome features, was standing beside +her:</p> +<p>“Oh, Nan! tell us all about it! Of course we saw something +was the matter. Dulce was so strange that afternoon; and you +have all been keeping yourselves invisible for ever so long.”</p> +<p>“There is very little to tell,” returned Nan, trying to speak +cheerfully. “Mother has had bad news. Mr. Gardiner is +bankrupt, and all our invested money is gone. Of course we +could not go on living at Glen Cottage. There is some talk, +Carrie, of your cousin, Mr. Ibbetson, coming to look at it: it will +be nice for us if he could take the lease off our hands, and then +we should go down to the Friary.”</p> +<p>“How I shall hate to see Ralph there!—not but what it will +suit him and Louisa well enough, I dare say. But never mind +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +him: I want to know all about yourselves,” continued Carrie, +affectionately. “This is dreadful, Nan! I can hardly believe +it. What are we to do without you? and where is the Friary? +and what is it like? and what will you do with yourselves when +you get there?”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed, that is what we want to know,” agreed Miss +Sartoris, putting her delicately-gloved hand on Nan’s shoulder; +and then Sophy Paine joined the little group, and Mrs. Forbes +and Miss Twentyman left off talking to Phillis, and began +listening; with all their might. Now it was that Nan began to +foresee difficulties.</p> +<p>“The Friary is very small,” she went on, “but it will just +hold us and Dorothy. Dorothy is coming with us, of course. +She is old, but she works better than some of the young ones. +She is a faithful creature––”</p> +<p>But Carrie interrupted her impatiently:</p> +<p>“But, Nan, what will you do with yourselves? Hadleigh is +a nice place, I believe. Mamma, we must all go down there +next summer, and stay there,—you shall come with us, Adelaide,—and +then we shall be able to cheer these poor things up; +and Nan, you and Phillis must come and stay with us. We +don’t mean to give you up like this. What does it matter about +being poor? We are all old friends together. You shall give +us tea at the Friary; and I dare say there are tennis-grounds at +Hadleigh, and we will have nice times together.”</p> +<p>“Of course we will come and see you,” added Miss Sartoris, +with a friendly pressure of Nan’s shoulder; but the poor girl +only colored up and looked embarrassed, and then it was that +Phillis, who was watching her opportunity, struck in:</p> +<p>“You are all very good; but, Carrie, I don’t believe you +understand Nan one bit. When people lose their money they +have to work. We shall all have to put our shoulder to the +wheel. We would give you tea, of course, but as for paying +visits and playing tennis, it is only idle girls like yourselves +who have time for that sort of thing. It will be work and not +play, I fear, with us.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Phillis!” exclaimed poor Carrie, with tears in her eyes, +and Miss Sartoris looked horrified, for she had West-Indian +blood in her veins and was by nature somewhat indolent and +pleasure-loving.</p> +<p>“Do you mean you will have to be governesses?” she asked, +with a touch of dismay in her voice.</p> +<p>“We shall have to work,” returned Phillis, vaguely. “When +we are settled at the Friary we must look round us and do the +best we can.” This was felt to be vague by the whole party; +but Phillis’s manner was so bold and well assured that no one +suspected that anything lay beyond the margin of her speech. +They had not made up their minds, perhaps; Sir Francis +Challoner would assist them; or there were other sources of +help: they must move into the new house first, and then see what +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +was to be done. It was so plausible, so sensible, that every one +was deceived.</p> +<p>“Of course you cannot decide in such a hurry: you must +have so much to do just now,” observed Carrie. “You must +write and tell us all your plans, Phillis, and if there be anything +we can do to help you. Mamma, we might have Mrs. +Challoner here while the cottage is dismantled. Do spare her +to us, Nan, and we will take such care of her!” And they +were still discussing this point, and trying to overrule Nan’s +objections,—who knew nothing would induce her mother to +leave them,—when other visitors were announced, and in the +confusion they were allowed to make their escape.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XII_LADDIE_PUTS_IN_AN_APPEARANCE' id='CHAPTER_XII_LADDIE_PUTS_IN_AN_APPEARANCE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> +<h3>“LADDIE” PUTS IN AN APPEARANCE.</h3> +</div> +<p>“I think we have managed that as well as possible!” exclaimed +Phillis, when they found themselves outside the gates. +“What a good thing Adelaide and Mrs. Forbes and Lily were +there! Now we need only call at those three houses to say +good-bye. How hot you look, Nan! and how they all hemmed +you in! I was obliged to come to your rescue, you were so +beset; but I think I have put them off the scent.”</p> +<p>“Yes, for the present; but think, Phil, if Carrie really carries +out her intention, and all the Paine tribe and Adelaide come +down to Hadleigh next summer! No wonder I am hot; the +bare idea suffocates me.”</p> +<p>“Something may turn up before then; it is no good looking +so far ahead,” was the philosophical rejoinder. “Adelaide is +rather formidable, certainly, and, in spite of her good nature, +one does not feel at home with her. There is a flavor of money +about her, I think; she dresses, talks, and lives in such a gilded +way one finds her heavy; but she may get married before then. +Mr. Dalrymple certainly seemed to mean it when he was down +here last winter, and he will be a good match for her. But here +we are at Fitzroy Square. I wonder what sort of humor her +ladyship will be in?”</p> +<p>Lady Fitzroy received them very graciously. She had just +been indulging in a slight dispute with her husband, and the +interruption was welcome to both of them; besides, she was +always gracious to the Challoners.</p> +<p>“You have just come in time, for we were boring each other +dreadfully,” she said, in her pretty languid way, holding out a +hand to each of them. “Percival, will you ring the bell, +please? I cannot think why Thorpe does not bring up the tea +as usual!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span></p> +<p>Lord Fitzroy obeyed his wife’s behest, and then he turned +with a relieved air to his old friend Phillis. She was the clever +one; and though some people called her quiet, that was because +they did not draw her out, or she had no sympathy with them. +He had always found her decidedly amusing and agreeable in +the days of his bachelorhood.</p> +<p>He had married the beauty of a season, but the beauty was +not without her little crotchets and tempers; and though he +was both fond and proud of his wife, he found Phillis’s talk a +relief this afternoon.</p> +<p>But Phillis was a little <i>distraite</i> on this occasion: she wanted +to hear what Nan was saying in a low voice across the room, +and Thorpe and his subordinate were setting the tea-table, and +Lord Fitzroy would place himself just before her.</p> +<p>“Now look here, Miss Challoner,” he was saying, “I want to +tell you all about it;” but here Thorpe left the room, and Lady +Fitzroy interrupted them:</p> +<p>“Oh, Percival, what a pity! Do you hear?—we are going +to lose our nicest neighbors? Dear little Glen Cottage is to be +empty in a week or so!”</p> +<p>“Mr. Ralph Ibbetson will decide to take it, I think; and he +and Miss Blake are to be married on the 16th of next month,” +returned Nan, softly.</p> +<p>“Ibbetson at Glen Cottage! that red-headed fellow! My +dear Miss Challoner, what sacrilege!—what desecration! +What do you mean by forsaking us in this fashion? Are you +all going to be married? Has Sir Francis died and left you a +fortune? In the name of all that is mysterious, what is the +meaning of this?”</p> +<p>“If you will let a person speak, Percival,” returned his wife, +with dignity, “you shall have an answer:” and then she +looked up in his handsome, good-natured face, and her manner +softened insensibly. “Poor dear Mrs. Challoner has had losses! +Some one has played her false, and they are obliged to leave +Glen Cottage. But Hadleigh is a nice place,” she went on, +turning to Nan: “it is very select.”</p> +<p>“Where did you say, Evelyn?” inquired her husband, +eagerly. “Hadleigh, in Sussex? Oh, that is a snug little +place; no Toms and Harries go down there on a nine hours’ trip. +I was there myself once, with the Shannontons. Perhaps Lady +Fitzroy and I may run down one day and have a look at you,” +he continued, with a friendly look at Phillis. It was only one +of his good-natured speeches, but his wife took umbrage at it.</p> +<p>“The sea never agrees with me. I thought you knew that, +Percival!” rather reproachfully; “but I dare say we shall +often see you here,” she went on, fearing Nan would think her +ungracious. “You and the Paines are so intimate that they +are sure to have you for weeks together; it is so pleasant revisiting +an old neighborhood, is it not? I know I always feel +that with regard to Nuneaton.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span></p> +<p>“Nuneaton never suits my constitution. I thought you +would have remembered that, Evelyn,” returned her husband, +gravely; and then they both laughed. Lord Fitzroy was not +without a sense of humor, and often restored amity by a joking +word after this fashion, and then the conversation proceeded +more smoothly.</p> +<p>Nan and Phillis felt far more at their ease here than they had +felt at the Paines’. There were no awkward questions asked: +Lady Fitzroy was far too well bred for that. If she wondered +at all how the Challoners were to live after they had lost their +money, she kept such remarks for her husband’s private ear.</p> +<p>“Those girls ought to marry well,” observed Lord Fitzroy, +when he found himself alone again with his wife. “Miss Challoner +is as pretty a creature as one need see, but Miss Phillis has +the most in her.”</p> +<p>“How are they to meet people if they are going to bury themselves +in a little sea-side place?” she returned, regretfully. +“Shall I put on my habit now, Percy? do you think it will be +cool enough for our ride?”</p> +<p>“Yes, run along, my pet, and don’t keep me too long waiting.” +Nevertheless, Lord Fitzroy did not object when his wife +made room for him a moment beside her on the couch, while +she made it up to him for her cross speeches, as she told him.</p> +<p>“There, little mother, it is all done!” exclaimed Phillis, in +a tone of triumph, as later on in the afternoon they returned to +the cottage; but in spite of her bravado, both the girls looked +terribly jaded, and Nan especially seemed out of spirits; but +then they had been round the Longmead garden, and had +gathered some flowers in the conservatory, and this alone would +have been depressing work to Nan.</p> +<p>From that time they lived in a perpetual whirl, a bustle of +activity that grew greater; and not less, from day to day. Mrs. +Challoner had quietly but decidedly refused the Paines’ invitation. +Nan was right; nothing would have induced her to leave +her girls in their trouble: she made light of their discomfort, +forgot her invalid airs, and persisted in fatiguing herself to an +alarming extent.</p> +<p>“You must let me do things; I should be wretched to sit +with my hands before me, and not help you,” she said with +tears in her eyes, and when they appealed in desperation to +Dorothy, she took her mistress’s side:</p> +<p>“Working hurts less than worrying. Don’t you be fretting +about the mistress too much, or watching her too closely. It will +do her no harm, take my word for it.” And Dorothy was +right.</p> +<p>But there was one piece of work that Nan set her mother to +do before they left the cottage.</p> +<p>“Mother,” she said to her one day when they were alone +together. “Mrs. Mayne will be wondering why you do not +answer her letter. I think you had better write, and tell her a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +little about things. We must not put it off any longer, or she +will be hurt with us.” And Mrs. Challoner very reluctantly set +about her unpleasant task.</p> +<p>But, after all, it was Nan who furnished the greater part of +the composition. Mrs. Challoner was rather verbose and descriptive +in her style. Nan cut down her sentences ruthlessly, +and so pruned and simplified the whole epistle that her mother +failed to trace her own handiwork: and at the last she added a +postscript in her own pretty handwriting.</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner was rather dissatisfied with the whole thing.</p> +<p>“You have said so little, Nan! Mrs. Mayne will be quite +affronted at our reticence.”</p> +<p>“What is the use of harrowing people’s feelings?” was Nan’s +response.</p> +<p>It was quite true she had dwelt as little as possible on their +troubles.</p> +<p>The few opening sentences had related solely to their friends’ +affairs.</p> +<p>“You will be sorry to hear,” Mrs. Challoner wrote after this, +“that I have met with some severe losses. I dare say Mr. +Mayne will remember that my poor husband invested our little +income in the business of his cousin, Mark Gardiner. We have +just heard the unwelcome news that Gardiner & Fowler have +failed for a large amount. Under these circumstances, we think +it more prudent to leave Glen Cottage as soon as possible, and +settle at Hadleigh, where we have a small house belonging to +us called the Friary. Fortunately for us, Mr. Trinder has +found us a tenant, who will take the remainder of the lease off +our hands. Do you remember Mr. Ralph Ibbetson, the Paines’ +cousin, that rather heavy-looking young man, with reddish +hair, who was engaged to that pretty Miss Blake?—well, he has +taken Glen Cottage; and I hope you will find them nice neighbors. +Tell Dick he must not be too sorry to miss his old friends, +but of course you will understand this is a sad break to us. +Settling down in a new place is never very pleasant; and as +my girls will have to help themselves, and we shall all have to +learn to do without things, it will be somewhat of a discipline to +us; but as long as we are together, we all feel, such difficulties +can be easily borne.</p> +<p>“Tell Mr. Mayne that, if I had foreseen how things were to +turn out, I would have conquered my indisposition, and not +have forfeited my last evening at Longmead.”</p> +<p>And in the postscript Nan wrote hurriedly,—</p> +<p>“You must not be too sorry for us, dear Mrs. Mayne, for +mother is as brave as possible, and we are all determined to +make the best of things.</p> +<p>“Of course it is very sad leaving dear Glen Cottage, where +we have spent such happy, happy days; but, though the Friary +is small, we shall make it very comfortable. Tell Dick the +garden is a perfect wilderness at present, and that there are no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +roses,—only a splendid passion-flower that covers the whole back +of the house.”</p> +<p>Nan never knew why she wrote this. Was it to remind him +vaguely that the time of roses was over, and that from this day +things would be different with them?</p> +<p>Nan was quite satisfied when she had despatched this letter. It +told just enough, and not too much. It sorely perplexed and +troubled Dick; and yet neither he nor his father had the least +idea how things really were with the Challoners.</p> +<p>“Didn’t I tell you so, Bessie?” exclaimed Mr. Mayne, almost +in a voice of triumph, as he struck his hand upon the letter. +“Paine was right when he spoke of a shaky investment. That +comes of women pretending to understand business. A pretty +mess they seem to have made of it!”</p> +<p>“Mother,” said poor Dick, coming up to her when he found +himself alone with her for a moment, “I don’t understand this +letter. I cannot read between the lines, somehow, and yet +there seems something more than meets the eye.”</p> +<p>“I am sure it is bad enough,” returned Mrs. Mayne, who had +been quietly crying over Nan’s postscript. “Think of them +leaving Glen Cottage, and of these poor dear girls having to +make themselves useful!”</p> +<p>“It is just that that bothers me so,” replied Dick, with a +frowning brow. “The letter tells us so little; it is so constrained +in tone; as though they were keeping something from us. +Of course they have something to live upon, but I am afraid it +is very little.”</p> +<p>“Very likely they will only have one servant,—just Dorothy +and no one else; and the girls will have to help in the house,” +returned his mother, thoughtfully. “That will not do them +any harm, Dick: it always improves girls to make them useful. +I dare say the Friary is a very small place, and then I am sure, +with a little help, Dorothy will do very well.”</p> +<p>“But, mother,” pleaded Dick, who was somewhat comforted +by this sensible view of the matter, “do write to Nan or Phillis +and beg of them to give us fuller particulars.” And, though +Mrs. Mayne promised she would do so, and kept her word, Dick +was not satisfied, but sat down and scrawled a long letter to Mrs. +Challoner, so incoherent in its expressions of sympathy and +regret that it quite mystified her; but Nan thought it perfect, +and took possession of it, and read it every day, until it got +quite thin and worn. One sentence especially pleased her. “I +don’t intend ever to cross the threshold of the cottage again,” +wrote Dick: “in fact, Oldfield will be hateful without you all. +Of course I shall run down to Hadleigh at Christmas and look +you up, and see for myself what sort of a place the Friary is. +Tell Nan I will get her lots of roses for her garden so she need +not trouble about that; and give them my love, and tell them +how awfully sorry I am about it all.”</p> +<p>Poor Dick! the news of his friends’ misfortunes took off the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +edge of his enjoyment for a long time. Thanks to Nan’s unselfishness, +he did not in the least realize the true state of affairs; +nevertheless, his honest heart was heavy at the thought of the +empty cottage, and he was quite right in saying Oldfield had +grown suddenly hateful to him, and, though he kept these +thoughts to himself as much as possible, Mr. Mayne saw that +his son was depressed and ill at ease, and sent him away to the +Swiss Tyrol, with a gay party of young people, hoping a few +weeks’ change would put the Challoners out of his head. Meanwhile +Nan and her sisters worked busily, and their friends +crowded round them, helping or hindering, according to their +nature.</p> +<p>On the last afternoon there was a regular invasion of the +cottage. The drawing-room carpet was up, and the room was +full of packing-cases. Carrie Paine had taken possession of one +and her sister Sophy and Lily Twentyman had a turned-up box +between them. Miss Sartoris and Gussie Scobell had wicker +chairs. Dorothy had just brought in tea, and had placed before +Nan a heterogeneous assemblage of kitchen cups and saucers, +mugs, and odds and ends of crockery, when Lady Fitzroy entered +in her habit, accompanied by her sister, the Honorable Maud +Burgoyne, both of whom seemed to enjoy the picnic excessively.</p> +<p>“Do let me have the mug,” implored Miss Burgoyne: she was +a pretty little brunette with a <i>nez retrousse</i>. “I have never +drunk out of one since my nursery days. How cool it is, after +the sunny roads! I think carpets ought to be abolished in the +summer. When I have a house of my own, Evelyn, I mean to +have Indian matting and nothing else in the warm weather.”</p> +<p>“I am very fond of Indian matting,” returned her sister, +sipping her tea contentedly. “Fitzroy hoped to have looked in +this afternoon, Mrs. Challoner, to say good-bye, but there is an +assault-at-arms at the Albert Hall, and he is taking my young +brother Algernon to see it. He is quite inconsolable at the +thought of losing such pleasant neighbors, and sent all sorts of +pretty messages,” finished Lady Fitzroy, graciously.</p> +<p>“Here is Edgar,” exclaimed Carrie Paine; “he told us that +he meant to put in an appearance; but I am afraid the poor boy +will find himself <i>de trop</i> among so many ladies.”</p> +<p>Edgar was the youngest Paine,—a tall Eton boy, who looked +as though he would soon be too big for jackets, and an especial +friend of Nan’s.</p> +<p>“How good of you to come and say good-bye, Gar!” she said +summoning him to her side, as the boy looked round him blushing +and half terrified. “What have you got there under your +jacket?”</p> +<p>“It is the puppy I promised you,” returned Edgar, eagerly; +“don’t you know?—Nell’s puppy? Father said I might have +it.” And he deposited a fat black retriever puppy at Nan’s feet. +The little beast made a clumsy rush at her and then rolled over +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +on its back. Nan took it up in high delight, and showed it to +her mother.</p> +<p>“Isn’t it good of Gar, mother? and when we all wanted a dog +so! We have never had a pet since poor old Juno died; and +this will be such a splendid fellow when he grows up. Look +at his head and curly black paws; and what a dear solemn face +he has got!”</p> +<p>“I am glad you like him,” replied Edgar, who was now perfectly +at his ease. “We have christened him ‘Laddie:’ he is +the handsomest puppy of the lot, and our man Jake says he is +perfectly healthy.” And then, as Nan cut him some cake, he +proceeded to enlighten her on the treatment of this valuable +animal.</p> +<p>The arrival of “Laddie” made quite a diversion, and, when +the good-byes were all said, Nan took the little animal in her +arms and went with Phillis for the last time to gather flowers +in the Longmead garden, and when the twilight came on the +three girls went slowly through the village, bidding farewell to +their old haunts.</p> +<p>It was all very sad, and nobody slept much that night in the +cottage. Nan’s tears were shed very quietly, but they fell thick +and fast.</p> +<p>“Oh, Dick, it is hard—hard!” thought the poor girl, burying +her face in the pillow; “but I have not let you know the day, +so you will not be thinking of us. I would not pain you for +worlds, Dick, not more than I can help.” And then she dried +her eyes and told herself that she must be brave for all their +sakes to-morrow; but, for all her good resolutions, sleep would +not come to her any more than it did to Phillis, who lay open-eyed +and miserable until morning.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIII_I_MUST_HAVE_GRACE' id='CHAPTER_XIII_I_MUST_HAVE_GRACE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> +<h3>“I MUST HAVE GRACE.”</h3> +</div> +<p>When the Rev. Archibald Drummond was nominated to the +living of Hadleigh in Sussex, it was at once understood by his +family that he had achieved a decided success in life.</p> +<p>Hadleigh until very recently had been a perpetual curacy, and +the perpetual curate in charge had lived in the large, shabby +house with the green door on the Braidwood Road, as it was +called. There had been some talk of a new vicarage, but as yet +the first brick had not been laid, the building-committee had +fallen out on the question of the site, and nothing had been +definitely arranged: there was a good deal of talk, too, about +the church restoration, but at the present moment nothing had +been done. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span></p> +<p>Mr. Drummond had not been disturbed in his mind by the +delay of the building-committee in the matter of the new vicarage, +but on the topic of the church restoration he had been +heard to say very bitter things,—far too bitter, it was thought, +to proceed from the lips of such a new-comer. It is not always +wise to be outspoken, and when Mr. Drummond expressed himself +a little too frankly on the ugliness of the sacred edifice, +which until lately had been a chapel-of-ease, he had caused a +great deal of dissatisfaction in the mind of his hearers; but +when the young vicar, still strongly imbued with the beauties +of Oxford architecture, had looked round blankly on the great +square pews and galleries, and then at the wooden pulpit, and +the Ten Commandments that adorned the east end, he was not +quite so sure in his mind that his position was as enviable as +that of other men.</p> +<p>Church architecture was his hobby, and, if the truth must be +told, he was a little “High” in his views; without attaching +himself to the Ultra-Ritualistic party, he was still strongly impregnated +with many of their ideas; he preferred Gregorian to +Anglican chants, and would have had no objection to incense if +his diocesan could have been brought to appreciate it too.</p> +<p>An ornate service was decidedly to his taste. It was, therefore, +a severe mortification when he found himself compelled to +minister Sunday after Sunday in a building that was ugly +enough for a conventicle, and to listen to the florid voices of a +mixed choir, instead of the orderly array of men and boys in +white surplices to which he had been accustomed. If he had +been combative by nature,—one who loved to gird his armor +about him and to plunge into every sort of <i>melee</i>,—he would +have rejoiced after a fashion at the thought of the work cut out +for him, of bringing order and beauty out of this chaos; but he +was by nature too impatient. He would have condemned and +destroyed instead of trying to renovate.</p> +<p>“Why not build a new church at once?” he said, with a +certain youthful intolerance that made people angry. “Never +mind the vicarage; the old house will last my time: but a place +like this—a rising place—ought to have a church worthy of it. +It will be money thrown away to restore this one,” finished the +young vicar, looking round him with sorely troubled eyes; and +it was this outspoken frankness that had lost him popularity at +first.</p> +<p>But, if the new vicar had secret cause for discontent in +the Drummond family there was nothing but the sweetness of +triumph.</p> +<p>“Archie has never given me a moment’s trouble from his +birth,” his proud mother was wont to declare; and it must be +owned that the young man had done very fairly for himself.</p> +<p>There had been plenty of anxiety in the Drummond household +while Archibald was enjoying his first Oxford term. Things +had come to a climax: his father, who was a Leeds manufacturer, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +had failed most utterly, and to a large amount. The firm +of Drummond & Drummond, once known as a most respectable +and reliable firm, had come suddenly, but not unexpectedly to +the ground; and Archibald Drummond the elder had been compelled +to accept a managership in the very firm that, by competition +and underselling, had helped to ruin him.</p> +<p>It was a heavy trial to a man of Mr. Drummond’s proud +temperament; but he went through with it in a tough, dogged +way that excited his wife’s admiration. True, his bread was +bitter to him for a long time, and the sweetness of life, as he told +himself, was over for him; but he had a large family to maintain, +sons and daughters growing up around him, and the +youngest was not yet six months old; under such circumstances +a man may be induced to put his pride in his pocket.</p> +<p>“Your father has grown quite gray, and has begun to stoop. +It makes my heart quite ache to see him sometimes,” Mrs. +Drummond wrote to her eldest son; “but he never says a +word to any of us. He just goes through with it day after +day.”</p> +<p>At that time Archie was her great comfort. He had begun to +make his own way early in life, understanding from the first +that his parents could do very little for him. He had worked +well at school, and had succeeded in obtaining one or two +scholarships. When his university life commenced, and the +household at Leeds became straitened in their circumstances, he +determined not to encumber them with his presence.</p> +<p>He soon became known in his college as a reading-man and a +steady worker; he was fortunate, too, in obtaining pupils for +the long vacation. By and by he became a fellow and tutor of +his college, and before he was eight-and-twenty the living of +Hadleigh was offered to him. It was not at all a rich living,—not +being worth more than three hundred a year,—and some of +his Oxford friends would have dissuaded him from accepting +it; but Archibald Drummond was not of their opinion. Oxford +did not suit his constitution; he was never well there. Sussex +air, and especially the sea-side, would give him just the tone he +required. He liked the big old-fashioned house that would be +allotted to him. He could take pupils and add to his income in +that way; at present he had his fellowship. It was only in the +event of his marriage that his income might not be found sufficient. +At the present moment he had no matrimonial intentions: +there was only one thing on which he was determined, +and that was, that Grace must live with him and keep his +house.</p> +<p>Grace was the sister next to him in age. Mattie,—or Matilda, +as her mother often called her,—was the eldest of the family, +and was two years older than Archibald. Between him and +Grace there were two brothers, Fred and Clyde, and beyond +Grace a string of girls ending in Dottie, who was not yet ten. +Archibald used to forget their ages and mix them up in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +most helpless way; he was never quite sure if Isabel were +eighteen or twenty, or whether Clara or Susie came next. He +once forgot Laura altogether, and was only reminded of her +existence by the shock of surprise at seeing the awkward-looking, +ungainly girl standing before him, looking shyly up in his +face.</p> +<p>Archibald was never quite alive to the blessing of having seven +sisters, none of them with any pretension to beauty, unless it +were Grace, though he was obliged to confess on his last visit to +Leeds that Isabel was certainly passable-looking. He tried to +take a proper amount of interest in them and be serenely unconscious +of their want of grace and polish; but the effort was +too manifest, and neither Clara nor Susie nor Laura regarded +their grave elder brother with any lively degree of affection. +Mrs. Drummond was a somewhat stern and exacting mother, +but she was never so difficult to please as when her eldest son +was at home.</p> +<p>“Home is never so comfortable when Archie is in it,” Susie +would grumble to her favorite confidante, Grace. “Every one +is obliged to be on their best behavior; and yet mother finds +fault from morning to night. Dottie is crying now because she +has been scolded for coming down to tea in a dirty pinafore.”</p> +<p>“Oh, hush, Susie dear! you ought not to say such things,” +returned Grace, in her quiet voice.</p> +<p>Poor Grace! these visits of Archie were her only pleasures. +The brother and sister were devoted to each other. In Archie’s +eyes not one of the others was to be compared to her; and in +this he was perfectly right.</p> +<p>Grace Drummond was a tall, sweet-looking girl of two-and-twenty,—not +pretty, except in her brother’s opinion, but possessing +a soft, fair comeliness that made her pleasant to look +upon. In voice and manner she was extremely quiet,—almost +grave; and only those who lived with her had any idea of the +repressed strength and energy of her character, and the almost +masculine clearness of intellect that lay under the soft exterior. +One side of her nature was hidden from every one but her +brother, and to him only revealed by intermittent flashes, and +that was the passionate absorption of her affection in him. To +her parents she was dutiful and submissive, but when she grew +up the yoke of her mother’s will was felt to be oppressive. Her +father’s nature was more in sympathy with her own; but even +with him she was reticent. She was good to all her brothers +and sisters, and especially devoted to Dottie; but her affection +for them was so strongly pervaded by anxiety and the overweight +of responsibility that its pains overbalanced its pleasures. +She loved them, and toiled in their service from morning to +night; but as yet she had not felt herself rewarded by any decided +success. But in Archie her pride was equal to her love; she +was critical, and her standard was somewhat high, but he satisfied +her. What other people recognized as faults, she regarded +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +as the merest blemishes. Without being absolutely faultless, +which was of course impossible in a creature of flesh and blood, +he was still as near perfection, she thought, as he could be. +Perhaps her affection for him blinded her somewhat, and cast +a sort of loving glamour over her eyes; for it must be owned that +Archibald was by no means extraordinary in either goodness or +cleverness. From a boy she had watched his career with dazzled +eyes, rejoicing in every stroke of success that came to him as +though it were her own. Her own life was dull and laborious, +spent in the overcrowded house in Lowder Street, but she forgot +it in following his. Now and then bright days came to her,—few +in number, but absolutely golden, when this dearly-loved +brother came on a brief visit,—when they had snatches of delicious +talk in the empty school-room at the top of the house, or +he took her out with him for a long, quiet walk.</p> +<p>Mrs. Drummond always made some dry sarcastic remark +when they came in, for she was secretly jealous of Archie’s affection +for Grace. Hers was rather a monopolizing nature, and +she would willingly have had the first share in her son’s affections. +It somewhat displeased her to see him so wrapt up in +the one sister to the exclusion of all the others, as she told him.</p> +<p>“I think you might have asked Matilda or Isabel to accompany +you. The poor girls never see anything of you, Archie,” +she would say plaintively to her son. But to Grace she would +speak somewhat sharply, bidding her fulfil some neglected duty, +which another could as well have performed, and making her +at once understand by her manner that she was to blame in +leaving Mattie at home.</p> +<p>“Mother,” Archibald said to her one day, when she had +spoken with unusual severity, and the poor girl had retreated +from the room, feeling as though she had been convicted of +selfishness, “we must settle the matter about which I spoke to +you last night. I have been thinking about it ever since. Mattie +will not do at all. I must have Grace!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Drummond looked up from her mending, and her thin +lips settled into a hard line that they always took when her +mind was made up on a disagreeable subject. She had a pinafore +belonging to Dottie in her hand; there was a jagged rent in it, +and she sighed impatiently as she put it down; though she was +not a woman who shirked any of her maternal duties, she had +often been heard to say that her work was never done, and that +her mending-basket was never empty.</p> +<p>“But if I cannot spare Grace,” she said, rather shortly, as +she meditated another lecture to the delinquent Dottie.</p> +<p>“But, mother, you must spare her!” returned her son, +eagerly, leaning his elbow on the mantelpiece, and watching +her rapid manipulations with apparent interest. “Look here; +I am quite in earnest. I have set my heart on having Grace. +She is just the one to manage a clergyman’s household. She +would be my right hand in the parish.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span></p> +<p>“She is our right hand too, Archie; but I suppose we are to +cut it off, that it may benefit you and your parish.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Drummond seldom spoke so sharply to her eldest son; +but this request of his was grievous to her.</p> +<p>“I think Grace ought to be considered, too, in the matter,” +he returned, somwhat sullenly. “She works harder than any +paid governess, and gets small thanks for her trouble.”</p> +<p>“She does her duty,” returned Mrs. Drummond, coldly,—she +very seldom praised any of her children,—“but not more +than Mattie does hers. You are prejudiced strongly against +your sister, Archie; you are not fair to her in any way. Mattie +is a capital little housekeeper. She is economical, and full of +clever contrivances. It is not as though I asked you to try +Isabel. She is well enough, too, in her way, but a little flighty, +and rather too pretty, perhaps—” but here a laugh from Archie +grated on her ear.</p> +<p>“Too pretty!—what an absurd idea! The girl is passable-looking, +and I will not deny that she has improved lately; but, +mother, there is not one of the girls that can be called pretty +except Grace.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Drummond winced at her son’s outspoken words. The +plainness of her daughters was a sore subject.</p> +<p>She had never understood why her girls were so ordinary-looking. +She had been a handsome girl in her time, and was +still a fine-looking woman. Her husband, too, had had a fair +amount of good looks, and, though he stooped, was still admirable +in her eyes. The boys, too, were thoroughly fine fellows. Fred +was decidedly handsome, and so was Clyde; and as for her +favorite Archie, Mrs. Drummond glanced up at him as he stood +beside her.</p> +<p>He certainly looked a model young clergyman. His features +were good, but the lower part of his face was quite hidden by +the fair mustache and the soft silky beard. He had thoughtful +gray eyes, which could look as severe as hers sometimes; and, +though his shoulders were somewhat too sloping, there could +be no fault found with his figure. He was as nice-looking as +possible, she thought, and no mother could have been better +satisfied. But why, with the exception of Grace and Isabel, +were her girls so deficient in outward graces? It could not be +denied that they were very ordinary girls. Laura was overgrown +and freckled, and had red hair; Susie was sickly-looking, +and so short-sighted that they feared she would have to take to +spectacles; and Clara was stolid and heavy-looking, one of +those thick-set girls that dress never seems to improve. +Dottie had a funny little face; but one could not judge of her +yet. And Mattie,—Mrs. Drummond sighed again as she thought +of her eldest daughter,—Mattie was thirty; and her mother +felt she would never marry. It was not that she was so +absolutely plain,—people who liked her said Mattie had a nice +face,—but she was so abrupt, so uncouth in her awkwardness, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +such a stranger to the minor morals of life, that it would be a +wonder indeed if she could find favor in any man’s eyes.</p> +<p>“I do think you are too hard on your sisters,” returned Mrs. +Drummond, stung by her son’s remark. “Isabel was very +much admired at her first party last week. Mrs. Cochrane told +me so, and so did Miss Blair.” She could have added that her +maternal interest had been strongly stirred by the mention of a +certain Mr. Ellis Burton, who she had understood had paid a +great deal of attention that evening to Isabel, and who was +the eldest son of a wealthy manufacturer in Leeds. But Mrs. +Drummond had some good old-fashioned notions, and one of +these was never to speak on such delicate subjects as the +matrimonial prospects of her daughters: indeed, she often +thanked heaven she was not a match-making mother,—which +was as well, under the circumstances.</p> +<p>“Well, well, we are not talking about Isabel,” returned her +son, impatiently. “The question is about Grace, mother. I +really do wish very much that you and my father would stretch +a point for me here. I want her more than I can say.”</p> +<p>“But, Archie, you must be reasonable. Just think a moment. +Your father cannot afford to send the girls to school, or +to pay for a good finishing governess. We have given Grace +every advantage; and just as she is making herself really useful +to me in the school-room, you want to deprive me of her +services.”</p> +<p>“You know I offered to pay for Clara’s schooling,” returned +her son, reproachfully. “She is more than sixteen, is she not! +Surely Mattie could teach the others?”</p> +<p>But Mrs. Drummond’s clear, concise voice interrupted him:</p> +<p>“Archie, how can you talk such nonsense? You know poor +Mattie was never good at book-learning. She would hardly do +for Dottie. Ask Grace, if you doubt my word.”</p> +<p>“Of course I do not doubt it, mother,” in rather an aggravated +voice, for he felt he was having the worst of the argument.</p> +<p>“Then why do you not believe me when I tell you the thing +you ask is impossible?” replied his mother more calmly. “I +am sorry for you if you are disappointed, Archie; but you +undervalue Mattie,—you do indeed. She will make you a nice +little housekeeper, and, though she is not clever, she is so amiable +that nothing ever puts her out; and visiting the poor and +sick-nursing are more in her line than in Grace’s. Mrs. Blair +finds her invaluable. She wanted her for one of her district +visitors, and I said she had too much to do at home.”</p> +<p>Archie shrugged his shoulders. Mrs. Blair was the wife of +the vicar of All Saints’, where the Drummonds attended, and +from a boy she had been his pet aversion. She was a bustling, +managing woman, and of course Mattie was just to her taste. +He did not see much use in continuing the conversation; with +all his affection for his mother,—and she was better loved by +her sons than by her daughters,—he knew her to be as immovable +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +as a rock when she had once made up her mind. He +thought at first of appealing to his father on Grace’s behalf, but +abandoned this notion after a few minutes’ reflection. His +father was decided and firm in all matters relating to business, +but for many years past he had abandoned the domestic reins to +his wife’s capable hands. Perhaps he had proved her worth +and prudence; perhaps he thought the management of seven +daughters too much for any man. Anyhow, he interfered less +and less as the years went on; and if at any time he differed from +his wife, she could always talk him over, as her son well knew.</p> +<p>When the subject had been first mooted in the household, he +had said a word or two to his father, and had found him very +reluctant to entertain the idea of parting with Grace. She was +his favorite daughter, and he thought how he should miss her +when he came home weary and jaded at night.</p> +<p>“I don’t think it will do at all,” he had said, in an undecided +dissatisfied tone. “Won’t one of the other girls serve your +turn? There’s Mattie, or that little monkey Isabel, she is as +pert and lively as possible. But Grace; why, she is every one’s +right hand. What would the mother or the young ones do without +her?”</p> +<p>No; it was no use appealing to his father, Archie thought, and +might only make mischief in the house. He and Grace must +make up their mind to a few more years’ separation. He turned +away after his mother’s last speech, and finally left the room +without saying another word. There was a cloud on his face, +and Mrs. Drummond saw that he was much displeased; but, +though she sighed again as she took up a pair of Clyde’s socks +and inspected them carefully, there was no change in her resolution +that Mattie, and not Grace, should go to the vicarage for +the year’s visit that was all Archie had asked.</p> +<p>There are mothers and mothers in this world,—some who are +capable of sacrificing their children to Moloch, who will barter +their own flesh and blood in return for some barren heritage or +other. There are those who will exact from those dependent on +them heavy tithes of daily patience and uncomplaining drudgery; +while others, who are “mothers indeed” give all, asking for +nothing in return.</p> +<p>Mrs. Drummond was a good woman. She had many virtues +and few faults. She was lady-like, industrious and self-denying +in her own personal comforts, an exemplary wife, and a +tolerant mistress; but she was better understood by her sons +than by her daughters.</p> +<p>Her maternal instincts were very strong, and no mother had +more delighted in her nursery than she had in hers. As long as +there was a baby in the house the tenderness of her love was +apparent enough. She wore herself out tending her infants, and +no one ever heard her say a harsh word in her nursery.</p> +<p>But as her children grew up, there was much clashing of wills +in the household. Her sons did not fear her in the least; but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +with her daughters it was otherwise. They felt the mother’s +strong will repressive; it threatened to dwarf their individuality +and cramp that free growth that is so necessary to young +things.</p> +<p>Dottie, who by virtue of being the last baby had had more than +her fair amount of petting, was only just beginning to learn her +lesson of unquestioning obedience; and, as she was somewhat +spoiled, her lesson was hard one. But Laura and Susie and Clara +had not yet found out that their mother loved them and wished +to be their friend; they were timid and reserved with her, and +took all their troubles to Grace. Even Mattie, who was her +first-born, and who was old enough to be her mother’s companion, +quailed and blushed like a child under the dry caustic +speeches at which Clyde and Fred only laughed.</p> +<p>“You don’t understand the mother. Her bark is worse than +her bite,” Clyde would say to his sister sometimes. “She is an +awfully clever woman, and it riles her to see herself surrounded +by such a set of ninnies. Now, don’t sulk, Belle. You know +Mattie’s a duffer compared to Grace; aren’t you, Matt?”</p> +<p>At which truism poor Mattie would hang her head.</p> +<p>“Yes, Clyde; I know I am dreadfully stupid sometimes, and +that makes mother angry.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Drummond often complained bitterly of her daughters’ +want of confidence in her, but she never blamed herself for the +barrier that seemed between them. She was forever asserting +maternal authority, when such questions might have been +safely laid to rest between her and her grown-up daughters. +Mrs. Challoner’s oneness of sympathy with her girls, her lax +discipline, her perfect equality, would have shocked a woman +of Mrs. Drummond’s calibre. She would not have tolerated or +understood it for a moment.</p> +<p>“My girls must do as I wish,” was a very ordinary speech in +her mouth. “I always do as my girls wish,” Mrs. Challoner +would have said. And, indeed, the two mothers were utterly +dissimilar; but it may be doubted whether the Challoner household +were not far happier than the family in Lowder Street.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIV_YOU_CAN_DARE_TO_TELL_ME_THESE_THINGS' id='CHAPTER_XIV_YOU_CAN_DARE_TO_TELL_ME_THESE_THINGS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> +<h3>“YOU CAN DARE TO TELL ME THESE THINGS.”</h3> +</div> +<p>Archibald Drummond had left his mother’s presence with a +cloud on his brow. He had plenty of filial affection for her, but +it was not the first time that he had found her too much for +him. She had often angered him before by her treatment of +Grace, but he had told himself that she was his mother, that a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +man could have but one, and so he had brought himself to forgive +her. But this time she had set herself against the cherished +plan of years. He had always looked forward to the +time when he could have Grace to live with him; they had +made all sorts of schemes together, and all their talk had concentrated +itself towards this point; the disappointment would +place a sort of blankness before them; they would be working +separately, far away from each other, and the distance would +not be bridged for years.</p> +<p>He stood for a moment in the dark, narrow hall, thinking intently +over all this, and then he went slowly upstairs. He knew +where he should find Grace. His mother had paid an unwonted +visit to the school-room during their walk, and on their return +had expressed herself with some degree of sharpness on the disorder +she had found there. Grace would be busily engaged in +putting everything to rights. It was Clara’s business, but she +had gone out, and had, as usual, forgotten all about it. Grace +had taken the blame upon herself, of course: she was always +shielding her younger sisters.</p> +<p>Everything was done when he entered the room, and Grace +was sitting by the window, with her hands folded in her lap, +indulging in a few minutes’ rare idleness. She looked up eagerly +as her brother made his appearance.</p> +<p>The school-room was a large, bare-looking room at the top of +the house, with two narrow windows looking out over a lively +prospect of roofs and chimney-pots. Mrs. Drummond had done +her utmost to give it an air of comfort, but it was, on the whole, +a dull, uncomfortable apartment, in spite of the faded Turkey +carpet, and the curtains that had once been so handsome, but +had now merged into unwholesome neutral tints.</p> +<p>Laura, who was the wit of the family, had nicknamed it the +Hospital, for it seemed to be a receptacle for all the maimed and +rickety chairs of the household, footstools in a dilapidated condition, +and odd pieces of lumber that had no other place. Archibald +regarded it with a troubled gaze; somehow, its dinginess +had never before so impressed him; and then as he looked at +his sister the frown deepened on his face.</p> +<p>“Well, Archie?”</p> +<p>“Oh, Grace, it is no use! I have talked myself hoarse, but +the mother is dead against it: one might as well try to move a +rock. We shall have to make up our minds to bear our disappointment +as well as we can.”</p> +<p>“I knew it was hopeless from the first,” returned Grace, +slowly; but, as she spoke, a sort of dimness and paleness crept +over her face, belying her words.</p> +<p>She was young, and in youth hope never dies. Beyond the +gray daily horizon there is always a possible gleam, a new to-morrow; +youth abounds in infinite surprises, in probabilities +which are as large as they are vague. Grace told herself that +she never hoped much from Archie’s mission; yet when he came +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +to her with his ill success plainly stamped upon his countenance, +the dying out of her dream was bitter to her.</p> +<p>“I knew it was hopeless from the first,” had been her answer, +and then breath for further words failed her, and she sat motionless, +with her hands clasped tightly together, while Archie +placed himself on the window-seat beside her and looked out +ruefully at the opposite chimneys.</p> +<p>Well, it was all over, this dearly-cherished scheme of theirs; +she must go on now with the dull routine of daily duties, she +must stoop her neck afresh to the yoke she had long found so +galling; this school-room must be her world, she must not hope +any longer for wider vistas, for more expansive horizons, for +tasks that should be more congenial to her, for all that was now +made impossible.</p> +<p>Mattie, not she, must go and keep Archie’s house, and here +for a moment she closed her eyes, the pain was so bitter; she +thought of the old vicarage, of the garden where she and Archie +were to have worked, of the shabby old study where he meant +to write his sermons, while she was to sit beside him with her +book or needlework, of the evenings when he had promised to +read to her, of the walks they were to have taken together, of +all the dear delightful plans they had made.</p> +<p>And now her mother had said them nay; it was Mattie who +was to be his housekeeper, who would sit opposite to him and +pour out his coffee, who would mend his socks and do all the +thousand-and-one things that a woman delights in doing for the +mankind dependent on her for comfort.</p> +<p>Mattie would visit his poor people, and teach in the schools, +entertain his friends, and listen to his voice every Sunday; here +tears slowly gathered under the closed eyelids. Yes, Mattie +would do all that, but she would not be his chosen friend and +companion; there would be no long charming talks for her in +the study or the sunny garden; he would be as lonely, poor +fellow, in his way as she would be in hers, and for this her +mother was to blame.</p> +<p>“Well, Gracie, haven’t you a word to say?” asked her brother, +at last, surprised at her long silence.</p> +<p>“No, Archie; it does not bear talking about,” she returned, +so passionately that he turned round to look at her. “I must +not even think of it. I must try and shut it all out of my mind, +or I shall be no good to any one. But it is hard—hard!” with +a quiver of her lip.</p> +<p>“I call it a shame for my father and mother to sacrifice you +in this way!” he burst out, moved to bitter indignation at the +sight of her trouble. “I shall tell my father what I think about +it pretty plainly!”</p> +<p>But this speech recalled Grace to her senses.</p> +<p>“Oh, no, dear! you must do no such thing: promise me you +will not. It would be no good at all; and it would only make +mother so angry. You know he always thinks as she does about +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +things, so it would be no use. I suppose”—with an impatient +sigh—“that I ought to feel myself complimented at knowing I +cannot be spared. Some girls would be proud to feel themselves +their mother’s right hand; but to me it does not seem +much of a privilege.”</p> +<p>“Don’t talk in that way, Grace: it makes me miserable to +hear you. I am more sorry for you than I am for myself, and +yet I am sorry for myself too. If it were not that my mother +would be too deeply offended, I would refuse to have Mattie at +all. We never have got on well together. She is a good little +thing in her way, but her awkwardness and left-handed ways +will worry me incessantly. And then we have not an idea in +common––” but here Grace generously interposed:</p> +<p>“Poor old fellow! as though I did not know all that; but you +must not vent it on poor Mattie. She is not to blame for our +disappointment. She would gladly give it up to me if she +could. I know she will do her utmost to please you, Archie, +and she is so good and amiable that you must overlook her little +failings and make the best of her.”</p> +<p>“It will be rather difficult work, I am afraid,” returned her +brother, grimly. “I shall always be drawing invidious comparisons +between you both, and thinking what you would do in +her place.”</p> +<p>“All the same you must try and be good to her for my sake, +for I am very fond of Mattie,” she returned, gently; but he +could not help feeling gratified at the assurance that he would +miss her. And then she put her hand on his coat-sleeve, and +stroked it, a favorite caress with her. “It does not bear talking +about: does it, Archie? It only makes it feel worse. I +think it must be meant as a discipline for me, because I am so +wicked, and that it would not do at all for me to be too happy.” +And here she pressed his arm, and looked up in his face, with +an attempt at a smile.</p> +<p>“No, you are right: talking only makes it worse,” he returned, +hurriedly; and then he stooped—for he was a tall man—and +kissed her on the forehead just between her eyes, and +then walked to the door, whistling a light air.</p> +<p>Grace did not think him at all abrupt in thus breaking off the +conversation. She had caught his meaning in a moment, and +knew the whole business was so painful to him that he did not +care to dwell on it. When the tea-bell rang, she prepared herself +at once to accompany him downstairs.</p> +<p>It was Archibald’s last evening at home, and all the family +were gathered round the long tea-table. Since Mr. Drummond’s +misfortunes, late dinners had been relinquished, and more +homely habits prevailed in the household. Mrs. Drummond +had, indeed, apologized to her son more than once for the simplicity +of their mode of life.</p> +<p>“You are accustomed to a late dinner, Archie. I wish I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +could have managed it for you; but your father objects to any +alteration being made in our usual habits.”</p> +<p>“He is quite right; and I should have been much distressed +if you had thought such alteration necessary,” returned her son, +very much surprised at this reference to his father. For Mrs. +Drummond rarely consulted her husband on such matters. In +this case, however, she had done so, and Mr. Drummond had +been unusually testy—indeed, affronted—at such a question +being put to him.</p> +<p>“I don’t know what you mean, Isabella,” he had replied; “but +I suppose what is good enough for me is good enough for Archie.” +And then Mrs. Drummond knew she had made a mistake, for +her husband had felt bitterly the loss of his late dinner. So +Archie tried to fall in with the habits of his family, and to +enjoy the large plum or seed-cake that invariably garnished the +tea-table; and, though he ate but sparingly of the supper, which +always gave him indigestion, Grace was his only confidante in +the matter. Mr. Drummond, indeed, looked at his son rather +sharply once or twice, as though he suspected him of fastidiousness. +“I cannot compliment you on your appetite,” he would +say, as he helped himself to cold meat; “but perhaps our home +fare is not so tempting as Oxford living?”</p> +<p>“I always say your meat is unusually good,” returned Archibald, +amicably. “If there be any fault, it is in my appetite; +but that Hadleigh air will soon set right.” But, though he answered +his father after this tolerant fashion, he always added, +in a mental aside, that nine-o’clock suppers were certainly barbarous +institutions, and peculiarly deleterious to the constitution +of an Oxford fellow.</p> +<p>Mrs. Drummond looked at them both somewhat keenly as +they entered. In spite of her resolution, she was secretly uncomfortable +at the thought that Archie was displeased with +her: her daughter’s vexation was a burden that could be more +easily borne; but her maternal heart yearned for some token +that her boy was not estranged from her. But no such consolation +was to be vouchsafed to her. She had kept his usual +place vacant beside her; Archie showed no intention of taking +it. He placed himself by his father, and began talking to him +of a change of ministry that was impending, and which would +overthrow the Conservative party. Mrs. Drummond, who was +one of those women who can never be made to take any interest +in politics, was reduced to the necessity of talking to Mattie in +an undertone, for the other boys never put in an appearance at +this meal; but as she talked she took stock of Grace’s pale, abstracted +looks as she sat with her plate before her, not pretending +to eat, and taking no notice of Susie and Laura, who chatted +busily across her.</p> +<p>It was not a festive meal; on the contrary, there was an unusual +air of restraint over the whole party. The younger +members felt instinctively that there was something amiss. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +Archie looked decidedly glum; and there was an expression on +the mother’s face that they were not slow to interpret. No one +could hear what it was she was saying to Mattie that made her +look so red and nervous all at once; but presently she addressed +herself abruptly to her husband:</p> +<p>“It is all settled, father. I have arranged with Archie that +Matilda should go down to Hadleigh next month.”</p> +<p>Archie stroked his beard, but did not look up or make any +remark, though poor Mattie looked at him beseechingly across +the table, as though imploring a word. His mother would +carry her point; but he would not pretend for a moment that +he was otherwise than displeased, or that Mattie would be welcome.</p> +<p>His silence attracted Mr. Drummond’s attention.</p> +<p>“Oh, what, you have settled it, you say? I hope you are +satisfied, Archie, and properly grateful to your mother for sparing +Mattie. She is to go for a year. Well, it will be a grand +change for her. I should not be surprised if you were to pick +up a husband, Miss Mattie;” for Mr. Drummond was a man who, +in spite of his cares, was not without his joke; but, as usual, it +was instantly frowned down by his wife:</p> +<p>“I wonder at you, father, talking such nonsense before the +children. Why are you giggling, Laura? It is very unseemly +and ill-behaved. I hope no daughter of mine has such unmaidenly +notions. Mattie is going to Hadleigh to be a comfort +to her brother, and to keep his house as a clergyman’s house +ought to be kept.”</p> +<p>“And you are satisfied, Archie?” asked Mr. Drummond, +not quite pleased at his wife’s reprimand, and struck anew by +his son’s silence.</p> +<p>“I consider these questions somewhat unnecessary. You +know my wishes, sir, on the subject, and my mother also,” was +the somewhat uncompromising remark; “but it appears that +they are not to be met in this instance. I hope Mattie will be +comfortable and not miss her sisters;” but he did not look at +the poor girl, and the tears came into her eyes.</p> +<p>“Oh, Archie, I am so sorry! I never meant––-” she stammered; +but her mother interrupted her:</p> +<p>“There is no occasion for you to be sorry about anything; +you had far better be silent, Mattie. But you have no tact. +Father, if you have finished your tea, I suppose you and Archie +are going out.” And then Archie rose from the table, and followed +his father out of the room.</p> +<p>It was Isabel’s business to put Dottie to bed. The other +girls had to prepare their lessons for the next day, and went +up to the school-room. Mattie made some excuse, and +went with them, and Mrs. Drummond and Grace were left +alone.</p> +<p>Grace had some delicate work to finish, and she placed herself +by the lamp. Her mother had returned to her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +mending-basket; but as the door closed upon Mattie, she cleared her +throat, and looked at her daughter.</p> +<p>“Grace, I must say I am surprised at you!”</p> +<p>“Why, mother?” But Grace did not look up from the task +she was running with such fine even stitches.</p> +<p>“I am more than surprised!” continued Mrs. Drummond, +severely. “I am disappointed to see in what a bad spirit you +have received my decision. I did not think a daughter of mine +would have been so blind to her sense of duty!”</p> +<p>“I have said nothing to make you think that.”</p> +<p>“No, you have said nothing, but looks can be eloquent sometimes. +I am not speaking of Archie, though I can see he is put +out too, for he is a man, and men are not always reasonable; +but that you should place yourself in such silent opposition to +my wishes, it is that that shocks me.”</p> +<p>There was an ominous sparkle in Grace’s gray eyes, and then +she deliberately put down her work on the table. She had +hoped that her mother would have been contented with her +victory, and not have spoken to her on the subject. But if she +were so attacked, she would at least defend herself.</p> +<p>“You have no right to speak to me in this way, mother!”</p> +<p>“No right, Grace?” Mrs. Drummond could hardly believe +her ears. Never once had a daughter of hers questioned her +right in anything.</p> +<p>“No; for I have said nothing to bring all this upon me! I +have been perfectly quiet, and have tried to bear the bitterness +of my disappointment as well as I could. No one is answerable +for their looks, and I, at least, will not plead guilty on that +score.”</p> +<p>“Grace, you are answering me very improperly.”</p> +<p>“I cannot say that I think so, mother. I would have been +silent, if you had permitted such silence; but when you drive +me to speech, I must say what I feel to be the truth,—that I +have not been well treated in this matter.”</p> +<p>“Grace!” And Mrs. Drummond paused in awful silence. +Never before had a recusant daughter braved her to her +face.</p> +<p>“I have not been well treated,” continued Grace, firmly, +“in a thing that concerns me more than any one else. I have +not even been consulted. You have arranged it all, mother, +without reference to me or my feelings. Perhaps I ought to be +grateful for being spared so painful a decision; but I think +such a decision should have been permitted to me.”</p> +<p>“You can dare to tell me such things to my very face!”</p> +<p>“Why should I not tell them?” returned Grace, meeting her +mother’s angry glance unflinchingly. “It seems to me that +one should speak the truth to one’s mother. You have treated +me like a child; and I have a right to feel sore and indignant. +Why did you not put the whole thing before me, and tell me +that you and my father did not see how you could spare me? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +Do you really believe that I should have been so wanting to my +sense of duty as to follow my own pleasure?”</p> +<p>“Grace, I insist upon your silence! I will not discuss the +matter with you.”</p> +<p>“If you insist upon silence, you must be obeyed, mother: +but it is you who have raised the question between us. But +when you attack me unjustly, I must defend myself.”</p> +<p>“You are forgetting yourself strangely. Your words are +most disrespectful and unbecoming in a daughter. You tell me +to my face that I am unjust—I, your mother—because I have +been compelled to thwart your wishes.”</p> +<p>“No, no—not because of that!” returned Grace, in a voice +of passionate pain; “why will you misunderstand me so?—but +because you have no faith in me. You treat me like a child. +You dispute my privilege to decide in a matter that concerns my +own happiness. You bid me work for you, and you give me no +wage—not a word of praise; and because I remonstrate for +once in my life, you insist on my silence.”</p> +<p>“It seems that I am not to be obeyed.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes; you will be obeyed, mother. After to-night I will +not open my lips to offend you again. If I have said more than +I ought to have said as a daughter, I will ask your pardon now; +but I cannot take back one of my words. They are true,—true!”</p> +<p>“I must say your apology is tardy, Grace.”</p> +<p>“Nevertheless, it is an apology; for, though you have hurt +me, I must not forget you are my mother. I know my life will +be harder after this, because of what I have said; and yet I +would not take back one of my words!”</p> +<p>“I am more displeased with you than I can say,” returned +her mother, taking up her neglected work; and her mouth +looked stern and hard.</p> +<p>Never had her aspect been so forbidding, and yet never had +her daughter feared her less.</p> +<p>“Then, if you are displeased with me, I will go away,” replied +Grace, moving from her seat with gentle dignity. “I +wish you had not compelled me to speak, mother, and then I +should not have offended you: but as it is there is no help for +it.” And then she gathered up her work and walked slowly +out of the room.</p> +<p>Mrs. Drummond sat moodily in the empty room that had +somehow never seemed so empty before. Her attitude was as +rigid and uncompromising as usual; but there was a perplexed +frown on her brow. For the first time in her life one of her +girls had dared to assert her own will and to speak the truth to +her; and she was utterly nonplussed. It was not too much to +say that she had received a blow. Her justice and sense of +fairness had been questioned,—her very maternal authority +impugned,—and that by one of her own children! Mattie, who +was eight years older, would not have ventured to cross her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +mother’s will. Grace had so dared; and she was bitterly angry +with her. And yet she had never so admired her before.</p> +<p>How honestly and bravely she had battled for her rights! her +gray eyes had shone with fire, her pale cheeks had glowed with +the passion of her words: for once in her life the girl had looked +superbly handsome.</p> +<p>“You have no faith in me; you treat me like a child.” +Well, she was right; it was no child, it was a proud woman +who was flinging those hard words at her. For the first time +Mrs. Drummond recognized the possibility of a will as strong as +her own. In spite of all her authority, Grace had been a match +for her mother: Mrs. Drummond knew this, and it added fuel to +her bitterness.</p> +<p>“I know my life will be harder for what I have said.” Ah, +Grace was right there; it would be long before her mother +would forgive her for all those words, true as they were; and +yet in her heart she had never so feared and admired her +daughter. Grace went up to her own room, where Dottie was +asleep in a little bed very near her sister’s: it was dark and +somewhat cold, but the atmosphere was less frigid than the parlor +downstairs. Grace’s frame was trembling with the force of +her emotion; her face was burning, and her hands cold. It was +restful and soothing to put down her aching head on the hard +window-ledge and close her eyes and think out the pain! It +seemed hours before Isabel came to summon her to supper, +but she made an excuse that she was not hungry, and refused +to go downstairs.</p> +<p>“But you ate nothing at tea, and your head is aching!” persisted +Isabel, who was a bright, good-natured girl, and, in spite +of Archie’s strictures, decidedly pretty. “Do let me bring you +something. Mother will not know.”</p> +<p>But Grace refused: she could not eat, and the sight of food +would distress her.</p> +<p>“Why not go to bed at once, then?” suggested Isabel,—which +was certainly sensible counsel. But Grace demurred to +this; she knew Archie would be up presently to say good-night +to her: so, when Isabel had gone, she lighted the candle, shading +it carefully from Dottie’s eyes, and then she bathed her hot +face, and smoothed her hair, and took up her work again.</p> +<p>Archie found her quite calm and busy, but he was not so easily +deceived.</p> +<p>“Now, Gracie, you have got one of your headaches: it is the +disappointment and the bother, and my going away to-morrow. +Poor little Gracie!”</p> +<p>“Oh, Archie, I feel as though I shall never miss you so much!” +exclaimed the poor girl, throwing down her work and clinging +to him. “When shall I see your dear face again?—not until +Christmas?”</p> +<p>“And not then, I expect. I shall most likely run down some +time in January, and then I shall try hard to take you back +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +with me, just for a visit. Mattie will be dull, and wanting to +see some of you, and I will not have one of the others until you +have been.”</p> +<p>“I don’t believe mother will spare me even for that,” returned +Grace, with a sudden conviction that her mother’s memory was +retentive, and that she would be punished in that way for her +sins of this evening; “but promise me, Archie, that you will +come, if it be only for a few days.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I will promise you that. I cannot last longer without +seeing you, Grace!” And he stroked her soft hair as she still +clung to him.</p> +<p>The next day Archibald bade his family good-bye: his manner +had not changed toward his mother, and Mrs. Drummond +thought his kiss decidedly cold.</p> +<p>“You will be good to Mattie, and try to make the poor girl +happy; you will do at least as much as this,” she said, detaining +him as he was turning from her to see Grace.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I will be good to her,” he returned, indifferently, +“but I cannot promise that she will not find her life dull.” +And then he took Grace in his arms, and whispered to her to be +patient, and that all would be well one day; and Mrs. Drummond, +though she did not hear the whisper, saw the embrace +and the long lingering look between the brother and sister, and +pressed her thin lips together and went back to her parlor and +mending-basket, feeling herself an unhappy mother, whose love +was not requited by her children, and disposed to be harder +than ever towards Grace, who had inflicted this pain on her.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XV_A_VAN_IN_THE_BRAIDWOOD_ROAD' id='CHAPTER_XV_A_VAN_IN_THE_BRAIDWOOD_ROAD'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> +<h3>A VAN IN THE BRAIDWOOD ROAD.</h3> +</div> +<p>One bright July morning, Mattie Drummond walked rapidly +up the Braidwood Road, and, unlatching the green door in the +wall, let herself into the large square hall of the vicarage. This +morning it looked invitingly cool, with its summer matting and +big wicker-work chairs; but Mattie was in too great haste to +linger; she only stopped to disencumber herself of the various +parcels with which she was ladened, and then she knocked at +the door of her brother’s study, and, without waiting for the +reluctant “Come in” that always answered her hasty rap, +burst in upon him.</p> +<p>It was now three months since Mattie had entered upon her +new duties, and it must be confessed that Archie’s housekeeper +had rather a hard time of it. As far as actual management +went, Mattie fully justified her mother’s eulogiums in her household +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +arrangements: she was orderly and methodical,—far more +so than Grace would have been in her place; the meals were +always punctual and well served, the domestic machinery +worked well and smoothly. Archie never had to complain of a +missing button or a frayed wrist-band. Nevertheless, Mattie’s +presence at the vicarage was felt by her brother as a sore +burden. There was nothing in common between them, nothing +that he cared to discuss with her, or on which he wished to know +her opinion; he was naturally a frank, outspoken man, one +that demanded sympathy from those belonging to him; but with +Mattie he was reticent, and as far as possible restrained in +speech.</p> +<p>One reason for this might be that Mattie, with all her virtues,—and +she was really a most estimable little person,—was sadly +deficient in tact. She never knew when she was treading on +other people’s pet prejudices. She could not be made to understand +that her presence was not always wanted, and that it was +as well to keep silence sometimes.</p> +<p>She would intrude her advice when it was not needed, in her +good-natured way; she had always interfered with everything +and everybody. “Meddlesome Mattie” they had called her +at home.</p> +<p>She was so wonderfully elastic, too, in her temperament, that +nothing long depressed her. She took all her brother’s +snubbings in excellent part: if he scolded her at dinner-time, +and made the ready tears come to her eyes,—for it was not the +least of Mattie’s sins that she cried easily and on every possible +occasion,—she had forgotten it by tea-time, and would chatter +to him as happily as ever.</p> +<p>She was just one of those persevering people who seem bound +to be snubbed; one cannot help it. It was as natural to scold +Mattie as it was to praise other people; and yet it was impossible +not to like the little woman, though she had no fine feelings, +as Archie said, and was not thin-skinned. Grace always spoke +a good word for her; she was very kind to Mattie in her way,—though +it must be owned that she showed her small respect +as an elder sister. None of her brothers and sisters respected +Mattie in the least; they laughed at her, and took liberties with +her, presuming largely on her good nature. “It is only Mattie; +nobody cares what she thinks,” as Clyde would often say. +“Matt the Muddler,” as Frederick named her.</p> +<p>“I wonder what Mattie would say if any one ever fell in love +with her?” Grace once observed in fun to Archie. “Do you +know, I think she would be all her life, thanking her husband +for the unexpected honor he had done her, and trying to prove +to him that he had not made such a great mistake, after all.”</p> +<p>“Mattie’s husband! He must be an odd sort of person, I +should think.” And then Archie laughed, in not the politest +manner. Certainly Mattie was not appreciated by her family. +She was not looking her best this morning when she went into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +her brother’s study. She wore the offending plaid dress,—a +particular large black-and-white check that he thought especially +ugly. Her hat-trimmings were frayed, and the straw +itself was burnt brown by the sun, and her hair was ill arranged +and rough, for she never wasted much time on her own person, +and, to crown the whole, she looked flushed and heated.</p> +<p>Archie, who was sitting at his writing-table in severely-cut +ecclesiastical garments, looking as trim and well-appointed a +young clergyman as one might wish to see, might be forgiven +for the tone of ill-suppressed irritation with which he said,—</p> +<p>“Oh, Mattie! what a figure you look! I am positively +ashamed that any one should see you. That hat is only fit to +frighten the birds.”</p> +<p>“Oh, it will do very well for the mornings,” returned Mattie, +perfectly undisturbed at these compliments. “Nobody looks +at me: so what does it matter?” But this remark, which she +made in all simplicity, only irritated him more.</p> +<p>“If you have no proper pride, you might at least consider +my feelings. Do you think a man in my position likes his +sister to go about like an old beggar-woman? You are enough +to try any one’s patience, Mattie; you are, indeed!”</p> +<p>“Oh, never mind me and my things,” returned Mattie +coaxingly; “and don’t go on writing just yet,” for Archie +had taken up his pen again with a great show of being busy. +“I want to tell you something that I know will interest you. +There are some new people come to the Friary.”</p> +<p>“What on earth do you mean?—what Friary? I am sure I +never heard of such a place.”</p> +<p>“Dear me, Archie, how cross you are this morning!” observed +Mattie, in a cheerful voice, as she fidgeted the papers on the table. +“Why, the Friary is that shabby little cottage just above us,—not +a stone’s throw from this house.”</p> +<p>“Indeed? Well, I cannot say I am much interested in the +movements of my neighbors. I am not a gossip like you, +Mattie!”—another fling at poor Mattie. “I wish you would +leave those papers alone. You know I never allow my things +to be tidied, as you call it, and I am really very busy just now. +I am in the middle of accounts, and I have to write to Grace +and––”</p> +<p>“Well, I thought you would like to know.” And Mattie +looked rather crestfallen and disappointed. “You talked so +much about those young ladies some weeks ago, and seemed +quite sorry not to see them again; and now––” but here +Archie’s indifference vanished, and he looked up eagerly.</p> +<p>“What young ladies? Not those in Milner’s Library, who +asked about the dressmaker?”</p> +<p>“The very same,” returned his sister, delighted at this change +of manner. “Oh, I have so much to tell you that I must sit +down,” planting herself comfortably on the arm of an easy-chair +near him. Another time Archie would have rebuked her for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +her unlady-like attitude, and told her, probably, that Grace +never did such things; but now his interest was so excited that +he let it pass for once. He even suffered her to take off her old +hat and deposit it unreproved on the top of his cherished papers. +“I was over at Crump’s this morning, to speak to Bobbie about +weeding the garden, when I was surprised to see a railway-van +unloading furniture at the Friary.”</p> +<p>“What an absurd name!” <i>sotto voce</i> from Archie: but he +offered no further check to Mattie’s gossip.</p> +<p>“I asked Mrs. Crump, as a matter of course, the name of the +new people; and she said it was Challoner. There was a +mother and three daughters, she believed. She had seen two of +them,—pretty, nice-spoken young creatures, and quite ladies. +They had been down before to see the cottage and to have it +done up. It looks quite a different place already,—nicely +painted, and the shrubs trimmed. The door was open, and as I +stood at Mrs. Crump’s window, peeping between her geraniums, +I saw such a respectable gray-haired woman, like an upper +servant, carrying something into the house; and a moment +after one of those young ladies we saw in the Library—not the +pretty one, but the other—came to the door and spoke to the +men.”</p> +<p>“Are you sure you did not make a mistake, Mattie?” asked +her brother, incredulously. “You are very short-sighted: perhaps +you did not see correctly. How can those stylish-looking +girls live in such a shabby place? I can hardly believe it possible.”</p> +<p>“Oh, it was the same, I am positive about that. She was in +the same cambric dress you admired. I could see distinctly. +I watched her for a long time; and then the pretty one came +out and joined her. She is pretty, Archie, she has such a +lovely complexion.”</p> +<p>“But are they poor?—they don’t look so. What on earth +can it mean?” he asked, in a perplexed voice; but Mattie only +shook her head, and went on:</p> +<p>“We must find out all about them by and by. They are +worth knowing, I am sure of that. Poor?—well, they cannot +be rich, certainly, to live in the Friary; but they are gentle-people, +one can see that in a moment.”</p> +<p>“Of course! who doubted it?” was the somewhat impatient +answer.</p> +<p>“Well, but that is not all,” went on Mattie, too delighted +with her brother’s interest to try to curtail her story. “Of +course I could not stand long watching them, so I did my errand +and came away; and then I met Miss Middleton, and we walked +down to the Library together to change those books. Miss Milner +was talking to some ladies when we first went in and, as +Miss Masham was not in the shop, we had to wait our turn, so I +had a good look at them. The elder one was such a pretty, +aristocratic-looking woman,—a little too languid, perhaps for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +my taste; and the younger one was a little like Isabel, only +nicer-looking. I shouldn’t have stared at them so much,—at +least, I am afraid I stared,” went on Mattie, forgetting for the +moment how often she had been taken to task for this very +thing,—“but something Miss Milner said attracted my attention, +‘I am not to send it to the Friary, then, ma’am?’ ‘Well, no,’ +the lady returned, rather hesitatingly. She had such a nice +voice and manner, Archie. ‘My youngest daughter and I are +at Beach House at present; I am rather an invalid, and the +bustle would be too much for me. Dulce, we had better have +these things sent to Beach House.’ And then the young lady +standing by her said, ‘Oh, yes, mother; we shall want them +this evening.’ And then they went out.”</p> +<p>“There is a third sister, then?” observed Archie, not pretending +to disguise his interest in Mattie’s recital.</p> +<p>“Yes, there is a third one: she is certainly a little like Isabel; +she has a dimple like hers, and is of the same height. I asked +Miss Milner, when they were out of hearing, if their name were +Challoner, and if they were the new people who were coming +to live at the empty cottage on the Braidwood Road. I thought +she did not seem much disposed to give me information. Yes, +their name was Challoner, and they had taken the Friary; but +they were quite strangers in the town, and no one knew anything +about them. And then Miss Middleton chimed in; she +said her father had noticed the young ladies some weeks ago, +and had called her attention to them. They were very pretty +girls, and had quite taken his fancy; he had not forgotten them, +and had spoken of them that very morning. She supposed Mrs. +Challoner must be a widow, and not very well off: did Miss +Milner know. Would you believe it, Archie? Miss Milner got +quite red, and looked confused. You know how she enjoys a +bit of gossip generally; but the questions seemed to trouble her. +‘They were not at all well off, she knew that, but nicer young +ladies she had never seen, or wished to see; and she hoped every +one would be kind to them, and not forget they were real born +ladies, in spite of––’ And here the old thing got more confused +than ever, and came to a full stop, and begged to know how she +could serve us.”</p> +<p>“It is very strange,—very strange indeed,” returned her +brother, in a meditative voice; but, as Mattie had nothing more +to tell him, he did not discuss the matter any further, only +thanked her for her news, and civilly dismissed her on the plea +that his business was at a stand-still.</p> +<p>But he did not resume his accounts for sometime after he was +left alone. Instead of doing so, he walked to the window and +looked out in a singularly absent manner. Mattie’s news was +somewhat exciting. The idea of having such pleasant neighbors +located within a stone’s throw of the vicarage was in itself disturbing +to the imagination of a young man of eight-and-twenty, +even though a clergyman. And then, it must be confessed, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +Nan’s charming face and figure had never been forgotten: he +had looked out for the sisters many times since his chance +encounter with Phillis, and had been secretly disappointed at +their total disappearance. And now they proved not mere visitors, +but positively inhabitants of Hadleigh. He would meet +them every day; and, as there was but one church in the place, +they would of course be numbered among his flock. As their +future clergyman he would have a right of entrance to the cottage.</p> +<p>“How soon do you think we ought to call upon them, Mattie?” +he asked, when he was seated opposite to his sister at the luncheon-table. +The accounts had not progressed very favorably, +and the letter to Grace was not yet commenced. Mattie’s news +had been a sad interruption to his morning’s work.</p> +<p>“Whom do you mean, Archie,” she returned, a little bewildered +at this abrupt remark; and then, as he frowned at +her denseness, she bethought herself of the new people. It was +not often Archie asked her advice about anything, but on this +occasion the young vicar felt himself incompetent to decide.</p> +<p>“I suppose you mean the new folk at the Friary,” she continued, +carelessly. “Oh, they are only moving in to-day, and +they will be in a muddle for a week, I should think. I don’t +think we can intrude for ten days or so.”</p> +<p>“Not if you think it will be intrusive,” he returned, rather +anxiously; “but they are strangers in the place, and all ladies—there +does not seem to be a man belonging to them—would it +not be neighborly, as we live so close, just to call, not in a formal +way, you know, but just to volunteer help? There are little +things you could do for them, Mattie; and, as a clergyman, they +could not regard my visit as an intrusion, I should think. Do +you not agree with me?” looking at his sister rather gravely.</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t know,” replied Mattie, bluntly: “I should not +care for strangers prying into my concerns, if I were in their +place. And yet, as you say, we are such close neighbors, and +one would like to be kind to the poor things, for they must be +lonely, settling in a strange new place. I’ll tell you what, +Archie,” as his face fell at this matter-of-fact speech: “it is +Thursday, and they will be sure to be at church on Sunday; +we shall see them there, and that will be an excuse for us to +call on Monday. We can say then that we are neighbors, and +that we would not wait until they were all in order. We can +offer to send them things from the vicarage, or volunteer help +in many little ways. I think that would be best.”</p> +<p>“Yes, perhaps you are right, and we will wait until Monday,” +returned Archie, taking off his soft felt hat. “Now I must go +on my rounds, and not waste any more time chattering.” But, +though he spoke with unusual good nature, he did not invite +Mattie to be his companion, and the poor little woman betook +herself to the solitary drawing-room and some plain sewing for +the rest of the afternoon. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span></p> +<p>The young clergyman stood for a moment irresolutely at the +green door, and cast a longing glance in the direction of the +Friary, where the van was still unloading, and then he bethought +himself that, though Mattie had given orders about the +weeding of the garden-paths, it would be as well to speak to +Crump about the wire fence that was wanted for the poultry-yard; +and as soon as he had made up his mind on this point he +walked on briskly.</p> +<p>The last piece of furniture had just been carried in; but, as +Mr. Drummond was picking his way through the straw and +debris that littered the side-path, two girlish figures came out +of the doorway full upon him.</p> +<p>He raised his hat involuntarily, but they drew back at once, +and, as he went out, confused at this sudden rencontre, the +sound of a light laugh greeted his ear.</p> +<p>“How annoying that we should always be meeting him!” +observed Nan, innocently. “Don’t laugh, Phillis: he will hear +you.”</p> +<p>“My dear, it must be fate,” returned Phillis solemnly. “I +shall think it my duty to warn Dick if this goes on.” But, in +spite of her mischievous speech, she darted a quick, interested +look after the handsome young clergyman as he walked on. +Both the girls stood in the porch for some minutes after they +had made their retreat. They had come out to cool themselves +and to get a breath of air, until a July sun and Mr. Drummond’s +sudden appearance defeated their intention. They had no idea +that they were watched from behind the screening geraniums in +Mrs. Crump’s window. Both of them were enveloped in Dorothy’s +bib-aprons, which hid their pretty rounded figures. Phillis’s +cheeks were flushed, and her arms were bare to the dimpled +elbows; and Nan’s brown hair was slightly dishevelled.</p> +<p>“We look just like cooks!” exclaimed Phillis, regarding her +coarse apron with disfavor; but Nan stretched her arms with a +little indifference and weariness.</p> +<p>“What does it matter how we look,—like cooks or housemaids? +I am dreadfully tired; but we must go in and work, +Phil. I wonder what has become of Dulce?” And then the +charming vision disappeared from the young clergyman’s eyes, +and he was free to fix his mind on the wire fence that was +required for the poultry-yard.</p> +<p>As soon as he had accomplished his errand he set his face +towards the vicarage, for he made up his mind suddenly that +he would call on the Middletons, and perhaps on Mrs. Cheyne. +The latter was a duty that he owed to his pastoral conscience; +but there was no need for him to go to the Middletons’. Nevertheless, +the father and daughter were his most intimate friends, +and on all occasions he was sure of Miss Middleton’s sympathy. +They lived at Brooklyn,—a low white house a little below the +vicarage. It was a charming house, he always thought, so well +arranged and well managed; and the garden—that was the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +colonel’s special hobby—was as pretty as a garden could be. +The drawing-room looked shady and comfortable, for the +French windows opened into a cool veranda, fitted up with +flower-baskets and wicker chairs; and beyond lay the trim +lawn, with beds of blazing verbenas and calceolarias. Miss +Middleton’s work-table was just within one of the windows; +but the colonel, in his gray summer suit, reclined in a lounging-chair +in the veranda. He was reading the paper to his +daughter, and was just in the middle of last night’s debate; +nevertheless, he threw it aside, well pleased at the interruption.</p> +<p>“I knew how I should find you occupied,” observed Mr. +Drummond, as he exchanged a smile with Miss Middleton. He +was fully aware that politics were not to her taste, and yet +every afternoon she listened to such reading, well content even +with the sound of her father’s voice.</p> +<p>Elizabeth Middleton was certainly a charming person. Phillis +had called her the “gray-haired girl,” and the title suited her. +She was not a girl by any means, having reached her six-and-thirtieth +year; but her hair was as silvery as an old woman’s, +gray and plentiful, and soft as silk, and contrasted strangely +with her still youthful face.</p> +<p>Without being handsome, Elizabeth Middleton was beautiful. +Her expression was sweet and restful, and attracted all hearts. +People who were acquainted with her said she was the happiest +creature they knew,—that she simply diffused sunshine by her +mere presence; such a contrast, they would add, to her neighbor +Mrs. Cheyne, who bore all her troubles badly and was of a +proud, fretful disposition. But then Mrs. Cheyne had lost her +husband and her two children, and led such a sad, lonely life; +and no such troubles had fallen to Miss Middleton.</p> +<p>Elizabeth Middleton could afford to be happy, they said, for +she was the delight of her father’s eyes. Her young half-brother, +Hammond, who was with his regiment in India, was not nearly +so dear to the old man; and of course that was why she had +never married, that her father’s house might not be left +desolate.</p> +<p>This is how people talked; but not a single person in Hadleigh +knew that Elizabeth Middleton had had a great sorrow in her +life.</p> +<p>She had been engaged for some years most happily, and with +her father’s consent, to one of his brother officers. Captain +Sedgwick was of good family, but poor; and they were waiting +for his promotion, for at that time Colonel Middleton would +have been unable to give his daughter any dowry. Elizabeth +was young and happy, and she could afford to wait. No girl +ever gloried in her lover more than she did in hers. Capel +Sedgwick was not only brave and singularly handsome, but he +bore a reputation through the whole regiment for having a +higher standard of duty than most men.</p> +<p>Promotion came at last, and, just as Elizabeth was gayly making +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +preparations for her marriage, fatal tidings were brought to +her. Major Sedgwick had gone to visit an old servant in the +hospital who had been struck down with cholera; he had +remained with him some time, and on his return to his bungalow +the same fell disease had attacked him, and before many +hours were over he was dead. The shock was a terrible one; +in the first moments of her bitter loss, Elizabeth cried out that +her misery was too great,—that all happiness was over for her +in this world, and that she only prayed that she might be +buried in the same grave with Capel.</p> +<p>The light had not yet come to the poor soul that felt itself +afflicted past endurance and could find no reason for such pain. +It could not be said that Elizabeth bore her trouble better than +other girls would have borne theirs under like circumstances. +She fretted and grew thin, and dashed herself wildly against +the inevitable, only reproaching herself for her selfishness and +want of submission when she looked at her father’s care-worn +face.</p> +<p>But then came a time when light and peace revisited the +wrecked heart,—when confused reasonings no longer beset the +poor weak brain and filled it with dismay and doubt,—when the +Divine will became her will, and there was no longer submission, +but a most joyful surrender. And no one, and least of all she +herself, knew when the darkness was vanquished by that clear +uprising of pure radiance, or how those brooding wings of peace +settled on her soul. From that time, every human being that +came within her radius was welcome as a new object of love. +To give and yet to give, and never to be satisfied, was a daily +necessity of life to Elizabeth. “Now there is some one more to +love,” she would say to herself, when a new acquaintance was +brought to her; and, as the old adage is true that tells us love +begets love, there was no more popular person in Hadleigh than +Elizabeth Middleton. She had something to say in praise of +every one; not that she was blind to the faults of her neighbors, +but she preferred to be silent and ignore them.</p> +<p>And she was especially kind to Mattie. In the early days of +their intimacy, the young vicar would often speak to her of his +sister Grace and lament their enforced separation from each +other. Miss Middleton listened sympathetically, with the same +sweet attention that she gave to every man, woman, and child +that laid claim to it; but once, when he had finished, she said, +rather gravely,—</p> +<p>“Do you know, Mr. Drummond, that I think your mother +was right?”</p> +<p>“Right in dooming Grace to such a life?” he said, pausing +in utter surprise at her remark.</p> +<p>“Pardon me; it is not her mother who dooms her,” returned +Miss Middleton, quickly, “but duty,—her own sense of right,—everything +that is sacred. If Mrs. Drummond had not decided +that she could not be spared, I am convinced from all you tell +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +me, that Grace would still have remained at home: her conscience +would have been too strong for her.”</p> +<p>“Well, perhaps you are right,” he admitted, reluctantly. +“Grace is a noble creature, and capable of any amount of self-sacrifice.”</p> +<p>“I am sure of it,” returned Miss Middleton, with sparkling +eyes. “How I should like to know her! it would be a real +pleasure and privilege; but I am very fond of your sister Mattie, +too.”</p> +<p>“Fond of Mattie!” It was hardly brotherly, but he could +not help that incredulous tone in his voice. How could such a +superior woman as Miss Middleton be even tolerant of +Mattie?</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” she replied, quite calmly; “I have a great respect +for your sister. She is so unselfish and amiable, and there is +something so genuine in her. Before everything one wants +truth,” finished Elizabeth, taking up her work.</p> +<p>Now, as the young clergyman entered the room, she stretched +out her hand to him with her usual beaming smile.</p> +<p>“This is good of you, to come so soon again,” she said, making +room for him between her father and herself. “But why +have you not brought Mattie?” and Archie felt as though he +had received a rebuke.</p> +<p>“She is finishing some work,” he returned, a little confused; +“that is, what you ladies call work. It is not always necessary +for the clergywoman to pay visits, is it?”</p> +<p>“The clergywoman, as you call her, is doing too much. I +was scolding her this morning for not sparing herself more: I +thought she was not looking quite well, Mr. Drummond.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Mattie is well enough,” he replied, carelessly. He had +not come to talk about his sister: a far more interesting subject +was in his mind. “Do you know, colonel,” he went on, with +some animation, “that you and I have new neighbors? Do +you remember the young ladies in the blue cambric dresses?” +And at this question the colonel threw aside his paper at +once.</p> +<p>“Elizabeth has been telling me. I remember the young +ladies perfectly. I could not help noticing them. They walked +so well,—heads up, and as neat and trim as though they were +on parade; pretty creatures, both of them. Elizabeth pretends +not to be interested, but she is quite excited. Look at her!”</p> +<p>“Nay, father, it is you who can talk of nothing else; but it +will be very nice to have such pleasant neighbors. How soon +do you think we may call on them?”</p> +<p>And then Archie explained, with some little embarrassment, +that he and Mattie thought of calling the following Monday and +offering their services.</p> +<p>“That is very thoughtful of Mattie. She is such a kind-hearted +little creature, and is always ready to serve everybody.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span></p> +<p>And then they entered into a discussion on the new-comers +that lasted so long that the tea-things made their appearance; +and shortly afterwards Mr. Drummond announced that he must +go and call on Mrs. Cheyne.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVI_A_VISIT_TO_THE_WHITE_HOUSE' id='CHAPTER_XVI_A_VISIT_TO_THE_WHITE_HOUSE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> +<h3>A VISIT TO THE WHITE HOUSE.</h3> +</div> +<p>Hitherto Mr. Drummond had acknowledged his afternoon +to be a success. He had obtained a glimpse of the new-comers +through Mrs. Crump’s screen of geraniums, and had listened +with much interest to Colonel Middleton’s innocent gossip, while +Miss Middleton had poured out their tea. Indeed, his attention +had quite flattered his host.</p> +<p>“Really, Drummond is a very intelligent fellow,” he observed +to his daughter, when they were at last left alone,—“a +very intelligent fellow, and so thoroughly gentlemanly.”</p> +<p>“Yes, he is very nice,” returned Elizabeth; “and he seems +wonderfully interested in our new neighbors.” And here she +smiled a little archly.</p> +<p>There was no doubt that Mr. Drummond had fully enjoyed +his visit. Nevertheless, as he left Brooklyn, and set his face +towards the White House, his manner changed, and his face +became somewhat grave.</p> +<p>He had told himself that he owed it to his pastoral conscience +to call on Mrs. Cheyne; but, notwithstanding this monition, he +disliked the duty, for he always felt on these occasions that he +was hardly up to his office, and that this solitary member of +his flock was not disposed to yield herself to his guidance. He +was ready to pity her if she would allow herself to be pitied; but +any expression of sympathy seemed repugnant to her. Any one +so utterly lonely, so absolutely without interest in existence, he +had never seen or thought to see; and yet he could not bring +himself to like her, or to say more than the mere commonplace +utterances of society. Though he was her clergyman, and bound +by the sacredness of his office to be specially tender to the +bruised and maimed ones of his flock, he could not get her to +acknowledge her maimed condition to him, or to do anything +but listen to him with cold attention, when he hinted vaguely +that all human beings are in need of sympathy. Perhaps she +thought him too young, and feared to find his judgments immature +and one-sided; but certainly his visits to the White +House were failures. Mrs. Cheyne was still young enough and +handsome enough to need some sort of chaperonage: and though +she professed to mock at conventionality, she acknowledged its +claims in this respect by securing the permanent services of Miss +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +Mewlstone—a lady of uncertain age and uncertain acquirements. +It must be confessed that every one wondered at Mrs. Cheyne +and her choice, for no one could be less companionable than +Miss Mewlstone.</p> +<p>She was a stout, sleepy-looking woman, with a soft voice, and in +placidity and a certain cosyness of exterior somewhat resembled +a large white cat. Some people declared she absolutely purred, +and certainly her small blue eyes were ready to close on all occasions. +She always dressed in gray,—a very unbecoming color to +a stout person,—and when not asleep or reading (for she was a +great reader) she seemed always busy with a mass of soft +fleecy wool. No one heard her ever voluntarily conversing with +her patroness. They would drive together for hours, or pass +whole evenings in the same room, scarcely exchanging a word. +“Just so, my dear,” she would say, in return to any observation +made to her by Mrs. Cheyne. “Just so Mewlstone,” a young +wag once nicknamed her.</p> +<p>People stared incredulously when Mrs. Cheyne assured them +her companion was a very superior woman. They thought it +was only her satire, and did not believe her in the least. They +would have stared still more if they had really known the extent +of Miss Mewlstone’s acquirements.</p> +<p>“She seems so stupid, as though she cannot talk,” one of +Mrs. Cheyne’s friends said.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, she can talk, and very well too,” returned that +lady, quietly, “but she knows that I do not care about it; her +silence is her great virtue in my eyes. And then she has tact, +and knows when to keep out of the way,” finished Mrs. Cheyne, +with the utmost frankness; and, indeed, it may be doubted +whether any other person would have retained her position so +long at the White House.</p> +<p>Mrs. Cheyne was no favorite with the young pastor, nevertheless +she was an exceedingly handsome woman. Before the +bloom of her youth had worn off she had been considered absolutely +beautiful. As regarded the form of her features, there +was no fault to be found, but her expression was hardly pleasing. +There was a hardness that people found a little repelling,—a +bitter, dissatisfied droop of the lip, a weariness of gloom in the +dark eyes, and a tendency to satire in her speech, that alienated +people’s sympathy.</p> +<p>“I am unhappy, but pity me if you dare!” seemed to be +written legibly upon her countenance; and those who knew her +best held their peace in her presence, and then went away and +spoke softly to each other of the life that seemed wasted and the +heart that was so hardened with its trouble. “What would +the world be if every one were to bear their sorrows so badly?” +they would say. “There is something heathenish in such utter +want of resignation. Oh, yes, it was very sad, her losing her +husband and children, but it all happened four or five years ago; +and you know”—And here people’s voices dropped a little ominously, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span> +for there were vague hints afloat that things had not +always gone on smoothly at the White House, even when Mrs. +Cheyne had her husband. She had been an only child, and had +married the only survivor of a large family. Both were handsome, +self-willed young people; neither had been used to contradiction. +In spite of their love for each other, there had been +a strife of wills and misunderstandings from the earliest days of +their marriage. Neither knew what giving up meant, and before +many months were over the White House witnessed many painful +scenes. Herbert Cheyne was passionate, and at times +almost violent; but there was no malice in his nature. He +stormed furiously and forgave easily. A little forbearance +would have turned him into a sweet-natured man; but his wife’s +haughtiness and resentment lasted long; she never acknowledged +herself in the wrong, never made overtures of peace, but bore +herself on every occasion as a sorely-injured wife, a state of +things singularly provoking to a man of Herbert Cheyne’s irritable +temperament.</p> +<p>There was injudicious partisanship as regarded their children: +while Mrs. Cheyne idolized her boy, her husband lavished +most of his attentions on the baby girl,—“papa’s girl,” as she +always called herself in opposition to “mother’s boy.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Cheyne really believed she loved her boy best, but when +diphtheria carried off her little Jane also, she was utterly inconsolable. +Her husband was far away when it happened: he +had been a great traveller before his marriage, and latterly his +matrimonial relations with his wife had been so unsatisfactory +that virtual separation had ensued. Two or three months before +illness, and then death, had devastated the nursery at the White +House, he had set out for a long exploring expedition in Central +Africa.</p> +<p>“You make my life so unbearable that, but for the children, +I would never care to set foot in my home again,” he had said +to her, in one of his violent moods; and, though he repented of +this speech afterwards, she could not be brought to believe that +he had not meant it, and her heart had been hard against him +even in their parting.</p> +<p>But before many months were over she would have given all +she possessed—to her very life—to have recalled him to her +side. She was childless, and her health was broken; but no +such recall was possible. Vague rumors reached her of some +miserable disaster: people talked of a missing Englishman. +One of the little party had already succumbed to fever and +hardship; by and by another followed; and the last news that +reached them was that Herbert Cheyne lay at the point of +death in the kraal of a friendly tribe. Since then the silence +had been of the grave: not one of the party had survived to +bring the news of his last moments: there had been illness and +disaster from the first.</p> +<p>When Mrs. Cheyne recovered from the nervous disorder that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +had attacked her on the receipt of this news, she put on widow’s +mourning, and wore it for two years; then she sent for Miss +Mewlstone, and set herself to go through with the burden of her +life. If she found it heavy, she never complained: she was +silent on her own as on other people’s troubles. Only at the +sight of a child of two or three years of age she would turn pale, +and draw down her veil, and if it ran up to her, as would sometimes +happen, she would put it away from her angrily, pushing +it away almost with violence, and no child was ever suffered to +cross her threshold.</p> +<p>The drawing-room at the White House was a spacious apartment, +with four long windows opening on the lawn. Mrs. +Cheyne was sitting in her low chair, reading, with Miss Mewlstone +at the farther end of the room, with her knitting-basket +beside her; two or three grayhounds were grouped near her. +They all rushed forward with furious barks as Mr. Drummond +was announced, and then leaped joyously round him. Mrs. +Cheyne put down her book, and greeted him with a frosty smile.</p> +<p>She had laid aside her widow’s weeds, but still dressed in +black, the sombreness of her apparel harmonizing perfectly with +her pale, creamy complexion. Her dress was always rich in +material, and most carefully adjusted. In her younger days it +had been an art with her,—almost a passion,—and it had grown +into a matter of custom.</p> +<p>“You are very good to come again so soon, Mr. Drummond,” +she said, as she gave him her hand. The words were civil, but +a slight inflection on the word “soon” made Mr. Drummond +feel a little uncomfortable. Did she think he called too often? +He wished he had brought Mattie; only last time she had been +so satirical, and had quizzed the poor little thing unmercifully; +not that Mattie had found out that she was being quizzed.</p> +<p>“I hardly thought I should find you at home, it is so fine an +afternoon; but I made the attempt, you see,” he continued, a +little awkwardly.</p> +<p>“Your parochial conscience was uneasy, I suppose, because I +was missing at church?” she returned, somewhat slyly. “You +would make a capital overseer, Mr. Drummond,”—with a short +laugh. “A headache is a good excuse, is it not? I had a headache, +had I not, Miss Mewlstone?”</p> +<p>“Yes, my dear, just so,” returned Miss Mewlstone. She +always called her patroness “my dear.”</p> +<p>“Miss Mewlstone gave me the heads of the sermon, so it was +not quite labor lost, as regards one of your flock. I am afraid +you think me a black sheep because I stay away so often,—a very +black sheep, eh, Mr. Drummond?”</p> +<p>“It is not for me to judge,” he said, still more awkwardly. +“Headaches are very fair excuses; and if one be not blessed +with good health––”</p> +<p>“My health is perfect,” she returned, interrupting him ruthlessly. +“I have no such convenient plea under which to shelter +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +myself. Miss Mewlstone suffers far more from headaches than +I do. Don’t you, Miss Mewlstone?”</p> +<p>“Just so; yes, indeed, my dear,” proceeded softly from the +other end of the room.</p> +<p>“I am sorry to hear it,” commenced Mr. Drummond, in a +sympathizing tone of voice. But his tormentor again interrupted +him.</p> +<p>“I am a sad backslider, am I not? I wonder if you have a +sermon ready for me? Do you lecture your parishioners, Mr. +Drummond, rich as well as poor? What a pity it is you are +so young! Lectures are more suitable with gray hair; a hoary +head might have some chance against my satire. A woman’s +tongue is a difficult thing to keep in order, is it not? I dare say +you find that with Miss Mattie?”</p> +<p>Mr. Drummond was literally on thorns. He had no repartee +ready. She was secretly exasperating him as usual, making +his youth a reproach, and rendering it impossible for him to be +his natural frank self with her. In her presence he was always +at a disadvantage. She seemed to take stock of his learning +and to mock at the idea of his pastoral claims. It was not the +first time she had called herself a black sheep, or had spoken +of her scanty attendances at church. But as yet he had not +dared to rebuke her; he had a feeling that she might fling back +his rebuke with a jest, and his dignity forbade this. Some day +he owed it to his conscience to speak a word to her,—to tell her +of the evil effects of such an example; but the convenient season +had not yet arrived.</p> +<p>He was casting about in his own mind for some weighty +sentence with which to answer her; but she again broke in +upon his silence:</p> +<p>“It seems that I am to escape to-day. I hope you are not a +lax disciplinarian; that comes of being young. Youth is more +tolerant, they say, of other people’s errors: it has its own glass +houses to mind.”</p> +<p>“You are too clever for me, Mrs. Cheyne,” returned the young +man, with a deprecating smile that might have disarmed her. +“No, I have not come to lecture: my mission is perfectly peaceful, +as befits this lovely afternoon. I wonder what you ladies +find to do all day?” he continued, abruptly changing the subject, +and trying to find something that would not attract her +satire.</p> +<p>Mrs. Cheyne seemed a little taken aback by this direct question; +and then she drew up her beautiful head a little haughtily, +and laughed.</p> +<p>“Ah, you are cunning, Mr. Drummond. You found me disposed +to take the offensive in the matter of church-going, and +now you are on another track. There is a lecture somewhere in +the background. How doth the little busy bee, etc. Now, don’t +frown,”—as Mr. Drummond knitted his brows and really looked +annoyed: “I will not refuse to be catechised.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span></p> +<p>“I should not presume to catechise you,” he returned, hastily. +“I appeal to Miss Mewlstone if my question were not a very +innocent one.”</p> +<p>“Just so; just so,” replied Miss Mewlstone; but she looked +a little alarmed at this appeal. “Oh, very innocent; oh, very +so.”</p> +<p>“With two against me I must yield,” returned Mrs. Cheyne, +with a curl of her lip. “What do we do with our time, Miss +Mewlstone? Your occupation speaks for itself: it is exquisitely +feminine. Don’t tell Miss Mattie, Mr. Drummond, but I never +work. I would as soon arm myself with a dagger as a needle +or a pair of scissors. When I am not in the air, I paint. I only +lay aside my palette for a book.”</p> +<p>“You paint!” exclaimed Archie, with sudden interest. It +was the first piece of information he had yet gleaned.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she returned, indifferently: “one must do something +to kill time, and music was never my forte. I sketch and draw +and paint after my own sweet will. There are portfolios full of +my sketches in there,”—with a movement of her hand towards +a curtained recess. “No, I know what you are going to say: +you will ask to see them; but I never show them to any one.”</p> +<p>“For what purpose, then, do you paint them?” were the +words on his lips; but he forbore to utter them. But she read +the question in his eyes.</p> +<p>“Did I not say one must kill time?” she returned, rather +irritably: “the occupation is soothing: surely that is reason +enough.”</p> +<p>“It is a good enough reason, I suppose,” he replied, reluctantly, +for surely he must say a word here; “but one need not +talk about killing time, with so much that one could do.”</p> +<p>Then there came a gleam of suppressed mischief in her eyes:</p> +<p>“Yes, I know: you may spare me that. I will listen to it all +next Sunday, if you will, when you have it your own way, and +one cannot sin against decorum and answer you. Yes, yes, +there is so much to do, is there not?—hungry people to be fed, +and sick to visit,—all sorts of disagreeables that people call duties. +Ah, I am a sad sinner! I only draw for my own amusement, +and leave the poor old world to get on without me. What a +burden I must be on your conscience, Mr. Drummond,—heavier +than all the rest of your parish. What, are you going already? +and Miss Mewlstone has never given you any tea.”</p> +<p>Then Archie explained, very shortly, that he had partaken of +that beverage at Brooklyn, and his leave-taking was rather +more formal than usual. He was very much surprised, as he +stood at the hall door, that always stood open in the summer, to +hear the low sweep of a dress over the tessellated pavement behind +him, and to see a white pudgy hand laid on his coat-sleeve.</p> +<p>“My dear Miss Mewlstone, how you startled me!”</p> +<p>“Just so; yes, I am afraid I did, Mr. Drummond; but I just +wanted to say, never mind all that nonsense; come again: she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +likes to see you; she does, indeed. It is only her way to talk +so; she means no harm, poor dear,—oh, none at all!”</p> +<p>“Excuse me,” returned Archie, in a hurt voice, “but I think +you are mistaken. Mrs. Cheyne does not care for my visits, +and shows me she does not: if it were not my duty, I should +not come so often.”</p> +<p>“No, no; just so, but all the same it rouses her and does her +good. It is a bad day with her, poor dear!—the very day the +darlings were taken ill, four years ago. Now, don’t go away +and fancy things, don’t, there’s a dear young man; come as +often as you can, and try and do her good.”</p> +<p>“Oh, if I only knew how that is to be done!” returned Archie, +slowly; but he was mollified in spite of himself. There were +tears in Miss Mewlstone’s little blue eyes: perhaps she was a +good creature after all.</p> +<p>“I will come again, but not just yet,” he said, nodding to her +good-humoredly; but as he walked down the road he told himself +that Mrs. Cheyne had never before made herself so disagreeable, +and that it would be long before he set foot in the +White House again.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVII_A_FRIEND_IN_NEED' id='CHAPTER_XVII_A_FRIEND_IN_NEED'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> +<h3>“A FRIEND IN NEED.”</h3> +</div> +<p>Human nature is weak, and we are told there are mixed +motives to be found even in the holiest actions. Mr. Drummond +never could be brought to acknowledge even to himself the reason +why he took so much pains to compose his sermon for that +Sunday. Without possessing any special claim to eloquence, +he had always been earnest and painstaking, bestowing much +labor on the construction and finish of his sentences, which +were in consequence more elaborate than original. At times, +when he took less pains and was simpler in style, he seldom +failed to satisfy his hearers. His voice was pleasant and well +modulated, and his delivery remarkably quiet and free from +any tricks of gestures.</p> +<p>But on this occasion his subject baffled him; he wrote and +rewrote whole pages, and then grew discontented with his work. +On the Sunday in question he woke with the conviction that +something out of the common order of events distinguished +the day from other days; but even as this thought crossed his +mind he felt ashamed of himself, and was in consequence a little +more dictatorial than usual at the breakfast-table.</p> +<p>The inhabitants of Hadleigh were well accustomed to the +presence of strangers in their church. In the season there was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +a regular influx of visitors that filled the lodging-houses to +overflowing. Hadleigh had always prided itself on its gentility, +as a watering-place it was select and exclusive; only the upper +middle classes, and a sprinkling of the aristocracy, were the +habitual frequenters of the little town. It was too quiet; it +offered too few attractions to draw the crowds that flocked to +other places. Mr. Drummond’s congregation was well used by +this time to see new faces in the strangers’ pew; nevertheless, +a little thrill of something like surprise and excitement moved +a few of the younger members as Nan and her sisters walked +down the aisle, with their mother following them.</p> +<p>“The mother is almost as good-looking as her daughters,” +thought Colonel Middleton, as he regarded the group through +his gold-mounted eye-glasses, and Miss Middleton looked up +for an instant from her prayer-book. Even Mrs. Cheyne roused +from the gloomy abstraction which was her usual approach to +devotion, and looked long and curiously at the three girlish +faces before her. It was refreshing even to her to see anything +so fresh and bright-looking.</p> +<p>Nan and her sisters were perfectly oblivious of the sensation +they were making. Nan’s pretty face was a trifle clouded: the +strange surroundings, the sight of all those people unknown to +them, instead of the dear, familiar faces that had always been +before her, gave the girl a dreary feeling of oppression and dismay. +Her voice quavered audibly as she sang, and one or two +drops fell on her prayer-book as she essayed to join in the petitions.</p> +<p>“Why is there not a special clause in the Litany for those +who are perplexed and in poverty? It is not only from murder +and sudden death one need pray to be delivered,” thought +Nan, with much sinking of heart. “Oh, how helpless they +were,—so young, and only girls, with a great unknown world +before them, and Dick away, ignorant of their worst troubles, +and too youthful a knight to win his spurs and pledge himself to +their service!”</p> +<p>Nan’s sweet downcast face drew many eyes in the direction of +the great square pew in which they sat. Phillis intercepted +some of these looks, as her attention insensibly wandered during +the service. It was wrong, terribly wrong of course, but +her thoughts would not concentrate themselves on the lesson +the young vicar was reading in his best style. She was not +heavy-hearted like Nan; on the contrary, little thrills of excitement, +of impatience, of repressed amusement, pervaded her mind, +as she looked at the strange faces round her “They would not be +long strange,” she thought: “some of them would be her neighbors. +What would they say, all these people, when they +knew––” And here Phillis held her breath a moment. People +were wondering even now who they were. They had dressed +themselves that morning, rehearsing their parts, as it were, with +studied simplicity. The gown Nan wore was as inexpensive as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +a gown could be; her hat was a model of neatness and propriety: +nevertheless, Phillis groaned in spirit as she glanced at +her. Where had she got that style? She looked like a young +princess who was playing at Arcadia. Would people ever dare +to ask her to work for them? Would they not beg her pardon, +and cry shame on themselves for entertaining such a thought +for a moment? Phillis almost envied Nan, who was shedding +salt tears on her prayer-book. She thought she was absorbed in +her devotions, while her own thoughts would wander so sadly; +and then a handsome face in the opposite pew attracted her attention. +Surely that must be Mrs. Cheyne, who lived in the +White House near them, of whom Nan had talked,—the poor +woman who had lost husband and children and who lived in solitary +state. The sermon had now commenced, but Phillis turned +a deaf ear to the sentences over which Mr. Drummond had expended +so much labor: her attention was riveted by the gloomy +beautiful face before her, which alternately attracted and repelled +her.</p> +<p>As though disturbed by some magnetic influence, Mrs. Cheyne +raised her eyes slowly and looked at Phillis. Something in the +girl’s keen-eyed glance seemed to move her strangely. The +color crept into her pale face, and her lip quivered: a moment +afterwards she drew down her veil and leaned back in her seat +and Phillis, somewhat abashed, endeavored fruitlessly to gather +up the thread of the sermon.</p> +<p>“There! it is over! We have made our <i>debut</i>,” she said, +a little recklessly, as they walked back to Beach House, where +Mrs. Challoner and Dulce were still staying. And as Nan looked +at her, a little shocked and mystified by this unusual flippancy, +she continued in the same excited way:</p> +<p>“Was it not strange Mr. Drummond choosing that text, +‘Consider the lilies’? He looked at us; I am sure he did, +mother. It was quite a tirade against dress and vanity; but I +am sure no one could find fault with us.”</p> +<p>“It was a very good sermon, and I think he seems a very clever +young man,” returned Mrs. Challoner, with a sigh, for the +service had been a long weariness for her. She had not been +unmindful of the attention her girls had caused; but if people +only knew—And here the poor lady had clasped her hands and +put up petitions that were certainly not in the Litany.</p> +<p>Phillis seemed about to say something, but she checked herself, +and they were all a little silent until they reached the +house. This first Sunday was an infliction to them all: it was +a day of enforced idleness. There was too much time for thought +and room for regret. In spite of all Phillis’s efforts,—and she +rattled on cheerily most of the afternoon,—Mrs. Challoner got +one of her bad headaches, from worry, and withdrew to her +room, attended by Dulce, who volunteered to bathe her head +and read her to sleep.</p> +<p>The church-bells were just ringing for the evening service, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +Nan rose, as usual, to put on her hat; but Phillis stopped +her:</p> +<p>“Oh, Nan, do not let us go to church again this evening. I +am terribly wicked to-day, I know, but somehow I cannot keep +my thoughts in order. So what is the use of making the attempt? +Let us take out our prayer-books and sit on the beach: +it is low tide, and a walk over the sands would do us good +after our dreadful week.”</p> +<p>“If you are sure it would not be wrong,” hesitated Nan, +whose conscience was a little hard to convince in such matters.</p> +<p>“No, no. And the run will do Laddie good. The poor little +fellow has been shut up in this room all day. We need not tell +the mother. She would be shocked, you know. But we never +have stayed away from church before, have we? And, to tell +you the truth,” continued Phillis, with an unsteady laugh that betrayed +agitation to her sister’s ear, “though I faced it very well +this morning, I do not feel inclined to go through it again. +People stared so. And I could not help thinking all the time, +‘If they only knew!’—that was the thought that kept buzzing +in my head. If only Mr. Drummond and all those people +knew!”</p> +<p>“What does it matter what people think?” returned Nan. +But she said it languidly. In her heart she was secretly dismayed +at this sudden failure of courage. Phillis had been quite +bold and merry all the day, almost reckless in her speeches.</p> +<p>“I am glad we came. This will do us both good,” said Nan, +gently, as they left the parade behind them, and went slowly +over the shelving beach, with Laddie rolling like a clumsy black +ball about their feet. Just before them there was a pretty black-timbered +cottage, covered with roses, standing quite low on +the shore, and beyond this was nothing but shingly beach, and +a stretch of wet, yellow sand, on which the sun was shining. +There was a smooth white boulder standing quite alone, on +which the girls seated themselves. The tide was still going +out; and the low wash of waves sounded pleasantly in their +ears as they advanced and then receded. A shimmer of silvery +light played upon the water, and a rosy tinge began to tint the +horizon.</p> +<p>“How quiet and still it is!” said Phillis, in an awe-struck +voice. “When we are tired we must come here to rest ourselves. +How prettily those baby waves seem to babble! it is +just like the gurgle of baby laughter. And look at Laddie +splashing in that pool: he is after that poor little crab. Come +here, you rogue!” But Laddie, intent upon his sport, only +cocked his ear restlessly and refused to obey.</p> +<p>“Yes, it is lovely,” returned Nan. “There is quite a silvery +path over the water; by and by the sunset clouds will be beautiful. +But what is the matter, dear?” as Phillis sighed and +leaned heavily against her; and then, as she turned, she saw +the girl’s eyes were wet. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span></p> +<p>“Oh, Nan! shall we have strength for it? That is what I +keep asking myself to-day. No you must not look so frightened. +I am brave enough generally, and I do not mean to lose +pluck; but now and then the thought will come to me, Shall +we have strength to go through with it?”</p> +<p>“We must think of each other; that must keep us up,” returned +Nan, whose ready sympathy fully understood her sister’s +mood. Only to Nan would Phillis ever own her failure of +courage or fears for the future. But now and then the brave +young heart needed comfort, and always found it in Nan’s +sympathy.</p> +<p>“It was looking at your dear beautiful face that made me feel +so suddenly bad this morning,” interrupted Phillis, with a sort +of sob. “It was not the people so much; they only amused +and excited me, and I kept thinking, ‘If they only knew!’ +But, Nan, when I looked at you—oh, why are you so nice and +pretty, if you have got to do this horrid work?”</p> +<p>“I am not a bit nicer than you and Dulce,” laughed Nan, +embracing her, for she never could be made to understand that +by most people she was considered their superior in good looks. +The bare idea made her angry. “It is worse for you, Phillis, +because you are so clever and have so many ideas. But there! +we must not go on pitying each other, or else, indeed, we shall +undermine our little stock of strength.”</p> +<p>“But don’t you feel terribly unhappy sometimes?” persisted +Phillis. Neither of them mentioned Dick, and yet he was in +both their minds.</p> +<p>“Perhaps I do,” returned Nan, simply; and then she added, +with quaintness that was pathetic, “You see, we are so unused +to the feeling, and it is over-hard at first: by and by we shall +be more used to not having our own way in things.”</p> +<p>“I think I could give up that readily, if I could be sure you +and Dulce were not miserable,” sighed Phillis.</p> +<p>“That is what I say,” returned Nan. “Don’t you see how +simple and beautiful that is? Thinking of each other gives us +strength to go through with it all. This evening trying to cheer +you up has done me good. I do not feel the least afraid of +people to-night. Looking at that sea and sky makes one feel +the littleness and unreality of all these worries. What does it +matter—what does anything matter—if we only do our duty +and love each other, and submit to the Divine will?” finished +Nan, reverently, who seldom spoke of her deeper feelings, even +to Phillis.</p> +<p>“Nan, you are a saint,” returned Phillis, enthusiastically. +The worried look had left her eyes; they looked clear and bright +as usual. “Oh, what a heathen I have been to-day! but, as +Dulce is so fond of saying, ‘I am going to be good. I will read +the evening Psalms to you, in token of my resolution, if you +like. But wait: is there not some one coming across the sand! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +How eerie it looks, such a tall black figure standing between the +earth and sky!”</p> +<p>Phillis had good sight, or she would hardly have distinguished +the figure, which was now motionless, at such a distance. +In another moment she even announced that its draperies +showed it to be a woman, before she opened her book and +commenced reading.</p> +<p>There is something very striking in a lonely central figure in +a scene, the outline cuts so sharply against the horizon. Nan’s +eyes seemed riveted on it as she listened to Phillis’s voice; it +seemed to her as immovable as a Sphinx, its rigidity lending +a sort of barrenness and forlornness to the landscape, a black +edition of human nature set under a violet and opal sky.</p> +<p>She almost started when it moved, at last, with a steady bearing, +as it seemed, towards them; then curiosity quickened into +interest, and she touched Phillis’s arm, whispering breathlessly,—</p> +<p>“The Sphinx moves! Look—is not that Mrs. Cheyne, the +lady who lives at the White House near us, who always looks +so lonely and unhappy?”</p> +<p>“Hush!” returned Phillis, “she will hear you;” and then +Mrs. Cheyne approached with the same swift even walk. She +looked at them for a moment, as she passed, with a sort of well-bred +surprise in her air, as though she marvelled to see them +there; her black dress touched Laddie, and he caught at it with +an impotent bark.</p> +<p>The sisters must have made a pretty picture, as they sat +almost clinging together on the stone: one of Nan’s little white +hands rested on Laddie’s head, the other lay on Phillis’s lap. +Phillis glanced up from her book, keen-eyed and alert in a +moment; she turned her head to look at the stranger that had +excited her interest, and then rose to her feet with a little cry +of dismay.</p> +<p>“Oh, Nan, I am afraid she has hurt herself! She gave such +a slip just now. I wonder what has happened? She is leaning +against the breakwater, too. Shall we go and ask her if she +feels ill or anything?”</p> +<p>“You may go,” was Nan’s answer. Nevertheless, she followed +Phillis.</p> +<p>Mrs. Cheyne looked up at them a little sharply as they came +towards her. Her face was gray and contracted with pain.</p> +<p>“I have slipped on a wet stone, and my foot has somehow +turned on me,” she said, quickly, as Phillis ran up to her. “It +was very stupid. I cannot think how it happened; but I have +certainly sprained my ankle. It gives me such pain. I cannot +move.”</p> +<p>“Oh, dear, I am so sorry!” returned Phillis, good-naturedly; +and, in the most natural manner, she knelt down on the beach, +and took the injured foot in her hands. “Yes, I can feel it is +swelling dreadfully: we must try and get your boot off before +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +the attempt gets too painful.” And she commenced unfastening +it with deft fingers.</p> +<p>“How am I to walk without my boot?” observed Mrs. +Cheyne, a little drily, as she looked down on the girl; but here +Nan interposed in her brisk sensible way:</p> +<p>“You must not walk; you must not think of such a thing. +We will wet our handkerchiefs in the salt water, and bind up +your ankle as well as we can; and then one of us will walk over +to the White House for assistance. Your servants could easily +obtain a wheeled chair.”</p> +<p>“You knew I lived at the White House, then?” returned +Mrs. Cheyne, arching her eyebrows in some surprise; but she +offered no opposition to Nan’s plan. The removal of the boot +had brought on a sensation of faintness, and she sat perfectly +still and quiet while the girls swathed the foot in wet bandages.</p> +<p>“It is a little easier now,” she observed, gratefully. “How +neatly you have done it! you must be used to such work. I +am really very much obliged to you both for your kindly help; +and now I am afraid I must trouble you further if I am ever +to reach home.”</p> +<p>“I will go at once,” returned Nan, cheerfully; “but I will +leave my sister for fear you should feel faint again: besides, it +is so lonely.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I am used to loneliness!” was the reply, as a bitter expression +crossed her face.</p> +<p>Phillis, who was still holding the sprained foot in her lap, +looked up in her eager way.</p> +<p>“I think one gets used to everything; that is a merciful dispensation; +but all the same I hope you will not send me away. +I dearly like to be useful; and at present my object is to prevent +your foot coming into contact with these stones. Are you +really in less pain now?—you look dreadfully pale.”</p> +<p>“Oh, that is nothing!” she returned, with a smile so sudden +and sweet that it quite startled Phillis, for it lit up her face like +sunshine; but almost before she caught it, it was gone. “How +good you are to me! and yet I am a perfect stranger!” and then +she added, as though with an afterthought, “But I saw you +in church this morning.”</p> +<p>Phillis nodded: the question certainly required no answer.</p> +<p>“If I knew you better, I should ask why your eyes questioned +me so closely this morning. Do you know, Miss—Miss––” +And here she hesitated and smiled, waiting for Phillis to fill up +the blank.</p> +<p>“My name is Challoner,—Phillis Challoner,” replied Phillis, +coloring a little; and then she added, frankly, “I am afraid you +thought me rude, and that I stared at you, but my thoughts +were all topsy-turvy this morning and refused to be kept in +order. One feels curious, somehow, about the people among +whom one has come to live.”</p> +<p>“Have you come to live here?” asked Mrs. Cheyne, eagerly, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +and a gleam of pleasure shot into her dark eyes,—“you, and +your mother and sisters?”</p> +<p>“Yes; we have just come to the Friary,—a little cottage +standing on the Braidwood Road.”</p> +<p>Her manner became a little constrained and reserved as she +said this: the charming frankness disappeared.</p> +<p>“The Friary!” echoed Mrs. Cheyne; and then she paused for +a moment, and her eyes rested searchingly on Phillis. “That +shabby little cottage!” was the thought that filled up the outline +of her words; but, though she felt inward surprise and a momentary +disappointment, there was no change in the graciousness +of her manner. Never before had she so thawed to any one: +but the girl’s sweet ministry had won her heart. “Then you +will be near me,—just at my gates? We shall be close neighbors. +I hope you will come and see me, Miss Challoner.”</p> +<p>Poor Phillis! the blood suddenly rushed over her face at this. +How was she to answer without appearing ungracious?—and +yet at this moment how could she explain?</p> +<p>“If you please, we are dressmakers.” Oh, no! such words +as these would not get themselves said. It was too abrupt, too +sudden, altogether: she was not prepared for such a thing. +Oh, why had she not gone to the White House instead of Nan? +Her officiousness had brought this on her. She could not put +the poor foot off her lap and get up and walk away to cool her +hot cheeks.</p> +<p>“Thank you; you are very good,” she stammered, feeling +herself an utter fool: she,—Phillis,—the clever one!</p> +<p>Mrs. Cheyne seemed rather taken aback by the girl’s sudden +reserve and embarrassment.</p> +<p>“I suppose you think I should call first, and thank you for +your kindness,” she returned, quickly; “but I was afraid my +foot would keep me too long a prisoner. And, as we are to be +neighbors, I hardly thought it necessary to stand on ceremony; +but if you would rather wait––”</p> +<p>“Oh, no,” replied Phillis, in despair; “we will not trouble +you to do that! Nan and I will call and ask after your foot, +and then we will explain. There is a little difficulty: you +might not care to be friends with us if you knew,” went on Phillis +with burning cheeks; “but we will call and explain. Oh, yes, +Nan and I will call!”</p> +<p>“Do; I shall expect you,” returned Mrs. Cheyne, half +amused and half mystified at the girl’s obvious confusion. +What did the child mean? They were gentle-people,—one could +see that at a glance. They were in reduced circumstances: +they had come down to Hadleigh to retrench. Well, what did +that matter? People’s wealth or poverty never affected her; +she would think none the less well of them for that; she would +call at the Friary and entertain them at the White House with +as much pleasure as though they lived in a palace. The little +mystery piqued her, and yet excited her interest. It was long +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +since she had interested herself so much in anything. To Miss +Middleton she had always been cold and uncertain. Mr. +Drummond she treated with a mixture of satire and haughtiness +that aroused his ire. Phillis’s frankness and simplicity had +won her for a moment to her earlier and better self: she conceived +an instantaneous liking for the girl who looked at her with +such grave kindly glances. “I shall expect you, remember,” she +repeated, as Nan at that moment appeared in sight.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, Nan and I will come,” returned Phillis, slowly, +and almost solemnly; but an instant afterwards a flicker of +amusement played round her mouth. It was painful, of course; +but, still, how droll it was!</p> +<p>“How long you have been, Nan!” she exclaimed, a little +unreasonably, as Nan ran towards them, flushed and breathless +from her haste.</p> +<p>“It has not been long to me,” observed Mrs. Cheyne, +pointedly. She talked more to Nan than to Phillis after this, +until the servants appeared with the wheeled chair; but +nevertheless her last words were for Phillis. “Remember your +promise,” was all she said, as she held out her hand to the +girl; and Phillis tried to smile in answer, though it was rather +a failure after all.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVIII_DOROTHY_BRINGS_IN_THE_BEST_CHINA' id='CHAPTER_XVIII_DOROTHY_BRINGS_IN_THE_BEST_CHINA'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> +<h3>DOROTHY BRINGS IN THE BEST CHINA.</h3> +</div> +<p>“What a fool I made of myself yesterday! but to-day +Richard is himself again,” said Phillis, as she gathered up another +muslin curtain in her arms ready to hand to Nan, who +was mounted on some steps. It was only Monday afternoon, +but the girls had done wonders: the work-room, as they called +it, was nearly finished. The great carved wardrobe and mahogany +table had been polished by Dorothy’s strong hands. +Mrs. Challoner’s easy-chair and little work-table at one window +looked quite inviting; the sewing-machine and Nan’s rosewood +davenport were in their places. A hanging cupboard of old +china, and a few well-bound books, gave a little coloring and +finish, and one or two fine old prints that had hung in the +dining-room at Glen Cottage had been disposed with advantage +on the newly-papered walls. An inlaid clock ticked on the +mantelpiece, and some handsome ruby-colored vases stood on +either side of it. Nan was quite right when she had glanced +round her a few minutes ago in a satisfied manner and said no +one need be ashamed of living in such a room.</p> +<p>“Our pretty things make it look almost too nice for the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +purpose,” she continued, handling a precious relic, a Sevres cup +and saucer, that had been her especial pride in old days. “I +think you were wrong, Phil, not to have the china in the other +room.”</p> +<p>“No, indeed; I want people to see it and be struck with our +taste,” was Phillis’s frank answer. “Think what pleasure it +will give the poor ladies when their dresses are being tried on. +Don’t you remember the basket of wax fruit at Miss Slinders’s, +when we were small children? I thought it the loveliest work +of art, and feasted my eyes all the time Miss Slinders was fitting +my pink frock. Now, our pictures and china will refresh +people’s eyes in the same way.”</p> +<p>Nan smiled and shook her head, as she dusted and arranged +her treasures. The china was very dear to her,—far more than +the books Phillis was arranging on the chiffonnier. The Dresden +figures that Dick had given to her mother were among +them. She did not care for strangers to look at them and appraise +their value. They were home treasures,—sacred relics +of their past. The last time she had dusted them, a certain +young man of her acquaintance had walked through the open +window whistling “Blue bonnets over the Border,” and had +taken up his station beside her, hindering her work with his +chattering. Dulce was in the upper regions, unpacking a box +in her mother’s room. Mrs. Challoner was coming home the +next day, and Dorothy and she were hard at work getting +things in order.</p> +<p>When Phillis made her downright speech, Nan looked down +from her lofty perch, and held out her arms for the curtain.</p> +<p>“Richard is always himself, my dear,” she said, softly. “Do +you know when you are down, Phil, I feel as though we are all +at a stand-still, and there’s no getting on at all? and then at one +of your dear droll speeches the sunshine comes out again, and +we are all as right as possible.”</p> +<p>“Don’t talk nonsense,” was Phillis’s blunt answer; but she +could not help being pleased at the compliment. She looked up +archly at Nan, as the mass of soft white drapery lay between +them; and then they both broke into a laugh, just as two +shadows seemed to glide past the window, and a moment afterwards +the house-bell sounded. “Visitors!—oh, Nan!” And +Phillis glanced down at the neat bib apron that she wore over +her cambric dress.</p> +<p>“Don’t be afraid; Dorothy will have too much sense to admit +them,” returned Nan, quite indifferently, as she went up a +step higher to hang up the curtain.</p> +<p>Phillis was still holding it; but her manner was not quite so +well assured. She thought she heard Dulce’s voice in confabulation +with the stranger. A moment afterwards Dulce came +briskly into the room.</p> +<p>“Nan, Mr. Drummond and his sister have kindly called to +see us. We are not in order, of course. Oh, dear!” as Nan +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +looked down on them with startled eyes, not venturing to descend +from her perch. “I ought not to have brought them in +here,” looking half mischievously and half guiltily at the young +clergyman, who stood hat in hand on the threshold.</p> +<p>“It is I who ought not to have intruded,” he began, in a perfect +agony of embarrassment, blushing over his face like a girl +as Nan looked down at him in much dignity, but Mattie, who +was behind him, pushed forward in her usual bustling way.</p> +<p>“Oh, Miss Challoner, it is too bad! I told Archie that we +ought not to come too soon––” but Phillis stopped her with an +outstretched hand of welcome.</p> +<p>“What is too bad? I call it very kind and friendly of you +both: one hardly expected to find such good neighbors. Nan, +if that curtain is finished I think you had better come down. +Take care; those steps are rickety: perhaps Mr. Drummond +will help you.”</p> +<p>“Let me do the other ones for you. I don’t think those steps +are safe!” exclaimed Archie, with sudden inspiration.</p> +<p>No one at home would have believed such a thing of him. +Mattie’s eyes grew quite round and fixed with astonishment at +the sight. He had not even shaken hands with Nan, yet there +he was, mounted in her place, slipping in the hooks with +dexterous hands, while Nan quietly held up the curtain.</p> +<p>Months afterwards the scene came back on Archibald +Drummond with a curious thrill half of pain and half of amusement. +How had he done it? he wondered. What had made him all +at once act in a way so unlike himself?—for, with the best +intention, he was always a little stiff and constrained with +strangers. Yet there he was laughing as though he had known +them all his life, because Nan had rebuked him gravely for +slipping two hooks into one ring. Months afterwards he +recalled it all: Nan glancing up at him with quietly amused eyes, +Phillis standing apart, looking quaint and picturesque in her +bib-apron, Dulce with the afternoon sunshine lighting up her +brown hair; the low old-fashioned room, with the great carved +wardrobe, and the cupboard of dainty china; the shady little +lawn outside, with Laddie rolling among the daisies. What +made it suddenly start up in his memory like a picture one has +seen and never quite forgotten?</p> +<p>“Thank you, Mr. Drummond. You have done it so nicely,” +said Nan, with the utmost gravity, as he lingered, almost +unwilling to descend to conventionality again. Dulce and Phillis +were busily engaged looping up the folds. “Now we will ask +Dorothy to remove the steps and then we can sit down comfortably.”</p> +<p>But here Archie interposed:</p> +<p>“Why need you call any one? Tell me where I shall put +them.” Mattie broke into a loud laugh. She could not help +it. It was too droll of Archie. She must write and tell +Grace. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span></p> +<p>Archie heard the laugh as he marched out of the room with +his burden, and it provoked him excessively. He made some +excuse about admiring Laddie, and went out on the lawn for a +few minutes, accompanied by Nan. When they came back, the +curtains were finished and the two girls were talking to Mattie. +Mattie seemed quite at ease with them.</p> +<p>“We have such a dear old garden at the vicarage,” she was +saying, as her brother came into the room. “I am not much +of a gardener myself but Archie works for hours at a time. +He talks of getting a set of tennis down from town. We think +it will help to bring people together. You must promise to +come and play sometimes of an afternoon when you have got +the cottage in order.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” returned Phillis; and then Nan and she exchanged +looks. A sort of blankness came over the sisters’ faces,—a +sudden dying out of the brightness and fun.</p> +<p>Mr. Drummond grew a little alarmed:</p> +<p>“I hope you will not disappoint my sister. She has few +friends, and is rather lonely, missing so many sisters; and you +are such close neighbors.”</p> +<p>“Yes, we are close neighbors,” returned Phillis. But her +voice was a little less clear than usual; and, to Archie’s astonishment,—for +they all seemed talking comfortably together,—her +face had grown suddenly pale. “But you must not +think us unkind if we refuse your hospitality,” she went on, looking +straight at him, and not at Mattie. “Owing to painful circumstances, +we have made up our minds that no such pleasure +are in store for us. We must learn to do without things: +must we not, Nan?”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed,” returned Nan, very gravely. And then the +tears came into Dulce’s eyes. Was Phillis actually going to tell +them? She would have run away, only she was ashamed of +such cowardice.</p> +<p>“I hope you do not mean to do without friends,” stammered +Archie. “That would be too painful to bear.” He thought +they were excusing themselves from partaking of their neighbors’ +hospitality because they were too poor to return it, and +wanted to set them at their ease. “You may have reasons for +wishing to be quiet. Perhaps Mrs. Challoner’s health, and—and—parties +are not always desirable,” he went on, floundering, +a little in his speech, and signing to Mattie to come to his help, +which she did at once, breathlessly:</p> +<p>“Parties! Oh, dear, no! They are such a trouble and expense. +But tennis and tea on the lawn is just nothing,—nothing +at all. One can give a little fruit and some home-made cake. +No one need scruple at that. Archie is not rich,—clergymen +never are, you know,—but he means to entertain his friends as +well as he can. I should like you to see Miss Middleton. She +is a charming person. And the colonel is as nice as possible. +We will just ask them to meet you in a quiet way, and, if +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +your mother is not too much of an invalid, I hope she will give us +the pleasure of her company, for when people are such close +neighbors it is stupid to stand on ceremony,” finished Mattie, +bringing herself rapidly to a full stop.</p> +<p>“You are very kind. But you do not understand,” returned +Phillis. And then she stopped, and a gleam of fun came into her +eyes. Her sharp ears had caught the rattle of cups and saucers. +Actually, that absurd Dorothy was bringing in tea in the old way, +making believe that they were entertaining their friends in Glen +Cottage fashion! She must get out the truth somehow before +the pretty purple china made its appearance. “Oh,” she went +on, with a sort of gulp, as though she felt the sudden touch of +cold water, “you come here meaning kindly, and asking us to +your house, and taking compassion upon us because we are +strangers and lonely, and you do not know that we are poor, +and that we have lost our money, and––” But here Mr. +Drummond was absolutely rude enough to interrupt her:</p> +<p>“What does that matter, my dear Miss Challoner? Do you +think that is of any consequence in mine or my sister’s eyes? +I suppose if I be your clergyman––” And then he stopped, +and stroked his beard in an embarrassed way; for though Phillis’s +face was pale, there was laughter in her eyes.</p> +<p>“Oh, if this be a parochial visit,” she began, demurely; +“but you should not have talked of tennis, Mr. Drummond. +How do you know we are not Roman Catholics, or Wesleyans, +or even Baptists, or Bible Christians? We might have gone to +your church out of curiosity on Sunday, or to see the fashions. +There is not a Quaker cut about us; but, still, we might be Unitarians, +and people would not find it out,” continued Phillis, +looking with much solemnity at the bewildered young Anglican.</p> +<p>The situation was too absurd; there was no knowing to what +length Phillis’s recklessness and sense of humor would have +brought her, only Nan’s good sense came to the rescue:</p> +<p>“Phillis is only in fun, Mr. Drummond. Of course we are +Church-people: and of course we hope to attend your services. +I am sure my mother will be pleased to see you, when you are +kind enough to call. At Oldfield we were always good friends +with our clergyman: he was such a dear old man.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean to forbid my sister’s visits, then?” asked +Archie, looking anxiously at her sweet face; Nan looked so +pretty, in spite of her discomposure.</p> +<p>“Oh, no! we do not mean to be so rude: do we, Phillis? We +shall be so glad to see Miss Drummond; but—but,” faltered Nan, +losing breath a little, “we have been unfortunate, and must +work for our living; and your sister perhaps would not care to +visit dressmakers.”</p> +<p>“What!” exclaimed Archie: he almost jumped out of his +chair in his surprise.</p> +<p>Phillis had uttered a faint “Bravo, Nan!” but no one heard +her. Dulce’s cheeks were crimson, and she would not look at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +any one; but Nan, who had got out the dreaded word, went on +bravely, and was well hugged by Phillis in private afterwards.</p> +<p>“We are not clever enough for governesses,” continued Nan, +with a charming smile, addressing Mattie, who sat and stared at +her, “and there was nothing we dreaded so much as to separate: +so, as we had capable fingers and were fond of work, my +sister Phillis planned this for us. Now you see, Miss Drummond, +why we could not accept your kind hospitality. Whatever +we have been, we cannot expect people to visit us now. +If you would be good enough to recommend us, and help us in +our efforts to make ourselves independent, that is all we can +ask of you.”</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t know,” returned Mattie, bluntly: “as far as +I am concerned, I am never ashamed of any honest calling. +What do you say, Archie?”</p> +<p>“I say it is all very proper and laudable,” he returned, hesitating; +“but surely—surely there must be some other way +more suitable to ladies in your position! Let me call again +when your mother comes, and see if there is nothing that I can +do or recommend better than this. Yes, I am sure if I can +only talk to your mother, we could find some other way than +this.”</p> +<p>“Indeed, Mr. Drummond, you must do nothing of the kind,” +replied Phillis, in an alarmed voice: “the poor dear mother must +not be disturbed by any such talk! You mean it kindly, but +we have made up our own minds, Nan and I: we mean to do +without the world and live in one of our own; and we mean to +carry out our plan in defiance of everything and everybody; +and, though you are our clergyman and we are bound to listen +to your sermons, we cannot take your advice in this.”</p> +<p>“But—but I would willingly act as a friend,” began the young +man, confusedly, looking not at her, but at Nan.</p> +<p>He was so bewildered, so utterly taken aback, he hardly +knew what he said.</p> +<p>“Here comes Dorothy with the tea,” interrupted Nan, pleasantly, +as though dismissing the subject: “she has not forgotten +our old customs. Friends always came around us in the afternoon. +Mr. Drummond, perhaps you will make yourself useful +and cut the cake. Dorothy, you need not have unpacked the best +silver teapot.” Nan was moving about in her frank hospitable +way. Laddie was whining for cake, and breaking into short +barks of impatience. “This is one of our Glen Cottage cakes. +Susan always prides herself on the recipe,” said Nan, calmly, as +she pressed it on her guests.</p> +<p>Mr. Drummond almost envied his sister as she praised the +cake and asked for the recipe. He had always found fault +with her manners; but now nothing could be finer than her +simplicity. Pure good nature and innate womanliness were +teaching Mattie something better than tact. Nan had dropped +a painful subject, and she would not revive it in her brother’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +presence. There would be plenty of time for her to call and +talk it over with them quietly. Help them!—of course she +would help them. They should have her new silk dress that +Uncle Conway had just sent her. It was a risk, for perhaps +they might spoil it; but such fine creatures should have a +chance. At present she would only enjoy the nice tea, and talk +to poor little frightened Dulce, who seemed unable to open her +lips after her sister’s disclosure.</p> +<p>Archie could not emulate her ease: a man is always at a disadvantage +in such a case. His interest had sustained no shock: +it was even stimulated by what he had just heard; but his +sympathy seemed all at once congealed, and he could find no +vent for it. In spite of his best efforts his manner grew more +and more constrained every moment.</p> +<p>Nan looked at him more than once with reproachful sweetness. +She thought they had lost caste in his eyes; but Phillis, +who was shrewd and sharp-set in her wits, read him more truly. +She knew—having already met a score of such—how addicted +young Englishmen are to <i>mauvaise honte</i>, and how they will +hide acute sensibilities under blunt and stolid exteriors; and +there was a certain softness in Mr. Drummond’s eye that belied +his stiffness. Most likely he was very sorry for them, and did +not know how to show it; and in this she was right.</p> +<p>Mr. Drummond was very sorry for them; but he was still +more grieved for himself. The Oxford fellow had not long been +a parish priest, and he could not at all understand the position +in which he found himself,—taking tea with three elegant +young dressmakers who talked the purest English and had decided +views on tennis and horticulture. He had just been congratulating +himself on securing such companionship for his +sister and himself. Being rather classical-minded, he had been +calling them the gray-eyed Graces, and one of them at least +“a daughter of the gods,—divinely tall and most divinely fair;” +for where had he seen anything to compare with Nan’s bloom +and charming figure? Dressmakers!—oh, if only Grace were +at hand, that he might talk to her, and gain her opinion how he +was to act in such case! Grace had the stiff-necked Drummond +pride as well as he, and would hesitate long behind the barriers +of conventionality. No wonder, with all these thoughts passing +through his mind, that Nan, with her bright surface talk, +found him a little vague.</p> +<p>It was quite a relief to all the party when Mattie gave the +signal for departure and the bell was rung for Dorothy to show +them out.</p> +<p>“Well, Nan, what do you think of our visitors?” asked Phillis, +when the garden-door had clanged noisily after them, and she +had treated Nan to the aforesaid hugs; “for you were so brave, +darling, and actually took the wind out of my sails!” exclaimed +the enthusiastic Phillis. “Miss Drummond is not so bad, +after all, is she, in spite of her dowdiness and fussy ways?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span></p> +<p>“No; she means well; and so does her brother. He is very +nice, only his self-consciousness spoils him,” returned Nan, in +a calm, discursive tone, as though they were discussing ordinary +visitors.</p> +<p>It was impossible for these young girls to see that their ordinary +language was not humble enough for their new circumstances. +They would make mistakes at every turn, like +Dorothy, who got out the best china and brewed her tea in the +melon-shaped silver teapot.</p> +<p>Phillis opened her eyes rather widely at this. Nan was not +often so observant. It was true: self-consciousness was a torment +to Archibald Drummond, a Frankenstein of his own +creation, that had grown imperceptibly with his growth to the +fell measure of his manhood, as inseparable as the shadow from +the substance. Phillis had recognized it at once; but then, as +she said, no one was faultless; and then, he was so handsome. +“Very handsome” chimed in Dulce, whose opinions were full-fledged +in such matters.</p> +<p>“Is he? Well, I never cared for a man with a long fair +beard,” observed Nan, carelessly. Poor Archie! how his +vanity would have suffered if he had heard her! for, in a masculine +way, he prided himself excessively on the soft silky appendage +that Grace had so often praised. A certain boyish countenance, +with kindly honest eyes and a little sandy moustache, +was more to Nan’s taste than the handsome young Anglican.</p> +<p>“Oh, we all know Nan’s opinion in such matters,” said Dulce, +slyly; and then Nan blushed, and suddenly remembered that +Dorothy was waiting for her in the linen-closet, and hurried +away, leaving her sisters to discuss their visitors to their hearts’ +content.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIX_ARCHIE_IS_IN_A_BAD_HUMOR' id='CHAPTER_XIX_ARCHIE_IS_IN_A_BAD_HUMOR'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> +<h3>ARCHIE IS IN A BAD HUMOR.</h3> +</div> +<p>“Oh, Archie, I was never more astonished in my life!” +exclaimed Mattie, as she tried to adapt her uneven trot to her +brother’s long swinging footsteps; and then she glanced up in +his face to read his mood: but Archie’s features were inscrutable +and presented an appalling blank. In his mind he was +beginning his letter to Grace, and wondering what he should +say to her about their new neighbors. “Writing is such a +nuisance when one wants to talk to a person,” he thought, +irritably.</p> +<p>“Oh, Archie, won’t you tell me what we are to do?” went +on Mattie, excitedly. She would not take Archie’s silence as a +hint that he wanted to keep his thoughts to himself. “Those +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +poor girls! oh, how nice and pretty they all are, especially the +eldest! and is not the youngest—Dulce, I think they called her—the +very image of Isabel?”</p> +<p>“Isabel! not a bit. That is so like you, Mattie. You always +see likenesses when other people cannot trace the faintest resemblance,” +for this remark was sure to draw out his opposition. +Isabel was a silly flirting little thing in her brother’s estimation, +and, he thought, could not hold a candle to the youngest Miss +Challoner.</p> +<p>“Oh dear! now I have made you cross!” sighed poor Mattie, +who especially wanted to keep him in good humor. “And yet +every one but you thinks Isabel so pretty. I am sure, from +what Grace said in her last letter, that Mr. Ellis Burton means +to propose to her.”</p> +<p>“And I suppose you will all consider that a catch,” sneered +Archie. “That is so like a parcel of women, thinking every +man who comes to the house and makes a few smooth-tongued +speeches—is, in fact, civil—must be after a girl. Of course you +have all helped to instill this nonsense into the child’s head.”</p> +<p>“Dear me, how you talk, Archie!” returned Mattie, feeling +herself snubbed as usual. Why, Archie had been quite excited +about it only the other day, and had said quite seriously that +with seven girls in a family, it would be a great blessing if +Isabel could make such a match; for it was very unlikely that +Laura and Susie, or even Clara, would do much for themselves +in that way, unless they decidedly improved in looks.</p> +<p>“Well, it is nothing to me,” he returned in a chilling manner; +“we all know our own mind best. If an angular lantern-jawed +fellow like Burton, who, by the bye, does not speak the best +English, is to Isabel’s taste, let her have him by all means: he +is well-to-do, and I dare say will keep a carriage for her by and +by: that is what you women think a great advantage,” finished +Archie, who certainly seemed bent on making himself disagreeable.</p> +<p>Mattie heaved another great sigh, but she did not dare to contradict +him. Grace would have punished him on the spot by a +dose of satire that would have brought him to reason and good +nature in a moment; but Mattie ventured only on those laborious +sighs which she jerked up from the bottom of her honest +little heart.</p> +<p>Archie heard the sigh, and felt ashamed of his bad temper. +He did not know himself why he felt so suddenly cross; some +secret irritation was at work within him, and he could scarcely +refrain from bidding Mattie quite roughly to hold her tongue and +not tease him with her chatter. If she expected him in his present +state of mind, which was at once contradictory and aggressive, +to talk to her about the Challoners, she must just make +up her mind to be disappointed, for he could not bring himself +to speak of them to her just now: he wanted to hold counsel +with his own thoughts and with Grace. He would call at the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +Friary again and see Mrs. Challoner, and find out more of this +strange matter; but as to talking it over with Mattie, he quite +shrugged his shoulders as he swung open the green door.</p> +<p>“Are you going in?” faltered Mattie, as she noticed this +movement.</p> +<p>“Well, yes; I have letters to write, and it is too hot for a +longer walk,” he returned, decidedly; and then, as Mattie +stood hesitating and wistful in the middle of the road, he strode +off, leaving the door to close noisily after him, and not caring +to inquire into her further movements, such being the occasional +graceless manners of brothers when sisterly friendship is +not to their liking.</p> +<p>Mattie felt snubbed; but for the first time in her life, she did +not take her snubbing meekly. It was too much to expect of her, +who was only a woman and not one of Archie’s divinities, that +she should follow him into the house and hold her tongue just +because he was pleased to refrain from speaking. Water must +find its vent; and Mattie’s tongue could not be silenced in this +way. If Archie would not talk to her, Miss Middleton would: +so at once she trotted off for Brooklyn, thereby incurring +Archie’s wrath if he could only have known her purpose; for +gossip was to him as the sin of witchcraft, unless he stooped to +it himself, and then it was amiable sociability.</p> +<p>Miss Middleton was listening to her father’s reading as usual, +but she welcomed Mattie with open arms, literally as well as +metaphorically, for she kissed Mattie on either cheek, and then +scolded her tenderly for looking so flushed and tired; “for +somebody who is always looking after other people, and never +has time to spare for herself, is growing quite thin; is she not, +father? and we must write to Grace if this goes on,” finished +Miss Middleton, with one of her kind looks.</p> +<p>All this was cordial to poor Mattie, who, though she was used +to snubbing, and took as kindly to it as a spaniel to water, yet +felt herself growing rather like a thread-paper and shabby with +every-day worries and never an encouraging word to inspirit +her.</p> +<p>So she gave Elizabeth a misty little smile,—Mattie’s smile was +pretty, though her features were ordinary,—and then sat up +straight and began to enjoy herself,—that is, to talk,—never +noticing that Colonel Middleton looked at his paper in a crestfallen +manner, not much liking the interruption and the cessation +of his own voice.</p> +<p>“Oh, dear!” began Mattie: she generally prefaced her remarks +by an “Oh, dear!” (“That was one of her jerky ways,” +as Archie said.) “I could not help coming straight to you, for +Archie would not talk, and I felt I must tell somebody. Oh, +dear, Miss Middleton! What do you think? We have just +called at the Friary—and––” but here Colonel Middleton’s +countenance relaxed, and he dropped his paper.</p> +<p>“Those young ladies, eh? Come, Elizabeth, this is interesting. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +Well, what sort of place is the Friary, seen from the inside, +eh, Miss Drummond?”</p> +<p>“Oh, it is very nice,” returned Mattie, enthusiastically. +“We were shown into such a pretty room, looking out on the +garden. They have so many nice things,—pictures, and old +china, and handsomely-bound books, and all arranged so tastefully. +And before we went away, the old servant—she seems +really quite a superior person—brought in an elegant little tea-tray: +the cups and saucers were handsomer even than yours, +Miss Middleton,—dark-purple and gold. Just what I admire +so––”</p> +<p>“Ah, reduced in circumstances! I told you so, Elizabeth,” +ejaculated the colonel.</p> +<p>“I never saw Archie enjoy himself so much or seem so +thoroughly at home anywhere. Somehow, the girls put us so +at our ease. Though they were hanging up curtains when we +went in,—and any one else would have been annoyed at our intruding +so soon,—actually, before we were in the room a +moment, Archie was on the steps, helping the eldest Miss Challoner +fasten the hooks.”</p> +<p>Miss Middleton exchanged an amused look with her father. +Mattie’s narrative was decidedly interesting.</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t tell him I repeated that, for he is always calling +me chatterbox!” implored Mattie, who feared she had been indiscreet, +and that the colonel was not to be trusted, which was +quite true as far as jokes were concerned. No one understood +the art of teasing better than he, and the young vicar had already +had a taste of his kindly satire. “Archie only meant to +be good-natured and put every one at their ease.”</p> +<p>“Quite right. Mr. Drummond is always kind,” returned +Elizabeth, benignly. She had forgotten Mattie’s frequent scoldings, +and the poor little thing’s tired face, or she would never +have hazarded such a compromise with truth. But somehow +Elizabeth always forgot people’s weaknesses, especially when +they were absent. It was so nice and easy to praise people; and +if she always believed what she said, that was because her faith +was so strong, and charity that is love was her second nature.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, of course,” returned Mattie, innocently. She was +far too loyal a little soul to doubt Archie’s kindness for a moment. +Was he not the pride and ornament of the family,—the +domestic pope who issued his bulls without possibility of contradiction? +Whatever Archie did must be right. Was not +that their domestic creed?—a little slavish, perhaps, but still so +exquisitely feminine. Mattie was of opinion that—well, to use +a mild term—irritability was a necessary adjunct of manhood. +All men were cross sometimes. It behooved their womankind, +then, to throw oil on the troubled waters,—to speak peaceably, +and to refrain from sour looks, or even the shadow of a frown. +Archie was never cross with Grace: therefore it must be she, +Mattie, on whom the blame lay; she was such a silly little thing, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +And so on. There is no need to follow the self-accusation of +one of the kindest hearts that ever beat.</p> +<p>“Did not your visit end as pleasantly as it began?” asked +Elizabeth, who, though she was over-merciful in her judgments, +was not without a good deal of sagacity and shrewdness. Something +lay beyond the margin of Mattie’s words, she could see +that plainly; and then her father was getting impatient.</p> +<p>“Well, you see, that spoiled everything,” returned Mattie, +jumbling her narrative in the oddest manner. “Archie was +so sorry, and so was I; and he got quite—you know his way +when he feels uncomfortable. I thought Miss Challoner was +joking at first,—that it was just a bit of make-believe fun,—until +I saw how grave Miss Phillis, that is the second one, +looked: and then the little one—at least, she is not little, but +somehow one fancies she is—seemed as though she were going +to cry.”</p> +<p>“But what did Miss Challoner say to distress you and Mr. +Drummond so?” asked Elizabeth, trying patiently to elicit facts +and not vague statements from Mattie.</p> +<p>“Oh, she said—no, please don’t think I am exaggerating, for +it is all true—that they had lost their money, and were very +poor, and, that she and her sisters were dressmakers.”</p> +<p>“Dressmakers!” shouted the colonel, and his ruddy face +grew almost purple with the shock: his very moustache seemed +to bristle. “Dressmakers! my dear Miss Drummond, I don’t +believe a word of it! Those girls! It is a hoax!—a bit of nonsense +from beginning to end!”</p> +<p>“Hush, father! you are putting Mattie out,” returned Elizabeth, +mildly. It was one of her idiosyncrasies to call people as +soon as possible by their Christian names, though no one but +her father and brother ever called her Elizabeth. Perhaps her +gray hair, and a certain soft dignity that belonged to her, forbade +such freedom. “Dear father, we must let Mattie speak.” +But even Elizabeth let her work lie unheeded in her lap in the +engrossing interest of the subject.</p> +<p>“I do not mean they have been dressmakers all this time, +but this is their plan for the future. Miss Challoner said they +were not clever enough for governesses, and that they did not +want to separate. But that is what they mean to do,—to make +dresses for people who are not half so good as themselves.”</p> +<p>“Preposterous! absurd!” groaned the colonel. “Where +is their mother? What can the old lady be thinking about?” +Mrs. Challoner was not an old lady by any means; but then +the choleric colonel had never seen her, or he would not have +applied that term to the aristocratic-looking gentlewoman whom +Mattie had admired in Miss Milner’s shop.</p> +<p>“I had a good look round the room afterwards,” went on +Mattie, letting this pass. “They had got a great carved wardrobe,—I +thought that funny in a sitting-room; but of course +it was for the dresses,”—another groan from the colonel,—“and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +there was a sewing-machine, and a rosewood davenport for +accounts, and a chiffonnier of course for the pieces. Oh, they +mean business; and I should not be surprised if they understand +their work well,” went on Mattie, warming up to her subject +and thinking of the breadths of green silk that reposed so snugly +between silver paper in her drawers at the vicarage,—the first +silk dress she had ever owned, for the Drummond finances did +not allow of such luxuries,—the new color, too; such a soft, +invisible, shadowy green, like an autumn leaf shrivelled by the +sun’s richness. “Oh, if they should spoil it!” thought Mattie, +with a sigh, as the magnitude of her intended sacrifice weighed +heavily upon her mind.</p> +<p>“It is sheer girlish nonsense,—I might say foolery; and the +mother must be a perfect idiot!” began the colonel, angrily.</p> +<p>He was an excitable man; and his wrath at the intelligence +was really very great. He had taken a fancy to the new-comers, +and was prepared to welcome them heartily in his genial way; +but now his old-fashioned prejudices were grievously wounded. +It was against his nice code of honor that women should do anything +out of the usual beaten groove: innovations that would +make them conspicuous were heinous sins in his eyes.</p> +<p>“Come, Mattie, you and I will have a chat about this by ourselves,” +observed Elizabeth, cheerfully, as she noticed her father’s +vexation. He would soon cool down if left to himself: she +knew that well. “Suppose we go down to Miss Milner, and +hear what she has to say: you may depend upon it that it was +this that made her so reserved with us the other day.”</p> +<p>“Oh, do you think so?” exclaimed Mattie; but she was +charmed at the idea of fresh gossip. And then they set off +together.</p> +<p>Miss Milner seemed a little surprised to see them so soon, for +Mattie had already paid her a visit that day; but at Miss +Middleton’s first words a look of annoyance passed over her +good-natured face.</p> +<p>“Dear, dear! to think of that leaking out already,” she said, +in a vexed voice; “and I have not spoken to a soul, because the +young ladies asked me to keep their secret a few days longer. +‘You must give us till next Monday,’ one of them said this very +morning: ‘by that time we shall be in order, and then we can +set to work.’”</p> +<p>“It was Miss Challoner who told me herself,” observed +Mattie, in a deprecating manner. “My brother and I called +this afternoon: you see, being the clergyman, and such close +neighbors, he thought we might be of some use to the poor +things.”</p> +<p>“Poor things indeed!” ejaculated Miss Milner. “I cannot +tell you how bad I felt,” she went on, her little gray curls bobbing +over her high cheek-bones with every word, “when that +dear young lady put down her head there”—pointing to a spot +about as big as a half-crown on the wooden counter—“and cried +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +like a baby. ‘Oh, how silly I am!’ she said, sobbing-like; ‘and +what would my sisters say to me? But you are so kind, Miss +Milner; and it does seem all so strange and horrid.’ I made up +my mind, then and there,” finished the good woman, solemnly, +“that I would help them to the best of my powers. I have got +their bits of advertisements to put about the shop; and there’s +my new black silk dress, that has laid by since Christmas, because +I knew Miss Slasher would spoil it; not but what they +may ruin it finely for me; but I mean to shut my eyes and take +the risk,” with a little smile of satisfaction over her own +magnanimity.</p> +<p>Elizabeth stretched out her hand across the counter.</p> +<p>“Miss Milner, you are a good creature,” she said, softly. +“I honor you for this. If people always helped each other +and thought so little of a sacrifice, the world would be a happier +place.” And then, without waiting for a reply from the +gratified shopwoman, she went out of the library with a thoughtful +brow.</p> +<p>“Miss Milner has read me a lesson,” she said, by and by, +when Mattie had marvelled at her silence a little. “Conventionality +makes cowards of the best of us. I am not particularly +worldly-minded,” she went on, with a faint smile, “but +all the same I must plead guilty to feeling a little shocked myself +at your news; but when I have thought a little more about +it, I dare say I shall see things by a truer light, and be as ready +to admire these girls as I am now to wonder at them.” And +after this she bade Mattie a kindly good-bye.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, Phillis was bracing herself to undergo another +ordeal. Mr. Drummond and his sister had only just left the +cottage when a footman from the White House brought a note +for her. It was from Mrs. Cheyne, and was worded in a most +friendly manner.</p> +<p>She thanked the sisters gracefully for their timely help on the +previous evening, and, though making light of her accident, +owned that it would keep her a prisoner to her sofa for a few +days; and then she begged them to waive ceremony and come +to her for an hour or two that evening.</p> +<p>“I will not ask you to dinner, because that will perhaps inconvenience +you, as you must be tired or busy,” she wrote; +“but if one or both of you would just put on your hats and +walk up in the cool of the evening to keep Miss Mewlstone and +myself company, it would be a real boon to us both.” And then +she signed herself “Magdalene Cheyne.”</p> +<p>Phillis wore a perplexed look on her face as she took the note +to Nan, who was still in the linen-closet.</p> +<p>“Very kind; very friendly,” commented Nan, when she had +finished reading it; “but I could not possibly go, Phil. As soon +as I have done this I have promised to sit with mother. She +has been alone all day. You could easily send an excuse, for +Mrs. Cheyne must know we are busy.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span></p> +<p>“I don’t feel as though an excuse will help us here,” returned +Phillis, slowly. “When an unpleasant thing has to be done, it +is as well to get it over: thinking about it only hinders one’s +sleep.”</p> +<p>“But you will surely not go alone!” demanded Nan, in +astonishment. “You are so tired, Phil: you have been working +hard all day. Give it up, dear, and sit and rest in the garden +a little.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no,” returned Phillis, disconsolately. “I value my +night’s rest too much to imperil it so lightly: besides, I owe it +to myself for a penance for being such a coward this afternoon.” +And then, without waiting for any further dissuasion, she carried +off the letter and wrote a very civil but vague reply, promising +to walk up in the evening and inquire after the invalid; and +then she dismissed the messenger, and went up to her room +with a heavy heart.</p> +<p>Dulce came to help her, like a dutiful sister, and chattered on +without intermission.</p> +<p>“I suppose you will put on your best dress?” she asked, as +she dived down into the recesses of a big box.</p> +<p>Phillis, who was sitting wearily on the edge of her bed, +roused up at this:</p> +<p>“My best blue silk and cashmere, that we wore last at Fitzroy +Lodge? Dulce, how can you be so absurd! Anything will do,—the +gray stuff, or the old foulard. No, stop; I forgot: the +gray dress is better made and newer in cut. We must think of +that. Oh, what a worry it is going out when one is tired to +death!” she continued, with unusual irritation.</p> +<p>Dulce respected her sister’s mood, and held her peace, though +she knew the gray dress was the least becoming to Phillis, who +was pale, and wanted a little color to give her brightness.</p> +<p>“There, now, you look quite nice,” she said, in a patronizing +voice, as Phillis put on her hat and took her gloves. Phillis +nodded her thanks rather sadly, and then bethought herself and +came back and kissed her.</p> +<p>“Thank you, dear Dulce; I am not nearly so tired now; but +it is getting late, and I must run off.” And so she did until she +had turned the corner, and then, in spite of herself, her steps +became slower and more lagging. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span></p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XX_YOU_ARE_ROMANTIC' id='CHAPTER_XX_YOU_ARE_ROMANTIC'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XX.</h2> +<h3>“YOU ARE ROMANTIC.”</h3> +</div> +<p>Human nature is prone to argument; a person will often in +the course of a few moments bring himself or herself to the bar +of conscience, and accuse, excuse, and sum up the case in the +twinkling of an eye.</p> +<p>On arriving at the lodge-gates Phillis began to take herself to +task. Conscience, that “makes cowards of us all,” began its +small inner remonstrance; then followed self-flagellation and +much belaboring of herself with many remorseful terms. She +was a pitiful thing compared to Nan; she was conventional; +there were no limits to her pride. Where were that freedom +and nobility of soul which she once fancied would sweep over +worldly prejudices, and carry her into purer air? She was still +choking in the fogs of mere earthly exhalations; no wonder Nan +was a little disappointed in her, though she was far too kind to +say so. Well, she was disappointed in herself.</p> +<p>By this time she had reached the hall door; and now she +began to hold up her head more boldly, and to look about her; +when a very solemn-looking butler confronted her, she said to +herself, “It will be all the same a hundred years hence, and I +am determined this time not to be beaten;” and then she +asked for Mrs. Cheyne with something of her old sprightliness, +and nothing could exceed the graceful ease of her entrance.</p> +<p>All the Challoners walked well. There was a purity of health +about them that made them delight in movement and every +bodily exercise,—an elasticity of gait that somehow attracted +attention.</p> +<p>No girls danced better than they. And when they had the +chance, which was seldom, they could ride splendidly. Their +skating was a joy to see, and made one wish that the ice would +last forever, that one could watch such light, skimming practice; +and as for tennis, no other girl had a chance of being chosen for +a partner unless the Challoners good-naturedly held aloof, which +ten times out of twelve they were sure to do.</p> +<p>Phillis, who, from her pale complexion, was supposed to +possess the least vitality, delighted in exercise for its own sake. +“It is a pleasure only to be alive and to know it,” was a favorite +speech with her on summer mornings, when the shadows were +blowing lightly hither and thither, and the birds had so much +to say that it took them until evening to finish saying it.</p> +<p>Mrs. Cheyne, who was lying on her couch, watched with +admiring eyes the girl’s straightforward walk, so alert and +business-like, so free from fuss and consciousness, and held out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +her hand with a more cordial welcome than she was accustomed +to show her visitors.</p> +<p>It was a long room; and as the summer dusk was falling, and +there was only a shaded lamp beside Mrs. Cheyne, it was full +of dim corners. Nevertheless, Phillis piloted herself without +hesitation to the illuminated circle.</p> +<p>“This is good of you, Miss Challoner, to take me at my word. +But where is your sister? I wanted to look at her again, for it +is long since I have seen any one so pretty. Miss Mewlstone, +this is the good Samaritan who bound up my foot so cleverly.”</p> +<p>“Ah, just so,” returned Miss Mewlstone. And a soft, plump +hand touched Phillis’s, and then she went on picking up stitches +and taking no further notice.</p> +<p>“Nan could not come,” observed Phillis. “She had to run +down to Beach House to report progress to mother. We hope +she is coming home to-morrow. But, as you were so kind as to +write, I thought I would just call and inquire about your foot. +And then it would be easier to explain things than to write +about it.”</p> +<p>“Oh! so your mother is coming home!” returned Mrs. +Cheyne, with so much interest in her voice that Miss Mewlstone +left off counting to look at her. (“Just so, just so,” Phillis +heard her mutter.) “You must have worked hard to get ready +for her so soon. When my foot will allow me to cross a room +without hobbling, I will do myself the pleasure of calling on her. +But that will be neither this week nor the next, I am afraid. +But I shall see a good deal of you and your sister before then,” +she concluded, with the graciousness of one who knows she is +conferring an unusual honor.</p> +<p>“I do not know,” faltered Phillis. And then she sat upright, +and looked her hostess full in the face. “That will be for you +to decide when you hear what I have to say. But I fear”—with +a very poor attempt at a smile—“that we shall see very +little of each other in the future.”</p> +<p>“Oh, there is a mystery, is there?” returned Mrs. Cheyne, +with a little scorn in her manner; and her mouth took one of +the downward curves that Mr. Drummond so thoroughly disliked. +She had taken an odd fancy to these girls, especially to +Phillis, and had thought about them a good deal during a +sleepless, uneasy night. Their simplicity, their straightforward +unconsciousness, had attracted her in spite of her cynicism. +But at the first suspicion of mystery she withdrew into herself +rather haughtily. “Do speak out, I beg, Miss Challoner; for if +there be one thing that makes me impatient, it is to have anything +implied.”</p> +<p>“I am quite of your opinion,” replied Phillis, with equal +haughtiness, only it sat more strangely on her girlishness. +“That is why I am here to-night,—just to inquire after your foot +and explain things.”</p> +<p>“Well?” still more impatiently, for this woman was a spoiled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +child, and hated to be thwarted, and was undisciplined and imperious +enough to ruin all her own chances of happiness.</p> +<p>“I told you that we were very poor,” went on Phillis, in a +sweet and steady voice; “but that did not seem to impress you +much, and I thought how noble that was,”—catching her breath +an instant; “but it will make a difference and shock you dreadfully, +as it did Mr. Drummond, when I tell you we are dressmakers,—Nan +and Dulce and I: at least that will be our future +occupation.”</p> +<p>“Ah, just so!” ejaculated Miss Mewlstone; but she said it +with her lips far apart, and a mistiness came into her sleepy +blue eyes. Perhaps, though she was stout and middle-aged and +breathed a little too heavily at times, she remembered—long +ago when she was young and poor and had to wage a bitter war +with the world—when she ate the dry bread and drank the +bitter water of dependence and felt herself ill nourished by such +unpalatable sustenance. “Oh, just so, poor thing!” And a +little round tear dripped on to the ball of scarlet fleecy wool.</p> +<p>But Mrs. Cheyne listened to the announcement in far different +mood. There was an incredulous stare at Phillis, as though +she suspected her of a joke; and then she laughed, a dry, harsh +laugh, that was not quite pleasant to hear.</p> +<p>“Oh, this is droll, passing droll!” she said, and leaned back +on her cushions, and drew her Indian cashmere round her and +frowned a little.</p> +<p>“I am glad you find it so,” returned Phillis, who was nonplussed +at this, and did not know what to say, and was a little +angry in consequence; and then she got up from her chair with +a demonstration of spirit. “I am glad you find it so; but to +us it is sad earnestness!”</p> +<p>“What! are you going?” asked Mrs. Cheyne, with a keen +glance through her half-shut eyes at poor Phillis standing so +tall and straight before her. “And you have not told me the +reason for taking so strange a step!”</p> +<p>“The reason lies in our poverty and paucity of resources,” +was Phillis’s curt reply.</p> +<p>“It is not to make a sensation, then? no, I did not mean that,” +as Phillis shot an indignant glance at her,—“not exactly; but +there is no knowing what the emancipated girl will do. Of +course I have no right to question, who was a stranger to you +four-and-twenty hours ago, and had never heard the name of +Challoner, except that it was a good and an old name; but when +one sees young things like you about to forfeit caste and build +up a barrier between yourselves and your equals that the bravest +will fear to pass, it seems as though one must lift up one’s +voice in protest.”</p> +<p>“Thank you; but it will be of no use,” returned Phillis, +coldly.</p> +<p>“You are determined to make other people’s dresses?” And +here her lip curled a little, perhaps involuntarily. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span></p> +<p>“We must must make dresses or starve; for our fingers are +cleverer than our brains,” replied Phillis, defiantly; for she +knew nothing about it, and her powers were so immature and +unfledged that she had never tried her wings, and had no notion +whether she could fly or not, and yet no girl had a clearer head. +“We have chosen work that we know we can do well, and we +mean not to be ashamed of our occupation. In the old days +ladies used to spin and weave, and no one blamed them, though +they were noble; and if my work will bring me money, and +keep the mother comfortable, I see nothing that will prevent +my doing it.”</p> +<p>“Ah, you are romantic, Miss Challoner; you will soon be +taught matter-of-fact!”</p> +<p>“I am willing to learn anything, but I must choose my teachers,” +retorted Phillis, with a little heat, for the word “romantic,” +and the satirical droop of Mrs. Cheyne’s lip made her decidedly +cross. “But I must not detain you any more with our uninteresting +affairs,” dropping a little courtesy, half in pique and half +in mockery, for her spirits were rising under this rough treatment.</p> +<p>“It is far from uninteresting; I have not heard anything so +exciting for a long time. Well, perhaps you had better go before +I say anything very rude, for I am terribly outspoken, and +I think you are all silly self-willed young people.” Then, as +Phillis bridled her neck like an untamed colt, she caught hold +of the girl’s dress to detain her, and the sharpness passed out +of her eyes. “Now, don’t go away and believe that I think +any worse of you for telling me this. I am a cross-grained +body, and contradiction makes me worse. I don’t know how I +shall act: I must have time to consider this extraordinary bit +of news. But all the same, whatever I do, whether I know you +or do not know you, I shall always think you the very bravest +girl I ever saw.” And then she let her go, and Phillis, with her +head in the air and her thoughts all topsy-turvy, marched out +of the room.</p> +<p>But when she reached the end of the corridor there was a +soft but distinctly audible breathing behind her, and, as in Mr. +Drummond’s case Miss Mewlstone’s shadowy gray gown swept +between her and the door.</p> +<p>“Miss Mewlstone, how you startled me! but the carpets are +so soft and thick!”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed! just so, my dear; but Phillips must be asleep +as he does not answer the bell, and so I thought I would let you +out. You are young to walk alone: shall I throw a shawl over +my cap, and walk down the road with you?”</p> +<p>“Not for worlds, my dear Miss Mewlstone;” but Phillis was +quite touched at this unexpected kindness. Miss Mewlstone did +not look sleepy now; her small blue eyes were wide open, and +her round placid face wore a most kindly expression, and there +was a tremulous movement of her hands, as though they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +were feeling after something. “It is only such a little bit of +road; and though the trees make it dark, I am not the least +afraid of going alone.”</p> +<p>“Ah! just so. When we are young, we are brave; it is the +old who are afraid of the grasshopper. I like your spirit, my +dear; and so does she, though she is a little taken aback and +disappointed; but anything that interests and rouses her is +welcome. Even this may do her good; for it will give her +something to think about besides her own troubles.”</p> +<p>“I have heard of her troubles––” began Phillis; but a +moving door arrested Miss Mewlstone’s attention, and she interrupted +her hurriedly:</p> +<p>“Ah! there is Phillips at last. Just so; you shall hear from +me again. It is a gray satin,—one of her presents,—but I +have never had it made up; for what is the use, when we keep +no company?” went on Miss Mewlstone incoherently. “Oh! +is that you, Phillips? Please go with this young lady to the +lodge-gate.—You shall make it after your own fashion,” she +whispered in Phillis’s ear; “and I am not as particular as other +people. There is Magdalene now. Ah! just so. Good-night, +my dear; and mind the scraper by the gate.”</p> +<p>Phillis was almost sorry when the obsequious Phillips left her; +for the road certainly looked terribly dark. There was no +moon, and the stars chose to be invisible; and there was a hot +thundery feeling in the air that suggested a storm. And she +moved aside with a slight sensation of uneasiness—not fear, of +course not fear—as a tall, gloomy-looking figure bore swiftly +down on her; for, even if a girl be ever so brave, a very tall +man walking fast on a dark night with a slouching hat like a +conspirator’s is rather a terrifying object; and how could she +know that it was only Archie Drummond in his old garden-hat, +taking a constitutional?</p> +<p>But he brought himself up in front of her with a sudden jerk.</p> +<p>“Miss Challoner!—alone at this time of night!”</p> +<p>“Why, it is not ten; and I could not wait for Dorothy to +fetch me,” returned Phillis, bound to defend herself, and quite +palpitating with relief; not that she was afraid—not a bit of it!—but +still, Mr. Drummond’s presence was very welcome.</p> +<p>“I suppose I shall do as well as Dorothy?” he returned veering +round with the greatest ease, just as though he were Dick, +and bound to escort a Challoner. “Challoners’ Squire,”—that +was Dick’s name among people.</p> +<p>“Oh poor Dick!” thought Phillis, with a sudden rush of tenderness +for her old playmate; and then she said, demurely +but with a spice of malice,—</p> +<p>“Thank you, Mr. Drummond. The road is so gloomy that I +shall be glad of your escort this evening, but we shall have to +do without that sort of thing now, for our business may often +bring us out after dark, and we must learn not to be too particular.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span></p> +<p>“Oh, this must not be!” he returned, decidedly; and, though +it was too dark to see his face, she knew by his voice that he +was dreadfully shocked. “I must see your mother and talk to +her about this; for it would never do for you to run such risks. +I could not allow it for a moment; and as your clergyman”—coming +down from his high horse, and stammering a little,—“I +have surely—surely a right––” But Phillis snapped him up in +a moment, and pretty sharply too, for she had no notion of a +young man giving himself airs and torturing her.</p> +<p>“Oh, no right at all!” she assured him: “clergymen could +only rebuke evil-doers, to which class she and her sisters did not +belong, thank heaven!” to which Mr. Drummond devoutly said +an “amen.” “And would he please tell her if dressmakers +were always met two and two, like the animals in the ark? and +how would it sound when she or Nan had been fitting on a +dress, on a winter’s evening, if they were to refuse to leave the +house until Dorothy fetched them? and how––” But here Mr. +Drummond checked her, and the darkness hid his smile.</p> +<p>“Now you are beyond me, Miss Challoner. In a matter of +detail, a man, even a parson, is often at fault. Is there no other +way of managing this odious business? Forgive me; the word +slipped out by accident! Could you not do the fitting, or whatever +you call it, by daylight, and stay at home quietly in the +evening like other young ladies?”</p> +<p>“Of course not,” returned Phillis, promptly. She had not +the least idea why it could not be done; indeed, if she had +been perfectly cool—which she was not, for Mrs. Cheyne had +decidedly stroked her the wrong way and ruffled her past endurance—she +would have appreciated the temperate counsel vouchsafed +her, and acquiesced in it without a murmur; but now she +seemed bent on contradiction.</p> +<p>“Our opinions seem to clash to-night,” returned Mr. Drummond, +good-humoredly, but feeling that the young lady beside +him had decidedly a will of her own. “She is very nice, but +she is not as gentle as her sister,” he said to himself; which was +hard on Phillis, who, though she was not meek, being a girl of +spirit, was wholesomely sweet and sound to the heart’s core.</p> +<p>“One may be supposed to know one’s business best,” she +replied rather dryly to this. And then, fearing that she might +seem ungracious to a stranger, who did not know her and her +little ways, she went on in a more cordial tone: “I am afraid +you think me a little cross to-night; but I have been having a +stand-up fight, and am rather tired. Trying to battle against +other people’s prejudices makes one irritable. And then, because +I am down and out of heart about things, our clergyman +thinks fit to lecture me on propriety.”</p> +<p>“Only for your good. You must forgive me if I have taken +too much upon myself,” returned Mr. Drummond, with much +compunction. “You seem so lonely,—no father or brother; at +least—pardon me—I believe you have no brother?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span></p> +<p>“Oh, no; we have no brother,” sighed Phillis. Their +acquaintance was in too early a stage to warrant her in bringing +in Dick’s name. Besides, that sort of heterogeneous relationship +is so easily misconstrued. And then she added, “I see. +You meant to be very kind, and I was very ungrateful.”</p> +<p>“I only wish I could find some way of helping you all,” was +his reply to this. But it was said with such frank kindness that +Phillis’s brief haughtiness vanished. They were standing at the +gate of the Friary by this time; but Mr. Drummond still lingered. +It was Phillis who dismissed him.</p> +<p>“Good-night, and many thanks,” she said, brightly. “It is +too late to ask you in, for you see, even dressmakers have their +notions of propriety.” And as she uttered this malicious little +speech, the young man broke into a laugh that was heard by +Dorothy in her little kitchen.</p> +<p>“Oh, that is too bad of you, Miss Challoner,” he said, as soon +as he recovered himself; but, nevertheless, he liked the girl +better for her little joke.</p> +<p>Mr. Drummond’s constitutional had lasted so long that Mattie +grew quite frightened, and came down in her drab dressing-gown +to wait for him. It was not a becoming costume, but it was +warm and comfortable; but then Mattie never considered what +became her. If any one had admired her, or cared how she +looked or what she wore, or had taken an interest in her for her +own sake, she would doubtless have developed an honest liking +for pretty things. But what did it matter under the present +circumstances? Mr. Drummond was lighting his chamber +candle when Mattie rushed out on him,—a grotesque little figure, +all capes and frills.</p> +<p>“Oh, Archie, how you frightened me! Where have you +been?”</p> +<p>Archie shrugged his shoulders at this.</p> +<p>“I am not aware, Matilda,”—for in severe moods he would +call her by her full name, a thing she especially disliked from +him,—“I did not know before that I was accountable to you +for my actions. Neither am I particularly obliged to you for +spying upon me in this way.” For the sight of Mattie at this +time of night was peculiarly distasteful. Why was he to be +watched in his own house?</p> +<p>“Oh, dear, Archie! How can you say such things? Spy on +you, indeed! when there is a storm coming up, and I was so +anxious.”</p> +<p>“I am very much obliged to you,” returned Archie, ironically; +“but, as you see I am safe, don’t you think you had better +take off that thing”—pointing to the obnoxious garment—“and +go to bed?” And such was his tone that poor Mattie fled without +a word, and cried a little in her dark room, because Archie +would not be kind to her and let her love him, but was always +finding fault with one trifle or other. To-night it was her poor +old dressing-gown, which had been her mother’s, and had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +considered good enough for Mattie. And then he had called her a +spy. And here she gave a sob that caught Archie’s ears as he +passed her door.</p> +<p>“Good-night, you little goose!” he called out, for the sound +made him uncomfortable; and though the words were contemptuous, +the voice was not, and Mattie at once dried her eyes and +was comforted.</p> +<p>But before Archie went to sleep that night he made up his +mind that it was his duty as a clergyman and a Christian to +look over Phillis’s wilfulness, and to befriend to the utmost of +his power the strangers, widow and fatherless, that Providence +had placed at his very gates.</p> +<p>“They are so very lonely, poor things!” he said to himself; +“not a man about them. By the bye, I noticed she did not +wear an engagement-ring.” But which was the “she” he +meant, was an enigma known only to himself. “Not a man about +them!” he repeated, in a satisfied manner, for as yet the name +of Dick had not sounded in his ear.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXI_BREAKING_THE_PEACE' id='CHAPTER_XXI_BREAKING_THE_PEACE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> +<h3>BREAKING THE PEACE.</h3> +</div> +<p>Nan went to Beach House to fetch her mother home, escorted +by Laddie, who was growing a most rollicking and friendly +little animal, and a great consolation to his mistress, whom he +loved with all his doggish heart.</p> +<p>They all three came back in an old fly belonging to their late +host, and found Phillis waiting for them on the door-step, who +made her mother the following little speech:</p> +<p>“Now, mammie, you are to kiss us, and tell us what good industrious +girls we have been; and then you are to shut your +eyes and look at nothing, and then sit down in your old arm-chair, +and try and make the best of everything.”</p> +<p>“Welcome home, dearest mother,” said Nan, softly kissing +her. “Home is home, however poor it may be; and thank +God for it,” finished the girl, reverently.</p> +<p>“Oh, my darlings!” exclaimed the poor mother; and then +she cried a little, and Dulce came up and put a rose-bud in her +hand; and Dorothy executed an old-fashioned courtsey, and +hoped that her mistress and the dear young ladies would try +and make themselves as happy as possible.</p> +<p>“Happy, you silly old Dorothy! of course we mean to be as +busy as bees, and as frolicsome as kittens!” returned Phillis, +who had recovered her old sprightliness, and was ready to-day for +a dozen Mrs. Cheynes and all the clergy of the diocese. “Now, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +mammie, you are only to peep into this room: this is our work-room, +and those are the curtains Mr. Drummond was kind +enough to hang. In old days,” continued Phillis, with mock +solemnity, “the parson would have pronounced a benediction; +but the modern Anglican performs another function, and with +much gravity ascends the steps, and hooks up the curtains of +the new-comers.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Phillis, how can you be so absurd! I am sure it was +very good-natured of him. Come, mother, dear, we will not +stand here listening to her nonsense.” And Nan drew the +mother to the parlor.</p> +<p>It was a very small room, but still snug and comfortable, and +full of pretty things. Tea was laid on the little round table +that would hardly hold five, as Nan once observed, thinking of +Dick; and the evening’s sunshine was stealing in, but not too +obtrusively. Mrs. Challoner tried not to think it dull, and +endeavored to say a word of praise at the arrangements Dulce +pointed out to her; but the thought of Glen Cottage, and her +pretty drawing-room, and the veranda with its climbing roses, +and the shady lawn with the seat under the acacia-trees, almost +overpowered her. That they should come to this! That they +should be sitting in this mean little parlor, where there was +hardly room to move, looking out at the little strip of grass, and +the medlar-tree, and the empty greenhouse! Nan saw her +mother’s lip quiver, and adroitly turned the subject to their +neighbors. She had so much to say about Mr. Drummond and +his sister that Mrs. Challoner grew quite interested; nevertheless, +it was a surprise even to Nan when Dorothy presently +opened the door, and Mr. Drummond coolly walked in with a +magnificent basket of roses in his hand.</p> +<p>Nan gravely introduced him to her mother, and the young +man accosted her; but there was a little surprise on his face. +He had taken it into his head that Mrs. Challoner would be a +far older-looking and more homely person; but the stately-looking +woman before him might have been an older and faded +edition of Nan. Somehow, her appearance confused him; and +he commenced with an apology for his intrusion:</p> +<p>“I ought not to have been so unceremonious. I am afraid, +as you have just arrived, my visit will seem an intrusion; but +my sister thought you would like some of our roses,”—he had +obliged poor Mattie to say so,—“and, as we had cut some fine +ones, we thought you ought to have them while they are +fresh.”</p> +<p>“Thank you; this is very kind and neighborly,” returned +Mrs. Challoner; but, though her tone was perfectly civil, Nan +thought her manner a little cold, and hastened to interpose with +a few glowing words of admiration.</p> +<p>“The roses were lovely; they were finer than those at +Longmead, or even at Fitzroy Lodge, though Lady Fitzroy +prided herself on her roses.” Archie pricked up his ears at this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +latter name, which escaped quite involuntarily from Nan. “And +was it not good of Miss Drummond to spare them so many, and of +Mr. Drummond to carry them?” all of which Nan said with a +sweet graciousness that healed the young man’s embarrassment +in a moment.</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed!” echoed Mrs. Challoner, obedient, as usual, +to her daughter’s lead. “And you must thank your sister, +Mr. Drummond, and tell her how fond my girls are of flowers.” +But, though Mrs. Challoner said this, the roses were not without +thorns for her. Why had not Miss Drummond brought them +herself? She was pleased indeed that, under existing circumstances, +any one should be civil to her girls; but was there not +a little patronage intended? She was not quite sure that she +rejoiced in having such neighbors. Mr. Drummond was nice +and gentlemanly, but he was far too young and handsome for +an unmarried clergyman; at least, that was her old-fashioned +opinion; and when one has three very good-looking daughters, +and dreads the idea of losing one, one may be pardoned for +distrusting even a basket of roses.</p> +<p>If Mr. Drummond perceived her slight coldness, he seemed +quite determined to overcome it. He took small notice of Nan, +who busied herself at once arranging the flowers under his eyes; +even Phillis, who looked good and demure this evening, failed +to obtain a word. He talked almost exclusively to Mrs. +Challoner, plying her with artful questions about their old home, +which he now learned was at Oldfield, and gaining scraps of +information that enabled him to obtain a pretty clear insight +into their present circumstances.</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner, who was a soft hearted woman, was not proof +against so much sympathy. She perceived that Mr. Drummond +was sorry for them, and she began to warm a little towards +him. His manner was so respectful, his words so discreet; and +then he behaved so nicely, taking no notice of the girls, though +Nan was looking so pretty, but just talking to her in a grave +responsible way, as though he were a gray-haired man of sixty.</p> +<p>Phillis was not quite sure she approved of it: in the old +days she had never been so excluded from conversation: she +would have liked a word now and then. But Nan sat by quite +contented: it pleased her to see her mother roused and interested.</p> +<p>When Mr. Drummond took his leave, she accompanied him +to the door, and thanked him quite warmly.</p> +<p>“You have done her so much good, for this first evening is +such a trial to her, poor thing!” said Nan, lifting her lovely +eyes to the young man’s face.</p> +<p>“I am so glad! I will come again,” he said, rather incoherently. +And as he went out of the green door he told himself +that it was his clear duty to befriend this interesting family. +He ought to have gone home and written to Grace, for it was +long past the time when she always expected to hear from him. +But the last day or two he had rather shirked this duty. It +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +would be difficult to explain to Grace. She might be rather +shocked, for she was a little prim in such things, being her +mother’s daughter. He thought he would ask Mattie to tell her +about the Challoners, and that he was busy and would write +soon; and when he had made up his mind to this, he went +down to the sea-shore and amused himself by sitting on a breakwater +and staring at the fishing-smacks,—which of course +showed how very busy he was.</p> +<p>“I think I shall like Mr. Drummond,” observed Mrs. Challoner, +in a tolerant tone, when Nan had accompanied the young +vicar to the door. “He seems an earnest, good sort of young +man.”</p> +<p>“Yes, mammie dear. And I am sure he has fallen in love +with you,” returned Phillis, naughtily, “for he talked to no one +else. And you are so young-looking and pretty that of course +no one could be surprised if he did.” But though Mrs. Challoner +said, “Oh, Phillis!” and looked dreadfully shocked in a proper +matronly way, what was the use of that, when the mischievous +girl burst out laughing in her face?</p> +<p>But the interruption had done them all good, and the evening +passed less heavily than they had dared to hope. And when +Mrs. Challoner complained of fatigue and retired early, escorted +by Dorothy, who was dying for a chat with her mistress, the +three girls went out in the garden, and walked, after their old +fashion, arm in arm up and down the lawn, with Nan in the +middle; though Dulce pouted and pretended that the lawn was +too narrow, and that Phillis was pushing her on the gravel +path.</p> +<p>Their mother’s window was open, and they could have heard +snatches of Dorothy’s conversation if they had chosen to listen. +Dulce stood still a moment, and wafted a little kiss towards her +mother’s room.</p> +<p>“Dear old mamsie! She has been very good this evening, +has she not, Nan? She has only cried the least wee bit, when +you kissed her.”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed. And somebody else has been good too. What +do you say, Phillis? Has not Dulce been the best child possible?”</p> +<p>“Oh, Nan, I should be ashamed to be otherwise,” returned +Dulce, in such an earnest manner that it made her sisters laugh, +“Do you think I could see you both so good and cheerful, making +the best of things, and never complaining, even when the +tears are in your eyes,—as yours are often, Nan, when you +think no one is looking,—and not try and copy your example? +I am dreadfully proud of you both,—that is what I am,” continued +the warm-hearted girl. “I never knew before what was +in my sisters. And now I feel as though I want the whole world +to come and admire my Phillis and Nan!”</p> +<p>“Little flatterer!” but Nan squeezed Dulce’s arm affectionately. +And Phillis said, in a joking tone,— +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span></p> +<p>“Ah, it was not half so bad. This evening there was mother +looking so dear and pretty: and there were you girls; and, +though the nest is small, it feels warm and cosy. And if +we could only forget Glen Cottage, and leave off missing the old +faces, which I never shall—” (“Nor I,” echoed Nan, with a +deep sigh, fetched from somewhere)—“and root ourselves +afresh, we should contrive not to be unhappy.”</p> +<p>“I think it is our duty to cultivate cheerfulness,” added Nan, +seriously; and after this they fell to a discussion on ways and +means. As usual, Phillis was chief spokeswoman, but to Nan +belonged the privilege of the casting vote.</p> +<p>The next few days were weary ones to Mrs. Challoner: there +was still much to be done before the Friary could be pronounced +in order. The girls spent most of the daylight hours unpacking +boxes, sorting and arranging their treasures, and, if the truth +must be told, helping Dorothy to polish furniture and wash glass +and china.</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner, who was not strong enough for these household +labors, found herself condemned to hem new dusters and +mend old table-linen, to the tune of her own sad thoughts. Mr. +Drummond found her sorting a little heap on the parlor table +when he dropped in casually one morning,—this time with some +very fine cherries that his sister thought Mrs. Challoner would +enjoy.</p> +<p>When Mr. Drummond began his little speech he could have +sworn that there were tears on the poor lady’s cheeks; but when +he had finished she looked up at him with a smile, and thanked +him warmly, and then they had quite a nice chat together.</p> +<p>Mr. Drummond’s visit was quite a godsend, she told him, +for her girls were busy and had no time to talk to her; and +“one’s thoughts are not always pleasant companions,” she +added, with a sigh. And Mr. Drummond, who had caught +sight of the tears, was at once sympathetic, and expressed himself +in such feeling terms—for he was more at ease in the girls’ +absence—that Mrs. Challoner opened out in the most confiding +way, and told him a great deal that he had been anxious to +learn.</p> +<p>But she soon found out, to her dismay, that he disapproved +of her girls’ plans; for he told her so at once, and in the coolest +manner. The opportunity for airing his views on the subject +was far too good to be lost. Mrs. Challoner was alone; she was +in a low, dejected mood; the rulers of the household were gathered +in an upper chamber. What would Phillis have said, as +she warbled a rather flat accompaniment to Nan’s “Bonnie +Dundee,” which she was singing to keep up their spirits over +a piece of hard work, if she had known that Mr. Drummond +was at that moment in possession of her mother’s ear?</p> +<p>“Oh, Mr. Drummond, this is very sad, if every one should +think as you do about my poor girls! and Phillis does so object +to being called romantic;” for he had hinted in a gentlemanly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +way that he thought the whole scheme was crude and girlish +and quixotic to a degree.</p> +<p>“I hope you will not tell her, then,” returned Mr. Drummond +in a soothing tone, for Mrs. Challoner was beginning to look +agitated. “I am afraid nothing I say will induce Miss Challoner +to give up her pet scheme; but I felt, as your clergyman, it was +my duty to let you know my opinion.” And here Archie looked +so very solemn that Mrs. Challoner, being a weak woman, and +apt to overvalue the least expression of masculine opinion, grew +more and more alarmed.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes!” she faltered; “it is very good—very nice of you +to tell me this.” Phillis would have laughed in his face and +Mrs. Cheyne would have found something to say about his +youth; but in Mrs. Challoner’s eyes, though she was an older +woman, Archie’s solemnity and Oriental beard carried tremendous +weight with them. He might be young, nevertheless she +was bound to listen meekly to him, and to respect his counsel +as one who had a certain authority over her. “Oh, you are +very good! and if only my girls had not made up their minds +so quickly! but now what can I do but feel very uncomfortable +after you have told me this?”</p> +<p>“Oh, as to that, there is always time for everything; it is +never too late to mend,” returned Mr. Drummond, tritely. “I +meant from the first to tell you what I thought, if I should ever +have an opportunity of speaking to you alone. You see, we +Oxford men have our own notions about things: we do not +always go with the tide. If your daughters—” here he hesitated +and grew red, for he was a modest, honest young +fellow in the main—“pardon me, but I am only proposing an +hypothesis—if they wanted to make a sensation and get themselves +talked about, no doubt they would achieve a success, for +the novelty––” But here he stopped, reduced to silence by +the shocked expression of Mrs. Challoner’s face.</p> +<p>“Mr. Drummond! my girls—make a sensation—be talked +about?” she gasped; and all the spirit of her virtuous matronhood, +and all the instinctive feeling that years of culture and +ingrained refinement of nature had engendered, shone in her +eyes. Her Nan and Phillis and Dulce to draw this on themselves!</p> +<p>Now, at this unlucky moment, when the maternal fires were +all alight, who should enter but Phillis, wanting “pins, and +dozens of them,—quickly, please,” and still warbling flatly that +refrain of “Bonnie Dundee!”</p> +<p>“Oh, Phillis! Oh, my darling child!” cried Mrs. Challoner, +quite hysterically; “do you know what your clergyman says? +and if he should say such things, what will be the world’s +opinion? No, Mr. Drummond, I did not mean to be angry. +Of course you are telling us this for our good; but I do not know +when I have been so shocked.”</p> +<p>“Why, what is this?” demanded Phillis, calmly; but she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +fixed her eyes on the unlucky clergyman, who began to wish +that that last speech had not been uttered.</p> +<p>“He says it is to make a sensation—to be talked about—that +you are going to do this,” gasped Mrs. Challoner, who was +far too much upset to weigh words truly.</p> +<p>“What!” Phillis only uttered that very unmeaning monosyllable: +nevertheless, Archie jumped from his seat as though +he had been shot.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Challoner, really this is too bad! No, you must allow +me to explain,” as Phillis turned aside with a curling lip, as +though she would leave them. He actually went between her +and the door, as though he meant to prevent her egress forcibly. +There is no knowing to what lengths he would have gone in his +sudden agitation. “Only wait a moment, until I explain myself. +Your mother has misunderstood me altogether. Never +has such a thought entered my mind!”</p> +<p>“Oh,” observed Phillis. But now she stood still and began +to collect her pins out of her mother’s basket. “Perhaps, as +this is rather unpleasant, you will have the kindness to tell me +what it was you said to my mother?” And she spoke like a +young princess who had just received an insult.</p> +<p>“I desire nothing more,” returned Archie, determined to defend +himself at all costs. “I had been speaking to Mrs. Challoner +about all this unfortunate business. She was good enough +to repose confidence in me, and, as your clergyman, I felt myself +bound to tell her exactly my opinions on the subject.”</p> +<p>“I do not quite see the necessity; but no doubt you know +best,” was Phillis’s somewhat sarcastic answer.</p> +<p>“At least, I did it for the best,” returned the young man, +humbly. “I pointed out things to Mrs. Challoner, as I told +you I should. I warned her what the world would say,—that +it would regard your plan as very singular and perhaps quixotic. +Surely there is nothing in this to offend you?”</p> +<p>“You have not touched on the worst part of all,” returned +Phillis, with a little disdain in her voice. “About making a +sensation, I mean.”</p> +<p>“There it was that your mother so entirely misunderstood. +What I said was this: If this dressmaking scheme were undertaken +just to make a sensation, it would of course, achieve +success, for I thought the novelty might take. And then I +added that I was merely stating an hypothesis by way of argument, +and then Mrs. Challoner looked shocked, and you came +in.”</p> +<p>“Is that all?” asked Phillis, coming down from her stilts at +once, for she knew of old how her mother would confuse things +sometimes; and, if this were the truth, she, Phillis, had been +rather too hard on him.</p> +<p>“Yes. Do you see now any necessity for quarrelling with +me?” returned Mr. Drummond, breathing a little more freely +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +as the frown lessened on Phillis’s face. He wanted to be friends +with these girls, not to turn them against him.</p> +<p>“Well, no, I believe not,” she answered, quite gravely. +“And I am sure I beg your pardon if I was rude.” But this +Archie would not allow for a moment.</p> +<p>“But, Mr. Drummond, one word before peace is quite restored,” +went on Phillis, with something of her old archness, +“or else I will fetch my sisters, and you will have three of us +against you.”</p> +<p>“Oh, do, Phillis, my dear,” interrupted her mother; “let +them come and hear what Mr. Drummond thinks.”</p> +<p>“Mammy, how dare you!—how dare you be so contumacious, +after all the trouble we have taken to set your dear +fidgety mind at rest? Just look what you have done, Mr. +Drummond,” turning upon him. “Now I am not going to forgive +you, and we will not trust the mother out of our sight, +unless you promise not to say this sort of thing to her when we +are not here to answer them.”</p> +<p>“But, Miss Challoner, my pastoral conscience!” but his eyes +twinkled a little.</p> +<p>“Oh, never mind that!” she retorted, mischievously. “I +will give you leave to lecture us collectively, but not individually: +that must not be thought about for a moment.” She had +not a notion what the queer expression on Mr. Drummond’s face +meant, and he did not know himself; but he had the strongest +desire to laugh at this.</p> +<p>They parted after this the best of friends; and Phillis tasted +the cherries, and pronounced them very good.</p> +<p>“You have quite forgiven me?” Mr. Drummond said, as +she accompanied him to the door before rejoining her sisters. +“You know I have promised not to do it again until the next +time.”</p> +<p>“Oh, we shall see about that!” returned Phillis, good-humoredly. +“Forewarned is forearmed; and there is a triple +alliance against you.”</p> +<p>“Good heavens, what mockery it seems! I never saw such +girls,—never!” thought Mr. Drummond, as he took long +strides down the road. “But Mattie is right: they mean +business, and nothing in the world would change that girl’s +determination if she had set herself to carry a thing out. I +never knew a stronger will!” And in this he was tolerably +right.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXII_TRIMMINGS_NOT_SQUAILS' id='CHAPTER_XXII_TRIMMINGS_NOT_SQUAILS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> +<h3>“TRIMMINGS, NOT SQUAILS.”</h3> +</div> +<p>The longest week must have an end; and so at last the eventful +Monday morning arrived,—“Black Monday,” as Dulce +called it, and then sighed as she looked out on the sunshine and +the waving trees, and thought how delicious a long walk or a +game of tennis would be, instead of stitch, stitch, stitching all +day. But Dulce was an unselfish little soul, and kept all these +thoughts to herself, and dressed herself quickly; for she had +overslept herself, and Phillis had long been downstairs.</p> +<p>Nan was locking up the tea-caddy as she entered the parlor, +and Phillis was standing by the table, drawing on her gloves, +and her lips were twitching a little,—a way they had when +Phillis was nervous.</p> +<p>Nan went up and kissed her, and gave her an encouraging pat.</p> +<p>“This is for luck, my dear; and mind you make the best of +poor Miss Milner’s dumpy, roundabout little figure. There I +have put the body-lining, and the measuring-tape, and a paper +of pins in this little black bag; and I have not forgotten the scissors,—oh, +dear, no! I have not forgotten the scissors,” went on +Nan, with such surprising cheerfulness that Phillis saw through +it, and was down on her in a moment.</p> +<p>“No, Nan; there! I declare I will not be such a goose. I +am not nervous,—not one bit; it is pure fun, that’s what it is. +Dulce, what a naughty child you are to oversleep yourself this +morning, and I had not the heart to wake you, you looked so +like a baby: and we never wake babies because they are sure +to squall!”</p> +<p>“Oh, Phil, are you going to Miss Milner’s? I would have +walked with you if I had had my breakfast; but I am so +hungry.”</p> +<p>“I could not possibly wait,” returned Phillis; “punctuality +is one of the first duties of—hem!—dressmakers; all orders +executed promptly, and promises performed with undeviating +regularity: those are my maxims. Eat a good breakfast, and +then see if mammy wants any help, for Nan must be ready for +me at the work-table, for she is our head cutter-out.” And +then Phillis nodded briskly, and walked away.</p> +<p>By a singular chance, Mr. Drummond was watering his ferns +in the front court as Phillis passed, and in spite of her reluctance, +for somehow he was the last person she wanted to encounter +that day, she was obliged to wish him good-morning.</p> +<p>“Good-morning! Yes, indeed, it is a glorious morning,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +observed Archie, brightly. “And may I ask where you are +going so early?”</p> +<p>“Only to the Library,” returned Phillis, laconically; but the +color mounted to her forehead. “We begin business to-day.”</p> +<p>And then Archie took up his watering-pot and refrained from +any more questions. It was absurd, perhaps, but at the moment +he had forgotten, and the remembrance was not pleasing.</p> +<p>Phillis felt quite brave after this, and walked into the Library +as though the place belonged to her. When it came to details, +Miss Milner was far more nervous than she.</p> +<p>She would keep apologizing to Phillis for making her stand so +long, and she wanted to hold the pins and to pick up the scissors +that Phillis had dropped; and when the young dressmaker +consulted her about the trimmings, she was far too humble to +intrude her opinions.</p> +<p>“Anything you think best, Miss Challoner, for you have such +beautiful taste as never was seen; and I am sure the way you +have fitted that body-lining is just wonderful, and would be a +lesson to Miss Slasher for life. No, don’t put the pins in your +mouth, there’s a dear.”</p> +<p>For, in her intense zeal, Phillis had thought herself bound to +follow the manner of Mrs. Sloper, the village factotum, and she +always did so, though Nan afterwards assured her that it was +not necessary, and that in this particular they might be allowed +to deviate from example.</p> +<p>But she was quite proud of herself when she had finished, for +the material seemed to mould under her fingers in the most +marvellous way, and she knew the fit would be perfect. She +wanted to rush off at once and set to work with Nan; but Miss +Milner would not let her off so easily. There was orange wine +and seed-cake of her own making in the back parlor, and she +had just one question—a very little question—to ask. And here +Miss Milner coughed a little behind her hand to gain time and +recover her courage.</p> +<p>“The little papers were about the shop, and Mrs. Trimmings +saw one, and—and––” Here Phillis came promptly to her +relief.</p> +<p>“And Mrs. Trimmings wants to order a dress, does she?” +And Phillis bravely kept down the sudden sinking of heart at +the news.</p> +<p>Mrs. Trimmings was the butcher’s wife,—the sister of that +very Mrs. Squails of whom Dulce once made mention,—well +known to be the dressiest woman in Hadleigh, who was much +given to imitate her betters. The newest fashions, the best +materials, were always to be found on Mrs. Trimmings’s portly +figure.</p> +<p>“What could I do?” observed Miss Milner, apologetically: +“the papers were about the shop, and what does the woman do +but take one up? ‘I wonder what sort of dressmakers these +are?’ she said, careless-like; ‘there is my new blue silk that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +Andrew brought himself from London and paid five-and-sixpence +a yard for in St. Paul’s Churchyard; and I daren’t let Miss +Slasher have it, for she made such a mess of that French +merino. She had to let it out at every seam before I could get +into it, and it is so tight for me now that I shall be obliged to cut +it up for Mary Anne. I wonder if I dare try these new people?”</p> +<p>“And what did you say, Miss Milner?”</p> +<p>“What could I do then, my dear young lady, but speak up +and say the best I could for you? for though Mrs. Trimmings +is not high,—not one of the gentry, I mean,—and has a rough +tongue sometimes, still she knows what good stuff and good +cutting-out means, and a word from her might do you a power +of good among the townfolks, for her gowns are always after +the best patterns.”</p> +<p>“All right!” returned Phillis, cheerfully: “one must creep +before one runs, and, until the gentry employ us, we ought to +think ourselves fortunate to work for the townpeople. I am not +a bit above making a dress for Mrs. Trimmings, though I would +rather make one for you, Miss Milner, because you have been so +kind to us.”</p> +<p>“There, now! didn’t I say there never were such young +ladies!” exclaimed Miss Milner, quite affected at this. “Well, +if you are sure you don’t mind, Miss Challoner dear, will you +please go to Mrs. Trimmings’s this morning? for though I told +her my dress was to be finished first, still Trimmings’s isn’t +a stone’s-throw from here; and you may as well settle a thing +when you are about it.”</p> +<p>“And I will take the silk, Miss Milner, if you will kindly let +me have a nice piece of brown paper.”</p> +<p>“Indeed and you will do no such thing, Miss Challoner; and +there is Joseph going down with the papers to Mr. Drummond’s, +and will leave it at the Friary as he passes.”</p> +<p>“Oh, thank you,” observed Phillis, gratefully. “Then I will +pencil a word to my sister, to let her know why I am detained.” +And she scrawled a line to Nan:</p> +<p>“Trimmings, not Squails: here beginneth the first chapter. +Expect me when you see me, and do nothing until I come.”</p> +<p>There was no side-door at Trimmings’s, and Mrs. Trimmings +was at the desk, jotting down legs of mutton, and entries of +gravy-beef and suet, with a rapidity that would have tried the +brain of any other woman than a butcher’s wife.</p> +<p>When Phillis approached, she looked up at her suavely, +expecting custom.</p> +<p>“Just half a moment, ma’am,” she said, civilly. “Yes, Joe, +wing-rib and half of suet to Mrs. Penfold, and a loin of lamb +and sweet-bread for No. 12, Albert Terrace. Now, ma’am, what +can I do for you?”</p> +<p>“I have only come about your dress, Mrs. Trimmings,” returned +Phillis, in a very small voice; and then she tried not to +laugh, as Mrs. Trimmings regarded her with a broad stare of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +astonishment, which took her in comprehensively, hat, dress, +and neat dogskin gloves.</p> +<p>“You might have taken up my pen and knocked me down +with it,” was Mrs. Trimmings’s graphic description of her feelings +afterwards, as she carved a remarkably fine loin of veal, +with a knuckle of ham and some kidney-beans to go with it. +“There was the colonel standing by the desk, Andrew; and he +turned right round and looked at us both. ‘I’ve come about +your dress, Mrs. Trimmings,’ she said, as pertlike as possible. +Law, I thought I should have dropped, I was that taken aback.”</p> +<p>Phillis’s feelings were none of the pleasantest when Colonel +Middleton turned round and looked at her. There was an +expression almost of sorrow in the old man’s eyes, as he so regarded +her, which made her feel hot and uncomfortable. It +was a relief when Mrs. Trimmings roused from her stupefaction +and bustled out of the desk.</p> +<p>“This way, miss,” she said, with a jerk of her comely head. +But her tone changed a little, and became at once sharp and +familiar. “I hope you understand your business, for I never +could abide waste; and the way Miss Slasher cut into that gray +merino,—and it only just meets, so to say,—and the breadths +are as scanty as possible; and it would go to my heart to have a +beautiful piece of silk spoiled, flve-and-sixpence a yard, and +not a flaw in it.”</p> +<p>“If I thought I should spoil your dress I would not undertake +it,” returned Phillis, gently. She felt she must keep herself +perfectly quiet with this sort of people. “My sister and I have +just made up some very pretty silk and cashmere costumes, +and they fitted as perfectly as possible.”</p> +<p>“Oh, indeed!” observed Mrs. Trimmings, in a patronizing +tone. She had no idea that the costumes of which Phillis spoke +had been worn by the young dressmakers at one of Lady Fitzroy’s +afternoon parties. She was not quite at her ease with Phillis; +she thought her a little high-and-mighty in her manner. “A +uppish young person,” as she said afterwards; “but her grand +airs made no sort of difference to me, I can assure you.”</p> +<p>There was no holding pins or picking up scissors in this case. +On the contrary, Mrs. Trimmings watched with a vigilant eye, +and was ready to pounce on Phillis at the least mistake or oversight, +seeing which Phillis grew cooler and more off-hand every +moment. There was a great deal of haggling over the cut of the +sleeve and arrangement of the drapery. “If you will kindly +leave it to me,” Phillis said once; but nothing was further from +Mrs. Trimmings’s intention. She had not a silk dress every day. +And she had always been accustomed to settle all these points +herself, while Miss Slasher had stood by humbly turning over the +pages of her fashion-books, and calling her, at every sentence, +“Ma’am,” a word that Phillis’s lips had not yet uttered. +Phillis’s patience was almost tired out, when she was at last +allowed to depart with a large brown-paper parcel under her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +arm. Mrs. Trimmings would have wrapped it up in newspaper, +but Phillis had so curtly refused to have anything but brown +paper that her manner rather overawed the woman.</p> +<p>Poor Phillis! Yes, it had really come to pass, and here she +was, actually walking through Hadleigh in the busiest time of +the day, with a large, ugly-looking parcel and a little black +bag! She had thought of sending Dorothy for the dress, but +she knew what a trial it would have been to the old woman to +see one of her young ladies reduced to this, and she preferred +ladening herself to hurting the poor old creature’s feelings. So +she walked out bravely in her best style. But nevertheless her +shapely neck would turn itself now and then from side to side, +as though in dread of some familiar face. And there were little +pin-pricks all over her of irritation and mortified self-love. “A +thing is all very well in theory, but it may be tough in practice,” +she said to herself. And she felt an irresistible desire to return +the offending dress to that odious Trimmings and tell her she +would have nothing to do with her,—“a disagreeable old cat,” +I am afraid Phillis called her, for one is not always charitable +and civil-spoken in one’s thoughts.</p> +<p>“We are going the same way. May I carry that formidable-looking +parcel for you?” asked a voice that was certainly becoming +very familiar.</p> +<p>Poor Phillis started and blushed; but she looked more annoyed +than pleased at the rencontre.</p> +<p>“Mr. Drummond, are you omnipresent?—one is forever encountering +you!” she said, quite pettishly; but, when Archie +only laughed, and tried to obtain possession of the parcel, she +resisted, and would have none of his assistance.</p> +<p>“Oh, dear, no!” she said: “I could not think of such a +thing! Fancy the vicar of Hadleigh condescending to carry +home Mrs. Trimmings’s dress!”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Trimmings’s dress?” repeated Mr. Drummond, in a +rapid crescendo. “Oh, Miss Challoner! I declare this beats +everything!”</p> +<p>Phillis threw him a glance. She meant it to be cool, but she +could not keep the sadness out of her eyes; they did so contradict +the assumed lightness of her words:</p> +<p>“Miss Milner was far more considerate: she made Joseph +carry hers to the Friary when he left your papers. Was he not +a benevolent Joseph? Mrs. Trimmings wanted to wrap up her +silk in newspaper; but I said to myself, ‘One must draw the +line somewhere;’ and so I held out for brown paper. Do you +think you could have offered to carry a parcel in newspaper, +Mr. Drummond? Oh, by the bye, how can you condescend to +walk with a dressmaker? But this is a quiet road, and no one +will see you.”</p> +<p>“Pardon me if I contradict you, but there is Colonel Middleton +looking over his garden palings this moment,” returned Mr. +Drummond, who had just become painfully aware of the fact. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span></p> +<p>“Don’t you think you had better go and speak to him, then? +for you see I am in no need of help,” retorted Phillis, who was +sore all over, and wanted to get rid of him, and yet would have +been offended if he had taken her at her word. But Mr. Drummond, +who felt his position an uncomfortable one, and was dreadfully +afraid of the colonel’s banter, was not mean enough to +take advantage of her dismissal. He had joined himself to her +company out of pure good nature, for it was a hot day and the +parcel was heavy, but she would have none of his assistance.</p> +<p>So he only waved his hand to his friend, who took off his old +felt hat very solemnly in return, and watched them with a +grieved expression until they were out of sight.</p> +<p>“Now I will bid you good-bye,” he said, when they had +reached the vicarage.</p> +<p>Phillis said nothing; but she held out her hand, and there +was a certain brightness in her eyes that showed she was +pleased.</p> +<p>“He is a gentleman, every inch of him; and I won’t quarrel +with him any more,” she thought, as she walked up to the +Friary. “Oh, how nice it would have been if we were still at +Glen Cottage and he could see us at our best, and we were able +to entertain him in our old fashion! How Carrie and the other +girls would have liked him! and how jealous Dick would have +been! for he never liked our bringing strange young men to +the house, and always found fault with them if he could,” +and here Phillis sighed, and for the moment Mrs. Trimmings +was forgotten.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIII_BRAVO_ATALANTA' id='CHAPTER_XXIII_BRAVO_ATALANTA'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> +<h3>“BRAVO, ATALANTA!”</h3> +</div> +<p>Phillis received quite an ovation as soon as she crossed the +threshold. Dulce, who was listening for her footsteps, rushed +out into the little hall, and dragged her in, as though she were +too weary to have any movement or volition of her own. And +then Nan came up, in her calm elder-sisterly way, and put her +arm round her, and hoped she was not so very tired, and there +was so much to say, and so much to do, and she wanted her +advice, and so on.</p> +<p>And on Nan’s forehead lay a thoughtful pucker; and on the +centre-table were sundry breadths of green silk, crisp-looking +and faintly bronzed, like withered leaves with the sun on them.</p> +<p>“Oh, dear! has Miss Drummond been here in my absence?” +asked Phillis, with the overwhelmed feeling of a beginner, who +has not yet learned to separate and classify, or the rich value of +odd moments. “Three dresses to be done at once!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span></p> +<p>“One at a time. But never mind Miss Drummond’s this +moment. Mother is safe in the store-cupboard for the next +half-hour, and we want to know what you mean by your ridiculous +message, ‘Trimmings, not Squails.’ Dulce is dying of +curiosity, and so am I.”</p> +<p>“Yes; but she looks so hot and tired that she must refresh +herself first.” And Dulce placed on her sister’s lap a plate of +yellow plums, perfectly bedded in moss, which had come from +the vicarage garden. And as Phillis enjoyed the dainty repast +and poured out her morning’s experiences in the ears of her +astonished auditors, lo, the humiliation and the sting were forgotten, +and only an intense sense of the humor of the situation +remained.</p> +<p>It was Dulce whose pink cheeks were burning now.</p> +<p>“Oh, Phillis! how could you? It is too dreadful even to +think about! That fat old thing, too! Why, she is twice as +big as Mrs. Squails!”</p> +<p>“Beggars cannot be choosers, my dear,” replied Phillis, airily; +for rest was pleasant, and the fruit was good, and it was so +delicious to feel all that was over and she was safe in her nest +again; and then the pleasure of talking it all over! “Do you +know—?” she began, in a disconnected manner, and then sat and +stared at her sisters with luminous gray eyes, until they begged +to know what the new idea was.</p> +<p>“Oh, nothing,” she replied, and colored a little. And then +she blurted out, in an oddly-ashamed way, “it was talking to +you two dears that put it in my head. But I could not help +thinking that moment that if one is ever good enough to +get to heaven, one of the greatest pleasures will be to talk about +all our past miseries and difficulties, and how the angels helped +us! and, though you may laugh at me,”—they were doing +nothing of the kind, only admiring her with all their might,—“I +have a kind of fancy that even my ‘Trimmings, not Squails’ +episode may have a different look up there!”</p> +<p>“My dear,” returned Nan, gently, for she loved all speeches +of this sort, being a devout little soul and truly pious, “nothing +was further from my thoughts than to laugh at you, for the +more we think in this way the grander our work will appear to +us. Mrs. Trimmings may be fat and vulgar, but when you +were measuring her and answering her so prettily—and I know +how nicely you would speak, Phil—I think you were as brave +as one of those old knights—I cannot remember their names—who +set out on some lofty quest or other!”</p> +<p>“I suppose the child means Sir Galahad,” observed Phillis, +with a groan at Nan’s ignorance. “Oh, Nannie, I wish I could +say,—</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +“‘My strength is as the strength of ten,<br /> +<span style='margin-left: 1.5625em;'>Because my heart is pure;’”</span></p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>and then she softly chanted,—for quotation never came amiss +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +to her, and her head was crammed with choice selections from +the poets,—</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +“‘All armed I ride, whate’er betide,<br /> +<span style='margin-left: 1.5625em;'>Until I find the Holy Grail.’”</span></p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>“Yes, the Sangreal, or the Quest. It does not matter what, +for it was only an allegory,” returned Nan, who had plenty of +ideas, only she confused them sometimes, and was not as clever +in her definitions as Phillis. “It only meant that those grand +old knights had some holy purpose and aim in their lives, for +which they trained and toiled and fought. Don’t you see?—the +meaning is quite clear. We can have our Quest too.”</p> +<p>“Bless her dear heart, if she is not travelling thousands of +years and miles from Mrs. Trimmings!” exclaimed Phillis, who +never could be serious long. “Well, Nannie, I understand you, +though you are a trifle vague. We will have our Quest and our +unattainable standard; and I will be your maiden knight—yours +and Dulce’s.</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +“‘How sweet are looks that ladies bend<br /> +<span style='margin-left: 1.5625em;'>On whom their favors fall!</span><br /> +For them I’ll battle till the end,<br /> +<span style='margin-left: 1.5625em;'>To save from shame and thrall.’”</span></p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>And when she had repeated this she rose, laughing, and said +they were all a little demented; and what did they mean by +wasting their time when there were three dresses to be cut out? +and Dulce must have the work fixed for the sewing-machine.</p> +<p>For the next hour there was little talk, only the snipping +sound of scissors and the rustling of silken breadths, and sometimes +the swish and the tearing of sundry materials, and then +the whirring and burning and tappings of Dulce’s sewing machine, +like a dozen or two of woodpeckers at work on an iron +tree. And no one quoted any more poetry, for prose was +heaped up everywhere about them, and their heads were full of +business.</p> +<p>But in the afternoon, when things were in progress and looked +promising, and Mrs. Challoner had had her nap, and was busy +over some sleeves that they had given her to keep her quiet and +satisfy her maternal conscience that she was helping her girls, +Phillis did hear a little about Miss Drummond’s visit. The sewing +machine, which they worked by turns, had stopped for a +time, and they were all three round the table, sewing and fixing +as busily as possible: and Phillis, remembering Sir Galahad, +dared not say she was tired, only she looked out on the lengthening +shadows with delight, and thought about tea and an evening +walk just to stretch her cramped muscles. And if one day +seemed so long, how would a week of days appear before the +blessed Sunday gave them a few hours of freedom?</p> +<p>It was at this moment that Nan, with fine tact, broke the +silence that was good for work, but was apt to wax drowsy in +time: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span></p> +<p>“Miss Milner’s dress is getting on well. How fast you two +girls work! and mammie is doing the sleeves beautifully. Another +afternoon you must let the work rest, mammie, and read +to us, or Phillis will get restive. By the bye, Dulce, we have +not told her a word about Miss Drummond’s visit.”</p> +<p>“No, indeed: was it not good of her to come so soon?” exclaimed +Dulce. “She told us she wanted to be our first customer, +and seemed quite disappointed when we said that we +were bound in honor and mere gratitude to send Miss Milner’s +dress home first. ‘Not that I am in a hurry for my dress, for +nobody cares what I wear,’ she said, quite cheerfully; ‘but I +wanted to be the first on your list.’ I wish we could oblige her, +for she is a nice, unaffected little thing, and I am beginning to +like her, though she is a little fussy.”</p> +<p>“But she was as meek as a lamb about her dress,” added +Nan, who was a first-rate needle-woman, and could work rapidly +while she talked. “Just fancy, Phil! she wanted to have +a jacket with tabs and loose sleeves, just for comfort and coolness.”</p> +<p>“Loose sleeves and a jacket!” almost gasped Phillis, for the +princess skirts were then worn, and jackets were consigned to +oblivion for the time being. “I hope you told her, Nan, that +we had never worked for Mrs. Noah, neither had Mrs. Shem ever +honored us by her custom.”</p> +<p>“Well, no, Phillis; I was not quite so impertinent, and +clever speeches of that sort never occur to me until you say +them. But I told Miss Drummond that I could not consent to +spoil her lovely dress in that way; and then she laughed and +gave in, and owned she knew nothing about fashions, and that +her sister Grace always ordered her clothes for her, because she +chose such ugly things. She sat and chatted such a long time +with us; she had only just gone when you came home.”</p> +<p>“And she told us such a lot about this wonderful Grace,” +went on Dulce: “she says Archie quite worships her.—Well, +mammie,” as Mrs. Challoner poised her needle in mid-air and +regarded her youngest daughter with unfeigned astonishment, +“I am only repeating Miss Drummond’s words; she said +‘Archie.’”</p> +<p>“But, my dear, there was no need to be so literal,” returned +Mrs. Challoner, reprovingly; for she was a gentlewoman of +the old school, and nothing grieved her more than slipshod +English or any idiom or idiotcy of modern parlance in the +mouths of her bright young daughters: to speak of any +young man except Dick without the ceremonious prefix was a +heinous misdemeanor in her eyes. Dulce would occasionally +trespass, and was always rebuked with much gravity. “You +could have said ‘her brother,’ could you not?”</p> +<p>“Oh, mammie, I am sure Providence intended you for an old +maid, and you have not fulfilled your destiny,” retorted Dulce, +who was rarely awed by her mother’s solemnity. “All that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +fuss because I said ‘Archie!’ Oh, I forgot, that name is sacred: +the Rev. Archibald Drummond adores his sister Grace.”</p> +<p>“And she must be very nice,” returned Mrs. Challoner with +an indulgent smile at her pet Dulce. “I am sure, from what +Miss Drummond told us this morning, that she must be a most +superior person. Why, Phillis, she teaches all her four younger +sisters, and one of them is sixteen. Miss Drummond says she +is never out of the school-room, except for an hour or two in +the evening, when her father and brothers come home. There +are two more brothers, I think she said. Dear what a large +family! and Miss Drummond hinted that they were not well off.”</p> +<p>“I should like to know that Grace,” began Phillis; and then +she shook her head reflectively. “No, depend upon it, we +should be disappointed in her: family paragons are generally +odious to other folk. Most likely she wears spectacles, and is a +thin thread-papery sort of person.”</p> +<p>“On the contrary, she is a sweet-looking girl, with large +melancholy eyes; for Miss Drummond showed us her photograph. +So much for your imagination, Phil?” and Dulce looked +triumphant. “And she is only twenty-two, and, though not +pretty, just the sort of face one could love.”</p> +<p>“Some people’s swans turn out to be geese in the end,” +remarked Phillis, provokingly; but she registered at the same +time a mental resolve that she would cross-examine Mr. Drummond +on the earliest opportunity about this wonderful sister of +his. Oh, it was no marvel if he did look down on them when +they had not got brains enough to earn their living except in +this way! and Phillis stuck her needle into Miss Milner’s body-lining +so viciously that it broke.</p> +<p>The sharp click roused Nan’s vigilance, and she looked up, +and was at once full of pity for Phillis’s pale face.</p> +<p>“You are tired, Phil, and so are we all,” she said, brightly; +“and, as it is our first day of work, we will not overdo ourselves. +Mammie, if you will make the tea, we will just tidy up, +and look out the patterns for you to match the trimmings and +buttons to-morrow;” for this same business of matching was +rather hailed by Mrs. Challoner as a relief and amusement.</p> +<p>Phillis grumbled a little over this additional labor, though, +at the same time, no one worked harder than she; but she was +careful to explain that it was her right, as a freeborn Britoness, +to grumble, and that it was as much a relief to her peculiar +constitution as a good long yawn is to some people.</p> +<p>“And it answers two purposes,” as she observed; “for it +airs the lungs, and relieves the mind, and no one takes any +more notice than if I set the wind blowing. And thankful I am, +and every mother’s child of us, that Dorothy is approaching this +room with her dust-pan and brush. Dorothy, I have a nice +little sum for you to do. How many snippets of green and +black silk go to a dust-pan? Count them, and subtract all the +tacking-thread, and Dulce’s pins.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span></p> +<p>“Phillis, you are just feverish from overfatigue and sitting +so long in one place, for you are used to running about.” And +Nan took her by the shoulders, and marched her playfully to +the small parlor, where Mrs. Challoner was waiting for them.</p> +<p>“Come, girls!” she said, cheerfully. “Dorothy has baked +your favorite little cakes, and there are new-laid eggs for those +who are hungry; and I am sure you all earned your tea, darlings. +And, oh, Phillis! how tired you look!” And Mrs. Challoner +looked round on each face in turn, in the unwise but loving way +of mothers.</p> +<p>This was too much for Phillis; and she interlaced her fingers +and put them suddenly and sternly over her mother’s eyes.</p> +<p>“Now, mammie, promise.”</p> +<p>“Phillis, my dear, how can you be so absurd!” but Mrs. +Challoner strove in vain to release herself. Phillis’s fingers had +iron tenacity in them when she chose.</p> +<p>“A thing like this must be nipped in the bud,” pronounced +Phillis, apostrophizing her laughing sisters. “You must not +look at us in that fashion every evening, as though we were +sheep in a pen, or rabbits for sale. You will be weighing us +next; and my nerves will not stand it. No, mother; here I +strike. I will not be looked at in that manner.”</p> +<p>“But, Phillis—Oh, you nonsensical child!”</p> +<p>“Personal remarks are to be tabooed from this moment. You +must not say, ‘How tired you look!’ or ‘How pale you are!’ +It is not manners at the Friary, and it is demoralizing. I am +ten times more tired this minute than I was before you told me +so.”</p> +<p>“Very well, Phillis; but you must let me pour out the tea.” +And then Phillis subsided. But she had started the fun, and +Dulce soon took it up and set the ball rolling. And Dorothy, +working hard with her dust-pan and brushes, heard the merriment, +and her old face lighted up.</p> +<p>“Bless their sweet faces!—pretending to be happy, just to +cheer up the mistress, and make believe it is only a game they +are having!” muttered the old woman, as she paused to listen. +“But, if I am not mistaken, Miss Phillis, poor dear, is just +ready to drop with fatigue. Only to hear her, one would think +she was as perky as possible.”</p> +<p>When the evening meal was over, Mrs. Challoner leaned back +in her chair and made a little speech to her daughters:</p> +<p>“Thank you, my dears. You have done me so much good. +Now, if you want to please me, you will all three put on your +hats and take a nice long walk together.”</p> +<p>The girls looked at each other, and every pair of eyes said, +as plainly as possible, “What a delicious idea! But only two +can go, and I intend to be the filial victim.” But Mrs. Challoner +was too quick for them. “I said all three,” she remarked, very +decidedly. “If one offers to stay with me, I shall just put myself +to bed and lock the door; but if you will be good, and enjoy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +this lovely evening, I will take my book in the garden and be +quite happy until you come back to me.” And when they saw +that she meant it, and would only be worried by a fuss, they +went off as obediently as possible.</p> +<p>They walked very sedately down the Braidwood Road, and +past the White House; but when they got into the town, Phillis +hurried them on a little: “I don’t want people. It is air and +exercise and freedom for which I am pining.” And she walked +so fast that they had some trouble to keep up with her.</p> +<p>But when they had left every trace of human habitation +behind them, and were strolling down the rough, uneven beach, +towards a narrow strip of sand, that would soon be covered by +the advancing tide, Phillis said, in an odd, breathless way, “Nan, +just look round and see if there be any one in sight, before, +behind, or around us;” and Nan, though in some little surprise, +did at once as she was bidden, in the most thorough manner. +For she looked up at the sky first, as though she were afraid of +balloons or possible angels; and then at the sea, which she +scanned narrowly, so that not even a fish could escape her; and +after that she beat the boundaries of the land.</p> +<p>“No, there is not a creature in sight except ourselves and +Laddie,” she answered.</p> +<p>“Very well,” answered Phillis promptly. “Then, if it be +all safe, and the Hadleigh wits are away wool gathering, and +you will not tell mother, I mean to have a race with Dulce, as +far as we can run along the shore; and if I do not win––” +And here she pursed up her lips and left her sentence unfinished, +as though determined to be provoking.</p> +<p>“We shall see about that,” returned Dulce, accepting the +challenge in a moment; for she was always ready to follow a +good lead.</p> +<p>“Oh, you foolish children?” observed Nan, in her staid fashion. +But she did not offer the slightest remonstrance, knowing +of old that unless Phillis found some safety-valve she would +probably wax dangerous. So she called Laddie to her, and held +him whining and struggling, for he wanted to stretch his little +legs too; thinking a race was good for dogs as well as for girls. +But Nan would not hear of it for a moment: he might trip them +up and cause another sprained ankle.</p> +<p>“Now, Nan, you must be umpire, and say, One, two, three!” +And Nan again obeys, and then watches them with interest. +Oh, how pretty it was, if only any one could have seen it, except +the crabs and the star-fish, and they never take much notice: +the foreground of the summer sea coming up with little purple +rushes and a fringe of foam; the yellow sand, jagged, uneven, +with salt-water pools here and there; the two girls in their +light dresses skimming over the ground with swift feet, skirting +the pools, jumping lightly over stones, even climbing a breakwater, +then running along another level piece of sand,—Dulce a +little behind, but Phillis as erect and sure-footed as Atalanta. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span></p> +<p>Now Nan has lost them, and puts Laddie down and prepares +to follow. In spite of her staidness, she would have dearly loved +a run too; only she thinks of Dick, and forbears.</p> +<p>Dulce, who is out of breath, fears she must give up the race, +and begins to pant and drop behind in earnest, and to wish salt +water were fresh, and then to dread the next breakwater as a +hopeless obstacle; but Phillis, who is still as fresh as possible, +squares her elbows as she has seen athletes do, and runs lightly +up to it, unmindful and blissfully ignorant of human eyes behind +a central hole.</p> +<p>Some one who is of a classical turn has been thinking of the +daughter of Iasus and Clymene, and cries out, “Bravo, Atalanta! +but where is Milanion, that he has forgotten the golden +apples?” And Phillis, stricken dumb by the question and the +sudden apparition of a bearded face behind the breakwater, +remains standing as though she were carved in stone.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIV_MOTHERS_ARE_MOTHERS' id='CHAPTER_XXIV_MOTHERS_ARE_MOTHERS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> +<h3>MOTHERS ARE MOTHERS.</h3> +</div> +<p>“Mr. Drummond! Oh dear! is one never to be free from +pastoral supervision?” muttered Phillis, half sulkily, when +she roused from her stupefaction and had breath to take the +offensive. And what would he think of her? But that was +a question to be deferred until later, when nightmares and +darkness and troublesome thoughts harass the unwary soul. +“Like a dog, he hunts in dreams,” she might have said to herself, +quoting from “Locksley Hall.” But she did nothing of +the kind,—only looked at the offending human being with such +an outraged dignity in her bearing that Mr. Drummond nearly +committed himself by bursting out laughing.</p> +<p>He refrained with difficulty, and said rather dryly,—</p> +<p>“That was a good race; but I saw you would win from the +first; and you jumped that stone splendidly. I suppose you +know the story of Atalanta?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” responded Phillis, gloomily; but she could not +help showing off her knowledge all the same; and she had +always been so fond of heathen mythology, and had even read +translations of Homer and Virgil. “She had a she-bear for a +nurse, and was eventually turned into a lion; and I always +thought her very stupid for being such a baby and stopping to +pick up the golden apple.”</p> +<p>“Nevertheless, the subject is a charming one for a picture,” +returned Archie, with admirable readiness, for he saw Phillis +was greatly hurt by this untoward accident, and he liked the +girl all the better for her spirit. He would not have discovered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +himself at all, only in another moment she must have seen +him; and if she would only have believed how fully he entered +into the fun, and how graceful and harmless he thought it, there +would have been no pang of wounded self-esteem left. But +girls, especially if they be worthy of the name, are so sensitive +and prickly on such matters.</p> +<p>Dulce had basely deserted her sister, and, at the sight of the +clerical felt hat, had fled to Nan’s side for protection.</p> +<p>“Oh, never mind,” Nan had said, consoling her: “it is only +Mr. Drummond. And he will know how it was, and that we +thought there was not a creature in sight.” Nevertheless, she +felt a little sorry in her heart that such a thing had happened. +It would spoil Phillis’s mirth, for she was very proud; and it +might shock their mother.</p> +<p>“Oh, he will think us such tomboys for grown-up young +ladies!” sighed Dulce, who was only just grown up.</p> +<p>“Never mind what he thinks,” returned Nan, walking fast, +for she was anxious to come to Phillis’s relief. She joined them +very quietly, and held out her hand to Archie as though nothing +had happened.</p> +<p>“Is this a favorite walk of yours, Mr. Drummond? We +thought we had it all to ourselves, and so the girls had a race. +They will be dreadfully troubled at having a spectator; but it +might be worse, for you already know us well enough not to +misconstrue a little bit of fun.”</p> +<p>“I am glad you judge me so truly,” returned Archie, with a +gleam of pleasure in his eyes. Phillis certainly looked uncommonly +handsome, as she stood there, flushed and angry. But +how sweet and cool Nan looked!—not a hair ruffled nor a fold +of her dress out of order; whereas Dulce’s brown locks were +all loose about her shoulders, shaken down by the exercise. +Nevertheless, at that moment Phillis looked the most striking.</p> +<p>“I am afraid my sudden appearance has put your sister out +dreadfully. I assure you I would have made myself into thin +air if I could,” went on Archie, penitently; “but all the same +it was impossible not to applaud the winner. I felt inclined to +wave my hat in the air, and cry, ‘Bravo, Atalanta!’ half a +dozen times. You made such pretty running, Miss Challoner; +and I wish Grace could have seen it.”</p> +<p>The last word acted like magic on Phillis’s cloudy brow. She +had passed over two delicately-implied compliments with a little +scorn. Did he think her, like other girls, to be mollified by +sugar-plums and sweet speeches? He might keep all that for +the typical young lady of Hadleigh. At Oldfield the young +men knew her better.</p> +<p>It must be owned that the youth of that place had been +slightly in awe of Phillis. One or two had even hinted that +they thought her strong-minded. “She has stand-off ways, +and rather laughs at a fellow, and makes one feel sometimes +like a fool,” they said; which did not prove much, except that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +Phillis showed herself above nonsense, and had a knowledge of +shams, and would not be deceived, and, being the better horse +of the two, showed it; and no man likes to be taken down in +his class.</p> +<p>As Phillis would not flirt,—not understanding the art, but +Dulce proved herself to be a pretty apt pupil,—they left off +trying to make her, and talked sensibly to her instead, which +she liked better. But, though more than one had admired her, +no one had ventured to persuade himself or her that he was in +love; but for that there was plenty of time, Phillis not being the +sort of girl to remain long without a lover.</p> +<p>So when she heard Grace’s name she pricked up her ears, and +the proud look left her face; and she said, a little archly, but in +a way that pleased Mr. Drummond,—</p> +<p>“All the same, I am glad your sister was not here, for she +would think Dulce and me such tomboys!” using Dulce’s very +expression.</p> +<p>Archie shook his head very decidedly at this.</p> +<p>“Ah! you do not know Grace, and how she loves a bit of +fun; only she never gets it, poor girl!” sighing in a marked +manner, for he saw how interested Phillis looked. “If you +could only hear her laugh; but please sit down a moment and +rest yourselves,” continued the artful young man, who had not +dared to purpose such a thing before.</p> +<p>Nan hesitated; but a glance at Phillis’s hot face decided her.</p> +<p>“Just for five minutes,” she said, “and then we must go +back to mother;” for she had already determined that they +must cut their walk short for the purpose of getting rid of Mr. +Drummond.</p> +<p>And then they sat down on the beach, and Dulce retired behind +the breakwater to take off her hat and tuck up her hair; +while Archie, taking no notice, leaned against the other side, and +felt well contented with his position,—three such pretty girls, and +all the world well away!</p> +<p>“Is Grace your favorite sister?” asked Phillis, suddenly, as +she menaced Laddie with a small pebble.</p> +<p>This was a lucky opening for Archie. He was never seen to +more advantage than when he was talking about Grace. There +was no constraint or consciousness about him at such times, but +he would speak with a simple earnestness that made people +say, “What a good fellow he is!”</p> +<p>“Oh, she has always been that, you know,” he said, brightly, +“ever since she was a little thing, and I used to carry her +about in my arms, and string horse-chestnuts for her, when she +was the funniest, merriest little creature, and so clever. I suppose +when a man has seven sisters he may be allowed to have +a favorite among them? and there is not one of them to compare +with Grace.”</p> +<p>“Seven sisters!” repeated Nan, with a smile; and then she +added “you are very lucky, Mr. Drummond.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span></p> +<p>Archie shrugged his shoulders at this: he had never quite recognized +his blessings in this respect. Isabel and Dottie might +be tolerated, but he could easily have dispensed with Susie +and Laura and Clara; he had a knack of forgetting their existence +when he was absent from them, and when he was at home +he did not always care to be reminded of their presence. He +was one of those men who are very exacting to their women-kind, +who resent it as a personal injury if they fail in good looks +or are not pleasant to the eye. He did not go so far as to say +to himself that he could dispense with poor Mattie too, but he +certainly acted on most occasions as though he thought so.</p> +<p>“Are you not fond of all your sisters?” asked Phillis, rather +maliciously, for she had remarked the shrug.</p> +<p>“Oh, as to that,” replied the young man, coloring a little, +“one cannot expect to be interested in a lot of school-girls. I am +afraid I know very little about the four youngest, except that they +are working Grace to death. Just fancy, Miss Challoner!” he +continued, addressing Nan, and quite disregarding Phillis’s sympathetic +looks. “Grace has actually no life of her own at all; +she teaches those girls, sits with them, walks with them, helps +them mend their clothes, just like a daily or rather a nursery +governess, except that she is not paid, and has no holidays. +I cannot think how my mother can find it in her heart to work +her so hard!” finished Archie, excited to wrath at the remembrance +of Grace’s wrongs.</p> +<p>“Well, do you know,” returned Nan, thoughtfully, as he +seemed to expect an answer to this, and Phillis for a wonder +was silent, “I cannot think your sister an object of pity. +Think what a good and useful life she is leading! She must +be a perfect treasure to her mother; and I dare say they all +love her dearly.”</p> +<p>“The girls do,” was the somewhat grudging response: “they +follow her about like four shadows, and even Isabel can do +nothing without her advice. When I am at home I can scarcely +get her for a moment to myself; it is ‘Grace, come here,’ +and ‘Grace, please do this for me,’ until I wonder she is not +worn out.”</p> +<p>“Oh, how happy she must be!” responded Nan, softly, for +to her no lot seemed sweeter than this. To be the centre and +support of a large family circle,—the friend and trusted confidante +of each! What a wonderful creature this Grace must +be! and how could he speak of her in that pitying tone? “No +life of her own!” Well, what life could she want better than +this? To be the guide and teacher of her younger sisters, and +to be loved by them so dearly! “Oh, I think she is to be +envied! her life must be so full of interest,” she said, addressing +the astonished Archie, who had certainly never taken this +view of it. And when she had said this, she gave a slight +signal to her sisters, which they understood at once; and then +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +they paced slowly down the beach, with their faces towards +the town, talking as they went.</p> +<p>They did not walk four abreast, as they used to do in the Oldfield +lanes; but Nan led the way with Mr. Drummond, and +Phillis and Dulce dropped behind.</p> +<p>Archie was a little silent; but presently he said, quite +frankly, as though he had known her for years,—but from the +first moment he had felt strangely at home with these girls,—</p> +<p>“Do you know, you have thrown a fresh light on a vexed +subject? I have been worrying myself dreadfully about Grace. +I wanted her to live with me because there was more sympathy +between us than there ever will be between my sister Mattie +and myself. We have more in common, and think the same on +so many subjects; and I knew how happy I could have made +her.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I see,” returned Nan; and she looked up at him in +such an interested way that he found no difficulty in going on:</p> +<p>“We had planned for years to live together; but when I +accepted the living, and the question was mooted in the family +council, my mother would not hear of it for a moment. She +said Grace could not possibly be spared.”</p> +<p>“Well, I suppose not, after what you have told me. But it +must have been a great disappointment to you both,” was Nan’s +judicious reply.</p> +<p>“I have never ceased to regret my mother’s decision,” he returned, +warmly; “and as for Grace, I fear she has taken the +disappointment grievously to heart.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I hope not!”</p> +<p>“Isabel writes to my sister Mattie that Grace is looking thin +and pale and has lost her appetite, and she thinks the mother +is getting uneasy about her; and I cannot help worrying +myself about it, and thinking how all this might have been +averted.”</p> +<p>“I think you are wrong in that,” was the unexpected answer. +“When one has acted rightly to the very best of one’s +power, it is of no use worrying about consequences.”</p> +<p>“How do you mean?” asked Archie, very much surprised +at the decided tone in which Nan spoke. He had thought her +too soft in manners to possess much energy and determination +of character; but he was mistaken.</p> +<p>“It would be far worse if your sister had not recognized her +duty and refused to remain at home. One cannot find happiness +if one moves out of one’s allotted niche; but of course you +know all this better than I, being a clergyman. And, oh! how +beautifully you spoke to us last Sunday!” finished Nan, remembering +all at once that she was usurping his place and preaching +a little sermon of her own.</p> +<p>“Never mind that,” he replied, impatiently: “tell me what +you mean. There is something behind your speech: you think +I am wrong in pitying poor Grace so much?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span></p> +<p>“If you ask me so plainly, I must say yes, though perhaps I +am not competent to judge; but, from what you tell me, I +think you ought not to pity her at all. She is fulfilling her +destiny. Is she not doing the work given her to do? and what +can any girl want more? You should trust your mother, I +think, Mr. Drummond; for she would not willingly overwork +her. Mothers are mothers: you need not be afraid,” said Nan, +looking up in her clear honest way.</p> +<p>“Thank you; you have taken a weight off my mind,” returned +Archie, more moved by this than he cared to own. That last +speech had gone home: he must trust his mother. In a moment +scales seemed to fall from the young man’s eyes as he walked +along gravely, and silently by Nan. “Why, what manner of +girls could these be?” he thought; “frolicsome as kittens, and +yet possessing the wisdom of mature womanhood?” And those +few simple words of Nan abided long with him.</p> +<p>What if he and Grace were making a mistake, and there +was no hardship in her case at all, but only clear duty, and a +most high privilege, as Nan hinted? What if his mother were +right, and only they were wrong?</p> +<p>The idea was salutary, but hardly pleasant; for he had +certainly aided and abetted Grace in her discontent, and had +doubtless increased her repinings at her dull surroundings. +Surely Grace’s talents had been given her for a purpose; else +why was she so much cleverer than the others,—so gifted with +womanly accomplishments? And that clear head of hers,—she +had a genius for teaching, he had never denied that. Was his +mother, a sensible large-sighted woman in her way, to be +secretly condemned as a tyrant, and wanting in maternal tenderness +for Grace, because she had made use of this gifted daughter +for the good of her other children, and had refused to part with +her at Archie’s request?</p> +<p>Archie began to feel uncomfortable, for conscience was waxing +warm within him; and there had been a grieved hurt tone +in his mother’s letters of late, as though she had felt herself +neglected by him.</p> +<p>“Mothers are mothers: you need not be afraid,” Nan had +said, with simple wholesome faith in the instincts of motherhood; +and the words had come home to him with the strongest +power.</p> +<p>His poor harassed mother,—what a hard life hers had been! +Archie began to feel his heart quite tender towards her; perhaps +she was a little severe and exacting with the girls, but they +none of them understood her in the least, “for her bark was +always worse than her bite,” thought Archie; and girls, at least +the generality of them, are sometimes aggravating.</p> +<p>He thought of the weary times she must have had with his +father,—for Mr. Drummond could make himself disagreeable +to his wife when things went wrong with him, and the sullen +fortitude with which he bore his reversal of fortune gave small +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +opening to her tenderness; the very way in which he shirked +all domestic responsibilities, leaving on her shoulders the whole +weight of the domestic machinery and all the home-management, +had hardened and embittered her.</p> +<p>A large family and small means, little support from her husband,—who +interfered less and less with domestic matters,—all +this had no doubt fostered the arbitrary will that governed the +Drummond household. If her husband had only kept her in +check,—if he had supported her authority, and not left her to +stand alone,—she would have been, not a better woman, for +Archie knew his mother was good, but she would have been softer +and more lovable, and her children would have seen deeper into +her heart.</p> +<p>Some such thoughts as these passed through Archie’s mind +as he walked beside Nan; but he worked them out more carefully +when he was alone that night. Just before they reached +the Friary, he had started another subject; for, turning to +Phillis and Dulce, whom he had hitherto ignored, he asked +them whether he might enroll one or all of them among his +Sunday-school teachers.</p> +<p>Phillis’s eyes sparkled at this.</p> +<p>“Oh, Nan, how delightful! it will remind us of Oldfield.”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed:” chimed in Dulce, who had left her infant-class +with regret; but, to their surprise, Nan demurred.</p> +<p>“At Oldfield things were very different,” she said, decidedly: +“we played all the week, and it was no hardship to teach the +dear children on Sunday; but now we shall have to work so +hard that we shall be glad of one day’s rest.”</p> +<p>“But surely you might spare us one hour or two in the afternoon?” +returned Archie, putting on what Grace called “his +clerical face.”</p> +<p>“In the afternoons mother will be glad of our company, and +sometimes we shall indulge in a walk. No, Mr. Drummond, +our week-days are too full of work, and we shall need all the rest +we can get on Sunday.” And, with a smile, Nan dismissed the +subject.</p> +<p>Phillis spoke regretfully of it when he had left them.</p> +<p>“It would have been so nice,” she pleaded; but Nan was +inexorable.</p> +<p>“You can go if you like, Phil; but I think mother is entitled +to that one afternoon in the week, and I will not consent to any +parish work on that account; and then I am sure we shall often +be so tired.” And Nan’s good sense, as usual, carried the +day.</p> +<p>After that they all grouped round the window in the little +parlor, and repeated to their mother every word of their conversation +with Mr. Drummond.</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner grew alarmed and tearful in a moment.</p> +<p>“Oh, my darlings, promise me to be more careful for the +future!” she pleaded. “Of course it was only fun, Phillis +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +and he will not think anything of it. Still, in a strange place, +where no one knows you––”</p> +<p>“Dulce and I will never run a race again, I think I can +promise you that,” replied Phillis, very grimly, who felt that +“Bravo, Atalanta!” would haunt her in her dreams.</p> +<p>“And—and I would not walk about with Mr. Drummond, +though he is our clergyman and a very gentlemanly person. +People might talk: and in your position, my poor dears”—Mrs. +Challoner hesitated, for she was very nice in her scruples, and +not for worlds would she have hinted to her daughters that Mr. +Drummond was young and unmarried, and a very handsome +man in the bargain: “You see, I cannot always be with you, +and, as you have to work for your living, and cannot be +guarded like other girls, you have all the more need to be circumspect. +You don’t think me over strict, do you, darlings?”</p> +<p>“No, dear mother, you are perfectly right,” returned Nan, +kissing her. “I knew how you would feel, and so we came +home directly to get rid of him: it would never do for the vicar +of the parish to be seen walking about with dressmakers.”</p> +<p>“Don’t, Nan!” exclaimed Phillis, with a shudder. Nevertheless, +as she turned away she remembered how she had enjoyed +that walk down the Braidwood Road that very morning, +when he offered to carry home Mrs. Trimmings’s dress and she +would not let him.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXV_MATTIES_NEW_DRESS' id='CHAPTER_XXV_MATTIES_NEW_DRESS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> +<h3>MATTIE’S NEW DRESS.</h3> +</div> +<p>The remainder of the week passed harmlessly and without +any special event to mark it, and, thanks to Nan’s skilful management +and Phillis’s pride, there were no further <i>contretemps</i> +to shock Mrs. Challoner’s sense of propriety. The work progressed +with astonishing rapidity: in the mornings the young +dressmakers were sufficiently brisk and full of zeal, and in the +afternoons, when their energies flagged and their fingers grew +weary, Dulce would sing over her task, or Mrs. Challoner would +read to them for the hour together; but, notwithstanding the +interest of the tale, there was always great alacrity manifested +when the tea-bell gave them the excuse for putting away their +work.</p> +<p>On one or two evenings they gardened, and Mrs. Challoner +sat under the mulberry-tree and watched them; on another +occasion they took a long country walk, and lost themselves, and +came back merry and tired, and laden with primrose-roots and +ferns: they had met no one, except a stray laborer,—had seen +glow-worms, picked wild flowers, and declared themselves +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +mightily refreshed. One evening Phillis, who was not to be +repressed, contrived a new amusement.</p> +<p>“Life is either a mill-pond or a whirlpool,” she said, rather +sententiously: “we have been stagnant for three days, and I +begin to feel flat. Races are tabooed: besides, we cannot always +leave mother alone. I propose we go out in the garden and +have a game of battledore and shuttlecock;” for this had been +a winter pastime with them at the cottage.</p> +<p>Nan, who was always rather sober-minded now, demurred to +this. She would have preferred gardening a little, or sitting +quietly with her mother under the mulberry-tree; but Phillis, +who was in a wild mood, overruled all her objections, and by and +by the battle began, and the shuttlecocks flew through the air.</p> +<p>The week’s work was finished, and the three dresses lay in +their wrappers, waiting for Dorothy to convey them to their +several owners. Nan who was really an <i>artiste</i> at heart, had +called her mother proudly into the room to admire the result of +their labors. Mrs. Challoner was far too accustomed to her +daughter’s skilfulness to testify any surprise, but she at once +pronounced Miss Drummond’s dress the <i>chef-d’œuvre</i>. Nan’s +taste was faultless; and the trimmings she had selected harmonized +so well with the soft tints of the silk.</p> +<p>“They are all very nice; and Mrs. Trimmings will be charmed +with her blue silk,” observed Mrs. Challoner, trying to throw a +little interest into her voice, and to suppress a sigh; and then +she helped Nan to adjust the wrappers, and to pin the neatly-written +bills inside each.</p> +<p>“I am sure that is business-like,” said Nan, with a satisfied +nod, for she never could do anything by halves; and she was +so interested in her work that she would have been heart-broken +if she thought one of the dresses would be a misfit; and then it +was that Phillis, who had been watching her very closely, +brightened up and proposed a game.</p> +<p>It was a very pretty sight, the mother thought, as she +followed her girls’ movements; the young figures swayed so +gracefully as they skimmed hither and thither over the lawn +with light butterfly movements, the three eager faces upturned +in the evening light, their heads held well back.</p> +<p>“Two hundred, two hundred and one, two hundred and two—don’t +let it drop, Dulce!” panted Phillis, breathlessly.</p> +<p>“Oh, my darlings, don’t tire yourselves!” exclaimed Mrs. +Challoner, as her eyes followed the white flutter of the shuttlecocks.</p> +<p>This was the picture that Mr. Drummond surveyed. Dorothy, +who was just starting on her round, and was in no mood for her +errand, had admitted him somewhat churlishly.</p> +<p>“Yes, the mistress and the young ladies were in; and would +he step into the parlor, as her hands were full?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I know the way,” Mr. Drummond had returned, +quite undaunted by the old woman’s sour looks. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span></p> +<p>But the parlor was empty, save for Laddie, who had been +shut up there not to spoil sport, and who was whining most +piteously to be let out. He saluted Archie with a joyous bark, +and commenced licking his boots and wagging his tail with +mute petition to be released from this durance vile.</p> +<p>Archie patted and fondled him, for he was good to all dumb +creatures.</p> +<p>“Poor little fellow! I wonder why they have shut you up +here?” he said; and then he took him up in his arms, and +stepped to the window to reconnoitre.</p> +<p>And then he stood and looked, perfectly fascinated by the +novel sight. His sisters played battledore and shuttlecock in +the school-room sometimes, or out in the passages on a winter’s +afternoon. He had once caught Susie and Clara at it, and had +laughed at them in no measured terms for indulging in such a +babyish game. “I should have thought Dottie might have +played at that,” he had said, rather contemptuously. “I suppose +you indulge in skipping-ropes sometimes.” And the poor +girls had paused in their game, feeling ashamed of themselves. +Archie would think them such hoydens.</p> +<p>He remembered his reprimand with a strange feeling of compunction, +as he stood by the window trying vainly to elude +Laddie’s caresses. What a shame of him to have spoiled those +poor children’s game with his sneer, when they had so little fun +in their lives! and yet, as he recalled Clara’s clumsy gestures +and Susie’s short-sighted attempts, he was obliged to confess +that battledore and shuttlecock wore a different aspect now. +Could anything surpass Phillis’s swift-handed movements, +brisk, graceful, alert, or Nan’s attitude, as she sustained the +duel? Dulce, who seemed dodging in between them in a most +eccentric way, had her hair loose as usual, curling in brown +lengths about her shoulders. She held it with one hand, as she +poised her battledore with the other. This time Archie thought +of Nausicaa and her maidens tossing the ball beside the river, +after washing the wedding-garments. Was it in this way the +young dressmakers disported themselves during the evenings?</p> +<p>It was Phillis who first discovered the intruder. The shuttlecocks +had become entangled, and fallen to the ground. As she +stooped to pick them up, her quick eyes detected a coat-sleeve +at the window; and an indefinable instinct, for she could not +see his face, made her call out,—</p> +<p>“Mother, Mr. Drummond is in the parlor. Do go to him, +while Dulce puts up her hair.” And then she said, severely, “I +always tell you not to wear your hair like that, Dulce. Look at +Nan and me; we are quite unruffled; but yours is always +coming down. If you have pretty hair, you need not call +people’s attention to it in this way.” At which speech Dulce +tossed her head and ran away, too much offended to answer.</p> +<p>When Archie saw Mrs. Challoner crossing the lawn with the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +gait of a queen, he knew he was discovered: so he opened the +window, and stepped out in the coolest possible way.</p> +<p>“I seem always spoiling sport,” he said, with a mischievous +glance at Phillis, which she received with outward coolness and +an inward twinge. “Bravo, Atalanta!” sounded in her ears +again. “Your maid invited me in; but I did not care to disturb +you.”</p> +<p>“I am glad you did not open the window before,” returned +Nan, speaking with that directness and fine simplicity that +always put things to rights at once: “it would have startled us +before we got to the five hundred, and then Phillis would have +been disappointed. Mother, shall we bring out some more chairs +instead of going into the parlor? It is so much pleasanter out +here.” And as Mrs. Challoner assented, they were soon comfortably +established on the tiny lawn; and Archie, very much +at his ease, and feeling himself unaccountably happy, proceeded +to deliver some trifling message from his sister, that was his +ostensible reason for his intrusion.</p> +<p>“Why does she not deliver her messages herself?” thought +Phillis; but she kept this remark to herself. Only, that evening +she watched the young clergyman a little closely, as though he +puzzled her. Phillis was the man of the family; and it was she +who always stood upon guard if Nan or Dulce needed a sentinel. +She was beginning to think Mr. Drummond came very often to +see them, considering their short acquaintance. If it were Miss +Mattie, now, who ran in and out with little offerings of flowers +and fruit in a nice neighborly fashion! But for this very dignified +young man to burden himself with these slight feminine +messages,—a question about new-laid eggs, which even Nan had +forgotten.</p> +<p>Phillis was quite glad when her mother said,—</p> +<p>“You ought to have brought your sister, Mr. Drummond: she +must be so dull all alone,”—forgetting all about the dressmaking, +poor soul! but Phillis remembered it a moment afterwards, +with a rush of bitter feeling.</p> +<p>Perhaps, after all, that was why he came in so often, because +he was so sorry for them, and wished to help them, as he said. +A clergyman has more privileges than other men: perhaps she +was wrong to suspect him. He might not wish his sister to +visit them, except in a purely business-like way; but with him +it was different. Most likely he had tea with Mrs. Trimmings +sometimes, just to show he was not proud; he might even sit +and chat with Mrs. Squails, and not feel compromised in the +least. Oh, yes! how stupid she was to think he admired Nan, +because she had intercepted a certain glance! That was her +mania, thinking every one must be after Nan. Things were +different now.</p> +<p>Of course he would be their only link with civilized society,—the +only cultivated mind with which they could hold converse; +and here Phillis ceased to curl her lip, and her gray eyes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +took a sombre shade, and she sighed so audibly that Archie +broke off an interesting discussion on last Commemoration, and +looked at her in unfeigned surprise.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes! we were there,” returned Nan, innocently, who +loved to talk of those dear old times; “and we were at the <i>fête</i> +at Oriel, and at the concert at Magdalen also. Ah! do you remember, +Dulce?” And then she faltered a little, and flushed,—not +because Mr. Drummond was looking at her so intently +but at certain thoughts that began to intrude themselves, which +entwined themselves with the moonlighted cloisters.</p> +<p>“I was to have been there too, only at the last moment I was +prevented,” replied Archie; but his tone was inexplicable to the +girl, it was at once so regretful and awe-struck. Good heavens! +if he had met them, and been introduced to them in proper form! +They had mentioned a Mr. Hamilton: well, Hamilton had been +a pupil of his; he had coached him during a term. “You know +Hamilton?” he had said, staring at her; and then he wondered +what Hamilton would say if he came down to stay with him +next vacation.</p> +<p>These reflections made him rather absent; and even when he +took his leave, which was not until the falling dews and the +glimmer of a late dusk drove Mrs. Challoner into the house, +these thoughts still pursued him. Nothing else seemed to have +taken so strong a hold on him as this.</p> +<p>“Good heavens!” he kept repeating to himself, “to think +that the merest chance—just the incidental business of a friend—prevented +me from occupying my old rooms during Commemoration! +to think I might have met them in company with +Hamilton and the other fellows!”</p> +<p>The sudden sense of disappointment, of something lost and +irremediable in his life, of wasted opportunities, of denied pleasure, +came over the young man’s mind. He could not have +danced with Nan at the University ball, it is true: clergymen, +according to his creed, must not dance. But there was the <i>fête</i> +at Oriel, and the Magdalen concert, and the Long Walk in the +Christchurch meadows, and doubtless other opportunities.</p> +<p>He never asked himself if these girls would have interested +him so much if he had met them first in ordinary society: +from the very first moment they had attracted him strangely. +Had he only known them a fortnight? Good heavens! it +seemed months, years, a lifetime! These revolutions of mind +are not to be measured by time. It had come to this that the +late fellow of Oriel, so aristocratic in his tastes, so temperate in +his likings, had entered certain devious paths, where hidden +pitfalls and thorny enclosures warn the unwary traveller of +unknown dangers, and in which he was walking, not blindfold, +but by strongest will and intent, led by impulse like a mere boy, +and not daring to raise his eyes to the future. “And what +Grace would have said!” And for the first time in his life Archie +felt that in this case he could not ask Grace’s advice. He was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +loath to turn in at his own gate; but Mattie was standing there +watching for him. She ran out into the road to meet him, and +then he could see there were letters in her hand.</p> +<p>“Oh, dear, Archie, I thought you were never coming home!” +she exclaimed. “And I have such news to tell you! There is +a letter for you from Grace, and mother has written to me; and +there is a note from Isabel inside, and she is engaged—really +and truly engaged—to Mr. Ellis Burton; and the wedding is to +be in six weeks, and you and I are to go down to it, and—oh, +dear––” Here Mattie broke down, and began to sob with excitement +and pleasure and the longing for sympathy.</p> +<p>“Well, well, there is nothing to cry about!” returned Archie, +roughly; and then his manner changed and softened in spite of +himself; for after all, Isabel was his sister, and this was the +first wedding in the family, and he could not hear such a piece +of news unmoved. “Let me hear all about it,” he said, by and +by; and then he took poor hysterical little Mattie into the +house, and gave her some wine, and was very kind to her, and +listened to his mother’s letter and Isabel’s gushing effusion without +a single sneer. “Poor little Belle; she does seem very +happy!” he said, quite affectionately, as he turned up the lamp +still more, and began Grace’s letter.</p> +<p>Mattie sat and gazed at him in a sort of ecstasy; but she did +not venture to ask him to read it to her. How nice he was to-night, +and how handsome he looked! there never was such a +brother as Archie. But suddenly, as though he was conscious +of being watched, he sat down by the table, and shaded his face +with his hand.</p> +<p>No, Mattie, was right in her surmise: he would not have cared +to show that letter to any one.</p> +<p>The first sheet was all about Isabel. “Dear little Isabel has +just left me,” wrote Grace. “The child looks so pretty in her +new happiness, you would hardly know her. She has just been +showing me the magnificent hoop of diamonds Ellis has given +her. She says we must all call him Ellis now. ‘Chacun a son +gout:’ Poor Ellis is not very brilliant, certainly: I remember we +used to call him clownish and uncultivated. But he has a good +heart, and he is really very fond of Isabel; and as she is satisfied, +I suppose we need not doubt the wisdom of her choice. +Mother is radiant, and makes so much of the little bride-elect +that she declares her head is quite turned. The house is quite +topsy-turvy with the excitement of this first wedding in the +family. Isabel is very young to be married, and I tell mother +six weeks is far too short for an engagement; but it seems Ellis +will not listen to reason, and he has talked mother over. +Perhaps I am rather fastidious, but, if I were Isabel, I should +hate to receive my trousseau from my lover; and yet Ellis wants +his mother to get everything for his <i>fiancee</i>. I believe there is +to be a sort of compromise, and Mrs. Burton is to select heaps +of pretty things,—dresses and mantles and Paris bonnets. They +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +are rolling in riches. Ellis has taken a large house in Sloane +Square, and his father has bought him a landau and a splendid +pair of horses; everything—furniture, plate and ornaments—is +to be as massive and expensive as possible. If I were Isabel I +should feel smothered by all these grand things but the little +lady takes it all quite coolly.</p> +<p>“When I get a moment to myself I sit down and say, ‘In six +weeks I shall see Archie!’ Oh, my darling! this is almost too +good news to be true! Only six weeks, and then I shall really +see you! Now do you know, I am longing for a good clearing-up +talk? for your letters lately have not satisfied me at all. +Perhaps I am growing fanciful, but I cannot help feeling as +though something has come between us. The current of sympathy +seems turned aside, somehow. No, do not laugh, or put +me off with a jest, for I am really in earnest; and but for fear +of your scolding me I should own to being just a little unhappy. +Forgive me, Archie, if I vex you; but there is something, I am +thoroughly convinced of that. You have some new interest or +worry that you are keeping from me. Is this quite in accordance +with our old compact, dear? Who are these Challoners +Mattie mentions in her letters? She told me a strange rigmarole +about them the other day,—that they were young ladies who +had turned dressmakers. What an eccentric idea! They +must be very odd young ladies, I should think, to emancipate +themselves so completely from all conventionalities. I wish +they had not established themselves at Hadleigh and so near the +vicarage. Mattie says you are so kind to them. Oh, Archie! +dear brother! do be careful! I do not half like the idea of these +girls; they sound rash and designing, and you are so chivalrous +in your notions. Why not let Mattie be kind to them instead of +you? In a parish like Hadleigh you need to be careful. Mother +is calling me, so I will just close this with my fondest love.</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'>“<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Grace.</span>”<br /></p> +<p>Archie threw down the letter with a frown. For the first time +he was annoyed with Grace.</p> +<p>Nan and her sisters rash and designing! “Odd young ladies”! +She was sorry they had established themselves at Hadleigh! +It was really too bad of Grace to condemn them in this fashion. +But of course it must be Mattie’s fault: she had written a pack +of nonsense, exaggerating things as much as possible.</p> +<p>Poor Mattie would have had to bear the brunt of his wrath +as usual, only, as he turned to her with the frown black on his +forehead, his eyes caught sight of her dress. Hitherto the +room had been very dimly lighted; but now, as he looked at +her in the soft lamplight, his anger vanished in amazement.</p> +<p>“Why, Mattie, what have you done to yourself? We are +not expecting company this evening: it is nearly ten o’clock.”</p> +<p>Mattie blushed and laughed, and then she actually bridled +with pleasure: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span></p> +<p>“Oh, no, Archie; of course not. I only put on my new dress +just to see how it would fit; and then I thought you might like +to see it. It is the one uncle gave me; and is it not beautifully +made? I am sure Mrs. Cheyne’s dresses never fit better. You +and Grace may say what you like about the Challoners, but if +they can make dresses like this, it would be tempting Providence +not to use such a talent, and just because they were too fine +ladies to work.”</p> +<p>“I do believe you are right, Mattie,” returned Archie, in a +low voice. “Turn round and let me look at you, girl. Do you +mean—that she—that they made that?”</p> +<p>Mattie nodded as she slowly pivoted on one foot, and then revolved +like the figures one used to see on old-fashioned barrel-organs; +then, as she stood still, she panted out the words,—</p> +<p>“Is it not just lovely, Archie?” for in all the thirty years of +her unassuming life Mattie had never had such a dress, so no +wonder her head was a little turned.</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed; I like it excessively,” was Archie’s comment; +and then he added, with the delicious frankness common to +brothers, “It makes you look quite a different person, Mattie: +you are almost nice-looking to-night.”</p> +<p>“Oh, thank you, dear!” cried poor Mattie, quite moved by +this compliment; for if Archie thought her almost nice-looking +he must be pleased with her. Indeed, she even ventured to raise +herself on tiptoe and kiss him in gratitude, which was taking a +great liberty; only Archie bore it for once.</p> +<p>“She really looked very well, poor little woman!” thought +Archie, when Mattie had at last exhausted her raptures and +bidden him good-night. “She would not be half so bad-looking +if some one would take her in hand and dress her properly. +The women must be right, after all, and there is a power in +dress. Those girls do nothing by halves,” he continued, walking +up and down the room. “I would not have believed they +had made it, if Mattie had not told me. ‘Rash and designing,’ +indeed! just because they are not like other girls,—because they +are more natural, more industrious, more courageous, more +religious in fact.” And then the young clergyman softly quoted +to himself the words of the wise old king, words that Nan and +her sisters had ever loved and sought to practise:</p> +<p>“Whatsoever thy hands findeth to do, do it with thy +might.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXVI_OH_YOU_ARE_PROUD' id='CHAPTER_XXVI_OH_YOU_ARE_PROUD'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> +<h3>“OH, YOU ARE PROUD!”</h3> +</div> +<p>On the following Monday morning, Nan said in rather a +curious voice to Phillis,—</p> +<p>“If no customers call to-day, our work-room will be empty. +I wonder what we shall do with ourselves?”</p> +<p>To which Phillis replied, without a moment’s hesitation,—</p> +<p>“We will go down and bathe, and Dulce and I will have a +swimming-match; and after that we will sit on the beach and +quiz the people. Most likely there will be a troupe of colored +minstrels on the Parade, and that will be fun.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I hope no one will come!” observed Dulce, overjoyed +at the idea of a holiday; but, seeing Nan’s face was full of +rebuke at this outburst of frivolity, she said no more.</p> +<p>It was decided at last that they should wait for an hour to +see if any orders arrived, and after that they would consider +themselves at liberty to amuse themselves for the remainder of +the day. But, alas for Dulce’s hopes! long before the appointed +hour had expired, the gate-bell rang, and Miss Drummond +made her appearance with a large paper parcel, which she +deposited on the table with a radiant face.</p> +<p>The story was soon told. Her silk dress was such a success, +and dear Archie was so charmed with it—here Mattie, with a +blush, deposited a neatly-sealed little packet in Nan’s hand—that +he had actually proposed that she should have another +gown made after the same pattern for every-day wear. And +he had taken her himself directly after breakfast down to Mordant’s, +and had chosen her this dress. He had never done such +a thing before, even for Grace: so no wonder Mattie was in the +seventh heaven of delight.</p> +<p>“It is very pretty,” observed Nan, critically: “your brother +has good taste.” Which speech was of course retailed to +Archie.</p> +<p>Mattie had only just left the cottage, when another customer +appeared in the person of Miss Middleton.</p> +<p>Nan, who had just begun her cutting-out, met her with a +pleased glance of recognition, and then, remembering her errand, +bowed rather gravely. But Miss Middleton, after a moment’s +hesitation, held out her hand.</p> +<p>She had not been able to make up her mind about these girls. +Her father’s shocked sense of decorum, and her own old-fashioned +gentlewoman’s idea, had raised certain difficulties in her +mind, which she had found it hard to overcome. “Recollect, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +Elizabeth, I will not have those girls brought here,” the colonel +had said to her that very morning. “They may be all +very well in their way, but I have changed my opinion of them. +There’s poor Drummond: now mark my words, there will be +trouble by and by in that quarter.” For Colonel Middleton had +groaned in spirit ever since the morning he had seen the young +vicar walking with Phillis down the Braidwood Road, when she +was carrying Mrs. Trimmings’s dress. Elizabeth answered this +gentle protest by one of her gentle smiles. “Very well, dear +father: I will ask no one to Brooklyn against your wish, you +may be sure of that; but I suppose they may make my new +dress? Mattie’s has been such a success; they certainly understand +their business.”</p> +<p>“You have a right to select your own dressmaker, Elizabeth,” +returned the colonel, with a frigid wave of his hand, for +he had not got over his disappointment about the girls. “I +only warn you because you are very quixotic in your notions; +but we must take the world as we find it, and make the best of +it; and there is your brother coming home by and by. We +must be careful, for Hammond’s sake.” And, as Elizabeth’s +good sense owned the justice of her father’s remark, there was +nothing more said on the subject.</p> +<p>But it was not without a feeling of embarrassment that Miss +Middleton entered the cottage: her great heart was yearning +over these girls, whom she was compelled to keep at a distance. +True, her father was right, Hammond was coming home, and a +young officer of seven-and-twenty was not to be trusted where +three pretty girls were concerned: it would never do to invite +them to Brooklyn or to make too much of them. Miss Middleton +had ranged herself completely on her father’s side, but at +the sight of Nan’s sweet face and her grave little bow she forgot +all her prudent resolutions, and her hand was held out as +though to an equal.</p> +<p>“I have come to ask you if you will be good enough to make +me a dress,” she said, with a charming smile. “You have +succeeded so well with Miss Drummond that I cannot help +wishing to have one too.” And when she had said this she +looked quietly round her, and surveyed the pretty work-room, +and Dulce sitting at the sewing-machine, and lastly Phillis’s +bright, intelligent face, as she stood by the table turning over +some fashion-books.</p> +<p>At that moment Mrs. Challoner entered the room with her +little work-basket, and placed herself at the other window. +Miss Middleton began talking to her at once, while Nan measured +and pinned.</p> +<p>“I don’t think I ever spent a pleasanter half-hour,” she told +her father afterwards. “Mattie was right in what she said: +they have made the work-room perfectly lovely with pictures +and old china: and nothing could be nicer than their manners,—so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +simple and unassuming, yet with a touch of independence +too.”</p> +<p>“And the old lady?” inquired the colonel, maliciously, for +he had seen Mrs. Challoner in church, and knew better than to +speak of her so disrespectfully.</p> +<p>“Old lady, father! why, she is not old at all. She is an exceedingly +pleasing person, only a little stately in her manner; +one would not venture to take a liberty with her. We had such +a nice talk while the eldest daughter was fitting me. Is it not +strange, father dear, that they know the Paines? and Mrs. +Sartoris is an old acquaintance of theirs. I think they were a +little sorry when they heard we knew them too, for the second +girl colored up so when I said Adelaide was your goddaughter.”</p> +<p>“Humph? we will have Adelaide down here, and hear all +about them,” responded her father, briskly.</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t know; I am afraid that would be painful to +them, under their changed circumstances. Just as we were +talking about Adelaide, Miss Mewlstone came in; and then they +were so busy that I did not like to stay any longer. Ah, there +is Mr. Drummond coming to interrupt us, as usual.”</p> +<p>And then the colonel retailed all this for Archie’s benefit. +He had come in to glean a crumb or two of intelligence, if he +could, about the Challoners’ movements, and the colonel’s garrulity +furnished him with a rich harvest.</p> +<p>Phillis had taken Miss Mewlstone in hand at once in the +intervals of business: she had inquired casually after Mrs. +Cheyne’s injured ankle.</p> +<p>“It is going on well: she can stand now,” returned Miss +Mewlstone. “The confinement has been very trying for her, +poor thing, and she looks sadly the worse for it. Don’t take +out those pins, my dear: what is the good of taking so much +pains with a fat old thing like me and pricking your pretty +fingers? Well, she is always asking me if I have seen any of +you when I come home.”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Cheyne asks after us!” exclaimed Phillis, in a tone +of astonishment.</p> +<p>“Ah, just so. She has not forgotten you. Magdalene never +forgets any one in whom she takes interest; not that she likes +many people, poor dear! but then so few understand her. +They will not believe that it is all on the surface, and that there +is a good heart underneath.”</p> +<p>“You call her Magdalene,” observed Phillis, rather curiously, +looking up into Miss Mewlstone’s placid face.</p> +<p>“Ah, just so; I forgot. You see, I knew her as a child,—oh, +such a wee toddling mite! younger than dear little Janie. I +remember her just as though it were yesterday; the loveliest +little creature,—prettier even than Janie!”</p> +<p>“Was Janie the child who died?”</p> +<p>“Yes, the darling! She was just three years old; a perfect +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +angel of a child! and Bertie was a year older. Poor Magdalene! +it is no wonder she is as she is,—no husband and children! +When she sent for me I came at once, though I knew how it +would be.”</p> +<p>“You knew how it would be?” repeated Phillis, in a questioning +voice, for Miss Mewlstone had come to a full stop here. +She looked a little confused at this repetition of her words.</p> +<p>“Oh, just so—just so. Thank you, my dear. You have +done that beautifully, I am sure. Never mind what an old +woman says. When people are in trouble like that, they are +often ill to live with. Magdalene has her moods; so have we +all, my dear, though you are too young to know that; but no +one understands her better than her old Bathsheba; that is my +name, and a funny old name too, is it not?” continued Miss +Mewlstone, blinking at Phillis with her little blue eyes. “The +worst of having such a name is that no one will use it; even +father and mother called me Barby, as Magdalene does sometimes +still.”</p> +<p>Bathsheba Mewlstone! Phillis’s lip curled with suppressed +amusement. What a droll old thing she was! and yet she +liked her, somehow.</p> +<p>“If she takes it into her head to come and see you, you +will try and put up with her sharp speeches?” continued Miss +Mewlstone, a little anxiously, as she tied on her bonnet. “Mr. +Drummond does not understand her at all: and I will not deny +that she is hard on the poor young man, and makes fun of him +a bit; but, bless you, it is only her way! She torments herself +and other people, just because time will not pass quickly enough +and let her forget. If we had children ourselves we should +understand it better, and how in Ramah there must be lamentation,” +finished Miss Mewlstone, with a vague and peculiar reference +to the martyred innocents which was rather inexplicable to +Phillis, as in this case there was certainly no Herod, but an +ordinary visitation of Providence; but then she did not know +that Miss Mewlstone was often a little vague.</p> +<p>After this hint, Phillis was not greatly surprised when, one +morning, a pair of gray ponies stopped before the Friary, and +Mrs. Cheyne’s tall figure came slowly up the flagged path.</p> +<p>It must be owned that Phillis’s first feelings were not wholly +pleasurable. Nan had gone out: an invalid lady staying at +Seaview Cottage had sent for a dressmaker rather hurriedly, +and Miss Milner had of course recommended them. Nan had +gone at once, and, as Dulce looked pale, she had taken her with +her for a walk. They might not be back for another hour; and +a <i>tete-a-tete</i> with Mrs. Cheyne after their last interview was +rather formidable.</p> +<p>Dorothy preceded her with a parcel, which she deposited +rather gingerly on the table. As Mrs. Cheyne entered the room +she looked at Phillis in a cool, off-hand manner.</p> +<p>“I am come on business,” she said with a little nod. “How +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +do you do, Miss Challoner? You are looking rather pale, I +think.” And then her keen glance travelled round the room.</p> +<p>The girl flushed a little over this abruptness, but she did not +lose her courage.</p> +<p>“Is this the dress?” she asked, opening the parcel; but her +fingers would tremble a little, in spite of her will. And then, +as the rich folds of the black brocade came into view, she asked, +in a business-like tone, in what style Mrs. Cheyne would wish +it made, and how soon she required it. To all of which Mrs. +Cheyne responded in the same dry, curt manner; and then the +usual process of fitting began.</p> +<p>Never had her task seemed so tedious and distasteful to Phillis. +Even Mrs. Trimmings was preferable to this: she hardly ventured +to raise her eyes, for fear of meeting Mrs. Cheyne’s cold, +satirical glance; and yet all the time she knew she was being +watched. Mrs. Cheyne’s vigilant silence meant something.</p> +<p>If only her mother would come in! but she was shelling +peas for Dorothy. To think Nan should have failed her on such +an occasion! even Dulce would have been a comfort, though +she was so easily frightened. She started almost nervously +when Mrs. Cheyne at last broke the silence:</p> +<p>“Yes, you are decidedly paler,—a little thinner, I think, and +that after only a fortnight’s work.”</p> +<p>Phillis looked up a little indignantly at this; but she found +Mrs. Cheyne was regarding her not unkindly.</p> +<p>“I am well enough,” she returned, rather ungraciously; “but +we are not used to so much confinement and the weather is hot. +We shall grow accustomed to it in time.”</p> +<p>“You think restlessness is so easily subdued?” with a sneer.</p> +<p>“No; but I believe it can be controlled,” replied poor Phillis, +who suffered more than any one guessed from this restraint on +her sweet freedom.</p> +<p>Mrs. Cheyne was right: even in this short time she was certainly +paler and thinner.</p> +<p>“You mean to persevere, then, in your moral suicide?”</p> +<p>“We mean to persevere in our duty,” corrected Phillis, as +she pinned up a sleeve.</p> +<p>“Rather a high moral tone for a dressmaker to take: don’t +you think so?” returned Mrs. Cheyne, in the voice Archie +hated. The woman certainly had a double nature: there was +a twist in her somewhere.</p> +<p>This was too much for Phillis: she fired up in a moment.</p> +<p>“Why should not dressmakers take a high moral tone? +You make me feel glad I am one when you talk like that. +This is our ambition,—Nan’s and mine, for Dulce is too young to +think much about it,—to show by our example that there is no +degradation in work. Oh, it is hard! First Mr. Drummond +comes, and talks to us as though we were doing wrong; and, +then you, to cry down our honest labor, and call it suicide! +Is it suicide to work with these hands, that God has made +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +clever, for my mother?” cried Phillis; and her great gray eyes +filled up with sudden tears.</p> +<p>Mrs. Cheyne did not look displeased at the girl’s outburst. +If she had led up to this point, she could not have received it +more calmly.</p> +<p>“There, there! you need not excite yourself, child!” she +said, more gently. “I only wanted to know what you would +say. So Miss Mewlstone has been to you, I hear?—and Miss +Middleton, too? but that’s her benevolence. Of course Miss +Mattie comes out of curiosity. How I do detest a fussy woman, +with a tongue that chatters faster than a purling brook! +What do you say? No harm in her?” for Phillis had muttered +something to this effect. “Oh, that is negative praise! I like +people to have a little harm in them: it is so much more amusing.”</p> +<p>“I cannot say I am of your opinion,” returned Phillis, coldly: +she was rather ashamed of her fit of enthusiasm, and cross in +consequence.</p> +<p>“My dear, I always thought Lucifer must have been rather +an interesting person.” Then, as Phillis looked scandalized, +and drew herself up, she said, in a funny voice, “Now, don’t +tell your mother what I said, or she will think me an improper +character; and I want to be introduced to her.”</p> +<p>“You want to be introduced to my mother!” Phillis could +hardly believe her ears. Certainly Mrs. Cheyne was a most +inexplicable person.</p> +<p>“Dressmakers don’t often have mothers, do they?” returned +Mrs. Cheyne, with a laugh; “at least, they are never on view. +I suppose they are in the back premises doing something?”</p> +<p>“Shelling peas, for example,” replied Phillis, roused to mischief +by this: “that is mother’s work this morning. Dorothy +is old and single-handed, and needs all the help we can give +her. Oh, yes! I will take you to her at once.”</p> +<p>“Indeed you must not, if it will inconvenience her!” returned +Mrs. Cheyne, drawing back a little at this. She was full of +curiosity to see the mother of these singular girls, but she did +not wish to have her illusion too roughly dispelled; and the +notion of Mrs. Challoner’s homely employment grated a little on +the feelings of the fine lady who had never done anything useful +in her life.</p> +<p>“Oh, nothing puts mother out!” returned Phillis, in an indifferent +tone. The old spirit of fun was waking up in her, and +she led the way promptly to the parlor.</p> +<p>“Mother, Mrs. Cheyne wishes to see you,” she announced, +in a most matter-of-fact voice, as though that lady were a daily +visitor.</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner looked up in a little surprise. One of Dorothy’s +rough aprons was tied over her nice black gown, and the +yellow earthenware bowl was on her lap. Phillis took up some +of the green pods, and began playing with them.</p> +<p>“Will you excuse my rising?—you see my employment,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +observed Mrs. Challoner, with a smile that was almost as +charming as Nan’s; and she held out a white soft hand to her +visitor.</p> +<p>The perfect ease of her manner, the absence of all flurry, produced +an instant effect on Mrs. Cheyne. For a moment she +stood as though at a loss to explain her intrusion; but the next +minute one of her rare sunshiny smiles crossed her face:</p> +<p>“I must seem impertinent; but your daughters have interested +me so much that I was anxious to see their mother. +But I ought to apologize for disturbing you so early.”</p> +<p>“Not at all; all hours are the same to me. We are always +glad to see our friends: are we not, Phillis? My dear, I wish you +would carry these away to Dorothy and ask her to finish them.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no! pray do nothing of the kind,” returned Mrs. Cheyne, +eagerly. “You must not punish me in this way. Let me help +you. Indeed, I am sure I can, if I only tried.” And, to Phillis’s +intense amusement, Mrs. Cheyne drew off her delicate French +gloves, and in another moment both ladies were seated close together, +shelling peas into the same pan, and talking as though +they had known each other for years.</p> +<p>“Oh, it was too delicious!” exclaimed Phillis, when she had +retailed this interview for Nan’s and Dulce’s benefit. “I knew +mother would behave beautifully. If I had taken the Princess +of Wales in to see her, she would not have had a word of apology +for her apron, though it was a horrid coarse thing of Dorothy’s. +She would just have smiled at her, as she did at Mrs. Cheyne. +Mother’s behavior is always lovely.”</p> +<p>“Darling old mammie!” put in Dulce, rapturously, at this +point.</p> +<p>“I made some excuse and left them together, because I could +see Mrs. Cheyne was dying to get rid of me; and I’m always +amiable, and like to please people. Oh, it was the funniest sight, +I assure you!—Mrs. Cheyne with her long fingers blazing with +diamond rings, and the peas rolling down her silk dress; and +mother just going on with her business in her quiet way. Oh, +I had such a laugh when I was back in the work-room!”</p> +<p>It cost Phillis some trouble to be properly demure when Mrs. +Cheyne came into the work-room some time afterwards in search +of her. Perhaps her mischievous eyes betrayed her, for Mrs. +Cheyne shook her head at her in pretended rebuke:</p> +<p>“Ah, I see; you will persist in treating things like a comedy. +Well, that is better than putting on tragedy airs and making +yourselves miserable. Now I have seen your mother, I am not +quite so puzzled.”</p> +<p>“Indeed!” and Phillis fixed her eyes innocently on Mrs. +Cheyne’s face.</p> +<p>“No; but I am not going to make you vain by telling you +what I think of her: indiscriminate praise is not wholesome. +Now, when are you coming to see me?—that is the point in +question.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span></p> +<p>“Dorothy will bring home your dress on Saturday,” replied +Phillis, a little dryly. “If it requires alteration, perhaps you +will let me know, and of course I will come up to the White +House at any time.”</p> +<p>“But I do not mean to wait for that. You are misunderstanding +me purposely, Miss Challoner. I want you to come and +talk to me one evening,—any evening. No one but Miss +Mewlstone will be there.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no!” responded Phillis, suddenly turning very red:</p> +<p>“I do not think that would do at all, Mrs. Cheyne. I do not +mean to be rude or ungrateful for your kindness, but—but––” +Here the girl stammered and broke down.</p> +<p>“You wish, then, to confine our intercourse to a purely business +relation?” asked Mrs. Cheyne, and her voice had a tone of +the old bitterness.</p> +<p>“Would it not be better under the circumstances? Forgive +me if I am too proud, but––”</p> +<p>“Oh, you are proud, terribly proud!” returned Mrs. Cheyne, +taking up her words before she could complete her sentence. +“You owe me a grudge for what I said that night, and now you +are making me pay the penalty. Well, I am not meek: there +is not a human being living to whom I would sue for friendship. +If I were starving for a kind word, I would sooner die than ask +for one. You see, I am proud too, Miss Challoner.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I did not mean to hurt you,” returned Phillis, distressed +at this, but determined not to yield an inch or bend to the sudden +caprice of this extraordinary woman, who had made her +suffer so once.</p> +<p>“To be hurt, one must have feelings,” returned this singular +person. “Do not be afraid, I shall not attempt to shake your +resolution: if you come to me now it must be of your own free +will.”</p> +<p>“And if I come, what then?” asked Phillis, standing very +straight and stiff, for she would not be patronized.</p> +<p>“If you come you will be welcome,” returned Mrs. Cheyne; +and then, with a grave inclination of the head, she swept out of +the room.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXVII_A_DARK_HOUR' id='CHAPTER_XXVII_A_DARK_HOUR'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> +<h3>A DARK HOUR.</h3> +</div> +<p>“I should go one evening, if I were you: it is easy to see +that Mrs. Cheyne has taken a fancy to you,” said Nan, who +was much interested by this recital; but to this Phillis replied, +with a very decided shake of the head,—</p> +<p>“I shall do nothing of the kind; I was not made to be a fine +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +lady’s <i>protegee</i>. If she patronized me, I should grow savage +and show my teeth; and, as I have no desire to break the peace, +we had better remain strangers. Dear Magdalene certainly has +a temper!” finished Phillis, with a wicked little sneer.</p> +<p>Nan tried to combat this resolution, and used a great many +arguments: she was anxious that Phillis should avail herself of +this sudden fancy on the part of Mrs. Cheyne to lift herself and +perhaps all of them into society with their equals. Nan’s good +sense told her that though at present the novelty and excitement +of their position prevented them from realizing the full +extent of their isolation, in time it must weigh on them very +heavily, and especially on Phillis, who was bright and clever +and liked society; but all her words were powerless against +Phillis’s stubbornness: to the White House she could not and +would not go.</p> +<p>But one evening she changed her mind very suddenly, when +a note from Miss Mewlstone reached her. A gardener’s boy +brought it: “it was very particular, and was to be delivered +immediate to the young lady,” he observed, holding the missive +between a very grimy finger and thumb.</p> +<p>“<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>My dear young lady</span>,—</p> +<p>“Pride is all very well, but charity is often best in the long +run, and a little kindness to a suffering human being is never +out of place in a young creature like you.</p> +<p>“Poor Magdalene has been very sadly for days, and I have +got it into my stupid old head—that is always fancying things—that +she has been watching for folks who have been too proud +to come, though she would die sooner than tell me so; but that +is her way, poor dear!</p> +<p>“It is ill to wake at nights with nothing but sad thoughts for +company, and it is ill wearing out the long days with only a +silly old body to cheer one up; and when there is nothing fresh +to say, and nothing to expect, and not a footstep or a voice to +break the silence, then it seems to me that a young voice—that +is, a kind voice—would be welcome. Take this hint, my dear, +and keep my counsel, for I am only a silly old woman, as she +often says.</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span style='margin-right: 3.125em;'>“Yours,</span><br /> +<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Bathsheba Mewlstone.</span>”<br /></p> +<p>“Oh, I must go now!” observed Phillis, in an embarrassed +voice, as she laid this singular note before Nan.</p> +<p>“Yes, dear; and you had better put on your hat at once, and +Dulce and I will walk with you as far as the gate. It is sad for +you to miss the scramble on the shore; but, when other people +really want us, I feel as though it were a direct call,” finished +Nan, solemnly.</p> +<p>“I am afraid there is a storm coming up,” replied Phillis, +who had been oppressed all day by the heavy thundery atmosphere: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +she had looked so heated and weary that Nan had proposed +a walk by the shore. Work was pouring upon them from +all sides: the townspeople, envious of Mrs. Trimmings’s stylish +new dress, were besieging the Friary with orders, and the young +dressmakers would have been literally overwhelmed with their +labors, only that Nan, with admirable foresight, insisted on +taking in no more work than they felt themselves able to complete.</p> +<p>“No,” she would say to some disappointed customer, “our +hands are full just now, and we cannot undertake any more +orders at present: we will not promise more than we can perform. +Come to me again in a fortnight’s time, and we will +willingly make your dress, but now it is impossible.” And in +most cases the dress was brought punctually at the time +appointed.</p> +<p>Phillis used to grumble a little at this.</p> +<p>“You ought not to refuse orders, Nan,” she said, rather +fretfully, once. “Any other dressmaker would sit up half the +night rather than disappoint a customer.”</p> +<p>“My dear,” Nan returned, in her elder-sisterly voice, which +had always a great effect on Phillis, “I wonder what use +Dulce and you would be if you sat up sewing half the night, +and drinking strong tea to keep yourselves awake? No, there +shall be no burning the candles at both ends in this fashion; +please God we will keep our health, and our customers; and +no one in their senses could call us idle. Why, we are quite the +fashion! Mrs. Squails told me yesterday that every one in +Hadleigh was wild to have a gown made by the ‘lady dressmakers.’”</p> +<p>“Oh, I daresay!” replied Phillis, crossly, for the poor thing +was so hot and tired that she could have cried from pure weariness +and vexation of spirit: “but we shall not be the fashion +long when the novelty wears off; people will call us independent, +and get tired of us; and no wonder, if they are to wait for +their dresses in this way.”</p> +<p>Nan’s only answer was to look at Phillis’s pale face in a pitying +way; and then she took her hand, and led her to the corner, +where her mother’s Bible always lay, and then with ready +fingers turned to the well known-passage, “Man goeth forth +unto his work and to his labor unto the evening.”</p> +<p>“Well, Nan, what then?”</p> +<p>“Evening is for rest,—for refreshment of mind and body: I +will not have it turned into a time of toil. I know you, Phillis; +you would work till your poor fingers got thin, and your spirits +were all flattened out, and every nerve was jarring and set on +edge; and you would call that duty! No, darling,—never! +Dulce shall keep her roses, and we will have battledore and +shuttlecock every evening; but, if I have to keep the key of +the work-room in my pocket, you and Dulce shall never enter +it after tea.” And Nan’s good sense, as usual, carried the day. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span></p> +<p>Phillis would much rather have joined her sisters in their +walk than have turned in at the gloomy lodge-gates.</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +“‘All ye who enter here, leave hope behind,’”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>she quoted, softly, as she waved her hand to Nan.</p> +<p>The servant who admitted her looked a little dubious over +his errand.</p> +<p>“His mistress was in her room,” he believed, “and was far +too unwell to see visitors. He would tell Miss Mewlstone, if +the young lady liked to wait; but he was sure it was no use,”—all +very civilly said. And as Phillis persisted in her intention +of seeing Mrs. Cheyne, if possible, he ushered her into the +library, a gloomy-looking room, with closed blinds, one of which +he drew up, and then went in search of Miss Mewlstone.</p> +<p>Phillis did not find her surroundings particularly cheerful. +The air was darkened by the approaching storm. A sullen +cloud hung over the sky. The library windows opened upon +the shrubberies. Here the trees were planted so thickly that +their shade obscured much of the light. The room was so dark +that she could only dimly discern the handsome bindings of the +books in the carved oak book-cases. The whole of the furniture +seemed sombre and massive. The chair that the footman +had placed for her was covered with violet velvet, and was in +harmony with the rest of the furniture.</p> +<p>Dreary as the room looked, it was nothing to the shrubbery +walk. A narrow winding path seemed to vanish into utter +darkness. In some places the trees met overhead, so closely +had they grown.</p> +<p>“If I were the mistress of the White House,” Phillis said to +herself, “I would cut every one of those trees down. They +must make this part of the house quite unhealthy. It really +looks like a ‘ghost walk’ that one reads about.” But scarcely +had these thoughts passed through her mind when she uttered a +faint cry of alarm. The dark room, the impending storm, and +her own overwrought feelings were making her nervous; but +actually, through the gloom, she could see a figure in white +approaching.</p> +<p>In another moment she would have sought refuge in the hall, +but contempt at her own cowardice kept her rooted to the spot.</p> +<p>“She was an utter goose to be so startled! It was—yes, of +course it was Mrs. Cheyne. She could see her more plainly +now. She would step through the window and meet her.”</p> +<p>Phillis’s feelings of uneasiness had not quite vanished. The +obscurity was confusing, and invested everything with an unnatural +effect. Even Mrs. Cheyne’s figure, coming out from +the dark background, seemed strange and unfamiliar. Phillis +had always before seen her in black; but now she wore a white +gown, fashioned loosely, like a wrapper, and her hair, which +at other times had been most carefully arranged, was now +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +strained tightly and unbecomingly from her face, which looked +pallid and drawn. She started violently when she saw Phillis +coming towards her, and seemed inclined to draw back and +retrace her steps. It evidently cost her a strong effort to recover +herself. She seemed to conquer her reluctance with difficulty.</p> +<p>“So you have come at last, Miss Challoner,” she said, fixing +her eyes, which looked unnaturally bright, on Phillis. Her +voice was cold, almost harsh, and her countenance expressed +no pleasure. The hand she held out was so limp and cold that +Phillis relinquished it hastily.</p> +<p>“You said that I should be welcome,” she faltered, and trying +not to appear alarmed. She was too young and healthy to +understand the meaning of the word hysteria, or to guess at +the existence of nervous maladies that make some people’s lives +a long torment to them. Nevertheless, Mrs. Cheyne’s singular +aspect filled her with vague fear. It did not enter into her mind +to connect the coming storm with Mrs. Cheyne’s condition, until +she hinted at it herself.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, you are welcome,” she responded, wearily. “I +have looked for you evening after evening, but you chose to come +with the storm. It is a pity, perhaps; but then you did not +know!”</p> +<p>“What would you have me know?” asked Phillis, timidly.</p> +<p>Mrs. Cheyne shrugged her shoulders a little flightily.</p> +<p>“Oh, you are young!” she returned; “you do not understand +what nerves mean; you sleep sweetly of a night, and +have no bad dreams: it does not matter to you happy people +if the air is full of sunshine or surcharged with electricity. +For me, when the sun ceases to shine I am in despair. Fogs +find me brooding. An impending storm suffocates me, and yet +tears me to pieces with restlessness: it drives me hither and +thither like a fallen leaf. I tire myself that I may sleep, and +yet I stare open-eyed for hours together into the darkness. I +wonder sometimes I do not go mad. But there! let us walk—let +us walk.” And she made a movement to retrace her steps; +but Phillis, with a courage for which she commended herself +afterwards, pulled her back by her hanging sleeves.</p> +<p>“Oh, not there! it is not good for any one who is sad to walk +in that dark place. No wonder your thoughts are sombre. Look! +the heavy rain-drops are pattering among the leaves. I do not care +to get wet: let us go back to the house.”</p> +<p>“Pshaw! what does it matter getting wet?” she returned, +with a little scorn; but nevertheless she suffered Phillis to take +her arm and draw her gently towards the house. Only as they +came near the library window, she pointed to it indignantly. +“Who has dared to enter that room, or open the window! +Have I not forbidden over and over again that that room should +be used? Do you think,” she continued, in the same excited +way, “that I would enter that room to-night of all nights! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +Why, I should hear his angry voice pealing in every corner! +It was a good room for echoes; and he could speak loudly if he +chose. Come away! there is a door I always use that leads to +my private apartments. I am no recluse; but in these moods +I do not care to show myself to people. If you are not afraid, +you may come with me, unless you prefer Miss Mewlstone’s +company.”</p> +<p>“I would rather go with you,” returned Phillis, gently. +She could not in truth say she was not afraid; but all the same +she must try and soothe the poor creature who was evidently +enduring such torments of mind: so she followed in silence up +the broad oak staircase.</p> +<p>A green-baize door admitted them into a long and somewhat +narrow corridor, lighted up by a row of high narrow windows +set prettily with flower-boxes. Here there were several doors. +Mrs. Cheyne paused before one a moment.</p> +<p>“Look here! you shall see the mysteries of the west wing. +This is my world; downstairs I am a different creature—taciturn, +harsh, and prone to sarcasm. Ask Mr. Drummond what +he thinks of me; but I never could endure a good young man—especially +that delicious compound of the worldling and the +saint—like the Reverend Archibald. See here, my dear: here I +am never captious or say naughty things!”</p> +<p>She threw open the door, and softly beckoned to Phillis to +enter. It was a large empty room,—evidently a nursery. Some +canaries were twittering faintly in a gilded cage. There were +flowers in the two windows, and in the vases on the table: +evidently some loving hands had arranged them that very +morning. A large rocking-horse occupied the centre of the +floor: a doll lay with its face downwards on the crimson carpet; +a pile of wooden soldiers strutted on their zigzag platform,—one +or two had fallen off; a torn picture-book had been flung +beside them.</p> +<p>“That was my Janie’s picture-book,” said Mrs. Cheyne, +mournfully: “she was teaching her doll out of it just before she +was taken ill. Nothing was touched; by a sort of inspiration,—a +foreboding,—I do not know what,—I bade nurse leave the +toys as they were. ‘It is only an interrupted game: let the +darlings find their toys as they put them,’ I said to her that +morning. Look at the soldiers, Bertie was always for soldiers,—bless +him!”</p> +<p>Her manner had grown calmer; and she spoke with such touching +tenderness that tears came to Phillis’s eyes. But Mrs. +Cheyne never once looked at the girl; she lingered by the table +a moment, adjusting a leaf here and a bud there in the bouquets, +and then she opened an inner door leading to the night-nursery. +Here the associations were still more harrowing. The cots +stood side by side under a muslin canopy, with an alabaster +angel between them; the little night-dresses lay folded on the +pillows; on each quilt were the scarlet dressing-gown and the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +pair of tiny slippers; the clothes were piled neatly on two +chairs,—a boy’s velvet tunic on one, a girl’s white frock, a little +limp and discolored, hung over the rails of the other.</p> +<p>“Everything just the same,” murmured the poor mother. +“Look here, my dear,”—with a faint smile—“these are Bertie’s +slippers: there is the hole he kicked in them when he was in +his tempers, for my boy had the Cheyne temper. He was Herbert’s +image,—his very image.” She sighed, paused, and went +on: “Every night I come and sit beside their beds, and then +the darlings come to me. I can see their faces—oh, so plainly!—and +hear their voices. ‘Good-night, dear mamma!’ they +seem to say to me, only Bertie’s voice is always the louder.”</p> +<p>Her manner was becoming a little excited again; only Phillis +took her hand and pressed it gently, and the touch seemed to +soothe her like magic.</p> +<p>“I am so glad you come here every night,” she said, in her +sweet, serious voice, from which every trace of fear had gone. +“I think that a beautiful idea, to come and say your prayers +beside one of these little beds.”</p> +<p>“To say my prayers!—I pray beside my darlings’ beds!” exclaimed +Mrs. Cheyne, in a startled voice. “Oh no! I never do +that. God would not hear such prayers as mine,—never—never!”</p> +<p>“Dear Mrs. Cheyne, why not?” She moved restlessly away +at the question, and tried to disengage herself from Phillis’s firm +grasp. “The Divine Father hears all prayers,” whispered the +girl.</p> +<p>“All?—but not mine,—not mine, or I should not be sitting +here alone. Do you know my husband left me in anger,—that +his last words to me were the bitterest he ever spoke? ‘Good-by, +Magdalene: you have made my life so wretched that I do +not care if I never live to set foot in this house again!’ And +that to me,—his wedded wife, and the mother of his children,—who +loved him so. Oh, Herbert! Herbert!” and, covering +her face, the unhappy woman suddenly burst into a passion of +tears.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXVIII_THE_MYSTERIOUS_STRANGER' id='CHAPTER_XXVIII_THE_MYSTERIOUS_STRANGER'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> +<h3>THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.</h3> +</div> +<p>Phillis kept a sad silence: not for worlds would she have +checked the flow of tears that must have been so healing to the +tortured brain. Besides, what was there that she, so young and +inexperienced, could say in the presence of a grief so terrible, +so overpowering? The whole thing was inexplicable to Phillis. +Why were the outworks of conventionality so suddenly thrown +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +down? Why was she, a stranger, permitted to be a witness of +such a revelation? As she sat there speechless and sympathizing, +a faint sound reached her ear,—the rustle of a dress in the +adjoining room,—footsteps that approached warily, and then +paused; a moment afterwards the door closed softly behind +them. Phillis looked round quickly, but could see nothing; +and the same instant a peal of thunder rolled over their heads.</p> +<p>Mrs. Cheyne started up with an hysterical scream, and caught +hold of Phillis. “Come,” she said, almost wildly, “we will not +stay here. The children will not come to-night, for who could +hear their voices in such a storm? My little angels!—but they +shall not see me like this. Come, come!” And, taking the +girl by the arm, she almost dragged her from the room, and led +the way with rapid and disordered footsteps to a large luxurious +chamber, furnished evidently as a dressing-room, and only +divided from the sleeping-room by a curtained archway.</p> +<p>As Mrs. Cheyne threw herself down in an arm-chair and hid +her face in her hands, the curtain was drawn back, and Miss +Mewlstone came in with an anxious, almost frightened expression +on her good-natured countenance. She hurried up to Mrs. +Cheyne and took her in her arms as though she were a child.</p> +<p>“Now, Magdalene, now, my dear,” she said, coaxingly, “you +will try to be good and command yourself before this young +lady. Look at her: she is not a bit afraid of the storm:—are +you, Miss Challoner? No, just so; you are far too sensible.”</p> +<p>“Oh, that is what you always tell me,” returned Mrs. +Cheyne, wrenching herself free with some violence. “Be sensible,—be +good,—when I am nearly mad with the oppression and +suffocation, here, and here,” pointing to her head and breast. +“Commonplaces, commonplaces; as well stop a deluge with a teacup. +Oh, you are an old fool, Barby: you will never learn +wisdom.”</p> +<p>“My poor lamb! Barby never minds one word you say when +you are like this.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I will beg your pardon to-morrow, or when the thunder +stops. Hark! there it is again,” cowering down in her chair. +“Can’t you pray for it to cease, Barby? Oh, it is too horrible! +Don’t you recollect the night he rode away,—right into the +storm, into the very teeth of the storm? ‘Good-bye, Magdalene; +who knows when we may meet again?’ and I never looked at +him, never kissed him, never broke the silence by one word; +and the thunder came, and he was gone,” beating the air +with her hands.</p> +<p>“Oh, hush, my dear, hush! Let me read to you a little, and +the fever will soon pass. You are frightening the poor young +lady with your wild talk, and no wonder!”</p> +<p>“Pshaw! who minds the girl? Let her go or stop; what +do I care? What is the whole world to me, when I am tormented +like this? Three years, four years—more than a thousand +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +days—of this misery! Oh, Barby! do you think I have +been punished enough? do you think where he is, up in heaven +with the children, that he forgives and pities me, who was such +a bad wife to him?”</p> +<p>As Miss Mewlstone paused a moment to wipe the tears that +were flowing over her old cheeks, Phillis’s voice came to her +relief.</p> +<p>“Oh, can you doubt it?” she said, in much agitation. “Dear +Mrs. Cheyne, can you have an instant’s doubt? Do you think +the dead carry all these paltry earthly feelings into the bright +place yonder? Forgive you—oh, there is no need of forgiveness +there; he will only be loving you,—he and the children +too.”</p> +<p>“God bless you!” whispered Miss Mewlstone. “Hush, that +is enough! Go, my dear, go, and I will come to you presently. +Magdalene, put your poor head down here: I have thought of +something that will do you good.” She waved Phillis away +almost impatiently, and laid the poor sufferer’s head on her +bosom, shielding it from the flashes that darted through the +room. Phillis could see her bending over her, and her voice was +as tender as though she were soothing a sick infant.</p> +<p>Phillis was trembling with agitation as she stole down the +dark corridor. Never in her happy young life had she witnessed +or imagined such a scene. The wild words, the half-maddened +gestures, the look of agony stamped on the pale, +almost distorted features, would haunt her for many a day. +Oh, how the poor soul must have suffered before she lost self-control +and balance like this!</p> +<p>It was not the death of her children that had so utterly unnerved +her. It must have been that bitter parting with her +husband, and the remembrance of angry words never to be +atoned for in this life, that was cankering the root of her +peace, and that brought about these moods of despair.</p> +<p>Phillis thought of Coleridge’s lines,—</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +“And to be wroth with one we love<br /> +Doth work like madness on the brain,”—</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>as she took refuge in the dim drawing-room. Here, at least, +there were signs of human life and occupation. A little tea-table +had been set in one window, though the tea was cold. The +greyhounds came and laid their slender noses on her gown, and +one small Italian one coiled himself up on her lap. Miss Mewlstone’s +work-basket stood open, and a tortoise shell kitten had +helped itself to a ball of wool and was busily unwinding it. +The dogs were evidently frightened at the storm, for they all +gathered round Phillis, shivering and whining, as though +missing their mistress; and she had much ado to comfort +them, though she loved animals and understood their dumb +language better than most people. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span></p> +<p>It was not so very long, and yet it seemed hours before Miss +Mewlstone came down to her.</p> +<p>“Are you here, my dear?” she asked, in a loud whisper, +for the room was dark. “Ah, just so. We must have lights, +and I must give you a glass of wine or a nice hot cup of coffee.” +And, notwithstanding Phillis’s protest that she never took wine +and was not in need of anything, Miss Mewlstone rang the bell, +and desired the footman to bring in the lamp. “And tell +Bishop to send up some nice hot coffee and sandwiches as soon +as possible. For young people never know what they want, and +you are just worried and tired to death with all you have gone +through,—not being an old woman and seasoned to it like me,” +went on the good creature, and she patted Phillis’s cheek encouragingly +as she spoke.</p> +<p>“But how is she? Oh, thank God, the storm has lulled at +last!” exclaimed the girl, breathlessly.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes; the storm is over. We have reason to dread +storms in this house,” returned Miss Mewlstone, gravely. “She +was quite exhausted, and let Charlotte and me help her to bed. +Now she has had her composing-draught, and Charlotte will sit +by her till I go up. I always watch by her all night after one +of these attacks.”</p> +<p>“Is it a nervous attack?” asked Phillis, timidly, for she felt +she was treading on delicate ground.</p> +<p>“I believe Dr. Parkes calls it hysteria,” replied Miss Mewlstone, +hesitating a little. “Ah, we have sad times with her. +You heard what she said, poor dear: she has been sorely +tried.”</p> +<p>“Was not her husband good to her, then?”</p> +<p>“I am sure he meant to be kind,” returned Miss Mewlstone, +sorrowfully, “for he loved her dearly; but he was passionate +and masterful, and was one that would have his way. As long +as it was only courtship, he worshipped the ground she walked +upon, as the saying is. But poor Magdalene was not a good +wife. She was cold when she ought to have been caressing, +stubborn when she might have yielded; and sarcasm never yet +healed a wound. Ah, here comes your coffee! Thank you, +Evans. Now, my dear, you must just eat and drink, and put +some color into those pale cheeks. Scenes like these are not +good for young creatures like you. But when Magdalene is in +these moods, she would not care if the whole world listened to +her. To-morrow she will be herself, and remember and be +ashamed; and then you must not mind if she be harder and +colder than ever. She will say bitter things all the more, because +she is angered at her own want of self-control.”</p> +<p>“I can understand that: that is just as I should feel,” returned +Phillis, shuddering a little at the idea of encountering +Mrs. Cheyne’s keen-edged sarcasms. “She will not like to see +me any more; she will think I had no right to witness such a +scene.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span></p> +<p>“It is certainly a pity that I wrote that note,” returned Mrs. +Mewlstone, reflectively. “I hoped that you would turn her +thoughts, and that we might avert the usual nervous paroxysm. +When I opened the door and saw you sitting together so peacefully +beside the children’s beds, I expected a milder mood; but it +was the thunder. Poor Magdalene! She has never been able to +control herself in a storm since the evening Herbert left her, +and we went in and found her lying insensible in the library, +in the midst of one of the worst storms I have ever witnessed.”</p> +<p>“That was when he said those cruel words to her!” ejaculated +Phillis.</p> +<p>“Yes. Did she repeat them? How often I have begged +her to forget them, and to believe that he repented of them before +an hour was over! Ah, well! the sting of death lies in +this: if she had had one word, one little word, she would be a +different woman, in spite of the children’s death. God’s strokes +are less cruel than men’s strokes: the reed may be bruised by +them, but is not broken. She had a long illness after the children +were gone; it was too much,—too much for any woman’s heart +to bear. You see, she wanted her husband to comfort her. +Dr. Parkes feared for her brain, but we pulled her through. +Ah, just so, my dear; we pulled her through!” finished Miss +Mewlstone, with a sigh.</p> +<p>“Oh, how good you are to her! she is happy to have such a +friend!” observed Phillis, enthusiastically.</p> +<p>Miss Mewlstone shook her head, and a tear rolled down her +face.</p> +<p>“Oh, my dear, I am only an old fool, as she said just now. +And, after all, the company of a stupid old woman is not much +to a proud bonnie creature like that. Sometimes for days together +she hardly opens her lips to me; we sit together, eat +together, drive together, and not a word for Barby. But sometimes, +poor dear! she will cling to me and cry, and say her heart +is breaking. And Solomon was right: but it was not only a +brother that is good for adversity. When she wants me, I am +here, and there is nothing I will not do for her, and she knows +it;—and that is about the long and short of it,” finished Miss +Mewlstone, dismissing the subject with another sigh. And then +she bade Phillis finish her coffee and put on her hat. “For +your mother will be expecting you, and wondering what has +become of you; and Phillips or Evans must walk with you, +for it is past nine o’clock, and such a pretty young lady must +not go unattended,” concluded the simple woman.</p> +<p>Phillis laughed and kissed her at this; but, though she said +nothing of her intentions, she determined to dismiss the servant +as soon as possible, and run on alone to the Friary. She had +not forgotten her encounter with Mr. Drummond on her last +visit to the White House; but to-night the storm would keep +him in-doors. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span></p> +<p>Evans, the new footman, was desired to escort her; but in +the middle of the avenue Phillis civilly dismissed him.</p> +<p>“There is no need for two of us to get wet; and the rain is +coming on very heavily,” she said.</p> +<p>The young man hesitated; but he was slow-witted and new +to his duty, and the young lady had a peremptory way with +her, so he touched his hat, and went back to the house.</p> +<p>“Such nonsense, having a liveried servant at my heels, when +I am only a dressmaker!” thought Phillis, scurrying down the +avenue like a chased rabbit.</p> +<p>Hitherto, the trees had sheltered her; but a glance at the +open road and the driving rain made her resolve to take refuge +in the porch of the cottage that stood opposite the gate. It +was the place where Nan and her mother had once lodged; and, +though all the lights were extinguished, and the people had +retired to bed, she felt a comfortable sense of safety as she +unlatched the little gate. Not even Mr. Drummond would discover +her there.</p> +<p>But Phillis’s satisfaction was of short duration: the foolish +girl was soon to repent of her foolhardiness in dismissing her +escort. She little knew that her words to Evans had been overheard, +and that behind the dripping shrubbery she had been +watched and followed. Scarcely had she taken refuge under +the green porch, and placed her wet umbrella to dry, before she +heard the latch of the little gate unclosed, and a tall dark figure +came up the gravel-walk. It was not Isaac Williams’s portly +form,—she could discern that in the darkness,—and, for the +moment, a thrill of deadly terror came upon the incautious girl; +but the next minute her natural courage returned to her aid. +The porch was just underneath the room where Isaac slept; a +call of ‘help’ would reach him at once; there was no reason for +this alarm at all. Nevertheless, she shrunk back a little as +the stranger came directly towards her, then paused as though +in some embarrassment:</p> +<p>“Pardon me, but you have poor shelter here. I am Mrs. +Williams’s lodger. I could easily let you into the cottage. I +am afraid the rain comes through the trellis-work.”</p> +<p>Phillis’s heart gave a great thump of relief. In the first place, +Mrs. Williams’s lodger must be a respectable person, and no +dangerous loafer or pickpocket; in the second place the refined +cultured tones of the stranger pleased her ear. Phillis had a +craze on this point. “You may be deceived in a face, but in a +voice, never!” she would say; and, as she told Nan afterwards, +the moment that voice greeted her in the darkness she felt no +further fear.</p> +<p>“I have a dry corner here,” she returned, quietly; “it is only +a thunder-shower, and I am close to home,—only down the road, +and just round the corner, past the vicarage.”</p> +<p>“Past the vicarage!” in a tone of surprise: “why, there are +no houses there!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span></p> +<p>“There is a very small one called the Friary,” returned +Phillis, feeling herself color in the darkness, as she mentioned +their humble abode. There was no answer for a moment, and +then her mysterious neighbor continued:</p> +<p>“My good landlord seems to retire early; the whole place +looks deserted. They are very early risers, and perhaps that +is the reason. If you will allow me to pass, I will open the +door and light a lamp in my little parlor. Even if you prefer +to remain in the porch, it will look more cheerful.” And, +without waiting for her reply, he took a key from his pocket, +and let himself into the house.</p> +<p>Their voices had disturbed the owners of the cottage, and +Phillis overheard the following colloquy:</p> +<p>“Dear sakes alive! what a frightful storm! Is there anything +you want, Mr. Dancy?” in Mrs. Williams’s shrill tones.</p> +<p>“Not for myself, Mrs. Williams; but there is a young lady +sheltering in the porch. I should be glad if you could come +down and make her a little comfortable. The floodgates of +heaven seem open to-night.”</p> +<p>“Dear, dear!” in a still more perplexed voice; “a young +lady at this time of night,—why, it must be half-after nine. +Very well, Mr. Dancy; beg her to come in and sit in your +parlor a moment, and I will be down.”</p> +<p>But Phillis absolutely refused to comply with the invitation.</p> +<p>“I am not tired, and I am not a bit wet, and I like watching +the rain. This is a nice little porch, and I have taken +refuge here before. We all know Mrs. Williams very well.”</p> +<p>“She is a good creature, if she were not always in a bustle,” +returned Mr. Dancy. “There, the lamp is lighted: that looks +more comfortable.” And as he spoke he came out into the little +hall.</p> +<p>Phillis stole a curious glance at him.</p> +<p>He was a tall man, and was dressed somewhat strangely. A +long foreign-looking cloak and a broad-brimmed felt hat, which +he had not yet removed, gave him the look of an artist; but, +except that he had a beard and moustache, and wore blue +spectacles, she could not gain the slightest clue to his features. +But his voice,—it pleased Phillis’s sensitive ear more every +moment; it was pleasant,—rather foreign, too,—and had a +sad ring in it.</p> +<p>He leaned against the wall opposite to her, and looked out +thoughtfully at the driving rain.</p> +<p>“I think I saw you coming out from the White House,” he +observed presently. “Are you a friend of Mrs. Cheyne? I +hope,” hesitating a little, “that she is very well.”</p> +<p>“Do you know her?” asked Phillis, in surprise.</p> +<p>“That is a very Irish way of answering my question; but +you shall have your turn first. Yes; I used to know her many +years ago, and Herbert Cheyne, too.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span></p> +<p>“Her poor husband! Oh! and did you like him?” rather +breathlessly.</p> +<p>“Pretty fairly,” was the indifferent reply. “People used to +call him a pleasant fellow, but I never thought much of him +myself,—not but what he was more sinned against than sinning, +poor devil. Anyhow, he paid dearly enough for his faults.”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed; and one must always speak leniently of the +dead.”</p> +<p>“Ah, that is what they say,—that he is dead. I suppose +his widow put on mourning, and made lamentation. She is +well, you say, and cheerful?”</p> +<p>“Oh, no! neither the one nor the other. I am not her +friend; I only know her just little; but she strikes me as very +sad. She has lost her children, and––”</p> +<p>“Ah!” Phillis thought she heard a strange sound, almost +like a groan; but of course it was fancy; and just then good +Mrs. Williams came bustling downstairs.</p> +<p>“Dear heart! why, if it is not Miss Challoner! To think +of you, my dear miss, being out so late, and alone! Oh, what +ever will your ma say?”</p> +<p>“My mother will scold me, of course,” returned Phillis, +laughing; “but you must not scold me too, Mrs. Williams, +though I deserve all I get. Mrs. Mewlstone sent Evans with +me, but I made him go back. Country girls are fearless and it +is only just a step to the Friary.”</p> +<p>“The rain is stopping now, if you will permit me to escort +you. Mrs. Williams will be the voucher for my respectability,” +observed Mr. Dancy, very gravely and without a smile; and, +as Phillis seemed inclined to put him off with an excuse, he continued, +more seriously: “Pardon me, but it is far too late, and +the road far too lonely, for a young lady to go unattended. If +you prefer it, I will go to the White House, and bring out the +recreant Evans by force.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no; there is no need for that,” observed Phillis, hastily; +and Mrs. Williams interposed volubly:</p> +<p>“Goodness’ sakes, Miss Challoner, you have no call to be +afraid of Mr. Dancy! Why, Mr. Frank Blunt, that nice young +gentleman who lodged with me ever so many years, recommended +him to me as one of his best and oldest friends. Your +ma knew Mr. Blunt, for he was here with her, and a nicer-spoken +young gentleman she said she never saw.”</p> +<p>“That will do, Mrs. Williams,” returned Mr. Dancy, in rather +a peremptory tone; and then, turning to Phillis, he said, more +civilly, but still a little abruptly, as though he were displeased,—</p> +<p>“Well, Miss Challoner, do you feel inclined to trust yourself +with me for the few hundred yards, or shall I fetch Evans?” +And Phillis, feeling herself rebuked, unfurled her umbrella at +once, and bade Mrs. Williams good-night by way of answer.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIX_MRS_WILLIAMSS_LODGER' id='CHAPTER_XXIX_MRS_WILLIAMSS_LODGER'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> +<h3>MRS. WILLIAMS’S LODGER.</h3> +</div> +<p>Phillis felt rather shy and uncomfortable as she picked her +way warily among the rain-pools in the semi-darkness. Her +companion was inclined to be silent; most likely he considered +her churlish in repelling his civil offers of help: so, to make +amends, and set herself at her ease, she began to talk to him +with an attempt at her old sprightliness.</p> +<p>“Do you know this neighborhood well, Mr. Dancy? Have +you been long at Ivy Cottage?”</p> +<p>“Only a few days; but I know the place well enough,” he +responded, quietly. “It depends upon circumstances how +long I remain here.”</p> +<p>“Hadleigh is very quiet,” returned Phillis, quickly. “It +does not offer many attractions to strangers, unless they have +very moderate views of enjoyment. It is select, and the bathing +is good, and the country tolerable; but when you have +said that, you have said all in its favor.”</p> +<p>“I have always liked the place,” with a checked sigh. +“Quiet,—that is what I want, and rest also. I have been rather +a wanderer over the face of the earth, and one wants a little +breathing-time occasionally, to recruit one’s exhausted energies. +I like Ivy Cottage, and I like Mrs. Williams: both suit me for +the present. Are you a visitor to Hadleigh,—a mere bird of +passage like myself, Miss Challoner?”</p> +<p>“Oh, dear, no: we have come here to live.”</p> +<p>“And—and you are intimate with Mrs. Cheyne?” coming a +little closer to her side in the darkness.</p> +<p>“Nothing of the kind,” retorted Phillis: “we are mere acquaintances. +I do not feel to know her at all; she is not +a person with whom one could get intimate all at once; she is +a little difficult. Besides in our position––” And here she +pulled herself up suddenly.</p> +<p>“Pardon me,” returned Mr. Dancy, in an interested voice, +“perhaps I have no right to inquire, but your words are a little +mysterious. Why should you not be intimate with Mrs. +Cheyne?”</p> +<p>Phillis grew hot in the darkness. What right had he, a perfect +stranger, to question her so closely? And yet, if he were +interested in his old friends, perhaps he meant to call at the +White House, and then he would hear all about them; and +after all, perfect frankness always answered best in the long +run. Phillis hesitated so long over her rejoinder that Mr. +Dancy said, rather apologetically,— +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span></p> +<p>“I see, I have been incautious; but you must not attribute +my question to impertinent curiosity. I am anxious to learn all +I can about a very old friend, of whom I have long lost sight, +and I hoped that you might have been able to satisfy me.”</p> +<p>“Miss Middleton would tell you far more than I.”</p> +<p>“What! Elizabeth Middleton? Oh, no: she is far too much +of a saint for me.”</p> +<p>“You know her, too!” exclaimed Phillis, in surprise. “No, +I do not think you are curious, Mr. Dancy; it was only a little +awkward for me to tell you about our acquaintance with Mrs. +Cheyne. My sister and I rendered her a trifling service, and +she took a fancy to us, and wished to be friends; but in our +present position any close intimacy would be impossible, as we +are only dressmakers.”</p> +<p>“Dressmakers!” It is impossible to describe the genuine +astonishment, almost dismay, in Mr. Dancy’s voice. “Dressmakers! +Pardon me, Miss Challoner, but when one has seen +and spoken to a lady like yourself, it is almost incredible.”</p> +<p>This put Phillis on her mettle at once, and in a moment she +laid by all her reserve:</p> +<p>“You have been a traveller, Mr. Dancy, and must have seen +strange things by this time: it surely cannot be such a matter +of surprise that when gentle-people are poor they must work for +their bread. When one has ten clever fingers, it is better to use +them than to starve. I am not ashamed of my position; my +sisters and I are very independent; but, as we do not like to +cause other people embarrassment, we prefer to lead hermit +lives.”</p> +<p>Phillis’s silvery tones were rather fierce, but it was well that +she did not see her companion’s expression of suppressed +amusement; there was a little smothered laugh, too, that was +turned into a cough.</p> +<p>“Are your sisters young like yourself?” he asked, rather +abruptly.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, we are all much of an age.”</p> +<p>“And you have parents?”</p> +<p>“Only one parent,” she corrected,—“a mother. Ah, here +we are at the Friary! Many thanks for your escort, Mr. +Dancy.”</p> +<p>“Many thanks for allowing me to escort you,” he returned, +pointedly: “after what you have told me, I esteem it an honor, +Miss Challoner. No, you have no need to be ashamed of your +position; I wish more English ladies would follow such a noble +example. Good-night. I trust we shall meet again.” And, +lifting his felt hat, he withdrew, just as Nan appeared on the +threshold, holding a lamp in her hand.</p> +<p>“You naughty girl, what has kept you so late?” she asked, as +Phillis came slowly and meditatively up the flagged path.</p> +<p>“Hush, Nannie! Have they all gone to bed? Let me come +into your room and talk to you. Oh, I have had such an evening!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +And thereupon she poured into her sister’s astonished +ears the recital of her adventure,—the storm, the figure in the +shubbery, the scene in the west corridor, the porch at Ivy Cottage, +and the arrival of Mrs. Williams’s mysterious lodger.</p> +<p>“Oh, Phillis, I shall never trust you out of my sight again! +How can you be so reckless,—so incautious? Mother would be +dreadfully shocked if she knew it.”</p> +<p>“Mother must not know a single word: promise, Nan. You +know how nervous she is. I will tell her, if you like, that I took +refuge from the rain in Mrs. Williams’s porch, and that her +lodger walked home with me; but I think it would be better to +suppress the scene at the White House.”</p> +<p>Nan thought over this a moment, and then she agreed.</p> +<p>“It would make mother feel uneasy and timid in Mrs. +Cheyne’s presence,” she observed. “She never likes that sort +of hysterical attacks. We could not make her understand. +Poor thing! I hope she is asleep by this time. Shall you go +to-morrow, Phil, and ask after her?”</p> +<p>Phillis made a wry face at this, and owned she had had +enough adventures to last her for a long time. But she admitted, +too, that she would be anxious to know how Mrs. Cheyne would +be.</p> +<p>“Yes, I suppose I must go and just ask after her,” she said, +as she rose rather wearily and lighted her candle. “There is +not the least chance of my seeing her. Good-night, Nannie! +Don’t let all this keep you awake; but I do not expect to sleep a +wink myself.”</p> +<p>Which dismal prophecy was not fulfilled, as Phillis dropped +into a heavy slumber the moment her head touched the +pillow.</p> +<p>But her dreams were hardly pleasant. She thought she was +walking down the “ghost’s walk,” between the yews and +cypresses, with Mr. Dancy, and that in the darkest part he +threw off his cloak and felt hat, and showed the grinning skull +of a skeleton, while a bony arm tried to seize her. She woke +moaning with fright, to find Dulce’s long hair streaming over +her face, and the birds singing in the sweet breezy dawn; after +which she fell into a dreamless, refreshing sleep.</p> +<p>Phillis had to submit to rather a severe reproof from her +mother, in return for her frankness. Mrs. Challoner’s prudery +was up in arms the moment she heard of Mrs. Williams’s +lodger.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Williams ought to have come with you herself; but +a strange man at that time of night!—what would Mr. Drummond +have said to you?”</p> +<p>“Whatever Mr. Drummond liked to say!” returned Phillis, +pettishly, for this was stroking her already ruffled feelings +decidedly the wrong way.</p> +<p>Phillis always turned captious whenever Mr. Drummond +was mentioned; but she subsided into meekness again when her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +mother fell to crying and bemoaning her hard fate and her +darlings’ unprotected position.</p> +<p>“Oh, what would your dear father have said?” she cried, +in such utter misery of tone that Phillis began kissing her, and +promising that she would never, never be out so late again, +and that on no account would she walk up the Braidwood Road +in the evening with a strange man who wore an outlandish cloak +and a felt hat that only wanted a feather to remind her of Guy +Fawkes, only Guy Fawkes did not wear blue spectacles.</p> +<p>When Phillis had at last soothed her mother,—always a +lengthy process, for Mrs. Challoner, like other sensitive and +feeble natures, could only be quieted by much talk,—she fell to +her work in vigorous silence; but by a stroke of ill luck, Mr. +Drummond chose to make another pastoral visitation; and, to +her secret chagrin, her mother at once repeated the whole +story.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Williams’s lodger saw Miss Phillis home! Why, I did +not know Mrs. Williams had a lodger!” returned Mr. Drummond, +in a perplexed voice.</p> +<p>This made matters worse.</p> +<p>“I suppose Mrs. Williams is not bound to let the vicarage +know directly she lets her rooms?” observed Phillis, rather impatiently; +for she was vexed with her mother for repeating all +this.</p> +<p>“No, of course not; but I was at Ivy Cottage myself yesterday, +and Mrs. Williams knows I always call on her lodgers, and +she never mentioned the fellow’s existence to me.”</p> +<p>“Fellow, indeed!” observed Phillis, <i>sotto voce</i>; for she had a +vivid remembrance of the stranger’s commanding presence and +pleasant voice.</p> +<p>“When did he come?” inquired the young vicar, curiously, +“He must keep himself pretty close by daylight; for I have +passed and repassed Ivy Cottage at least half a dozen times a +day, and have never caught a glimpse of any one;” to which +Phillis replied reluctantly that he had not been there long,—that +he wanted rest and quiet, and was most likely an invalid.</p> +<p>“And his name is Dancy, you say?”</p> +<p>Phillis bowed. She was far too much taken up in her work +to volunteer unnecessary words; and all this maternal fuss and +fidget was odious to her.</p> +<p>“Then I will go and call upon him this very afternoon,” returned +Archie, with cheerful alacrity. He had no idea that his +curiosity on the subject was disagreeable to the girl: so he and +Mrs. Challoner discussed the matter fully, and at some length. +“I don’t like the description of your mysterious stranger, Miss +Challoner,” he said, laughing, as he stood up to take his leave. +“When novelists want to paint a villain, they generally bring +in a long cloak and beard, and sometimes a disguising pair of +blue spectacles. Well, I will catch him by daylight, and see +what I can make of him.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span></p> +<p>“You may disguise a face, but you cannot disguise a voice,” +returned Phillis, bluntly. “I do not want to see Mr. Dancy to +know he is a gentleman and a true man.” And this speech, +that piqued Archie, though he did not know why, made him all +the more bent on calling on Mrs. Williams’s lodger.</p> +<p>But Mr. Drummond’s curiosity was destined to be baffled. +Mrs. Williams turned very red when she heard the vicar’s inquiries.</p> +<p>“You never told me you had let your rooms,” he said, reproachfully; +“and yet you know I always make a practice of +calling on your lodgers.”</p> +<p>“’Deed and it is very kind and thoughtful of you, too,” returned +the good woman, dropping an old-fashioned courtesy; +“and me that prizes my clergyman’s visits and thinks no end +of them! But Mr. Dancy he says to me, ‘Now, my good Mrs. +Williams, I have come here for quiet,—for absolute quiet; and +I do not want to see or hear of any one. Tell no tales about me, +and leave me in peace; and then we shall get on together.’ And +it was more than I ventured to give you the hint, hearing +him speak so positive; for he is a bit masterful, and no mistake.”</p> +<p>“Well, never mind; a clergyman never intrudes, and I will +thank you to take Mr. Dancy my card,” returned Archie, impatiently; +but his look of assurance soon faded when Mrs. Williams +returned with her lodger’s compliments, and he was very +much obliged to Mr. Drummond for his civility, but he did not +wish to receive visitors.</p> +<p>Phillis was a little contrary all the remainder of the day: +she was not exactly cross,—all the Challoners were sweet-tempered,—but +nothing quite suited her. Mrs. Challoner had proposed +going that evening into the town with her youngest daughter +to execute some commissions.</p> +<p>Just before they started Phillis observed rather shortly that +she should call at the White House to make inquiries after +Mrs. Cheyne, and that she would came back to the Friary to +fetch Nan for a country walk. “If I do not appear in half an +hour, you must come in search of me,” finished Phillis, with a +naughty curl of her lip, to which Nan with admirable tact +returned no answer, but all the same she fully intended to +carry out the injunction; for Nan had imbibed her mother’s +simple old-fashioned notions, and a lurking dislike of Mrs. +Williams’s lodger had already entered her mind.</p> +<p>As Phillis did not enjoy her errand, she put on the best face +she could, and hurried down the Braidwood Road as though +her feet were winged like a female Mercury; and Mr. Dancy, +who happened to be looking over the wire blind in the little +parlor, much admired the girl’s free swift gait as she sped +down the avenue. Evans, the young footman, admitted her, +and conducted her at once to the drawing-room; and great was +Phillis’s surprise and discomposure when she saw Mrs. Cheyne +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +sitting alone reading by one of the windows, with her greyhounds +grouped around her.</p> +<p>She started slightly at the announcement of Phillis’s name, +and, as she came forward to greet her, a dark flush crossed her +face for a moment; then her features settled into their usual +impassive calm, only there was marked coldness in her voice.</p> +<p>“Good-evening. Miss Challoner: you have chosen a fine +evening for your visit. Let me beg of you never again to venture +to the White House in such a storm.”</p> +<p>Phillis stammered out something about hoping that she was +better, but she interrupted her almost abruptly:</p> +<p>“Much better, thank you. I am afraid you found me decidedly +strange yesterday. I had what people call a nervous attack: +electricity in the air, a brooding storm, brings it on. It +is a pity one should be so childish as to dread thunder; but we +are oddly constituted, some of us.” She shrugged her shoulders, +as though to dismiss the subject, and stroked the head of the +greyhound that lay at her feet.</p> +<p>Poor Phillis found her position decidedly embarrassing. To +be sure, Miss Mewlstone had warned her of the reception that +she might expect; but all the same she found it very unpleasant. +She must not abridge her visit so much as to excite suspicion; +and yet it seemed impossible to carry on a comfortable +conversation with Mrs. Cheyne in this freezing mood, and, as +Phillis could think of nothing to say, she asked after Miss Mewlstone.</p> +<p>“Oh, she is very well,” Mrs. Cheyne answered, indifferently. +“Nothing ever ails Barby: she is one of those easy-going people +who take life as they find it, without fuss and grumbling.”</p> +<p>“I think she is very nice and sympathetic,” hazarded Phillis.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes Miss Mewlstone has a feeling heart,” returned Mrs. +Cheyne; but she said it in a sarcastic voice. “We have all our +special endowments. Miss Mewlstone is made by nature to be +a moral feather bed to break other people’s awkward tumbles. +She hinders broken bones, and interposes a soft surface of sympathy +between unlucky folks. There is not much in common +between us, but all the same old Barby is a sort of necessity to +me. We are a droll household at the White House, Miss Challoner, +are we not,—Barby and the greyhounds and I?—oh, quite +a happy family!” And she gave a short laugh, very much the +reverse of merriment.</p> +<p>Phillis began to feel that it was time to go.</p> +<p>“Well, how does the dressmaking progress?” asked her +hostess, suddenly. “Miss Middleton tells me the Challoner fit is +quite the rage in Hadleigh.”</p> +<p>“We have more orders than we can execute,” returned +Phillis, curtly.</p> +<p>“Humph! that sounds promising. I hope your mother is +careful of you, and forbids any expenditure of midnight oil, or +you will be reduced to a thread-paper. As I have told you you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +are not the same girl that you were when you came to the relief +of my injured ankle.”</p> +<p>“I feel tolerably substantial, thank you,” returned Phillis, +ungraciously, for, in common with other girls, she hated to be +pitied for her looks, and she had a notion that Mrs. Cheyne only +said this to plague her. “Nan is our head and task mistress. +We lead regular lives, have stated hours for work, take +plenty of exercise and on the whole, are doing as well as possible.”</p> +<p>“There speaks the Challoner spirit.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes; that never fails us. But now Nan will be waiting +for me, and I only called just to inquire after you.”</p> +<p>“And you did not expect to see me. Well, come again when +I am in a better humor for conversation. If you stay longer +now I might not be sparing of my sarcasms. By the by, what +has become of our young vicar? Tell him he has not converted +me yet, and I quite miss his pastoral visits. Do you know,” +looking so keenly at Phillis that she blushed with annoyance, +“a little bird tells me that our pastor has undertaken the supervision +of the Friary. Which is it, my dear, that he is trying to +convert?”</p> +<p>The tone and manner were intolerable to Phillis.</p> +<p>“I don’t understand you, Mrs. Cheyne,” she returned, with +superb youthful haughtiness. “Mr. Drummond is a kind +neighbor, and so is Miss Mattie. You may keep these insinuations +for him, if you will.” Then she would have escaped without +another glance at her tormentor, but Mrs. Cheyne detained +her:</p> +<p>“There, never mind. I will take back my naughty speech. +It was rude and impertinent of me, I know that. But I like +you all the better for your spirit; and, my dear, take care of +yourself and your pretty sisters, for he is not worthy of one of +you.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Mrs. Cheyne! for shame!” And Phillis’s gray eyes +sparkled with lively indignation.</p> +<p>“He is a very ordinary good young man; and you and your +sisters are real metal, and worth your weight in gold. There! +go away, child; and come and see me again, for it does me +good to torment you!” And the singular woman drew the +girl into her arms suddenly and kissed her forehead, and then +pushed her away. “To-morrow, or the next day, but not to-night,” +she said, hurriedly. “I should make you cross fifty +times if you stay longer to-night.” And Phillis was too thankful +to be released to linger any longer; but her cheeks were +burning as she walked down the avenue.</p> +<p>“Why do people always put these things into girls’ heads?” +she said to herself. “A young man cannot come into the house, +cannot say pleasant words, or do kind neighborly actions, but +one must at once attribute motives of this kind. I have not +been free from blame myself in this matter, for I have feared +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +more than once that Nan’s sweet face attracted him,—poor Mr. +Drummond! I hope not, for he would not have a chance +against Dick. I wonder if I ought to say a word?—if it would +be premature or unnecessary? But I should hate him to be unhappy,”—here +Phillis sighed, and then threw up her head proudly: +“I might say just a word, mentioning Dick,—for he does +not know of his existence. I wonder if he would take the hint. +I could do it very cleverly, I know. I hate to see people burning +their fingers for nothing: I always want to go to their rescue. +He is tiresome, but he is very nice. And, heigh-ho! +what a crooked world we live in!—nothing goes quite straight +in it.” And Phillis sighed again.</p> +<p>“Miss Challoner!” The voice sounded so near her that Phillis +gave a great start. She had nearly reached the gate, and +there was Mr. Dancy walking beside her, just as though he had +emerged from the ground; and yet Phillis had not heard a sound. +“Have I startled you?” he continued, gravely. “You were +in such a brown study that I had to call you by your name to +rouse you. There is nothing wrong at the White House, I +hope?”</p> +<p>“Oh, no! Mrs. Cheyne is better: her nervous attack has +quite passed off.”</p> +<p>“Magdalene suffering from a nervous attack?” and then Mr. +Dancy stopped, and bit his lip. “Excuse me, I knew her before +she was married, when she was Magdalene Davenport—before +she and poor Herbert Cheyne unfortunately came together. +I doubt whether things have not happened for the best; there!—I +mean,” as Phillis looked at him in some perplexity, “that +there is little fear of her being an inconsolable widow.”</p> +<p>“How can you say such a thing!” returned Phillis, indignantly. +“That is the way with you men, you judge so harshly +of women. Mrs. Cheyne is singular in her ways. She wears no +mourning, and yet a more unhappy creature never existed on +this earth. Not inconsolable!—and yet no one dares to speak +a word of comfort to her, so great is her misery.”</p> +<p>“Excuse me one moment: I have been ill, and am still subject +to fits of giddiness. A mere vertigo; nothing more.” But +he said the words gasping for breath, and looked so deadly +pale that Phillis felt quite frightened as she stood beside him.</p> +<p>They had been walking a few steps down the Braidwood Road, +and Phillis had looked out anxiously for Nan, who had not yet +appeared in sight. But now Mr. Dancy had come to an abrupt +pause, and was leaning for support against the low wall that +shut in the grounds of the White House. Phillis looked at him +a little curiously, in spite of her sympathy. He still wore his +loose cloak, though the evening was warm; but he had loosened +it, and taken off his felt hat for air.</p> +<p>In figure he was a tall, powerful-looking man, only thin and +almost emaciated, as though from recent illness. His features +were handsome, but singularly bronzed and weather-beaten, as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +though from constant exposure to sun and wind; and even the +blue spectacles could not hide a pair of keen blue eyes. By +daylight Phillis could see that his brown beard and moustache +were tinged with gray, and the hair on the temples was almost +white; and yet he seemed still in the prime of life. It was a far +handsomer face than Archie Drummond’s; but the deep lines +and gray hair spoke of trouble more than age, and one thing +especially impressed Phillis,—the face was as refined as the voice.</p> +<p>If Mr. Dancy were aware of her close scrutiny, he took no +notice of it. He leaned his arm against the wall and rested his +head against it; and the thin brown hand was plainly visible, +with a deep-red scar just above the wrist.</p> +<p>As Phillis had regarded it with sudden horror, wondering +what had inflicted it, he suddenly aroused himself with an +apology:</p> +<p>“There! it has passed: it never lasts long. Shall we walk +on? I am so ashamed of detaining you in this way; but when +a man has had a sunstroke––”</p> +<p>“Oh, that is sad!” returned Phillis, in a sympathizing voice. +“Is that why you keep in-doors so much in the daylight? at +least”—correcting herself in haste, for she had spoken without +thought—“one never sees you about,” which was a foolish +speech, and showed she took notice of his movements; but she +could not betray Mr. Drummond.</p> +<p>“Some one else only comes out in the evening,” he rejoined, +rather pointedly. “Who told you I kept in-doors in the daylight? +Oh, I know!” the frown passing from his face, for he +had spoken quickly and in annoyed fashion. “This sounds like +a parson’s prating: I know the language of old. By the bye, +did you set the clergy on my track?” turning the blue spectacles +full on the embarrassed Phillis.</p> +<p>“I?—no indeed!” and then she went on frankly: “Mr. +Drummond was at our house, and he told us that he always +called on Mrs. Williams’s lodgers.”</p> +<p>“True, Miss Challoner; but how did his reverence know +Mrs. Williams had a lodger?”</p> +<p>This was awkward, but Phillis steered her way through the +difficulty with her usual dexterity.</p> +<p>“I mentioned to my mother that you were kind enough to +see me home, and she repeated the fact to Mr. Drummond.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, Miss Challanor; now I understand. I wonder +if your mother would be very shocked if a stranger intruded +upon her? but you and I must have some more conversation +together, and I do not see how it is to be managed in accordance +with what you ladies call <i>les convenances</i>.”</p> +<p>“My mother––” began Phillis, demurely; and then she +paused, and looked up at him in astonishment, “What, Mr. +Dancy! you purpose to call on my mother, and yet you refused +Mr. Drummond’s visit?” for the news of Archie’s defeat had +already reached the Friary through Miss Mattie. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span></p> +<p>Mr. Dancy seemed rather nonplussed at this, and then he +laughed:</p> +<p>“Ah, you are shrewd, Miss Challoner; there is no deceiving +you! I have seen Mr. Drummond pass and repass often +enough; and—pardon me, if he be a friend—I thought from the +cut of his coat that he was prig, and I have a horror of clerical +prigs.”</p> +<p>“He is not priggish in the least,” was Phillis’s annoyed +rejoinder.</p> +<p>“No? Well, appearances are sometimes deceptive: perhaps +I was too hasty in my dread of being bored. But here comes +your sister, I think,—at least, I have seen you together: so I +am leaving you in good hands.” And, before Phillis could +reply, he had lifted his hat and turned away, just as Nan, +whose vigilant eyes were upon him, was hurrying to join her +sister.</p> +<p>“Oh, Phillis, was that Mr. Dancy?” she asked, in a reproachful +voice, as she hurried up to her.</p> +<p>“Yes, Nannie, it was Mr. Dancy,” returned Phillis, composedly; +“and I wish I could have introduced him to you, for I +believe he is coming to call on mother.” And, when she had +related this astounding piece of intelligence, she looked in Nan’s +face and laughed, and, in high good humor, proceeded to relate +their conversation.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXX_NOW_WE_UNDERSTAND_EACH_OTHER' id='CHAPTER_XXX_NOW_WE_UNDERSTAND_EACH_OTHER'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> +<h3>“NOW WE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER.”</h3> +</div> +<p>One fine morning in September, Mr. Drummond was standing +at the back of Milner’s Library, turning over the last new assortment +of books from Mudie, when two gentlemen entered the +shop.</p> +<p>Strangers were always interesting to Archie, and he criticised +them under a twofold aspect—pastoral and social. In this way +curiosity becomes a virtue, and a man with a mission is not +without his interests in life. Hadleigh was Mr. Drummond’s +sheep-walk, where he shepherded his lambs, and looked after +his black sheep and tried to wash them white, or, in default of +that, at least to make out that their fleece was not so sable after +all: so he now considered it his duty to leave off turning over +the pages of a seductive-looking novel, and to inspect the +strangers.</p> +<p>They were both dressed in tweed travelling costumes, and +looked sunburnt, as though they had just returned from a +walking-tour. The elder was a short wiry man, with a shrewd +face and quizzical eyes; and he asked in sharp clipping voice +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +that was not free from accent, for the last number of the local +paper, containing lists of inhabitants, visitors, etc.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, the younger man walked about the shop, whistling +softly to himself, as though he had a fund of cheerfulness on +hand which must find vent somewhere. When he came opposite +Archie, he took a brief survey of him in a careless, good-humored +fashion, and then turned on his heel, bestowing a very +cursory glance on Miss Masham, who stood shaking her black +ringlets after the fashion of shopwomen, and waiting to know +the gentleman’s pleasure.</p> +<p>No one would have called this young man very good-looking, +unless such a one had a secret predilection for decidedly reddish +hair and a sandy moustache; but there was an air of <i>bonhommie</i>, +of frank kindness, of boyish fun and pleasantry, that attracted +even strangers, and Archie looked after him with considerable +interest.</p> +<p>“Oxford cut, father and son: father looks rather a queer +customer,” thought Archie to himself.</p> +<p>“Dick, come here!—why, where is that fellow?” suddenly +exclaimed the elder man, beginning to put on his eye-glasses +very nervously.</p> +<p>“Coming, father. All right: what is it?” returned the +imperturbable Dick. He was still whistling “Twickenham +Ferry” under his breath, as he came to the counter and leaned +with both elbows upon it.</p> +<p>“Good gracious, boy, what does this mean?” went on the +other, in an irritable perturbed voice; and he read a short +advertisement, written in a neat lady-like hand: “Dressmaking +undertaken. Terms moderate, and all orders promptly +executed. Apply to—the Misses Challoner, the Friary, Braidwood +Road. Ladies waited upon at their own residences’. +What the”—he was about to add a stronger term, but, in deference +to Miss Milner, substituted—“dickens does this mean, +Dick?”</p> +<p>The young man’s reply was to snatch the paper out of his +father’s hand, and study it intently, with his elbows still on the +counter, and the last bar of “Twickenham Ferry” died away +uncompleted on his lips; and if any one could have seen his +face, they would have remarked a curious redness spreading to +his forehead.</p> +<p>“Nan’s handwriting, by Jove!” he muttered, but still inaudibly; +and then he stared at the paper, and his face grew +redder.</p> +<p>“Well, Dick, can’t you answer? What does this piece of +tomfoolery mean—‘dressmaking undertaken—ladies waited +upon at their own residences’? Can there be two families of +Challoner and two Friaries? and why don’t you speak and say +something?”</p> +<p>“Because I know as little as yourself, father,” returned the +young man, without lifting his head; and he surreptitiously +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +conveyed the paper to his pocket. “Perhaps this lady,” indicating +Miss Milner, “could inform us?”</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon,” observed a gentlemanly voice near +them; and, looking up, Dick found himself confronted by the +young clergyman. “I overheard your inquiries, and, as I am +acquainted with the ladies in question, I may be able to satisfy +you.”</p> +<p>“I should be extremely obliged to you if you would do so, +sir,” returned the elder man, with alacrity; but Dick turned +away rather ungraciously, and his cheerful face grew sullen.</p> +<p>“Confound him! what does he mean by his interference? +Knows them, indeed! such a handsome beggar, too,—a prig, +one can see that from the cut of his clothes and beard!” And +again he planted his elbows on the counter, and began pulling +his rough little stubbly moustache.</p> +<p>“If you are referring to a mother and three daughters who +live in the Friary and eke out a scanty income by taking in +dressmaking, I am happy to say I know them well,” went on +Archie. “My sister and I visit at the cottage, and they attend +my church; and, as Miss Milner can tell you, they work hard +enough all the six days of the week.”</p> +<p>“Indeed, Mr. Drummond, there are few that work harder!” +broke in Miss Milner, volubly. “Such pretty creatures, too, to +earn their own living; and yet they have a bright word and a smile +for everybody! Ever since Miss Phillis,” (here Dick groaned) +“made that blue dress for Mrs. Trimmings—she is the butcher’s +wife, and a dressy woman, though not flashy, like Mrs. +Squails—they have been quite the rage in Hadleigh. All the +townspeople, and the resident gentry, and even the visitors, want +their gowns made by the Miss Challoners. Their fit is perfect; +and they have such taste. And––” But here the luckless +Dick could bear no more.</p> +<p>“If you will excuse me, sir,” he said, addressing his bewildered +father, “I have left something particular at the hotel: I +must just run and fetch it.”</p> +<p>Dick did not specify whether it was his handkerchief, or +his cigar-case, or his purse, of which he stood so urgently in +need; but before Mr. Mayne could remonstrate, he had gone +out of the shop. He went as far as the door of the hotel, and +there he seized on a passing waiter and questioned him in a +breathless manner. Having obtained his information, he set off +at a walk that was almost a run through the town, and down +the Braidwood Road. The few foot-passengers that he met +shrank out of the way of this young man; for he walked, looking +neither to the right nor to left, as though he saw nothing before +him. And his eyes were gloomy, and, he did not whistle; and +the only words he said to himself were, “Oh, Nan, never to +have told me of this!” over and over again.</p> +<p>The gate of the Friary stood open; for a small boy had been +washing the flags, and had left his pail, and had gone off to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span> +play marbles in the road with a younger brother. Dick,—who +understood the bearings of the case at once, shook his fist at +the truant behind his back, and then turned in at the gate.</p> +<p>He peeped in at the hall door first; but Dorothy was peeling +potatoes in the kitchen, and would see him as he passed, so he +skirted the little path under the yews. And if Dulce had been +at her sewing-machine as usual, she would have seen him at +once; but this morning the machine was silent.</p> +<p>A few steps farther he came to a full stop, and his eyes began +to glisten, and he pricked up his ears after the manner of +lovers; for through an open window just behind him, he could +hear Nan’s voice, sweet and musical, reading aloud to her +sisters.</p> +<p>“Oh, the darling!” he murmured, and composed himself +for a few moments’ ecstasy, for no doubt she was reading +Tennyson, or Barrett-Browning, or one of the poetry-books he +had given her; but he was a little disappointed when he found it +was prose.</p> +<p>“‘With regard to washing-dresses,’” read Nan, in her clear +tones, “‘cottons, as a general thing, have another material +made up with them; the under-skirt may be of foulard or +satin––?’”</p> +<p>“Oh, I dare say! What nonsensical extravagance!” observed +Phillis.</p> +<p>“‘Or the bodice of surah, satin, cashmere, or llama, and the +skirt of cotton.... The skirts are nearly always made with +single box-pleats, with a flat surface in the centre, and a flat +band of trimming is often stitched on at about five inches from +the edge of the flounce.’ I should say that would be sweetly +pretty, dear: we might try it for Mrs. Penlip’s dress. And +just listen to a little more.”</p> +<p>“I shall do nothing of the kind,” blurted out Dick. “Oh, +Nan, Nan! how could you be such a traitor?—washing-dresses +indeed, and me left in ignorance!” And there was Dick, his +face glowing and indignant, standing in the window, with +Laddie barking furiously at him, and his outstretched hand +nearly touching Nan.</p> +<p>Phillis and Dulce screamed with surprise, being young and +easily excited; but Nan only said, “Oh, Dick!” very faintly; +and her sweet face grew red and pale by turns, and her fingers +fluttered a little in his grasp, but only for joy and the sheer +delight of seeing him.</p> +<p>As for Dick, his eyes shone, but his manner was masterful.</p> +<p>“Look here!” he said, drawing Nan’s advertisement from +his pocket; “we had come down here to surprise you girls, +and to have a little fun and tennis; and I meant to have treated +you to the public ground at the hotel, as I knew you had only a +scrubby little bit of lawn; and this is what has met my eyes +this morning! You have deceived mother and me; you have +let us enjoy our holiday, which I didn’t a bit, for I had a sort of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +nasty presentiment and a heap of uncomfortable thoughts; and +all the while you were slaving away at this hideous dressmaking,—I +wish I could burn the whole rag, tag, and bobtail,—and +never let us know you wanted anything. And you call that +being friends!”</p> +<p>“Yes, and the best of friends, too,” responded Phillis, +cheerfully, for Nan was too much crushed by all this eloquence +to answer. “Come along, Dulce! don’t listen any more to this +nonsense, when you know mother is wanting us. Dick is all +very well when he is in a good humor, but time and dressmaking +wait for no man.” And the young hypocrite dragged the +unwilling Dulce away. “Can’t you leave them alone to come to +an understanding?” whispered Phillis in her ear, when they got +outside the door. “I can see it in his eyes; and Nan is on the +verge of crying, she is so upset with the surprise. And, you +goose, where are you going now?”</p> +<p>“To mother. Did you not say she wanted us?”</p> +<p>“Oh, you silly child!” returned Phillis, calmly: “does not +mother always want us? One must say what comes uppermost +in one’s mind in emergencies of this sort. But for me, you +would have stood there for an hour staring at them. Mother is +out, as it happens: if you like we will go and meet her. Oh, +no, I forgot: Dick is a young man, and it would not be proper. +Let us go into the kitchen and help Dorothy.” And away they +went.</p> +<p>“Phillis is a trump!” thought Dick, as he shut the door. +“I love that girl.” And then he marched up to Nan, and took +her hands boldly.</p> +<p>“Now, Nan you owe me amends for this; at least you will +say you are sorry.”</p> +<p>“No, Dick,” hanging her head, for she could not face his look, +he was so masterful and determined with her, and so unlike the +easy Dick of old. “I am not a bit sorry: I would not have +spoiled your holiday for worlds.”</p> +<p>“My holiday!—a precious holiday it was without you! A +lot of stupid climbing, with grinning idiots for company. Well, +never mind that,” his wrathful tone changing in a moment. +“So you kept me in the dark just for my own good?”</p> +<p>“Yes, of course, Dick. What an unnecessary question!”</p> +<p>“And you wanted me, Nan?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” very faintly, and there was a little tear-drop on one +of Nan’s lashes.</p> +<p>She had been so miserable,—how miserable he would never +know; but he need not have asked her that.</p> +<p>“Oh, very well: then I won’t bother you with any more +questions. Now we understand each other, and can just go to +business.”</p> +<p>Nan looked up in his face in alarm. She anticipated another +lecture, but nothing of the sort came. Dick cleared his throat, +got a little red, and went on. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span></p> +<p>“I say settle our business, because we have been as good +as engaged all these years. You know you belong to me, +Nan?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Dick,” she returned, obediently; for she was too much +taken by surprise to know what she ought to say, and the two +words escaped from her almost unconsciously.</p> +<p>“There never was a time we were not fond of each other,—ever +since you were so high,” pointing to what would represent +the height of an extremely dwarfish infant of seven or eight +months.</p> +<p>“Oh, not so long ago as that,” returned Nan, laughing a +little.</p> +<p>“Quite as long,” repeated Dick, solemnly. “I declare, I +have been so fond of you all my life, Nan, that I have been the +happiest fellow in the world. Now, look here; just say after +me, ‘Dick, I promise on my word and honor to marry you.’”</p> +<p>Nan repeated the words, and then she paused in affright.</p> +<p>“But your father!” she gasped,—“and the dressmaking! +Oh, Dick! what have you made me say? You have startled +me into forgetting everything. Oh, dear! oh, dear! what shall +I do?” continued Nan, in the most innocent way. “We shall +be engaged all our lives, for he will never allow you to marry +me. Dick, dear Dick, please let me off! I never meant to give +in like this.”</p> +<p>“Never mind what you meant to do,” returned Dick, with +the utmost gravity: “the thing is, you have done it. On your +word and honor, Nan, remember. Now we are engaged.”</p> +<p>“Oh, but Dick, please don’t take such advantage of me, just +because I said—or, at least, you said—I was fond of you. What +will mother say? She will be so dreadfully shocked; and it is so +cruel to your father. I will be engaged to you in a way. I +will promise—I will vow, if you will—never to marry any one +else.”</p> +<p>“I should think not,” interrupted Dick, fiercely. “I would +murder the fellow, whoever he was!” and in spite of himself +his thought reverted to the fair beard and handsome face of +the young clergyman.</p> +<p>Nan saw from his obstinate face that her eloquence was all +wasted; but she made one more attempt, blushing like a rose:</p> +<p>“I will even promise to marry you, if your father gives his +consent. You know, Dick, I would never go against him.”</p> +<p>“Nor I. You ought to know me better, Nan, than to think +I should act shabbily and leave the dear old fellow in the dark.”</p> +<p>“Then you will set me free,” marvelling a little over her +lover’s good sense and filial submission.</p> +<p>“As free as an engagement permits. Why, what do you +mean, Nan? Have I not just told you we are engaged for good +and all? Do you suppose I do not mean to tell my father so on +the first opportunity? There he comes! bless the man, I knew +he would follow me! Now you shall see how I can stick up for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +the girl I love.” But Dick thought it better to release the hand +he had been holding all this time.</p> +<p>There are certain moments in life when one is in too exalted +a mood to feel the usual sensations that circumstances might +warrant. At another time Nan would have been shocked at the +condition of her work-room, being a tidy little soul, and thrifty +as to pins and other odds and ends; and the thought of Mr. +Mayne coming upon them unexpectedly would have frightened +her out of her senses.</p> +<p>The room was certainly not in its usual order. There had +been much business transacted there that morning. The table +was strewn with breadths of gay <i>broche</i> silk; an unfinished +gauzy-looking dress hung over a chair; the door of the wardrobe +was open, and a row of dark-looking shapes—like Bluebeard’s +decapitated wives—were dimly revealed to view. A +sort of lay figure, draped in calico, was in one corner. As Nan +observed to Phillis afterwards, “There was not a tidy corner +in the whole room.”</p> +<p>Nevertheless, the presence of Dick so glorified the place that +Nan looked around at the chaos quite calmly, as she heard Mr. +Mayne’s sharp voice first inquiring for her mother and then for +herself. Dorothy, with her usual tact, would have shown him +into the little parlor; but Nan, who wished for no disguise, +stepped forward and threw open the door.</p> +<p>“I am here, Dorothy. Come in, Mr. Mayne. Dick is here +too, and I am so sorry mother is out.”</p> +<p>“I might have known that scapegrace would have given me +the slip!” muttered Mr. Mayne, as he shook hands ungraciously +with Nan, and then followed her into the work-room.</p> +<p>Dick, who was examining the wardrobe, turned round and +saluted his father with a condescending nod:</p> +<p>“You were too long with the parson: I could not wait, you +see. Did you make all these dresses, Nan? You are awfully +clever, you girls! They look first-rate,—this greeny-browny-yellowish +one, for example,” pulling out a much furbelowed +garment destined for Mrs. Squails.</p> +<p>“Oh, Dick, do please leave them alone!” and Nan authoritatively +waved him away, and closed the wardrobe.</p> +<p>“I was only admiring your handiwork,” returned Dick, imperturbably. +“Does she not look a charming little dressmaker, +father?” regarding Nan with undisguised pleasure, as she stood +in her pretty bib-apron before them.</p> +<p>But Mr. Mayne only drew his heavy eyebrows together, and +said,—</p> +<p>“Pshaw, Dick! don’t chatter such folly. I want to have +some talk with Miss Nancy myself.”</p> +<p>“All right: I have had my innings,” returned naughty Dick; +but he shot a look at Nan that made her blush to her finger +ends, and that was not lost on Mr. Mayne.</p> +<p>“Well, now, Miss Nancy, what does all this mean?” he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +asked, harshly. “Here we have run down just in a friendly +way,—Dick and I,—leaving the mother rather knocked up after +her travels at Longmead, to look you up and see how you are +getting on. And now we find you have been deceiving us all +along, and keeping us in the dark, and that you are making +yourselves the talk of the place, sewing a parcel of gowns for +all the townspeople.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mayne did not add that his son had so bothered him for +the last three weeks to run down to Hadleigh that he had acceded +at last to his request, in the hope of enjoying a little +peace.</p> +<p>“Draw it mild!” muttered Dick, who did not much admire +this opening tirade; but Nan answered, with much dignity,—</p> +<p>“If people talk about us it is because of the novelty. They +have never heard of gentle-people doing this sort of work before––”</p> +<p>“I should think not!” wrathfully from Mr. Mayne.</p> +<p>“Things were so bad with us that we should have all had to +separate if Phillis had not planned this scheme; and then +mother would have broken her heart; but now we are getting +on famously. Our work gives satisfaction, we have plenty of +orders; we do not forfeit people’s good opinions, for we have +nothing but respect shown us, and––”</p> +<p>But here Mr. Mayne interrupted her flow of quiet eloquence +somewhat rudely.</p> +<p>“Pack of nonsense!” he exclaimed, angrily. “I wonder at +your mother,—I do indeed. I thought she had more sense. +You have no right to outrage your friends in this way! it is +treating us badly. What will your mother say, Dick? She +will be dreadfully shocked. I am sorry for you, my boy,—I +am indeed: but, under the circumstances––”</p> +<p>But what he was about to add was checked by a very singular +proceeding on the part of his son; for Dick suddenly took Nan’s +hand, and drew her forward.</p> +<p>“Don’t be sorry for me, father: I am the happiest fellow +alive. Nan and I have come to an understanding at last, after +all these years. Allow me to present to you the future Mrs. +Richard Mayne.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXI_DICK_THINKS_OF_THE_CITY' id='CHAPTER_XXXI_DICK_THINKS_OF_THE_CITY'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> +<h3>DICK THINKS OF THE CITY.</h3> +</div> +<p>When Dick had uttered this audacious speech, Mr. Mayne +started back, and his expression of mingled wrath and dismay +was so ludicrous that under any other circumstances his son +would have found it difficult to keep his countenance. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span></p> +<p>“What! what!” he almost shouted, losing all sense of +politeness, and even of Nan’s presence; “you young fool, +what do you mean by trumping up this nonsense and presuming +to talk to me in this way?”</p> +<p>Dick thought it prudent to drop Nan’s hand,—and, indeed, the +girl shrank away from them both in alarm at this outburst: +nevertheless, his countenance and bearing maintained the same +admirable <i>sang-froid</i>, as he confronted his angry parent:</p> +<p>“Now, father, what is the use of calling me names? When +a fellow is of age, and knows his own mind, he does not care a +pin for being called a fool. ‘Hard words break no bones,’ as +our copy-leaves used to tell us,—no, I have not got that quite +right; but that is about my meaning. Look here, father,” he +continued, in a coaxing, boyish voice; “I have cared for Nan +ever since she was a little creature so high,” again reverting to +the infantile measurement. “I have always meant to marry +her,—that is, if she would have me,” correcting himself, as Nan +drew herself up a little proudly. “Money or no money, there +is not another girl in England that I would have for a wife. I +would wait for her if I had to wait half my life, just the same as +she would wait for me; and so, as I said before, when a fellow +has made up his mind, there is nothing more to say.” And +here Dick pursed up his lips for a whistle, but thought better of +it, and fell to twisting and untwisting the ends of his sandy +moustache.</p> +<p>Nan’s downcast eyes revealed nothing. But if Dick could +only have seen the happy look in them! What eloquence could +ever have been so dear to her as that clear rough-and-ready +statement of her lover’s feelings for her? “There is not another +girl in England that I would have for a wife.” Could anything +surpass the beauty of that sentence? Oh, how manly, how +true he was, this Dick of hers!</p> +<p>“Oh, indeed! I am to say nothing, am I?” returned Mr. +Mayne, with exquisite irony. “My son is to dictate to me; +and I am to be silent! Oh, you young fool!” he muttered +under his breath; but then for the moment words seemed to +fail him.</p> +<p>In spite of the wrath that was boiling within him, and to which +he did not dare give vent in Nan’s presence, in spite of the grief +and disappointment that his son’s defiance had caused him, +Dick’s bearing filled him with admiration and amazement.</p> +<p>This boy of his was worth something, he thought. He had a +clear head of his own, and could speak to some purpose. Was a +likely young fellow like this to be thrown away on that Challoner +girl? Poor Nan! Pretty and blooming as she looked, Mr. Mayne +felt almost as though he hated her. Why had she come between +his boy and him? Had he a dozen sons, that he could spare one +of them? Was not Dick his only one,—the son of his right +hand, his sole hope and ambition? Mr. Mayne could have wept +as these thoughts passed through his mind. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span></p> +<p>It was at this moment that Nan thought it right to speak. +Dick had had his say, but it was not for her to be silent.</p> +<p>“Mr. Mayne, please listen to me a moment,” she said, pleadingly. +“No; I must speak to your father,” as Dick, much +alarmed, tried to silence her. “He must not think hard things +of us, and misunderstand us.”</p> +<p>“No, dear; indeed you had better be silent!” implored Dick, +anxiously; but Nan for once turned a deaf ear to him.</p> +<p>“I must speak,” she persisted. “Mr. Mayne, it is quite true +what Dick says: we have been together all our lives, and have +grown to care for each other. I cannot remember the time,”—the +tears coming into her bright eyes—“when Dick was not +more to me than a brother; it is all of such long standing, it is +far, far too late to stop it now.”</p> +<p>“We shall see about that, Miss Nancy,” muttered Mr. Mayne, +between his teeth; but the girl did not seem to hear him.</p> +<p>“Dick took me by surprise just now. I ought to have been +more on my guard, and not have given him that promise.”</p> +<p>“What promise?” demanded Mr. Mayne, harshly; and Nan +hung her head, and returned, shyly,—</p> +<p>“That I would marry him some time; but indeed—indeed he +made me say it, and I was so taken by surprise. No, Dick; +you must let me finish,” for Dick was looking at her with piteous +entreaty in his eyes. “I know we were wrong to say so much +without your leave; but indeed I will do your son no harm. I +cannot marry any one else, because I am engaged to him; but +as far as he is concerned he is free. I will never marry him without +your permission; he shall not come here if you do not wish; +but do not be so angry with us;” and here her lip quivered. +“If you did not mean this to happen, you should have kept us +apart all these years.”</p> +<p>“Oh, hush, dear!” whispered Dick in her ear; but Mr +Mayne almost thrust him aside, and laid a rough grasp on the +girl’s wrist. “Never mind him: answer me one question. Are +you serious in what you say, that you will never marry him +without my permission?”</p> +<p>“Of course I will not,” answered Nan, quite shocked. “Dick +would not ask me to do such a thing; he is far too honorable, +and—and—no one would think of such a thing.”</p> +<p>“Very well; that is all I wanted to know;” and he released +her, not over-gently: “the rest I can settle with Master Dick +himself. Good-morning, Miss Nancy: under the circumstances +I do not think I will wait to see your mother. I am not +quite in the mood for ladies; perhaps, later on, I may have +something to say to her.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you mean to shake hands with me, Mr. Mayne?” +asked poor Nan, much distressed at the evil temper of Dick’s +father; but there was no sign of softening.</p> +<p>“Yes; I will shake hands with you, and gladly, if you will +promise to be sensible and send this boy of mine about his business. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +Come now, Nan; own for my comfort that it is only a +bit of boy-and-girl nonsense, that means nothing. I am not +over-particular, and do not object to a bit of flirting with young +folk.”</p> +<p>“You had better go with your father, Dick,” returned Nan, +with much dignity, and quite ignoring this speech.</p> +<p>Dick seized the little hand that had been so rudely rejected, +and kissed it under his father’s eyes.</p> +<p>“I will see you again somehow,” he whispered, and Nan was +quite content with this promise. Dick would keep his word, +she knew: he would not leave Hadleigh without seeing her.</p> +<p>A very unpleasant hour ensued for poor Dick. Mr. Mayne +in one of his worst tempers; he had conducted himself to Nan +in an ungentlemanly manner, and he knew it; as Dick said to +himself,—</p> +<p>“It is very hard on a fellow when one’s father acts like a +cad.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mayne had shown himself a cad. No gentleman by birth +or breeding would have conducted himself in that offensive +way. Bad temper had broken down the trammels of conventionality: +never before in his life had Dick felt so utterly ashamed +of his father. Mr. Mayne was conscious of his son’s criticism, +and it made things worse.</p> +<p>It spoke well for Dick’s prudence and self-command that he let +the storm of his father’s anger break over his head, and said no +word. Mr. Mayne ranted and raved; I am afraid he even +swore once or twice,—at least his language was undesirably +strong,—and Dick walked beside him and held his peace. +“Poor old boy, he is terribly cut up about this!” he thought +once.</p> +<p>Mr. Drummond saw them coming along, and wondered at +the energy of the older man. Was it the visit to the Friary that +had put him out? and then he fell anew into cogitation. +Who were these people who were so curious about the Challoners? +At least that sulky young fellow had taken no apparent +interest, for he had made an excuse to leave them; but the +other one had persisted in very close investigation. Perhaps +he was some relation,—an uncle, or a distant cousin; evidently +he had some right or claim to be displeased. Archie determined +to solve the mystery as soon as possible.</p> +<p>“Well, sir, have you nothing to say for yourself?” demanded +Mr. Mayne, when he had fairly exhausted himself. +He had disinherited Dick half a dozen times; he had deprived +him of his liberal allowance; he had spoken of a projected +voyage to New Zealand: and Dick had only walked on steadily, +and thought of the cold trembling little hand he had kissed. +“Have you nothing to say for yourself?” he vociferated.</p> +<p>Dick woke up at this.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I have plenty to say,” he returned cheerfully; +“but two cannot talk at once, you know. It was right for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +you to have the first innings, and all that; and I say, father,”—his +filial feelings coming to the surface,—“I am awfully sorry, +and so is Nan, to see you so vexed.”</p> +<p>“Speak for yourself,” was the wrathful answer. “Don’t +mention that girl’s name in my hearing for the present.”</p> +<p>“Whose name?—Nan’s?” returned Dick, innocently. “I +don’t see how we are to keep it out of the conversation, when the +row is all about her. Look here, father: I say again I am +awfully sorry you are vexed; but as N—she says, it is too late +to mend matters now. I have made my choice, for better for +worse, and I am sorry it does not please you.”</p> +<p>“Please me!” retorted Mr. Mayne; and then he added, +venomously: “The girl said you would not marry without my +permission; but I will never give it. Come, Dick, it is no use +thwarting me in this: you are our only child and we have +other plans for you. Pshaw! you are only a boy! You have +not seen the world yet. There are dozens of girls far prettier +than this Nan. Give this nonsense up, and there is nothing +I will not do for you; you shall travel, have your liberty, do +as you like for the next two or three years, and I will not worry +you about marrying. Why, you are only one-and-twenty; and +you have two more years of University life! What an idea,—a +fine young fellow like you talking of tying yourself down to +matrimony!”</p> +<p>“There is no use in my going back to Oxford, father,” returned +Dick, steadily; “thank you kindly all the same, but, it would +be sheer waste of money. I have made up my mind to go into +the City; it is the fashionable thing nowadays. And one does +not need Greek and Latin for that, though, of course, it is an +advantage to a fellow, and gives him a standing; but, as I +have to get my own living, I cannot afford the two years. +Your old chums Stanfield & Stanfield would give me a berth at +once.”</p> +<p>“Is the boy mad? What on earth do you mean by all this +tomfoolery?” demanded Mr. Mayne, unable to believe his ears. +His small gray eyes opened widely and irately on his son; but +Dick took no notice. He walked on, with his shoulders looking +rather square and determined; the corners of his mouth were +working rebelliously: evidently he did not dare to look at his +father for fear of breaking into incontrollable laughter. Really +the dear old boy was getting too absurd; he—Dick—could not +stand it much longer. “What in the name of all that is foolish +do you mean, sir?” thundered Mr. Mayne.</p> +<p>Dick executed a low whistle, and then he said, in an aggrieved +voice,—</p> +<p>“Well, father, I don’t call you very consistent. I suppose +I know what being disinherited means? In plain language, you +have told me about half a dozen times that if I stick to Nan I +am not to expect a shilling of your money. Now, in my own +mind, of course I call that precious hard on a fellow, considering +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +I have not been such a bad sort of son after all. But I am +not going to quarrel with you about that: a man has a right to +do as he likes with his own money.”</p> +<p>“Yes; but, Dick, you are going to be sensible, you know, and +drop the girl?” in a wheedling sort of tone.</p> +<p>“Excuse me, father; I am going to do nothing of the kind,” +returned Dick, with sudden firmness. “I am going to stick +to her, as you did to my mother; and for just as long, if it must +be so. I am not a bit afraid that you will not give your permission, +if we only wait long enough to prove that we are in earnest. +The only thing I am anxious about is how I am to get my +living; and that is why I will not consent to waste any more +time at the University. The bar is too uphill work; money is +made quickest in the City: so, if you will be good enough to +give me an introduction to Stanfield & Stanfield,—I know they +are a rattling good sort of people,—that is all I will trouble you +about at present.” And Dick drew in a long breath of relief +after this weighty speech.</p> +<p>“Do you mean this, Dick?” asked Mr. Mayne, rather feebly.</p> +<p>They had reached the hotel now, and, as they entered the +private room where their luncheon was awaiting them, he sat +down as though he had grown suddenly old and tired, and +rested his head on his hand, perhaps to hide the moisture that +had gathered under his shaggy eyebrows.</p> +<p>“Yes, father, I do,” returned Dick; but he spoke very gently, +and his hand touched his father’s shoulder caressingly. “Let +me give you some wine: all this business has taken it out of +you.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I have had a blow, Dick,—my only boy has given me +a blow,” returned Mr. Mayne, pathetically; but as he took the +wine his hand trembled.</p> +<p>“I am awfully sorry,” answered Dick, penitently: “if there +were anything else you had asked me but this—but I cannot give +up Nan.” And, as he pronounced the name, Dick’s eyes shone +with pride and tenderness. He was a soft-hearted, affectionate +young fellow, and this quarrel with his father was costing him +a great deal of pain. In everything else he would have been +submissive to his parents; but now he had a purpose and responsibility +in his life: he had to be faithful to the girl whom +he had won; he must think for her now as well as for himself. +How sweet was this sense of dual existence, this unity of +heart and aim!</p> +<p>Mr. Mayne fairly groaned as he read the expression on his +son’s face. Dick’s youthful countenance was stamped with +honest resolution. “I am going to stick to her, as you did +to my mother.”—that was what he had said. If this were +true, it was all over with Dick’s chances with the pretty little +heiress; he would never look at her or her thirty thousand +pounds; “but all the same he, Richard Mayne, would never +consent to his son marrying a dressmaker. If she had only +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +not disgraced herself, if she had not brought this humiliation on +them, he might have been brought to listen to their pleading in +good time and at his own pleasure; but now, never!—never!” +he muttered, and set his teeth hard.</p> +<p>“Dick,” he said, suddenly, for there had been utter silence +for a space.</p> +<p>“Yes, father.”</p> +<p>“You have upset me very much, and made me very unhappy; +but I wish you to say nothing to your mother, and we +will talk about this again. Promise me one thing,—that you +will go back to Oxford at least until Christmas.”</p> +<p>“What is the good of that, sir?” asked his son, dubiously.</p> +<p>“What is the good of anything? for you have taken every +bit of pleasure out of my life; but at least you can do as much +as this for me.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, father, if you wish it,” returned Dick, more cheerfully; +“but all the same I have fixed upon a City life.”</p> +<p>“We will talk of that again,” replied his father; “and, Dick, +we go home to-morrow, and, unless you promise me not to come +down to Hadleigh between this and Christmas, I shall be obliged +to speak to Mrs. Challoner.”</p> +<p>“Oh, there is no need for that,” returned Dick, sulkily.</p> +<p>“You give me your word?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” pushing aside his chair with a kick. “It would +be no use coming down to Hadleigh, for Nan would not speak +to me. I know her too well for that. She has got such a conscience, +you know. I shall write to her, but I do not know if +she will answer my letters; but it does not matter: we shall +both be true as steel. If you don’t want me any more, I think +I will have a cigar on the beach, for this room is confoundedly +hot.” And, without waiting for permission, Dick strode off, +still sulky and fully aware that his father meant to follow him, +for fear of his footsteps straying again down the Braidwood +Road.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXII_DICK_IS_TO_BE_OUR_REAL_BROTHER' id='CHAPTER_XXXII_DICK_IS_TO_BE_OUR_REAL_BROTHER'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> +<h3>“DICK IS TO BE OUR REAL BROTHER.”</h3> +</div> +<p>Never was a father more devoted to his son’s company than +Mr. Mayne was that day. Dick’s cigar was hardly alight before +his father had joined him. When Dick grew weary of throwing +stones aimlessly at imaginary objects, and voted the beach slow, +Mr. Mayne proposed a walk with alacrity. They dined together,—not +talking much, it is true, for Dick was still sulky, and his +father tired and inclined to headache, but keeping up a show +of conversation for the waiter’s benefit. But when that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +functionary had retired, and the wine was on the table, Dick +made no further effort to be agreeable, but placed himself in +the window-seat and stared moodily at the sea, while his father +watched him and drank his wine in silence.</p> +<p>Mr. Mayne was fighting against drowsiness valiantly.</p> +<p>Dick knew this, and was waiting for an opportunity to make +his escape.</p> +<p>“Had we not better ring for lights and coffee?” asked his +father, as he felt the first ominous sensations stealing over him.</p> +<p>“Not just yet. I feel rather disposed for a nap myself; and +it is a shame to shut out the moonlight,” returned that wicked +Dick, calling up a fib to his aid, and closing his eyes as he spoke.</p> +<p>The bait took. In another five minutes Mr. Mayne was +nodding in earnest, and Dick on tiptoe had just softly closed +the door behind him, and was taking his straw hat from its peg.</p> +<p>Nan was walking up and down the little dark lawn, feeling +restless and out of sorts after the agitation of the morning, +when she heard a low whistle at the other side of the wall, and +her heart felt suddenly as light as a feather.</p> +<p>Dick saw her white gown as she came down the flagged path +to the gate to let him in. The moonlight seemed to light it up +with a sort of glory.</p> +<p>“You are a darling not to keep me waiting, for we have not +a moment to lose,” he whispered, as she came up close to him. +“He is asleep now, but he will wake up as soon as he misses +me. Have you expected me before, Nan? But indeed I have +not been left to myself a moment.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I knew all about it, my poor Dick,” she answered, +looking at him so softly. “Phillis is reading to mother in the +parlor, and Dulce is in the work-room. I have nowhere to +ask you unless you come in and talk to them. But mother is +too upset to see you, I am afraid.”</p> +<p>“Let us wait here,” returned Dick, boldly. “No one can +hear what we say, and I must speak to you alone. No; I had +better not see your mother to-night, and the girls would be in +the way. Shall you be tired, dear, if you stand out here a +moment talking to me? for I dare not wait long.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no, I shall not be tired,” answered Nan gently. Tired, +when she had her own Dick near her!—when she could speak +to him,—look at him!</p> +<p>“All right; but it is my duty to look after you, now you belong +to me,” returned Dick, proudly. “Whatever happens,—however +long we may be separated,—you must remember that—that +you belong to me,—that you will have to account to me +if you do not take care of yourself.”</p> +<p>Nan smiled happily at this, and then she said,—</p> +<p>“I have told mother all about it, and she is dreadfully distressed +about your father’s anger. She cried so, and took his +part, and said she did not wonder that he would not listen to us; +he would feel it such a disgrace, his son wanting to marry a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +dressmaker. She made me unhappy, too, when she put it all +before me in that way,” and here Nan’s face paled perceptibly +in the moonlight, “for she made me see how hard it is on him, +and on your mother, too! Oh, Dick don’t you think you ought +to listen to them, and not have anything more to do with me?”</p> +<p>“Nan, I am shocked at you!”</p> +<p>“But, Dick!”</p> +<p>“I tell you I am utterly shocked! You to say such a thing to +my face, when we have been as good as engaged to each other +all our lives! Who cares for the trumpery dressmaking? +Not I!”</p> +<p>“But your father!” persisted Nan, but very faintly, for +Dick’s eyes were blazing with anger.</p> +<p>“Not another word! Nan, how dare you—after what you +have promised this morning! Have I not been worried and +badgered enough, without your turning on me in this way? If +you won’t marry me, you won’t; but I shall be a bachelor all +my life for your sake!” and Dick, who was so sore, poor fellow, +that he was ready to quarrel with her out of the very fulness +of his love, actually made a movement as though to leave her, +only Nan caught him by the arm in quite a frightened way.</p> +<p>“Dick! dear Dick!”</p> +<p>“Well?” rather sullenly.</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t leave me like this! It would break my heart! +I did not mean to make you angry. I was only pleading with +you for your own good. Of course I will keep my promise. +Have I not been true to you all my life? Oh, Dick! how can +you turn from me like this?” And Nan actually began to sob +in earnest, only Dick’s sweet temper returned in a moment at the +sight of her distress, and he fell to comforting her with all his +might; and after this things went on more smoothly.</p> +<p>He told her about his conversation with his father, and how +he had planned a city life for himself; but here Nan timidly +interposed:</p> +<p>“Would that not be a pity, when you had always meant to +study for the bar?”</p> +<p>“Not a bit of it,” was the confident answer. “That was my +father’s wish, not mine. I don’t mind telling you in confidence +that I am not at all a shining light. I am afraid I am rather a +duffer, and shall not make my mark in the world. I have +always thought desk-work must be rather a bore; but, after all, +with a good introduction and a tolerable berth, one is pretty +sure of getting on in the City. What I want is to make a little +nest cosey for somebody, and as quick as possible,—eh, Nan?”</p> +<p>“I do not mind waiting,” faltered Nan. But she felt at this +moment that no lover could have been so absolutely perfect as +her Dick.</p> +<p>“Oh, that is what girls always say,” returned Dick, rather +loftily. “They are never in a hurry. They would wait seven—ten +years,—half a lifetime. But with us men it is different. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +I am not a bit afraid of you. I know you will stick to me like +a brick, and all that; and father will come round when he sees +we are in earnest. But all the same I want to have you to myself +as soon as possible. A fellow likes the feeling of working +for his wife. I hate to think of these pretty fingers stitching +away for other people. I want them to work for me: do you +understand, Nan?’” And Nan, of course, understood.</p> +<p>Dick, poor fellow, had not much time for his love-making, he +and Nan had too much business to settle. Nan had to explain +to him that her mother was of opinion that under the present +circumstances, nothing ought to be done to excite Mr. Mayne’s +wrath. Dick might write to her mother sometimes, just to let +them know how he was getting on; but between the young +people themselves there must be no correspondence.</p> +<p>“Mother says it will not be honorable, and that we are not +properly engaged.” And, though Dick combated this rather +stoutly, he gave in at last, and agreed that, until the new year, +he would not claim his rights, or infringe the sacred privacy of +the Friary.</p> +<p>“And now I must go,” said Dick, with a great sigh; “and it +is good-bye for months. Now, I do not mean to ask your leave,—for +you are such a girl for scruples, and all that, and you +might take it into your head to refuse me: so there!”</p> +<p>Dick’s words were mysterious; but he very soon made his +meaning plain.</p> +<p>Nan said, “Oh, Dick!” but made no further protest. After +all, whatever Mr. Mayne and her mother said, they were engaged.</p> +<p>As Dick closed the little gate behind him, he was aware of a +tall figure looming in the darkness.</p> +<p>“Confound that parson! What does he mean by loafing +about here?” he thought, feeling something like a pugnacious +bull-dog at the prospect of a possible rival. “I forgot to ask +Nan about him; but I dare say he is after one of the other +girls.” But these reflections were nipped in the bud, as the +short, sturdy form of Mr. Mayne was dimly visible in the road.</p> +<p>Dick chuckled softly: he could not help it.</p> +<p>“All right, dear old boy,” he said to himself; and then he +stepped up briskly, and took his father’s arm.</p> +<p>“Do you call this honorable, sir?” began Mr. Mayne, in a +most irascible voice.</p> +<p>“I call it very neat,” returned Dick, cheerfully. “My dear +pater, everything is fair in love and war; and if you will nap +at unseasonable times—but that comes of early rising, as I have +often told you.”</p> +<p>“Hold your tongue, sir!” was the violent rejoinder. “It is +a mean trick you have served me, and you know it. We will +go back to-night; nothing will induce me to sleep in this place. +You are not to be trusted. You told me a downright lie. You +were humbugging me, sir, with your naps.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span></p> +<p>“I will plead guilty to a fib, if you like,” was Dick’s careless +answer. “What a fuss you are making, father! Did you +never tell one in your life? Now, what is the use of putting +yourself out?—it is not good at your age, sir. What would my +mother say? It might bring on apoplexy, after that port-wine.”</p> +<p>“Confound your impertinence!” rejoined Mr. Mayne, angrily; +but Dick patted his coat-sleeve pleasantly:</p> +<p>“There, that will do. I think you have relieved your feelings +sufficiently. Now we will go to business. I have seen +Nan, and told her all about it; and she has had it out with her +mother. Mrs. Challoner will not hear of our writing to each +other; and I am not to show my face at the Friary without +your permission. There is no fibbing or want of honor there: +Nan is not the girl to encourage a fellow to take liberties.”</p> +<p>“Oh, indeed!” sneered Mr. Mayne; but he listened attentively +for all that. And his gloomy eyebrows relaxed in the +darkness. The girl was not behaving so badly, after all.</p> +<p>“So we said good-bye,” continued Dick, keeping the latter +part of the interview to himself; “and in October I shall go +back for the term, as I promised. We can settle about the +other things after Christmas.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, we can talk about that by and by,” replied his +father, hastily; and then he waxed cheerful all at once, and +called his son’s attention to some new houses they were building. +“After all, Hadleigh is not such a bad little place,” he +observed; “and they gave us a very good dinner at the hotel. +It is not every one who can cook fish like that.” And then +Dick knew that the storm had blown over for the present, and +that his father intended to make himself pleasant and ignore all +troublesome topics.</p> +<p>Dick was a little tired when he went to bed; but, on the +whole, he was not unhappy. It was quite true that the idea of +a City life was repugnant to him, but the thought of Nan sweetened +even that. Nothing else remained to him if his father +chose to be disagreeable and withdraw his allowance, or +threaten to cut him off with a shilling, as other fellows’ fathers +did in novels.</p> +<p>“It is uncommonly unpleasant, having to wage war with +one’s own father,” thought Dick, as he laid his sandy head on +the pillow. “He is such an old trump, too, that it goes against +the grain. But when it comes to his wanting to choose a wife +for me, it is too much of a good thing: it is tyranny fit for the +Middle Ages. Let him threaten if he likes. He will find I shall +take his threats in earnest. After Christmas I will have it out +with him again; and if he will not listen to reason, I will go up +to Mr. James Stanfield myself, and then he will see that I mean +what I say. Heigho! I am not such a lucky fellow as Hamilton +always thinks me.” And at this juncture of his sad +cogitations Dick forgot all about it, and fell asleep. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span></p> +<p>Yes, Dick slept the sleep of the just. It was Mr. Drummond +who was wakeful and uneasy that night. A vague sense of +something wrong tormented him waking and sleeping.</p> +<p>Who was that sandy-headed young fellow who had been +twice to the Friary that day. What business had he to be +shutting the gate after him in that free-and-easy way at ten +o’clock at night? He must find it out somehow; he must +make an excuse for calling there, and put the question as indifferently +as he could; but even when he made up his mind to +pursue this course, Archie felt just as restless as ever.</p> +<p>He made his way to the cottage as early as possible. Phillis, +who was alone in the work-room, colored a little as she saw him +coming in at the gate. He came so often, he was so kind, so attentive +to them all, and yet she had a dim doubt in her mind +that troubled her at times. Was it for Nan’s sake that he came? +Could she speak and undeceive him before things went too far +with him? Yes, when the opportunity offered, she thought she +could speak, even though the speaking would be painful to her.</p> +<p>Mr. Drummond looked round the room with a disappointed +air as he entered, and then he came up to Phillis.</p> +<p>“You are alone?” he said, with a regretful accent in his +voice; at least Phillis fancied she detected it. “How is that? +Are your sisters out, or busy?”</p> +<p>“Oh, we are always busy,” returned Phillis, lightly; but, +curiously enough, she felt a little sore at his tone. “Nan has +gone down to Albert Terrace to take a fresh order, and Dulce +is in the town somewhere with mother. Don’t you mean to sit +down, Mr. Drummond? or is your business with mother? She +will not be back just yet, but I could give her any message.” +Phillis said this as she stitched away with energy; but one +quick glance had shown her that Mr. Drummond was looking +irresolute and ill at ease as he stood beside her.</p> +<p>“Thank you, but I must not stay and hinder you. Yes, my +business was with your mother; but it is of no consequence, +and I can call again.” Nevertheless, he sat down and deposited +his felt hat awkwardly enough on the table. He liked Phillis, +but he was a little afraid of her; she was shrewd, and seemed +to have the knack of reading one’s thoughts. He was wondering +how he should bring his question on the <i>tapis</i>; but Phillis, +by some marvellous intuition that really surprised her, had +already come to the conclusion that this visit meant something. +He had seen Dick; perhaps he wanted to find out all about him. +Certainly he was not quite himself to-day. Yes, that must be +what he wanted. Phillis’s kind heart and mother-wit were +always ready for an emergency.</p> +<p>“How full Hadleigh is getting!” she remarked, pleasantly, +as she adjusted the trimming of a sleeve. “Do you know some +old neighbors of ours from Oldfield turned up unexpectedly +yesterday? They are going away to-day, though,” she added, +with a little regret in her voice. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span></p> +<p>Archie brightened up visibly at this.</p> +<p>“Oh, indeed!” he observed, with alacrity. “Not a very +long visit. Perhaps they came down purposely to see you?”</p> +<p>“Yes, of course,” returned Phillis, confusedly. “They had +intended staying some days at the hotel, but Mr. Mayne suddenly +changed his mind, much to our and Dick’s disappointment; +but it could not be helped.”</p> +<p>“Dick,” echoed Archie, a little surprised at this familiarity +and then he added, somewhat awkwardly, “I think I saw the +young man and his father at the Library yesterday; and last +night as I was coming from the station I encountered him again +at your gate.”</p> +<p>“Yes, that was Dick,” answered Phillis, stooping a little +over her work. “He is not handsome, poor fellow! but he is +as nice as possible. They live at Longmead; that is next door +to our dear old Glen Cottage, and the gardens adjoin. We call +him Dick because we have known him all our lives, and he has +been a sort of brother to us.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I see,” drawled Archie, slowly. “That sort of +thing is very nice when you have not a man belonging to you. +It is a little awkward sometimes, for people do not always see +this sort of relationship. He seemed a nice sort of fellow, I +should say,” he continued, in his patronizing way, stroking his +beard complacently. After all, the sandy-headed youth was +no possible rival.</p> +<p>“Oh, Dick is ever so nice,” answered Phillis, enthusiastically; +“not good enough for—” and then she stopped and broke her +thread. “I am glad we are so fond of him,” she continued, +rather hurriedly, “because Dick is to be our real brother some +day. He and Nan have cared for each other all their lives, and, +though Mr. Mayne is dreadfully angry about it, they consider +themselves as good as engaged, and mean to live down his +opposition. They came to an understanding yesterday,” +finished Phillis, who was determined to bring it all out.</p> +<p>“Oh, indeed!” returned Archie: “that must be a great +relief, I am sure. There is your little dog whining at the door; +may I let him in?” And, without waiting for an answer, +Archie had darted out in pursuit of Laddie, but not before +Phillis’s swift upward glance had shown her a face that had +grown perceptibly paler in the last few minutes.</p> +<p>“Oh, poor fellow! I was right!” thought Phillis, and the +tears rushed to her eyes. “It was best to speak. I see that +now; and he will get over it if he thinks no one knows it. How +I wish I could help him! but it will never do to show the least +sympathy: I have no right.” And here Phillis sighed, and her +gray eyes grew dark with pain for a moment. Archie was +rather a long time absent; and then he came back with Laddie +in his arms, and stood by the window.</p> +<p>“Your news has interested me very much,” he said, and his +voice was quite steady. “I suppose, as this—this engagement +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +is not public, I had better not wish your sister joy, unless you +do it for me.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no; there is no need of that,” returned Phillis, in a +low voice. “Mother might not like my mentioning it; but I +thought you might wonder about Dick, and––” here Phillis got +confused.</p> +<p>“Thank you,” replied Archie, quietly; but now he looked at +her. “You are very kind. Yes, it was best for me to know.” +And then, as Phillis rose and gave him her hand, for he had +taken up his hat as he spoke, she read at once that her caution +had been in vain,—that he had full understanding why the +news had been told to him, and to him only, and that he was +grateful to her for so telling him.</p> +<p>Poor Phillis! she had accomplished her task; and yet as the +door closed behind the young clergyman, two or three tears fell +on her work. He was not angry with her; on the contrary, he +had thanked her, and the grasp of his hand had been as cordial +as ever. But, in spite of the steadiness of his voice and look, +the arrow had pierced between the joints of his armor. He +might not be fatally wounded,—that was not in the girl’s power +to know; but that he was in some way hurt,—made miserable +with a man’s misery,—of this she was acutely sensible; and the +strangest longing to comfort him—to tell him how much she +admired his fortitude—came over her, with a strong stinging +pain that surprised her.</p> +<p>Archie had the longest walk that day that he had ever had in +his life. He came in quite fagged and foot-sore to his dinner, +and far too tired to eat. Mattie told him he looked ill and worn +out; but, though he generally resented any such personal remarks, +he merely told her very gently that he was tired, and that +he would like a cup of coffee in his study, and not to be disturbed. +And when she took in the coffee presently, she found him buried +in the depths of his easy-chair, and evidently half asleep, and +stole out of the room on tiptoe.</p> +<p>But his eyes opened very speedily as soon as the door closed +upon her. It was not sleep he wanted, but some moral strength +to bear a pain that threatened to be unendurable. How had that +girl read his secret? Surely he had not betrayed himself! Nan +had not discovered it, for her calmness and sweet unconsciousness +had never varied in his presence. Never for an instant had +her changing color testified to the faintest uneasiness. He +understood the reason of her reserve now. Her thoughts had +been with this Dick; and here Archie groaned and hid his +face.</p> +<p>Not mortally hurt, perhaps; but still the pain and the sense of +loss were very bitter to this young man, who had felt for weeks +past that his life was permeated by the sweetness and graciousness +of Nan’s presence. How lovely she had seemed to him,—the +ideal girl of his dreams! It was love at first sight. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +knew that now. His man’s heart had been set on the hope of +winning her, and now she was lost to him.</p> +<p>Never for one moment had she belonged to him, or could belong +to him. “He and Nan have cared for each other all their +lives,”—that was what her sister had told him; and what remained +but for him to stamp out this craze and fever before it +mastered him and robbed him of his peace?</p> +<p>“I am not the only man who has had to suffer,” thought +Archie, as hours after he stumbled up to bed in the darkness. +“At least, it makes it easier to know that no one shares my +pain. These things are better battled out alone. I could not +bear even Grace’s sympathy in this.” And yet as Archie said +this to himself, he recalled without any bitterness the half-tender, +half pitying look in Phillis’s eyes. “She was sorry for +me. She saw it all; and it was kind of her to tell me,” thought +the young man.</p> +<p>He had no idea that Phillis was at that moment whispering +little wistful prayers in the darkness that he might soon be comforted.</p> +<p>Who knows how many such prayers are flung out into the +deep of God’s mercy,—comfort for such a one whom we would +fain comfort ourselves; feeble utterances and cries of pity; the +stretching out of helpless hands, which nevertheless may bring +down blessings? But so it shall be while men and women +struggle and fall, and weep the tears common to humanity, +“until all eyes are dried in the clear light of eternity, and the +sorest heart shall then own the wisdom of the cross that had +been laid upon them.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXIII_THIS_IS_LIFE_AND_DEATH_TO_ME' id='CHAPTER_XXXIII_THIS_IS_LIFE_AND_DEATH_TO_ME'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> +<h3>“THIS IS LIFE AND DEATH TO ME.”</h3> +</div> +<p>Phillis found it difficult during the next few days to reconcile +divided sympathies; a nice adjustment of conflicting feelings +seemed almost impossible. Nan was so simply, so transparently +happy, that no sister worthy of the name could refuse to +rejoice with her: a creature so brimming over with gladness, +with contented love, was certain to reflect heart-sunshine. On +the other hand, there was Mr. Drummond! To be glad and +sorry in a breath was as provoking to a feeling woman as the +traveller’s blowing hot and cold was to the satyr in the fable.</p> +<p>In trying to preserve an even balance Phillis became decidedly +cross. She was one who liked a clear temperature,—neither +torrid nor frigid. Too much susceptibility gave her an east-windy +feeling; to be always at the fever-point of sympathy with +one’s fellow-creatures would not have suited her at all. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span></p> +<p>Nan, who possessed more sweetness of temper than keenness +of psychological insight, could not understand what had come to +Phillis. She was absent, a trifle sad, and yet full of retort. At +times she seemed to brim over with a wordy wisdom that made +no sort of impression.</p> +<p>One evening, as they were retiring to bed, Nan beckoned her +into her little room, and shut the door. Then she placed a seat +invitingly by the open window, which was pleasantly framed +by jasmine; and then she took hold of Phillis’s shoulders in a +persuasive manner.</p> +<p>“Now, dear,” she said, coaxingly, “you shall just tell me all +about it.”</p> +<p>Phillis looked up, a little startled. Then, as she met Nan’s +gentle, penetrative glance, she presented a sudden blank of non-comprehension, +most telling on such occasions, and yawned +slightly.</p> +<p>“What do you mean, Nannie?” in a somewhat bored tone.</p> +<p>“Come, dear, tell me,” continued Nan, with cheerful pertinacity. +“You are never dull or touchy without some good +reason. What has been the matter the last few days? Are you +vexed or disappointed about anything? Are you sure—quite +sure you are pleased about Dick?”—the idea occurring to her +suddenly that Phillis might not approve of their imprudent +engagement.</p> +<p>“Oh, Nannie, how absurd you are!” returned Phillis, pettishly. +“Have I not told you a dozen times since Wednesday +how delighted I am that you have come to an understanding? +Have I not sounded his praises until I was hoarse? Why, if I +had been in love with Dick myself I could not have talked about +him more.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I know you have been very good, dear; but still I +felt there was something.”</p> +<p>“Oh, dear, no!” returned Phillis decidedly, and her voice +was a little hard. “The fact is, you are in the seventh heaven +yourself, and you expect us to be there too. Not that I wonder +at you, Nannie, because Dick—dear old fellow—is ever so +nice.”</p> +<p>She threw in this last clause not without intention, and of +course the tempting bait took at once.</p> +<p>“I never knew any one half so good,” replied Nan, in a +calmly satisfied tone. “You have hinted once or twice, Phil, +that you thought him rather too young,—that our being the +same age was a pity; but—do you know?—in Dick’s case it does +not matter in the least. No man double his age could have +made his meaning more plain, or have spoken better to the purpose. +He is so strong and self-reliant and manly: and with all +his fun, he is so unselfish.”</p> +<p>“He will make you a very good husband, Nan; I am sure of +that.”</p> +<p>“I think he will,” returned Nan, with a far-away look in her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +eyes. She was recalling Dick’s speech about the nest that he +wanted to make cosey for some one. “Phil, dear,” she went +on, after this blissful pause, “I wish you had a Dick too.”</p> +<p>“Good Gracious, Nannie!”</p> +<p>“I mean—you know what I mean,—some one to whom you +are first, and who has a right to care for you; it gives such a +meaning to one’s life. Of course it will come in time; no one +can look at you and not prophesy a happy future: it is only I +who am impatient and want it to come soon.”</p> +<p>Phillis wrinkled her brows thoughtfully over this speech: she +seemed inclined to digest and assimilate it.</p> +<p>“I dare say you are right,” she replied, after a pause. “Yes +it would be nice, no doubt.”</p> +<p>“When the real <i>he</i> comes, you will find how nice it is,” rejoined +Nan, with sympathetic readiness. “Do you know, Phil, +the idea has once or twice occurred to me that Mr. Drummond +comes rather often!” But here Phillis shook off her hand and +started from her chair.</p> +<p>“There is a moth singing its wings. Poor wee beastie! let +me save it, if it be not too late.” And she chased the insect +most patiently until the blue-gray wings fluttered into her +hand.</p> +<p>“There, I have saved him from utter destruction!” she cried +triumphantly, leaning out into the darkness. “He has scorched +himself, that is all;” then as she walked back to her sister, her +head was erect, and there was a beautiful earnest look upon her +face.</p> +<p>“Nannie, I don’t want to find fault with you, but don’t you +remember how we used to pride ourselves, in the dear old days, +in not being like other girls,—the Paines, for example, or even +Adelaide Sartoris, who used to gossip so much about young +men.”</p> +<p>Nan opened her eyes widely at this, but made no answer.</p> +<p>“We must not be different now, because our life is narrower +and more monotonous. I know, talking so much over +our work, we have terrible temptations to gossip; but I can’t +bear to think that we should ever lower our standard, ever degenerate +into the feeble girlishness we abhor. We never used to +talk about young men, Nan, except Dick; and that did not +matter. Of course we liked them in their places, and had +plenty of fun, and tormented them a little; but you never +made such a speech as that at Glen Cottage.”</p> +<p>“Oh, dear! oh, dear! What have I done?” exclaimed +Nan, much distressed at this rebuke. “I do think you are +right, Phil; and it was naughty of me to put such a thing into +your head.”</p> +<p>“You have put no idea into my head,” replied Phillis, with +crisp obstinacy. “There! I am only moralizing for my own +good, as well as yours. Small beginnings make great endings. +If we once began to gossip, we might end by flirting; and, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +Nan, if you knew how I hate that sort of thing!” And Phillis +looked grand and scornful.</p> +<p>“Yes, dear; and I know you are right,” returned Nan, +humbly. She was not quite sure what she had done to provoke +this outburst of high moral feeling: but she felt that Phillis +was dreadfully in earnest. They kissed each other rather +solemnly after that, and Phillis was suffered to depart in +silence.</p> +<p>That night there was no wistful little prayer that Mr. Drummond +might be comforted: Phillis had too many petitions to +offer up on her own account. She was accusing herself of pride, +and Pharisaism, and hypocrisy, in no measured terms. “Not +like other girls! I am worse,—worse,” she said to herself. And +then, among other things, she asked for the gift of content,—for +a quiet, satisfied spirit, not craving or embittered,—strength +to bear her own and her friends’ troubles, and far-looking faith +to discern “God’s perfectness round our uncompleteness,—round +our restlessness His rest.”</p> +<p>The following evening, as Phillis was sorting out patterns in +the work-room, a note was brought to her from the White +House. It was in Mrs. Cheyne’s handwriting, and, like herself, +strangely abrupt.</p> +<p>“Your visits are like angels’ visits,—extremely rare,” it began. +“I am afraid I have frightened you away, as I have frightened +the parson. I thought you had more wit than he to discern +between mannerism and downright ill-humor. This evening +the temperature is equable,—not the sign of a brooding cloud: +so put on your hat, like a good girl, and come over. Miss Mewlstone +and I will be prepared to welcome you.”</p> +<p>“You had better go,” observed Nan, who had read the note +over her sister’s shoulder: “you have worked so dreadfully hard +all day, and it will be a little change.”</p> +<p>“No one cares for east winds as a change,” replied Phillis, +dryly; nevertheless, she made up her mind that she would go. +She was beginning to dread being summoned to the White +House: she felt that Mrs. Cheyne alternately fascinated and +repelled her. She was growing fond of Miss Mewlstone; but +then, on these occasions, she had so little intercourse with her. +The charitable instinct that was always ready to be kindled in +Phillis’s nature prompted her to pay these visits; and yet she +always went reluctantly.</p> +<p>She had two encounters on the road, both of which she had +foreseen with nice presentiment.</p> +<p>The first was with Mr. Drummond.</p> +<p>He was walking along slowly, with his eyes on the ground. +A sort of flush came to his face when he saw Phillis; and then +he stopped, and shook hands, and asked after them all comprehensively, +yet with constraint in his voice. Phillis told him +rather hurriedly that she was going to the White House: Mrs. +Cheyne had sent for her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span></p> +<p>Archie smiled:</p> +<p>“I am glad she does not send for me. I have not been there +for a long time. Sarcasm is not an attractive form of welcome. +It slams the door in a man’s face. I hope you will not get +some hard hits, Miss Challoner.” And then he went on his +way.</p> +<p>As she approached Mrs. Williams’s cottage, Mr. Dancy was, +as usual, leaning against the little gate. He stepped out in the +road, and accosted her.</p> +<p>“I have not called on your mother,” he began, rather abruptly. +“After all, I thought it best not to trouble her just now. Can +you spare me a few minutes? or are you going in there?” looking +towards the White House.</p> +<p>“I am rather in a hurry,” returned Phillis, surprised at his +manner, it seemed so agitated. “I am already late, and Mrs. +Cheyne will be expecting me.”</p> +<p>“Very well: another time,” he replied, stepping back without +further ceremony; but until Phillis’s figure disappeared in the +trees he watched her, leaning still upon the little gate.</p> +<p>Mrs. Cheyne received her with a frosty smile; but, on the +whole, her manner was more gracious than usual, and by and +by it thawed completely.</p> +<p>She was a little captious at first, it was true, and she snubbed +poor Miss Mewlstone decidedly once or twice,—but then Miss +Mewlstone was used to being snubbed,—but with Phillis she was +sparing of sarcasms. After a time she began to look kindly at the +girl; then she bade her talk, rather peremptorily, because she +liked her voice and found it pleasant to listen to her; and by +and by Phillis grew more at her ease, and her girlish talk rippled +on as smoothly as possible.</p> +<p>Mrs. Cheyne’s face softened and grew strangely handsome as +she listened: she was drawing Phillis out,—leading her to speak +of the old life, and of all their youthful sources of happiness. +Then she fell into a retrospect of her own young days, when she +was a spoiled madcap girl and had all sorts of daring adventures.</p> +<p>Phillis was quite fascinated; she was even disappointed when +Miss Mewlstone pointed out the lateness of the hour.</p> +<p>“I have enjoyed myself so much,” she said, as she put on her +hat.</p> +<p>“I meant you to enjoy yourself,” returned Mrs. Cheyne, +quietly, as she drew the girl’s face down to hers. “I have given +you such a bad impression that you look on me as a sort of +moral bugbear. I can be very different, when I like, and I have +liked to be agreeable to-night.” And then this strange woman +took up a rich cashmere shawl from the couch where she was +lying, and folded it around Phillis’s shoulders. “The evenings +are chilly. Jeffreys can bring this back with her;” for Mrs. +Cheyne had already decided that this time her maid should +accompany Phillis to the cottage. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span></p> +<p>Phillis laughed in an amused fashion as she saw the reflection +of herself in one of the mirrors: her figure looked quite queenly +enveloped in the regal drapery. “She has forgotten all about +the dressmaking,” she thought to herself, as she tripped downstairs.</p> +<p>It was a lovely moonlight evening; the avenue was white and +glistening in the soft light; the trees cast weird shadows on the +grass. Phillis was somewhat surprised to see in the distance +Mr. Dancy’s tall figure pacing to and fro before the lodge-gate. +He was evidently waiting for her; for as she approached he +threw away his cigar and joined her at once. Jeffreys, who +thought he was some old acquaintance, dropped behind very +discreetly, after the manner of waiting-women.</p> +<p>“How long you have stayed this evening! I have been +walking up and down for more than an hour, watching for you,” +he began, with curious abruptness.</p> +<p>This and no more did Jeffreys hear before she lingered out of +earshot. The lady’s maid thought she perceived an interesting +situation, and being of a susceptible and sympathetic temperament, +with a blighted attachment of her own, there was no fear +of her intruding. Phillis looked around once, but Jeffreys was +absorbed in her contemplations of the clouds.</p> +<p>“I thought you were never coming,” he continued; and then +he stopped all at once, and caught hold of the fringe of the +shawl. “This is not yours: I am sure I have seen Magdalene +in it. Pshaw! what am I saying? the force of old habit. I +knew her once as Magdalene.”</p> +<p>“It is dreadfully heavy, and, after all, the evening is so +warm,” returned Phillis, taking no notice of this incoherent +speech.</p> +<p>“Let me carry it,” he rejoined, with singular eagerness; “it +is absurd, a wrap like that on such a night.” And, while +Phillis hesitated, he drew the shawl from her shoulders and +hung it over his arm, and all the way his disengaged right +hand rested on the folds, touching it softly from time to time, +as though the mere feeling of the texture pleased him.</p> +<p>“How was she to-night?” he asked, coming a little closer to +Phillis, and dropping his voice as he spoke.</p> +<p>“Who?—Mrs. Cheyne? Oh, she was charming! just a +little cold and captious at first, but that is her way. But this +evening she was bent on fascinating me, and she quite succeeded; +she looked ill, though, but very, very beautiful.”</p> +<p>“She never goes out. I cannot catch a glimpse of her,” he +returned, hurriedly. “Miss Challoner, I am going to startle—shock +you, perhaps; but I have thought about it all until my +head is dizzy, and there is no other way. Please give me your +attention a moment,” for Phillis, with a vague sense of uneasiness, +had looked around for Jeffreys. “I must see you alone: +I must speak to you where we shall not be interrupted. To call +on your mother will be no good; you and only you can help +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +me. And you are so strong and merciful—I can read that in +your eyes—that I am sure of your sympathy, if you will only +give me a hearing.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Dancy! oh, what can you mean?” exclaimed Phillis. +She was dreadfully frightened at his earnestness, but her voice +was dignified, and she drew herself away with a movement full +of pride and <i>hauteur</i>. “You are a stranger to me; you have +no right––”</p> +<p>“The good Samaritan was a stranger too. Have you forgotten +that?” he returned, in a voice of grave rebuke. “Oh, +you are a girl; you are thinking of your mother! I have +shocked your sense of propriety, my child; for you seem a +child to me, who have lived and suffered so much. Would you +hesitate an instant if some poor famishing wretch were to ask +you for food or water? Well, I am that poor wretch. What I +have to tell you is a matter of life and death to me. Only a +woman—only you—can help me; and you shrink because we +have not had a proper introduction. My dear young lady, you +have nothing to fear from me. I am unfortunate, but a gentleman,—a +married man, if that will satisfy your scruples––”</p> +<p>“But my mother,” faltered Phillis, not knowing what to say +to this unfortunate stranger, who terrified and yet attracted +her by turns.</p> +<p>Never had she heard a human voice so persuasive, and yet +so agonized in its intensity. A conviction of the truth of his +words seized upon her as she listened,—that he was unhappy, +that he needed her sympathy for some purpose of his own, and +yet that she herself had nothing to do with his purpose. But +what would Nan say if she consented—if she acceded to such +an extraordinary proposition—to appoint a meeting with a +stranger?</p> +<p>“It is life and death to me; remember that!” continued Mr. +Dancy, in that low, suppressed voice of agitation. “If you +refuse on the score of mere girlish propriety, you will regret it. +I am sure of that. Trust to your own brave heart, and let it +answer for you. Will you refuse this trifling act of mercy,—just +to let me speak to you alone, and tell you my story? When +you have heard that, you will take things into your own hands.”</p> +<p>Phillis hesitated, and grew pale with anxiety; but the instincts +of her nature were stronger than her prudence. From +the first she had believed in this man, and felt interested in him +and his mysterious surroundings. “One may be deceived in +a face, but never in a voice,” she had said, in her pretty dictatorial +way; and now this voice was winning her over to his +side.</p> +<p>“It is not right; but what can I do? You say I can help +you.”—And then she paused. “To-morrow morning I have +to take some work to Rock Building. I shall not be long. But +I could go on the beach for half an hour. Nan would spare me. +I might hear your story then.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span></p> +<p>She spoke rapidly, and rather ungraciously, as though she +were dispensing largess to a troublesome mendicant; but Mr. +Dancy’s answer was humble in its intense gratitude.</p> +<p>“God bless you! I knew your kind heart was to be trusted +There! I will not come any farther. Good-night; good-night, +a thousand thanks!” And, before Phillis could reply, this +strange being had left her side, and was laying the cashmere +shawl in Jeffreys’s arms slowly and tenderly, as though it were +a child.</p> +<p>Phillis was glad that Dulce opened the door to her that night, +for she was afraid of Nan’s questioning glance. Nan was tired, +and had retired early; and, as Dulce was sleepy too, Phillis was +now left in peace. She passed the night restlessly, walking up +at all sorts of untimely hours, her conscience pricking her into +wakefulness. To her well-ordered nature there was something +terrifying in the thought that she should be forced to take such +a step.</p> +<p>“Oh, what would mother and Nan say?” was her one cry.</p> +<p>“I know I am dreadfully impulsive and imprudent, but Nan +would think I am not to be trusted;” but she had passed her +word, and nothing now would have induced her to swerve from +it.</p> +<p>She ate her breakfast silently, and with a sense of oppression +and guilt quite new to her. She grew inwardly hot whenever +Nan looked at her, which she did continually and with the +utmost affection. Before the meal was over, however, Miss +Middleton and Mattie made their appearance, and in the slight +bustle of entrance Phillis managed to effect her escape.</p> +<p>The hour that followed bore the unreality of a nightmare. +Outwardly, Phillis was the grave, business-like dressmaker. +The lady who had sent for her, and who was a stranger to Hadleigh, +was much struck with her quiet self-possessed manners +and lady-like demeanor.</p> +<p>“Her voice was quite refined,” she said afterwards to her +daughter. “And she had such a nice face and beautiful figure. +I am sure she is a reduced gentlewoman, for her accent was perfect. +I am quite obliged to Miss Milner for recommending us +such a person, for she evidently understands her business. One +thing I noticed, Ada,—the way in which she quietly laid down +the parcel, and said it should be fetched presently. Any ordinary +dressmaker in a small town like this would have carried it +home herself.”</p> +<p>Poor Phillis! she had laid down the parcel and drawn on her +well-fitting gloves with a curious sinking at her heart: from the +window of the house in Rock Building she could distinctly see +Mr. Dancy walking up and down the narrow plat of grass before +the houses, behind the tamarisk hedge, his foreign-looking +cloak and slouch hat making him conspicuous.</p> +<p>“There is that queer-looking man again, mamma,” exclaimed +one of the young ladies, who was seated in the window. “I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +am sure he is some distinguished foreigner, he has such an air +with him.”</p> +<p>Phillis listened to no more, but hurried down the stairs and +then prepared to cross the green with some degree of trepidation. +She was half afraid that Mr. Dancy would join her at once, +in the full view of curious eyes; but he knew better. He sauntered +on slowly until she had reached the Parade and was going +towards a part of the beach where there was only a knot of +children wading knee-deep in the water, sailing a toy-boat. She +stood and watched them dreamily, until the voice she expected +sounded in her ear:</p> +<p>“True as steel! Ah, I was never deceived in a face yet. +Where shall we sit, Miss Challoner? Yes, this is a quiet corner, +and the children will not disturb us. Look at that urchin, +with his bare brown legs and curly head: is he not a study? +Ah, if he had lived—my––” And then he sighed, and threw +himself on the beach.</p> +<p>“Well,” observed Phillis, interrogatively. She was inclined +to be short with him this morning. She had kept her word, +and put herself into this annoying position; but there must be +no hesitation, no beating about the bush, no loss of precious +time. The story she had now to hear must be told, and with +out delay.</p> +<p>Mr. Dancy raised his eyes as he heard the tone, and then he +took off his spectacles as though he felt them an incumbrance. +Phillis had a very good view of a pair of handsome eyes, with +a lurking gleam of humor in them, which speedily died away +into sadness.</p> +<p>“You are in a hurry; but I was thinking how I could best +begin without startling you. But I may as well get it out without +any prelude. Miss Challoner, to Mrs. Williams I am only +Mr. Dancy; but my real name is Herbert Dancy Cheyne.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXIV_MISS_MEWLSTONE_HAS_AN_INTERRUPTION' id='CHAPTER_XXXIV_MISS_MEWLSTONE_HAS_AN_INTERRUPTION'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> +<h3>MISS MEWLSTONE HAS AN INTERRUPTION.</h3> +</div> +<p>“<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Herbert Dancy Cheyne!</span>”</p> +<p>As he pronounced the name slowly and with marked emphasis, +a low cry of uncontrollable astonishment broke from Phillis: +it was so unexpected. She began to shiver a little from the +sudden shock.</p> +<p>“There! I have startled you,—and no wonder; and yet +how could I help it? Yes,” he repeated, calmly, “I am that unfortunate +Herbert Cheyne whom his own wife believes to be +dead.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span></p> +<p>“Whom every one believes to be dead,” corrected Phillis, in +a panting breath.</p> +<p>“Is it any wonder?” he returned, vehemently; and his +eyes darkened, and his whole features worked, as though with +the recollection of some unbearable pain. “Have I not been +snatched from the very jaws of death? Has not mine been a +living death, a hideous grave, for these four years?” And +then, hurriedly and almost disconnectedly, as though the mere +recalling the past was torture to him, he poured into the girl’s +shrinking ears fragments of a story so stern in its reality, so +terrible in its details, that, regardless of the children that +played on the margin of the water, Phillis hid her face in her +hands and wept for sheer pity.</p> +<p>Wounded, bereft of all his friends, and left apparently dying +in the hands of a hostile tribe, Herbert Cheyne had owed his +life to the mercy of a woman, a poor, degraded ill-used creature, +half-witted and ugly, but who had not lost all the instincts of +her womanhood, and who fed and nursed the white stranger +as tenderly as though he were her own son.</p> +<p>While the old negress lived, Herbert Cheyne had been left in +peace to languish back to life, through days and nights of intolerable +suffering, until he had regained a portion of his old +strength; then a fever carried off his protectress, and he became +virtually a slave.</p> +<p>Out of pity for the tender-hearted girl who listened to him, +Mr. Cheyne hurried over this part of his sorrowful past. He +spoke briefly of indignities, abuse, and at last of positive ill +treatment. Again and again his life had been in danger from +brute violence; again and again he had striven to escape, and +had been recaptured with blows.</p> +<p>Phillis pointed mutely to his scarred wrists, and the tears +flowed down her cheeks.</p> +<p>“Yes, yes; these are the marks of my slavery,” he replied, +bitterly. “They were a set of hideous brutes; and the fetish +they worshipped was cruelty. I carry about me other marks +that must go with me to my grave; but there is no need to +dwell on these horrors. He sent His angel to deliver me,” he +continued, reverently; “and again my benefactor was a +woman.”</p> +<p>And then he went on to tell Phillis that one of the wives of +the chief in whose service he was took pity on him, and aided +him to escape on the very night before some great festival, +when it had been determined to kill him. This time he had +succeeded; and, after a series of hair-breadth adventures, he +had fallen in with some Dutch traders who had come far into +the interior in search of ivory tusks. He was so burnt by the +sun and disfigured by paint that he had great difficulty in proving +his identity as an Englishman. But at last they had suffered +him to join them, and after some more months of wandering +he had worked his way to the coast. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span></p> +<p>There misfortune bad again overtaken him, in the form of a +long and tedious illness. Fatigue, disaster, anguish of mind, +and a slight sunstroke had taken dire effect upon him; but this +time he had fallen into the hands of good Samaritans. The +widowed sister of the consul, a very Dorcas of good works, had +received the miserable stranger into her house; and she and +her son, like Elijah’s widow of Zarephath, had shared with him +their scanty all.</p> +<p>“They were very poor, but they pinched themselves for the +sake of the stricken wretch that was thrown on their mercy. +It was a woman again who succored me the third time,” continued +Mr. Cheyne: “you may judge how sacred women are +in my eyes now! Dear motherly Mrs. Van Hollick! when she +at last suffered me to depart, she kissed and blessed me as +though I were her own son. Never to my dying day shall I forget +her goodness. My one thought, after seeing Magdalene, +will be how I am to repay her goodness,—how I can make prosperity +flow in on the little household, that the cruse and cake +may never fail!”</p> +<p>“But,” interrupted Phillis at this point, “did you not write, +or your friends write for you, to England?”</p> +<p>Mr. Cheyne smiled bitterly:</p> +<p>“It seems as though some strange fatality were over me. +Yes, I wrote. I wrote to Magdalene, to my lawyer, and to +another friend who had known me all my life, but the ship +that carried these letters was burnt at sea. I only heard that +when I at last worked my way to Portsmouth as a common +sailor and in that guise presented myself at my lawyer’s chambers. +Poor man! I thought he would have fainted when he +saw me. He owned afterwards he was a believer in ghosts at +that moment.”</p> +<p>“How long ago was that?” asked Phillis, gently.</p> +<p>“Two months; not longer. It was then I heard of my children’s +death, of my wife’s long illness and her strange state. +I was ill myself, and not fit to battle through any more scenes. +Mr. Standish took me home until I had rested and recovered +myself a little; and then I put on this disguise—not that much +of that is necessary, for few people would recognize me, I believe—and +came down here and took possession of Mrs. Williams’s +lodgings.”</p> +<p>Phillis looked at him with mute questioning in her eyes. +She did not venture to put it into words, but he understood +her:</p> +<p>“Why have I waited so long, do you ask? and why am I +living here within sight of my own house, a spy on my own +threshold and wife? My dear Miss Challoner, there is a bitter +reason for that!</p> +<p>“Four years ago I parted from my wife in anger. There +were words said that day that few women could forgive. Has +she forgiven them? That is what I am trying to find out. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +Will the husband who has been dead to her all these years be +welcome to her living?” His voice dropped into low vehemence, +and a pallor came over his face as he spoke.</p> +<p>Phillis laid her hand on his own. She looked strangely eager:</p> +<p>“This is why you want my help. Ah! I see now! Oh, it +is all right—all that you can wish! It is she who is tormenting +herself, who has no rest day or night! When the thunder +came that evening—you remember—we sat beside the children’s +empty beds, and she told me some of her thoughts. When the +lighting flashed, her nerves gave way, and she cried out, in her +pain, ‘Did he forgive?’ That was her one thought. Her husband,—who +was up in heaven with the children,—did he think +mercifully of her, and know how she loved him? It was your +name that was on her lips when that good woman, Miss +Mewlstone, hushed her in her arms like a child. Oh, be comforted!” +faltered Phillis, “for she loves you, and mourns for +you as though she were the most desolate creature living!” +But here she paused, for something that sounded like a sob came +to her ear, and looking round, she saw the bowed figure of her +companion shaking with uncontrollable emotion,—those hard +tearless sobs that are only wrung from a man’s strong agony.</p> +<p>“Oh, hush!” cried the girl, tenderly. “Be comforted: +there is no room for doubt. There! I will leave you; you will +be better by and by.” And then instinctively she turned away +her face from a grief too sacred for a stranger to touch, and +walked down to the water, where the children had ceased playing, +and listened to the baby waves that lapped about her feet.</p> +<p>And by and by he joined her; and on his pale face there was +a rapt, serious look, as of one who has despaired and has just +listened to an angel’s tidings.</p> +<p>“Did I not say that you, and only you, could help me? This +is what I have wanted to know: had Magdalene forgiven me? +Now I need wait no longer. My wife and home are mine, and +I must take possession of my treasures.”</p> +<p>He stopped, as though overcome by the prospect of such happiness; +but Phillis timidly interposed:</p> +<p>“But, Mr. Cheyne, think a moment. How is it to be managed? +If you are in too great a hurry, will not the shock be too +much for her? She is nervous,—excitable. It would hardly +be safe.”</p> +<p>“That is what troubles me,” he returned, anxiously. “It is +too much for any woman to bear; and Magdalene—she was +always excitable. Tell me, you have such good sense; and, +though you are so young, one can always rely on a woman; +you understand her so well—I see you do—and she is fond of +you,—how shall we act that my poor darling, who has undergone +so much, may not be harmed by me any more?”</p> +<p>“Wait one moment,” returned Phillis, earnestly. “I must +consider.” And she set herself to revolve all manner of possibilities, +and then rejected them one by one. “There seems no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +other way,” she observed, at last, fixing her serious glance on +Mr. Cheyne. “I must seek for an opportunity to speak to Miss +Mewlstone. It must be broken carefully to your poor wife; I +am sure of that. Miss Mewlstone will help us. She will tell us +what to do, and how to do it. Oh, she is so kind, so thoughtful +and tender, just as though Mrs. Cheyne were a poor wayward +child, who must be guided and helped and shielded. I like her +so much: we must go to her for counsel.”</p> +<p>“You must indeed, and at once!” he returned, rather peremptorily; +and Phillis had a notion now what manner of man +he had been before misfortunes had tamed and subdued him. +His eyes flashed with eagerness; he grew young, alert, full of +life in a moment. “Forgive me if I am too impetuous; but I +have waited so long, and now my patience seems exhausted all +at once during the last hour. I have been at fever-point ever +since you have proved to me that my wife—my Magdalene—has +been true to me. Fool that I was! why have I doubted so +long? Miss Challoner, you will not desert me?—you will be +my good angel a little longer? You will go to Miss Mewlstone +now,—this very moment,—and ask her to prepare my wife?”</p> +<p>“It is time for me to be going home: mother and Nan will +think I am lost,” returned Phillis, in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone. +“Come Mr. Cheyne, we can talk as we go along.” For he was +so wan and agitated that she felt uneasy for his sake. She took +his arm gently, and guided him as though he were a child; and +he obeyed her like one.</p> +<p>“Promise me that you will speak to her at once,” he said, as +he walked beside her rather feebly; and his gait became all at +once like that of an old man. But Phillis fenced this remark +very discreetly.</p> +<p>“This afternoon or this evening, when I get the chance,” she +said, very decidedly: “if I am to help you, it must be as I +think best, and at my own time. Do not think me unkind, for +I am doing this for your own good: it would not help you if +your wife were to be brought to the brink of a nervous illness. +Leave it to me. Miss Mewlstone will serve us best, and she will +know.” And then she took her hand from his arm, and bade +him drop behind a little, that she might not be seen in the town +walking with him. “Good-bye! keep up your courage. I will +help you all I can,” she said, with a kindly smile, as he reluctantly +obeyed her behest. She was his good angel, but he must +not walk any longer in her shadow: angels do their good deeds +invisibly, as Phillis hoped to do hers. He thought of this as he +watched her disappearing in the distance.</p> +<p>Phillis walked rapidly towards the cottage. Archie, who +was letting himself in at his own door, saw the girl pass, carrying +her head high, and stepping lightly as though she were +treading on air. “Here comes Atalanta,” he said to himself; +but, though a smile came over his tired face, he made no effort +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +to arrest her. The less he saw of any of them the better, he +thought, just now.</p> +<p>Nan looked up reproachfully as the truant entered the work-room, +and Mrs. Challoner wore her gravest expression; evidently +she had prepared a lecture for the occasion. Phillis +looked at them both with sparkling eyes.</p> +<p>“Listen to me, Nan and mother. Oh, I am glad Dulce is not +here, she is so young and giddy; and she might talk—No, not +a word from either of you, until I have had my turn.” And +then she began her story.</p> +<p>Nan listened with rapt speechless attention, but Mrs. Challoner +gave vent to little pitying moans and exclamations of +dismay.</p> +<p>“Oh, my child!” she kept saying, “to think of your being +mixed up in such an adventure! How could you be so imprudent +and daring? Mrs. Williams’s lodger—a strange man! in +that outlandish cloak, too! and you walked home with him +that dark night! Oh, Phillis, I shall never be at peace about +you again!” and so on.</p> +<p>Phillis bore all this patiently, for she knew she had been incautious: +and when her mother’s excitement had calmed down +a little, she unfolded to them her plan.</p> +<p>“I must see Miss Mewlstone quite alone; and that unfinished +French merino will be such a good excuse, Nan. I will +take the body with me this afternoon, and beg her to let me try it +on; the rest must come afterwards, but this will be the best +way of getting her to myself.” And, as Nan approved of this +scheme, and Mrs. Challoner did not dissent, Phillis had very +soon made up her parcel, and was walking rapidly towards the +White House.</p> +<p>As she turned in at the gates she could see a shadow on the +blind in Mrs. Williams’s little parlor, and waved her hand towards +it. He was watching her, she knew: she longed to go +back and give him a word of encouragement and exhortation +to patience; but some one, Mr. Drummond perhaps, might see +her, and she dare not venture.</p> +<p>She sent her message by Jeffreys, and Miss Mewlstone soon +came trotting into the room; but she wore a slightly-disturbed +expression on her good-natured face.</p> +<p>She had been reading the third volume of a very interesting +novel, and had most unwillingly laid down her book at the +young dressmaker’s unseasonable request. Like many other +stout people, Miss Mewlstone was more addicted to passivity +than activity after her luncheon; and, being a creature of +habit, this departure from her usual rules flurried her.</p> +<p>“Dear, dear! to think of your wanting to try on that French +merino again!” she observed; “and the other dress fitted so +beautifully, and no trouble at all. And there has Miss Middleton +being calling just now, and saying they are expecting her +brother Hammond home from India in November; and it is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +getting towards the end of September now. I was finishing my +book, but I could not help listening to her,—she has such a +sweet voice. Ah, just so—just so. But aren’t you going to +open your parcel, my dear?”</p> +<p>“Never mind the dress,” returned Phillis, quickly. “Dear +Miss Mewlstone, I was sorry to disturb you; but it could not +be helped. Don’t look at the parcel: that is only an excuse. +My business is far more important. I want you to put on your +bonnet, and come with me just a little way across the road. +There is some one’s identity that you must prove.”</p> +<p>Phillis was commencing her task in a somewhat lame fashion; +but Miss Mewlstone was still too much engrossed with her +novel to notice her visitor’s singular agitation.</p> +<p>“Ah, just so—just so,” she responded; “that is exactly +what the last few chapters have been about. The real heir has +turned up, and is trying to prove his own identity; only he is +so changed that no one believes him. It is capitally worked +out. A very clever author, my dear––”</p> +<p>But Phillis interrupted her a little eagerly:</p> +<p>“Is that your tale, dear Miss Mewlstone? How often people +say truth is stranger than fiction! Do you know, I have +heard a story in real life far more wonderful than that? Some +one was telling me about it just now. There was a man whom +every one, even his own wife, believed to be dead; but after +four years of incredible dangers and hardships—oh, such hardships!—he +arrived safely in England, and took up his abode +just within sight of his old house, where he could see his wife +and find out all about her without being seen himself. He put +on some sort of disguise, I think, so that people could not find +him out.”</p> +<p>“That must be a make-up story, I think,” returned Miss +Mewlstone, a little provokingly; but her head was still full of +her book. Poor woman! she wanted to get back to it. She +looked at Phillis and the parcel a little plaintively. “Ah, just +so,—a very pretty story, but improbable,—very improbable, +my dear.”</p> +<p>“Nevertheless, it is true!” returned Phillis, so vehemently +that Miss Mewlstone’s little blue eyes opened more widely. +“Never mind your book. I tell you I have business so important +that nothing is of consequence beside it. Where is Mrs. +Cheyne? She must not know we are going out.”</p> +<p>“Going out!” repeated Miss Mewlstone, helplessly. “My +dear, I never go out after luncheon, as Magdalene knows.”</p> +<p>“But you are going out with me,” replied Phillis, promptly. +“Dear Miss Mewlstone, I know I am perplexing and worrying +you; but what can I do? Think over what I have just said,—about—about +that improbable story, as you called it; and +then, you will not be so dreadfully startled. You must come +with me now to Mrs. Williams’s cottage: I want you to see +her lodger.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span></p> +<p>“Her lodger!” Miss Mewlstone was fully roused now; and, +indeed, Phillis’s pale face and suppressed eager tones were not +without their due effect. Had the girl taken leave of her +senses? Why, the ladies at the White House led the lives of +recluses. Why should she be asked to call upon any stranger, +but especially a gentleman,—Mrs. Williams’s lodger? “My +dear,” she faltered, “you are very strange this afternoon.—Magdalene +and I seldom call on any one, and certainly not on gentlemen.”</p> +<p>“You must come with me,” replied Phillis, half crying with +excitement. She found her task so difficult. Miss Mewlstone +was as yielding as a feather bed in appearance, and yet it was +impossible to move her. “He calls himself Mr. Dancy; but +now he says that is not all his name: let me whisper it in your +ear, if it will not startle you too much. Think of Mrs. Cheyne, +and try and command yourself. Mrs. Williams’s lodger says +that he is Herbert Cheyne,—poor Mrs. Cheyne’s husband!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXXV_BARBY_DONT_YOU_RECOLLECT_ME' id='XXXV_BARBY_DONT_YOU_RECOLLECT_ME'></a> +<h2>XXXV.</h2> +<h3>“BARBY, DON’T YOU RECOLLECT ME?”</h3> +</div> +<p>“I do not believe it!—stuff and nonsense! You are crazy, +child, to come to me with this trumped-up story! The man is +an impostor. I will have the police to him. For heaven’s sake +don’t let Magdalene hear this nonsense!”</p> +<p>Phillis recoiled a few steps, speechless with amazement. +Miss Mewlstone’s face was crimson; her small eyes were sparkling +with angry excitement: all her softness and gentle inanity +had vanished.</p> +<p>“Give me a bonnet,—shawl,—anything, and I will put this +matter straight in a moment. Where is Jeffreys? Ring the +bell, please, Miss Challoner! I must speak to her.”</p> +<p>Phillis obeyed without a word.</p> +<p>“Ah, just so. Jeffreys,” resuming her old purring manner +as the maid appeared, “this young lady has a friend in trouble, +and wants me to go down to the cottage with her. Keep it from +your mistress if you can, for she hates hearing of anything sad; +say we are busy,—I shall be in to tea,—anything. I know you +will be discreet, Jeffreys.”</p> +<p>“Yes, ma’am,” returned Jeffreys, adjusting the shawl over +Miss Mewlstone’s shoulders; “but this is your garden-shawl, +surely?”</p> +<p>“Oh, it does not matter; it will do very well. Now Miss +Challoner, I am ready.” And so noiseless and rapid were her +movements that Phillis had much to do to keep up with her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span></p> +<p>“Won’t you listen to me?” she pleaded. “Dear Miss Mewlstone, +it is no made-up story; it is all true;” but to her astonishment, +Miss Mewlstone faced round upon her in a most indignant +manner:</p> +<p>“Be silent, child! I cannot, and will not, hear any more. +How should you know anything about it? Have you ever seen +Herbert Cheyne? You are the tool of some impostor. But I +will guard Magdalene; she shall not be driven mad. No, no, +poor dear! she shall not, as long as she has old Bathsheba to +watch over her.” And Phillis, in despair, very wisely held her +peace. After all she was a stranger: had she any proof but Mr. +Dancy’s word?</p> +<p>Just towards the last, Miss Mewlstone’s pace slackened; and +her hand shook so, as she tried to unlatch the little gate, that +Phillis was obliged to come to her assistance. The cottage +door stood open as usual, but there was no tall figure lurking +in the background,—no shadow on the blind.</p> +<p>“We had better go in there,” whispered Phillis, pointing to +the closed door of the parlor; and Miss Mewlstone, without +knocking, at once turned the handle and went in, while Phillis +followed trembling.</p> +<p>“Well, sir,” said Miss Mewlstone, sternly, “I have come to +know what you mean by imposing your story on this child.”</p> +<p>Mr. Dancy, who was standing with his back to them, leaning +for support against the little mantle-shelf, did not answer for a +moment; and then he turned slowly round, and looked at +her.</p> +<p>“Oh, Barby!” he said; “don’t you recollect me?” And +then he held out his thin hands to her imploringly, and added +“Dear old Barby! but you are not a bit changed.”</p> +<p>“Herbert—why, good heavens! Ah, just so—just so,” +gasped the poor lady, rather feebly, as she sat down, feeling her +limbs were deserting her, and every scrap of color left her face. +Indeed, she looked so flabby and lifeless that Phillis was alarmed +and flew to her assistance; only Mr. Cheyne waved her aside +rather impatiently.</p> +<p>“Let her be; she is all right. She knows me, you see: so I +cannot be so much altered. Barby,” he went on, in a coaxing +voice, as he knelt beside her and chafed her hands, “you +thought I was an impostor, and were coming to threaten me: +were you not? But now you see Miss Challoner was in the +right. Have you not got a word for me? Won’t you talk to +me about Magdalene? We have got to prepare her, you +know.”</p> +<p>Then, as he spoke his wife’s name, and she remembered her +sacred charge, the faithful creature suddenly fell on his neck in +piteous weeping.</p> +<p>“Oh, the bonnie face,” she wept, “that has grown so old, +with the sorrow and the gray hair! My dear, this will just +kill her with joy, after all her years of bitter widowhood.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +And then she cried again, and stroked his face as though he +were a child, and then wrung her hands for pity at the changes +she saw. “It is the same face, and yet not the same,” she said, +by and by. “I knew the look of your eyes, my bonnie man, +for all they were so piercing with sadness. But what have they +done to you, Herbert?—for it might be your own ghost,—so +thin; and yet you are brown, too; and your hair!” And she +touched the gray locks over the temples with tender fluttering +fingers.</p> +<p>“Magdalene never liked gray hairs,” he responded, with a +sigh. “She is as beautiful as ever, I hear; but I have not +caught a glimpse of her. Tell me, Barby,—for I have grown +timorous with sorrow,—will she hate the sight of such a miserable +scarecrow?”</p> +<p>“My dear! hate the sight of her own husband, who is given +back to her from the dead? Ay, I have much to hear. Why +did you never write to us, Herbert? But there! you have all +that to explain to her by and by.”</p> +<p>“Yes; and you must tell me about the children,—my little +Janie,” he returned, in a choked voice.</p> +<p>“Ah, the dear angels! But, Herbert, you must be careful. +Nobody speaks of them to Magdalene, unless she does herself. +You are impetuous, my dear; and Magdalene—well, she has not +been herself since you left her. It is pining, grief, and the dead +weight of loss that has ailed her being childless and widowed +at once. There, there! just so. We must be tender of her, +poor dear! and things will soon come right.”</p> +<p>“You need not fear me, Barby. I have learned my lesson at +last. If I only get my wife back, you shall see—you shall see +how I will make up to her for all I have ever made her suffer! +My poor girl! my poor girl!” And then he shaded his face, +and was silent.</p> +<p>Phillis had stolen out in the garden, and sat down on a little +bench outside, where passers-by could not discern her from the +road, and where only the sound of their voices reached her +faintly. Now and then, chance words fell on her ear,—“Magdalene” +over and over again; and “Janie” and “Bertie,”—always +in the voice she had so admired. By and by she heard +her own name, and rose at once, and found them looking for +her.</p> +<p>“Here is my good angel, Barby,” observed Mr. Cheyne, as +she came up smiling. “Not one girl in a thousand would have +acted as bravely and simply as she has done. We are friends +for life, Miss Challoner, are we not?” And he stretched out +his hand to her, and Phillis laid her own in it.</p> +<p>“I was a bit harsh with you, dearie, was I not?” returned +Miss Mewlstone, apologetically: “but there! you were such a +child that I thought you had been deceived. But I ought to +have known better, craving your pardon, my dear. Now we +will just go back to Magdalene; and you must help my stupid +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +old head, for I am fairly crazy at the thought of telling her. +Go back into the parlor and lie down, Herbert, for you are terribly +exhausted. You must have patience, my man, a wee bit +longer, for we must be cautious,—cautious, you see.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I must have patience,” he responded, rather bitterly. +But he went back into the room and watched them until they +disappeared into the gates of his own rightful paradise.</p> +<p>Miss Mewlstone was leaning on Phillis’s arm. Her gait was +still rather feeble, but the girl was talking energetically to her.</p> +<p>“What a spirit she has! just like Magdalene at her age,” +he thought, “only Magdalene never possessed her even temper. +My poor girl! From what Barby says, she has grown hard +and bitter with trouble. But it shall be my aim in life to +comfort her for all she has been through!” And then, as he +thought of his dead children, and of the empty nursery, he +groaned, and threw himself face downward upon the couch. +But a few minutes afterwards he had started up again, unable +to rest, and began to pace the room; and then, as though the +narrow space confined him, he continued his restless walk +into the garden, and then into the shrubberies of the White +House.</p> +<p>“My dear, I am not as young as I was. I feel as if all this +were too much for me,” sighed Miss Mewlstone, as she pressed +her companion’s arm. “One needs so much vitality to bear +such scenes. I am terrified for Magdalene, she has so little self-control! +and to have him given back to her from the dead! I +thank God! but I am afraid, for all that.” And a few more +quiet tears stole over her cheeks.</p> +<p>“Thinking of it only makes it worse,” returned Phillis, feverishly. +She, too, dreaded the ordeal before them; but she was +young, and not easily daunted. All the way through the shrubbery +she talked on breathlessly, trying to rally her own courage. +It was she who entered the drawing-room first, for poor +Miss Mewlstone had to efface the signs of her agitation.</p> +<p>Mrs. Cheyne looked up, surprised to see her alone.</p> +<p>“Jeffreys told me you and Miss Mewlstone had gone out together +on a little business. What have you done with poor old +Barby?” And, as Phillis answered as composedly and demurely +as she could, Mrs. Cheyne arched her eyebrows in her old satirical +way:</p> +<p>“She is in her room, is she? Never mind answering, if you +prefer your own counsel. Your little mysteries are no business +of mine. I should have thought the world would have come to +an end, though, before Barby had thrown down the third volume +of a novel for anything short of a fire. But you and she know +best.” And, as Phillis flushed and looked confused under her +scrutiny, she gave a short laugh and turned away.</p> +<p>It was a relief when Miss Mewlstone came trotting into the +room with her cap-strings awry.</p> +<p>“Dear, dear! have we kept you waiting for your tea, Magdalene?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +she exclaimed, in a flurried tone, as she bustled up +to the table. “Miss Challoner had a little business, and she +thought I might help her. Yes; just so! I have brought her +in, for she is tired, poor thing! and I knew she would be welcome.”</p> +<p>“It seems to me that you are both tired. You are as hot as +though you had walked for miles, Barby. Oh, you have your +secrets too. But it is not for me to meddle with mysteries.” +And then she laughed again, and threw herself back on her +couch, with a full understanding of the discomfort of the two +people before her.</p> +<p>Phillis saw directly she was in a hard, cynical mood.</p> +<p>“You shall know our business by and by,” she said, very +quietly. “Dear Miss Mewlstone, I am so thirsty, I must ask +you for another cup of tea.” But, as Miss Mewlstone took the +cup from her, the poor lady’s hand shook so with suppressed +agitation that the saucer slipped from her grasp, and the next +moment the costly china lay in fragments at her feet.</p> +<p>“Dear! dear!—how dreadfully careless of me!” fumed Miss +Mewlstone.</p> +<p>But Mrs. Cheyne made no observation. She only rang the +bell, and ordered another cup. But, when the servant had withdrawn, +she said, coldly,—</p> +<p>“Your hand is not as steady as usual this evening, Barby;” +and somehow the sharp incisive tone cut so keenly that, to +Phillis’s alarm, Miss Mewlstone became very pale, and then suddenly +burst into tears.</p> +<p>“This is too much!” observed Mrs. Cheyne, rising in serious +displeasure. She had almost a masculine abhorrence to tears of +late years; the very sight of them excited her strangely.</p> +<p>“Miss Challoner may keep her mysteries to herself if she +likes, but I insist on knowing what has upset you like this.”</p> +<p>“Oh dear! oh, dear!” sobbed the simple woman, wringing +her hands helplessly. “This is just too much for me! Poor +soul, how am I to tell her?” And then she looked at Phillis +in affright at her own words, which revealed so much and so +little.</p> +<p>Mrs. Cheyne turned exceedingly pale, and a shadow passed +over her face.</p> +<p>“‘Poor soul!’ does she mean me? Is it of me you are speaking, +Barby? Is there something for me to know, that you +dread to tell me? Poor soul, indeed!” And then her features +contracted and grew pinched. “But you need not be afraid. +Is it not the Psalmist who says, ‘All thy waves and thy billows +have gone over me’? Drowned people have nothing to fear: +there is no fresh trouble for them.” And her eyes took an awful +stony look that terrified Phillis.</p> +<p>“Oh, it is no fresh trouble!” stammered the girl. “People +are not tormented like that: they have not to suffer more than +they can bear.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span></p> +<p>But Mrs. Cheyne turned upon her fiercely:</p> +<p>“You are wrong, altogether wrong. I could not bear it, and +it drove me mad,—at least as nearly mad as a sane woman could +be. I felt my reason shaken; my brain was all aflame, and I +cried out to heaven for mercy; and a blank answered me. +Barby, if there be fresh trouble, tell me instantly, and at once. +What do I care? What is left to me, but a body that will not +die, and a brain that will not cease to think? If I could only +stop the thoughts! if I could only go down into silence and nothingness! +but then I should not find Herbert and the children. +Where are they? I forget!” She stopped, pressed her hands +to her brow with a strange bewildered expression; but Miss +Mewlstone crept up to her, and touched her timidly.</p> +<p>“My bonnie Magdalene!” she exclaimed; “don’t let the ill +thoughts come; drive them away, my poor dear. Look at me. +Did old Barby ever deceive you? There is no fresh trouble, my +pretty. In his own good time the All-Merciful has had +mercy!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Cheyne’s hand dropped down to her sides, but her brilliant +eyes showed no comprehension of her words.</p> +<p>“Why did you frighten me like that?” she repeated, rocking +herself to and fro; and her voice had a high, strained tone in it. +“There is no trouble, but your face is pale, and there are tears +in your eyes; and look how your hand shakes! Miss Challoner—Phillis, +what does she mean? Barby, you are a foolish old +woman; your wits are gone.”</p> +<p>“If they are gone, it is with joy!” she sobbed. “Yes, my +precious one! for sheer joy!” but then she broke down utterly. +It was Phillis who came to the rescue.</p> +<p>“Dear Mrs. Cheyne, I think I could tell you best,” she began, +in her sweet sensible voice, which somehow stilled Mrs. Cheyne’s +frightful agitation. “There has been some news,—a letter that +has been lost, which ought to have arrived months ago. We +have heard about it this afternoon.” She stopped, for there +seemed to be a faint sound of footsteps in the hall below. Could +he have followed them? What would be the result of such imprudence? +But, as she faltered and hesitated, Mrs. Cheyne +gripped her arm with an iron force:</p> +<p>“A letter from Herbert! Did he write to me? oh, my darling! +did he write to me before he died? Only one word—one +word of forgiveness, and I will say heaven indeed is merciful! +Give it to me, Barby! Why do you keep me waiting? Oh, +this is blessed, blessed news!” But Miss Mewlstone only clasped +her gently in her arms.</p> +<p>“One moment, my dearie! There is more than that. It is +not a message from heaven. There is still one living on earth +that loves you! Try and follow my meaning,” for the perplexed +stare had returned again. “Say to yourself, ‘Perhaps, after +all, Herbert is not dead. Nobody saw him die. He may be +alive; he may have written to me––” She stopped, for Mrs. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +Cheyne had suddenly flung up her arms over her head with a +hoarse cry, that rang through the house:</p> +<p>“Herbert! Herbert! Herbert!”</p> +<p>“I am here,—Magdalene! Magdalene!” A tall figure that +had crept unperceived through the open hall door, and had +lurked unseen in the shadow of the portiere, suddenly dashed +into the room, and took his wife’s rigid form into his arms. +“Magdalene!—love—wife! It is Herbert! Look up, my darling!—I +am here! I am holding you!” But there was no response. +Magdalene’s face was like the face of the dead.</p> +<p>They took her from him almost by force, for he refused to +give her up. Over and over again they prayed him to leave +her to their care, but he seemed like a deaf man that did not +hear.</p> +<p>“She is dead! I have killed her; but there is no reason +why I should give her up,” he had said, with terrible calm in +his voice.</p> +<p>“She is not dead!” returned Miss Mewlstone, almost angrily. +“She has been like this before; but Jeffreys and I know what +to do. Ay, you were always wilful, Herbert; but when it +comes to killing your own wife––” And after this he consented +to lay her down on her couch.</p> +<p>He watched them with wistful eyes as they tried the usual +remedies; but it was long before even the flicker of an eyelid +spoke to them of life. At the first sign of returning animation +Herbert crept just behind his wife’s pillow, where he could see +the first unclosing of the drooping lids. When Magdalene +opened her eyes at last, they fell full on her husband’s face.</p> +<p>Phillis, who was beside her, marvelled at the strange beauty +of that rapt look, as she lay and gazed at him.</p> +<p>“Herbert’s face!” they heard her whisper, in an awe-struck +voice. “Then I have died at last, and am in heaven. Oh, +how merciful! but I have not deserved it,—a sinner such +as I.”</p> +<p>“Magdalene, my darling, you are in our own home! It is I +who was lost, and have come back to you. Look at me. It is +only the children that are in heaven. You and I are spared to +each other on earth.” But for a long time her scattered faculties +failed to grasp the truth.</p> +<p>Phillis went home at last, and left them. There was nothing +she could do, and she was utterly spent; but Miss Mewlstone +kept watch beside her charge until late into the night.</p> +<p>Little by little the truth dawned slowly on the numbed brain; +slowly and by degrees the meaning of her husband’s tears and +kisses sank into the clouded mind. Now and again she wandered, +but Herbert’s voice always recalled her.</p> +<p>“Then I am not dead?” she asked him, again and again. +“They do not cry in heaven, and Barby was crying just now. +Barby, am I dreaming! Who is this beside me? is it Herbert’s +ghost? only his hands are warm, and mine are so terribly cold. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +Why you are crying too, love; but I am to tired to understand.” +And then she crept wearily closer and closer into his +arms, like a tired-out child who has reached home.</p> +<p>And when Herbert stooped over her gently, he saw that the +long lashes lay on her cheek. Magdalene had fallen asleep.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXVI_MOTES_IN_THE_SUNSHINE' id='CHAPTER_XXXVI_MOTES_IN_THE_SUNSHINE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> +<h3>MOTES IN THE SUNSHINE.</h3> +</div> +<p>That sleep was, humanly speaking, Magdalene’s salvation.</p> +<p>At the greatest crisis of her life, when reason hung in the +balance,—when the sudden influx of joy might have paralyzed +the overwrought heart and brain,—at that moment physical exhaustion +saved her by that merciful, overpowering sleep.</p> +<p>When she woke, it was to the resurrection of her life and +love. Months afterwards she spoke of that waking to Phillis, +when she lay in her bed weak as a new born babe, and the early +morning light streamed full on the face of her slumbering +husband.</p> +<p>They were alone; for Miss Mewlstone had just crept softly +from the room. Her movement had roused Magdalene. Herbert, +who was utterly worn out by his long watching, had just +dropped asleep, with his head resting against the wood-work. +He was still sitting in the arm-chair beside her, and only the +thin profile was visible.</p> +<p>The previous night had been passed by Magdalene in a semi-conscious +state: delirious imaginations had blended with realities. +There were flashes and intervals of comparative consciousness, +when the truth rushed into her mind; but she had been +too weak to retain it long. That she was dreaming or dead was +her fixed idea: that this was her husband’s greeting to her in +paradise seemed to be her one thought. “Strange that the +children do not kiss me too,” they heard her say once.</p> +<p>But now, as she opened her eyes, there was no blue misty haze +through which she ever feebly sought to pierce. She was lying +in her own room, where she had passed so many despairing +days and nights. The window was open; the sweet crisp +morning air fanned her temples; the birds were singing in the +garden below; and there beside her was the face so like, yet +so unlike, the face from which she had parted four years ago.</p> +<p>For a little while she lay and watched it in a sort of trance; +and then in the stillness full realization came to her, and she +knew that she was not mad or dreaming. This was no imagination: +it was reality.</p> +<p>With incredible effort, for she felt strangely weak, she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +raised herself on her elbow to study that dear face more +closely, for the change in it baffled her. Could this be her +Herbert? How bronzed and thin he had grown! Those lines +that furrowed his forehead, those hollows in the temples and +under the eyes, were new to her. And, oh, the pity of those +gray hairs in the place of the brown wavy locks she remembered! +But it was when she laid her lips against the scarred +wrist that Herbert woke, and met the full look of recognition +in his wife’s eyes, for which he had waited so long.</p> +<p>Now he could fall upon his knees beside her, and crave that +forgiveness for words and acts that had seared his conscience +all these years like red-hot iron. But at the first word she +stopped him, and drew his head to her breast:</p> +<p>“Oh, Herbert, hush! What! ask forgiveness of me, when I +have sinned against you doubly,—trebly,—when I was no true +wife, as you know? Oh, do not let us ask it of each other, but +of God, whom we have so deeply offended! He has punished +us; but He has been merciful too. He has taken our children +because we did not deserve them. Oh, Herbert! what will you +do without them?—for you loved Janie so!” And then for a +little while the childless parents could only hold each other’s +hands and weep, for to Herbert Cheyne the grief was new, and +at the sight of her husband’s sorrow Magdalene’s old wounds +seemed to open and bleed afresh; only now—now she did not +weep alone.</p> +<p>When Miss Mewlstone entered the room, shortly afterwards, +she found Magdalene lying spent and weary, holding her husband’s +hand.</p> +<p>Joy had indeed returned to the White House, but for a long +time it was joy that was strangely tempered with sorrow. +Upstairs no sound greeted Herbert from the empty nurseries; +there were no little feet pattering to meet the returned wanderer, +no little voices to cry a joyous “Father!” And for years the +desolate mother had borne this sorrow alone.</p> +<p>As the days passed on, Magdalene regained her strength +slowly, but neither wife nor husband could hide from each +other the fact that their health was broken by all they had +gone through. Herbert’s constitution was sadly impaired for +the remainder of his life: he knew well that he must carry +with him the consequences of those years of suffering. Often +he had to endure intense neuralgic agony in his limbs and head; +an unhealed wound for a long time troubled him sorely. Magdalene +strove hard to regain strength, that she might devote +herself to nurse him, but, though her constitution was superb, +she had much to bear from her disordered nerves. At times +the old irritability was hard to vanquish; there were still dark +moods of restlessness when her companionship was trying; but +it was now that Herbert proved the nobleness and reality of his +repentance.</p> +<p>For he was ever gentle with her, however much she might +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +try him. Some talk he had had with her doctor had convinced +him that she was not to blame for these morbid moods; that the +nerves had become disorganized by those years of solitary +misery. “We must bear all our troubles together,” as he often +told her; and so he bore this, as he did the trial of his children’s +loss, with grave fortitude, and a patience that surprised +all who knew him.</p> +<p>And he was not without his reward, for, the dark fit over, +Magdalene’s smile would greet him like sunshine after a storm, +and she would thank him with tears and caresses for his forbearance.</p> +<p>“I can’t think what makes me still so horrid, when I am so +happy,” she said once to him, when the first year of their reunion +had passed. “I do my best to fight against these +moods, but they seem stronger than myself and overcome me. +Do not be so good to me next time, Herbert; scold me and be +angry with me, as you used in the old days.”</p> +<p>“I cannot,” he answered, smiling. “I never loved you in +the old days as I do now. I would not change my wife, in +spite of all the trouble she gives me, for any other woman +upon earth. You believe this, love, do you not?” looking at her +beautiful face anxiously, for it had clouded a little at his last +words.</p> +<p>“Yes, but I do not like to trouble you: it is that that frets +me. I wanted to be a comfort to you, and never to give you a +moment’s uneasiness; but I cannot help myself, somehow. I +love you, I don’t believe you know yet how I love you, Herbert; +but it seems as if I must grieve you sometimes.”</p> +<p>“Never mind; I will hear your trouble and my own too,” he +answered, cheerily; and in this way he always comforted her. +But to Magdalene her own self ever remained a mystery; the +forces of her own nature were too strong for her, and yet she +was not a weak woman. She had expected that in her case love +and happiness would have worked a miracle, as though miracles +were ever effected by mere human agencies,—that she would +rise like a Phœnix from the ashes of her past, reborn, rejuvenated, +with an inexhaustible fund of moral strength.</p> +<p>Now she had Herbert, all would go smoothly; she would no +longer mourn for her little ones. Since her husband was there +to comfort her, with his constant presence to sustain her, all +must be well; never again would she be nervous, irritable, or +sarcastic. Poor Magdalene! she was creating heaven for herself +upon earth; she was borrowing angels’ plumes before the +time; she had forgotten the conditions of humanity, “the body +of the flesh,” which weighed down greater souls than hers.</p> +<p>There are Gethsemanes of the spirit to the weary ones of +earth, hours of conflict that must be lived through and endured. +Nature that groaneth and travaileth cannot find its abiding +place of rest here. To the end of time it seems to be written in +enduring characters that no human lot shall be free from suffering: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +sooner or later, more or less,—that is all! Magdalene +had still to learn this lesson painfully: that she was slow in +learning it, proved the strength and obduracy of her will. True, +she was rarely sarcastic,—never in her husband’s presence, for +a word or a look from him checked her, and she grew humble +and meek at once. It was her unruly nerves that baffled her; +she was shocked to find that irritable words still rose to her +lips; that the spirit of restlessness was not quelled forever; that +thunder still affrighted her; and that now and then her mind +seemed clouded with fancied gloom.</p> +<p>She once spoke of this to Miss Middleton, with tears in her +eyes.</p> +<p>“It is so strange,” she said. “Herbert is different, but I am +still so unchanged.”</p> +<p>“The conditions of your health are unchanged, you mean,” +answered Elizabeth, with that quiet sympathy that always +rested people. “This is the mistake that folk make: they do +not distinguish between an unhealthy mind and a diseased soul: +the one is due to physical disorganization, the other to moral +causes. In your case, dear Mrs. Cheyne, one may safely lay the +blame on the first cause.”</p> +<p>“Oh, do you think so?” she asked, earnestly. “I dare not +cheat my conscience in that way: it is my bad temper, my undisciplined +nature, that ought to bear the blame.”</p> +<p>“No; believe me,” answered Elizabeth, for they had grown +great friends of late, “I have watched you narrowly, and I +know how you try to conquer this irritability; there is no black +spot of anger in your heart, whatever words come to your lips. +You are like a fretful child sometimes, I grant you that, who +is ailing and unconscious of its ailment. When you would be +calm, you are strangely disturbed; you speak sharply, hoping +to relieve something that oppresses you.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes!” sighed Magdalene; “and yet Herbert never +speaks crossly to me.”</p> +<p>“He never will, for he knows what you suffer. Well, dear +friend, what of this? This is a cross that you must carry +perhaps all your life. You are not the only one who has to bear +the torment of disordered nerves: it must be borne with resignation, +as we bear other troubles. Once you felt you could not +love God; you ceased to pray to Him; now you love Him a +little. Go on loving; thank him for your husband’s patience, +and pray that you may have patience with yourself. One is +weary of always living with one’s self, I know that well,” +finished Elizabeth, with a charming smile.</p> +<p>Mr. Drummond would have verified Miss Middleton’s opinion +that Magdalene was not so unchanged as she believed herself +to be.</p> +<p>At his first interview with her after Herbert Cheyne’s return, +he could almost have sworn that she was a different +woman. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span></p> +<p>Phillis, who spent all her spare time at the White House,—for +they both made much of Herbert’s “good angel,” as he still +called her jestingly,—was sitting alone with Mrs. Cheyne when +Archie was announced.</p> +<p>His old enemy greeted him with a frank smile.</p> +<p>“This is kind of you, Mr. Drummond,” she said, quite +warmly. “How I wish my husband were not out, that I could +introduce him to you! I have told him how good you have +tried to be to me, but that I was ungrateful and repulsed +you.”</p> +<p>Archie was shaking hands with Phillis, who seemed a little +disturbed at his entrance. He turned around and regarded the +beautiful woman with astonishment. Was this really Mrs. +Cheyne? Where was the hard, proud droop of the lip, the +glance of mingled coldness and <i>hauteur</i>, the polished sarcasm of +voice and manner? Her face looked clear and open as a child’s; +her eyes were brilliant with happiness.</p> +<p>Magdalene was in one of her brightest moods when she was +most truly herself.</p> +<p>“I have met him just now. He stopped and introduced +himself. We had quite a long talk outside of Mrs. Williams’s +cottage. I called upon him there, you know, but he had good +reasons for refusing my visits. Mrs. Cheyne, you must allow +me to congratulate you most earnestly. You will own now that +Providence has been good to you.”</p> +<p>“I will own that and everything,” returned Magdalene, +joyously. “I will own, if you like, that I treated you shamefully, +and took a pleasure in tormenting you; and you were so +patient,—oh, so patient, Mr. Drummond! I could have called +you back sometimes and apologized, but I would not. In my +bitter moments I felt it was such a relief to mock at people.”</p> +<p>“Never mind all that. Let bygones be bygones. I wish I +could have served you better.” And then, as he changed the +subject, and spoke feelingly about the miracle of her husband’s +restoration, Mrs. Cheyne looked at him rather wistfully.</p> +<p>“Oh, how good you are!” she said, softly. “Do you know, +the world seems full of good people to me now; and yet once it +appeared too bad a place for any one to live in. We create our +own atmosphere,—at least so Herbert tells me. But you are +looking thin, Mr. Drummond,—thin and pale. You must be +working too hard.”</p> +<p>“Oh, as to that, hard work never hurts any one,” he replied, +carelessly; but there was something forced in his tone.</p> +<p>Phillis, who had been sitting apart quite silently, raised her +eyes involuntarily from her work. Was it her fancy, or had +some undefinable change passed over him? They had seen him +so little of late. Since all this had happened at the White House +he had called once or twice; and once Nan had been there, and +he had spoken to her much as usual. No one would have +detected any difference in his manner, except that he was a little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +grave and preoccupied. Nan had not noticed anything; but +then she was singularly blind in such matters. Had she not +vaguely hinted that his visits were on Phillis’s account?—that +mere hint conveying exquisite pain to Phillis.</p> +<p>Now, as she stole a glance at him, the conviction was strong +within her that the arrow had gone deep. He certainly looked +a little thin and care-worn, and something of a young man’s +vigor and hopefulness seemed temporarily impaired. But, as +it happened, that girlish scrutiny was not unperceived by +Archie. In a moment he was on the alert. His eyes challenged +hers boldly, and it was Phillis who flushed and looked +conscious.</p> +<p>It was as though he said to her, “Ah! you think you know +all about it. But you need not trouble yourself to be sorry for +me; you do not know what a man’s strength can do. And I am +determined to bear this by myself, and to myself; for in +silence there is power.”</p> +<p>It certainly seemed as though a new strength had come to +Archie. He had been a man who was prone to speak much of +his feelings. Irritable and sensitive, he had demanded much +sympathy from his womankind. His was a nature that craved +support in his work; but now, not even to Grace, could he +speak of this trouble that had befallen him.</p> +<p>Was it a trouble, after all, this vague shadow that lay about +his path? No one but he himself knew the sweetness and +graciousness of the dream that had come to him. It had only +been a dream, after all; and now he was awake. The vision +he had conjured up to himself had faded into unreality. She +was not his second self: never by look or word had he wooed +her; she was only the woman he could have loved. This was +how he put it; and now he would bury this faint hope that +was still-born,—that had never had breathed into it the breath +of life. And if for a little while his future should be cloudy +and bereft of its sunshine, was he the only one to whom “some +days must be dark and dreary”?</p> +<p>Phillis’s unspoken sympathy drooped under this stern repression; +and yet in her heart she reverenced him all the more for +this moral strength,—for there is nothing a true woman abhors +more than weakness in a man. After this silent rebuff, Archie +took himself well in hand, and began to speak of other things: +he told Mrs. Cheyne, being certain now of her interest, of his +sister’s intended marriage, and how he and Mattie were going +down to the wedding.</p> +<p>“He is a very good fellow, this intended brother-in-law of +mine,—a sort of rough diamond; but hardly good enough for +Isabel,” he said. “Oh, yes, he is very rich. My poor little +sister will have her head turned by all her magnificence; for +his parents are so generous: they quite load her with gifts.” +And he smiled to himself at the notion of the little sister, just +fresh from her narrow school-room life, rejoicing over her trousseau +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +and her handsome house, and driving away from the church +in her own carriage. No wonder his father and mother were +pleased. As for the bridegroom-elect, Archie spoke of him with +half-contemptuous amusement: “Oh, he was a good fellow,—no +one wished to deny that;” but there was a want of culture +and polish that grated upon the susceptibilities of the Oxford +fellow.</p> +<p>Phillis listened with undivided interest—especially when he +mentioned Grace.</p> +<p>“Mattie and I are in hopes that we shall bring her back with +us; but, at all events, my mother has promised to spare her at +Christmas.” This time he addressed himself to Phillis.</p> +<p>“Oh, that will be nice for you!” she returned a little eagerly. +“You have told us so much about her that I quite long to know +her.”</p> +<p>“I should say you would suit each other perfectly,” he replied, +as he rose to take his leave. “Sometimes you remind me +of her, Miss Challoner; and yet you are not really alike. Good-bye, +if I do not see you again before we go to Leeds.” And +Phillis gave him her hand, and a cordial smile.</p> +<p>But when he had gone out of the room, his hostess accompanying +him—for she had a word for his private ear,—Phillis +sat down, and thought over those last words with a strange +feeling of pleasure: “Sometimes you remind me of her, Miss +Challoner.” Was it possible that he could trace any resemblance +between her and this dearly-beloved sister, this Grace, +whom he seemed to regard as absolute perfection?</p> +<p>“Oh, I hope she will come! I am sure we shall be such +friends,” she said to herself: and from this time Phillis looked +anxiously for Grace Drummond’s arrival.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXVII_A_MAN_HAS_A_RIGHT_TO_HIS_OWN_THOUGHTS' id='CHAPTER_XXXVII_A_MAN_HAS_A_RIGHT_TO_HIS_OWN_THOUGHTS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> +<h3>“A MAN HAS A RIGHT TO HIS OWN THOUGHTS.”</h3> +</div> +<p>There were great rejoicings in the house in Lowder Street on +the occasion of Isabel Drummond’s marriage.</p> +<p>There is always something pathetic in the first wedding in a +family,—the first severing of the family circle,—the first break, +the first ingathering of new interest. But when there are +small means, and seven portionless daughters, very few of whom +can be said to be gifted with good looks, a wealthy son-in-law +must indeed be regarded as a direct blessing from Providence.</p> +<p>That Mr. Drummond did so regard it, was evident from the +jovial good humor that had replaced his usual moody and irritable +manner; while his wife’s beaming face, softened by maternal +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +tenderness for the child who would no longer share the daily +life with them, was a surprising spectacle to those acquainted +with Mrs. Drummond’s ordinary reserve and somewhat severe +bearing. But it is not too much to say that on this occasion +Mrs. Drummond was a happy woman.</p> +<p>The tide of fortune, long so adverse to their interests, seemed +turning in their favor at last. Archie had done great things +for himself, and the mother’s eyes rested on him proudly as he +performed the marriage ceremony for his young sister, the +gravity of his priestly office setting him apart, as it were, for +her reverence as well as love. That Isabel had done great +things for herself also could not be denied. But there were +other causes for content in the mother’s heart.</p> +<p>Both the boys were doing well. Clyde had been articled to a +lawyer, an old friend of Mr. Drummond’s, and had won golden +opinions from his chief, who pronounced him an intelligent, +likely lad, and as sharp as a needle. Fred had lately obtained +a clerkship in an old-established house in Leeds, and was also +doing well, and his salary was a great boon to the straitened +household. Grace, too, was doing her duty vigorously, and no +longer vexed her mother’s soul by her drooping looks of uncomplaining +discontent,—that silent protest of many, that is so +irritating to the home-rule. True, it might be only the quiescence +of despair, but at least she veiled it decently under a +show of Spartan cheerfulness. The fox of bitterness might +gnaw, but she drew the mantle of her pride closer round her. +She might suffer and pine, like a caged lark in her narrow +cage, but at least no one, not even Archie, and least of all her +mother, should guess the extent of her sufferings. So there +was peace in Lowder Street. A truce had silently proclaimed +itself between the two strong wills of the household; and, +touched by a submission that somehow appealed to her generosity, +Mrs. Drummond was secretly revolving schemes for her +daughter’s future happiness.</p> +<p>“Mothers are mothers,” as Nan had once sweetly said, and +Mrs. Drummond was no exception to the rule. She could be +hard to her own flesh and blood; she could exact obedience +that was difficult to yield, and sacrifices that cost tears in +plenty; but she was a just woman, and, when the right time +came, she knew how to reward such obedience.</p> +<p>But there was still another drop that filled the maternal cup +of content almost to overflowing, and of this she spoke to Grace, +as they were together in the mother’s room, folding up the +bridal finery. The little bride had just driven off, all tears and +smiles. Archie and the boys had started off for a long walk. +Mattie was with her sisters in the small ugly enclosure they +called a garden; and Grace and her mother had gone up to +shake out the satin dress and lay it between tissue-paper.</p> +<p>“I hope she will be happy, poor little dear!” observed +Grace, touching tenderly the Brussels-lace veil; for Isabel had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +been her first pupil and charge. “I do think and believe Ellis +is really very fond of her.”</p> +<p>“Without doubt he is. His manners were all your father +and I could wish. What a magnificent present, and how +thoughtful, his bringing those diamond ear-drops just the last +moment! Isabel has such pretty little ears. He is as proud +of her as he can be. And really she looked quite lovely. Take +care how you fold that veil, Grace. It is a perfect beauty.”</p> +<p>“Yes, mother,” returned Grace, meekly.</p> +<p>She was ready to drop with fatigue, for she had been up +since six, and had dressed all her sisters one after another in +their pretty bridesmaids’ dresses, Mattie’s skill as a lady’s-maid +being distrusted even by Dottie. But Mrs. Drummond was not +satisfied, and took the lace out of her hand.</p> +<p>“And, Grace, did you ever see any one so improved as Mattie? +Her visit to Hadleigh is doing wonders for her. Last +evening I could hardly help looking at her. She holds herself +so much better, and her dresses are so pretty and well made. +I never knew before that her figure was so nice.”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed; she is wonderfully improved,” returned +Grace.</p> +<p>But she said the words mechanically. Her mother’s speech +had touched a sore place in her memory. She knew who had +transformed Mattie’s dowdiness into comeliness and neatness. +She might be an ordinary little woman in the world’s opinion, +but in the eyes of her family she was quite another Mattie. +Those tasteful dresses had been made by those Challoners of +whom Mattie spoke so much and Archie so little.</p> +<p>Mrs. Drummond, who had not noticed her daughter’s sudden +abstraction, went on in the same satisfied tone:</p> +<p>“She is not pretty, of course,—no one could ever call Mattie +that at the best of times,—but now she has left off making a +fright of herself, and hunching her shoulders with every word, +she is quite passable-looking. I am glad you talked her out of +being a bridesmaid. She would have looked absurd among the +girls. But that green surah just suited her. It was good of +Archie to buy her such a pretty dress; and yours that came +from Hadleigh was even prettier, and wonderfully well made, +considering they had only a pattern gown.”</p> +<p>“Yes; it fitted admirably;” but Grace spoke without enthusiasm.</p> +<p>Archie, who knew her tastes, had chosen a soft, creamy stuff +which he informed Mattie must be trimmed with no end of lace. +Phillis had received and executed the order with such skill and +discernment that a most ravishing costume had been produced. +But Grace, who had her own ideas on the subject of those +“Challoner girls,” had received the gift somewhat coldly, and +had even seemed displeased when her father pinched her ear +and told her that Archie’s gown had transformed her into a princess +fit for a fairy-tale. “And there is always a prince in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +that, my dear,—eh, Gracie?” continued the lucky father, who +could afford to laugh when one of the seven daughters had got +a husband. But Grace would have nothing to do with the jest. +She even got up a little frown, like her mother’s on similar +occasions.</p> +<p>“Archie is so generous, dear old fellow!” continued Mrs. +Drummond, breaking out afresh after a minute’s interval, as +she skilfully manipulated the veil. “That is what I always +say. There never was such a son or brother. Do you think he +is overworking, Grace, or that Mattie really looks after him +well? But he strikes me as a little thin,—and—yes—perhaps +a little grave.”</p> +<p>Grace’s lips closed with an expression of pain. But her +mother was looking at her and she must answer.</p> +<p>“Well, if you ask me, mother,” she returned, a little huskily, +“I do not think Archie looks very well, or in his usual +spirits; but I am sure Mattie takes good care of him,” she continued, +with careful veracity.</p> +<p>“Humph! I am sorry to find you endorsing my opinion,” replied +Mrs. Drummond, thoughtfully. “I hoped you would say it +was my fancy. He has not said anything to you that makes you +uneasy?” with a touch of her old sharpness, remembering that +Grace, and not she, was Archie’s confidante; but Grace replied +so quickly and decidedly, “Oh, no, mother; we have not +exchanged a word together since he and Mattie arrived,” that +her maternal jealousy was allayed.</p> +<p>But the next night, when she was alone with him for a few +minutes, she was struck afresh by the gravity of his look as he +sat by the window, pretending to read, but for the last half-hour +he had not turned his page.</p> +<p>“A penny for your thoughts, my son!” she said, so archly +and abruptly that Archie started, and his brow grew crimson at +finding himself watched.</p> +<p>“Oh, they were nothing particular,” he stammered; and +then he said something about the fineness of the evening, and +the possibility of his father coming in in time for a long walk.</p> +<p>But Mrs. Drummond was not to be put off so easily. She left +her seat, where she had been sewing as usual, and came and +stood beside him a moment. He would have jumped up and +given her his own chair, but she pressed his shoulder gently, +as though to forbid the movement.</p> +<p>“I like to stand, Archie. Yes, it is a lovely evening; but I +think you ought to ask Grace, and not your father, to accompany +you. Grace was always your companion, you know, and +you must not drop old habits too suddenly.” Then Archie saw +that his avoidance of Grace had been marked.</p> +<p>“Very well, I will ask her,” he returned; but he showed none +of his old alacrity and spirit in claiming his favorite.</p> +<p>Mrs. Drummond noticed this; and the shade of anxiety on her +face grew deeper. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span></p> +<p>“Archie, you are not quite your old self with Grace; and I +am sure she feels it. What has come between you, my dear?”</p> +<p>“Why, nothing, mother;” and here he attempted a laugh. +“Grace and I never quarrel, as you know.”</p> +<p>“I was not speaking of quarrelling,” she returned, in a graver +voice; “but you do not seek her out as you used. Before, when +you arrived, you always disappointed me by shutting yourself +up in the school-room, where no one could get at you; and now +Grace tells me she has not had a word with you these four days.”</p> +<p>“Has Grace complained of me, then?”</p> +<p>“You know Grace never complains of you. It was not said +in any fault-finding way. We agreed you were not quite yourself, +or in your usual spirits; and I asked her the reason. +Tell me, my son, is there anything troubling you?” Archie +sat silent. Mrs. Drummond was so rarely demonstrative to her +children that even this well-beloved son had never heard before +such chords of tenderness in his mother’s voice; and, +looking up, he saw that her keen gray eyes were softened and +moist with tears. “You are not quite yourself, Archie,—not +quite happy?” she went on.</p> +<p>Then he took counsel with himself; and after a moment he +answered her:</p> +<p>“No, mother; you are right. I am not—not quite myself +nor quite happy; but I mean to be both presently.” And then +he looked up in her face pleadingly, with an expression of +entreaty that went to her heart, and continued: “But my own +mother will not pain me by unnecessary questions that I could +not answer.” And then she knew that his will was that she +should be silent.</p> +<p>“Very well,” she returned, with a sigh. “But you will tell +me one thing, will you not, my dear! Is it—is it quite hopeless?” +her mother’s instinct, like that of the Eastern Caliph, +immediately suggesting a woman in the case.</p> +<p>“Quite—quite hopeless!—as dead as this!” bringing down +his hand on a large defunct moth. “Talking will not bring to +life, or help a man, to carry a real burden.”</p> +<p>Then, as she kissed him, she knew that his pain had been +very great, but that he meant to bear it with all the strength +he could bring.</p> +<p>Grace went up to prepare for her walk that evening with no +very pleasurable anticipations. Her mother had given her +Archie’s message in due form, as she sat somewhat sadly by the +school-room window, mending a frock Dottie had just torn.</p> +<p>“Archie wants you to go out with him, Grace,” Mrs. Drummond +said, as she came in, in her usual active bustling way. +“The grass never grew under her feet,” as she was often pleased +to observe. “Loitering and lagging make young bones grow +prematurely old,” she would say, coining a new proverb for +the benefit of lazy Susie. “Never measure your footsteps when +you are about other people’s business,” she would say to Laura, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +who hated to be hunted up from her employment for any +errand. “He thinks of going over to Blackthorn Farm, as it is +so fine; and the walk will do you good,” continued Mrs. Drummond, +with a keen look at her daughter’s pale face. “Give me +Dottie’s frock: that little monkey is always getting into mischief.” +But Grace yielded her task reluctantly.</p> +<p>“Are you sure he wishes me to go, mother?”</p> +<p>“Quite sure,” was the brief answer; but she added no more.</p> +<p>Silence was ever golden to this busy, hard-working mother. +She was generally sparing of words. Grace, who saw that her +mother was bent on her going, made no further demur; but, +as she put on her walking-things, she told herself that Archie +was only making a virtue of necessity. He was so little eager +for her society that he had not sought her himself, but had +sent her a message. Ever since his return, no light-springing +footsteps had been heard on the uncarpeted stairs leading to the +school-room. He had forsaken their old haunt, where they had +once talked so happily, sitting hand in hand on the old window-seat.</p> +<p>Grace felt herself grievously wounded. For months a barrier +had been between her and Archie. He had written seldom; +and his letters, when they came, told her nothing. In manner +he was kindness itself. That there was no change in his affection +was evident; but the key to his confidence was mislaid. +He had withdrawn himself into some inner citadel, where he +seemed all at once inaccessible, and her sisterly soul was vexed +within her.</p> +<p>He met her at the door with his usual smile of welcome.</p> +<p>“That is right, Grace; you have not kept me long waiting,” +he said, pleasantly, as she came towards him; and then, as +they walked down Lowder Street, he commenced talking at once. +He had so much to tell her, he said; and here Grace’s pulses began +to throb expectantly; but the eager light died out of her face +when he went on to detail a long conversation he had had with +his mother the previous night. Was that all? she thought. +Was the longed-for confidence still to be withheld?</p> +<p>Archie did not seem to notice her silence: he rattled on +volubly.</p> +<p>“I think we were hard on the mother, Gracie, you and I,” +he said. “After all, I believe she was right in not giving us our +own way in the spring.”</p> +<p>“I am glad you think so,” replied Grace, coldly. Archie +winced at her tone, but recovered himself, and went on +gayly:</p> +<p>“It does one good sometimes to have one’s wishes crossed; +and, after all, it was only fair that poor Mattie, being the eldest, +should have her turn. She does her best, poor little soul! and, +though I find her terribly trying sometimes, I can hold out +pretty patiently until Christmas; and then mother herself +suggested that you should take her place at the vicarage.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span></p> +<p>“I! oh, no, Archie!” And here the color flushed over +Gracie’s face, and her eyes filled with tears. The news was so +unexpected,—so overwhelming. Another time the sweetness of +it would have filled her with rapture. But now! “Oh, no, +no!” she cried, in so vehement a tone that her brother turned +in surprise, and something of her meaning came home to him.</p> +<p>“Wait a moment,” he said, deprecatingly. “I have not +finished yet what I want to say. Mother said Mattie was greatly +improved by her visit, and that she was infinitely obliged to me +for yielding to her wish. She told me plainly that it was +impossible to have spared you before,—that you were her right +hand with the girls, and that even now your loss would be +great.”</p> +<p>“I do not mean to leave mother,” returned Grace, in a choked +voice.</p> +<p>“Not if I want you and ask you to come?” he replied, with +reproachful tenderness, “Why, Grace, what has become of +our old compact?”</p> +<p>“You do not need me now,” she faltered, hardly able to speak +without weeping.</p> +<p>“We will talk of that by and by,” was the somewhat impatient +answer. “Just at this minute I want to tell you all the mother +said on the subject. Facts before feelings, please,” with a +touch of sarcasm; but he pointed it with a smile. “You see, +Grace, Isabel’s marriage makes a difference. There is one girl +off my father’s hands. And then the boys are doing so well. +Mother thinks that in another three months Clara may leave +the school-room; she will be seventeen then, and, as Ellis has +promised her a course of music-lessons, to develop her one +talent, you may consider her off your hands.”</p> +<p>“Clara will never do me credit,” returned his sister, mournfully: +“she works steadily and takes pains, but she was never +as clever as Isabel.”</p> +<p>“No; she is no shining light, as mother owns; but she will +play beautifully, if she be properly trained. Well, as to the +other girls, it appears that my father has decided to accept my +offer of sending Susie to a first-class boarding-school; and, as +he has determined to do the same for Laura, there is only Dottie +for Mattie to manage or mismanage. So you see, Gracie, your +school-room drudgery is over. Mother herself, by her own will, +has opened the prison-doors.”</p> +<p>He spoke in a light jesting tone, but Grace answered, almost +passionately,—</p> +<p>“I tell you no, Archie! I no longer wish it so; it is too late: +things are now quite different.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” he returned, with a long steady look +that seemed to draw out her words in spite of her resolve not +to speak them.</p> +<p>“I mean that things are changed—that you no longer need +me, or wish me to live with you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span></p> +<p>“I need you more,” he returned, calmly; “perhaps I have +never needed you so much. As for living with me, is it your +desire to condemn me to an existence of perfect loneliness?—for +after Christmas Mattie leaves me. You are mysterious, Grace; +you are not your old self.”</p> +<p>“Oh, it is you that are not yourself!” she retorted, in a tone +of grief. “Why have you avoided me? why do you withhold +your confidence? why do your letters tell me nothing? and +then you come and are still silent.”</p> +<p>“What is it that you would have me tell you?” he asked; but +this time he did not look her in the face.</p> +<p>“I would know this thing that has come between us and +robbed me of your confidence. You are ill at ease; you are +unhappy, Archie! You have never kept a trouble from me before: it +was always I who shared your hopes and fears.”</p> +<p>“You may still share them. I am not changed, as you +imagine Grace. All that I can tell you I will, even if you +demand it in that ‘money-or-your-life’ style, as you are doing +now,” trying to turn it off with a jest.</p> +<p>“Oh, Archie!”</p> +<p>“Well, what of Archie, now?”</p> +<p>“That you should laugh away my words! you have never +done that before.”</p> +<p>“Very well, I will be serious; nay, more, I will be solemn. +Grace, I forbid you ever to mention this thing again, on pain of +my bitter displeasure!”</p> +<p>Then, as she looked at him, too much startled to answer, he +went on:</p> +<p>“A man has a right to his own thoughts, if he choose to keep +them to himself and his Maker. There are some things with +which even you may not meddle, Grace. What if my life holds +a grief which I would bury from all eyes but my own? would +you tear up the clods with unhallowed fingers? To no living +person but my Saviour”—and here Archie looked up with reverent +eyes—“will I speak of this thing.” Then she clung to +his arm, and tears flowed over her cheeks.</p> +<p>“Oh, Archie! forgive me! forgive me! I never meant to +hurt you like this; I will not say another word!”</p> +<p>“You have not hurt me,” he returned, striving after his old +manner, “except in refusing to live with me. I am lonely +enough, God knows! and a sister who understands me, and +with whom I could have sympathy, would be a great boon.”</p> +<p>“Then I will come,” she replied; drying her eyes. “If you +want me, I will come, Archie.”</p> +<p>“I do want you; and I have never told you anything but the +truth. But you must come and be happy, my dear. I want +you, yourself, and not a grave, reticent creature who has gone +about the house the last few days, looking at me askance, as +though I had committed some deadly sin.”</p> +<p>Then the dimple showed itself in Grace’s cheek. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span></p> +<p>“Have I really been so naughty, Archie?”</p> +<p>“Yes, you have been a very shadowy sort of Grace; but I +give you full absolution, only don’t go and do it any more.” +And, as she looked at him with her eyes full of sorrowful yearning, +he went on, hastily: “Oh, I am all right, and least said is +soonest mended. I am like the dog in Æsop’s fable, who mistook +the shadow for the substance. A poor sort of dog, that fellow. +Well, is your poor little mind at rest, Grace?” And the tone +in which she said “Yes” seemed to satisfy him, for he turned +their talk into another channel.</p> +<p>When Mrs. Drummond saw her daughter’s face that evening, +she knew the cloud had passed between the brother and +sister.</p> +<p>Grace followed her to her room that night,—a thing she had +not done for months.</p> +<p>“Mother, I must thank you for being so good to us,” she +began, impulsively, as soon as she had crossed the threshold.</p> +<p>“How have I been good to you, Grace?” observed her mother, +calmly, as she unfastened her brooch. “Of course, I have +always tried to be good to my children, although they do not +seem to think so.”</p> +<p>“Ah, but this is very special goodness: and I am more grateful +than I can say. Are you sure you will be able to spare me, +mother?”</p> +<p>“After Christmas?—oh, yes: things will be possible then. +If I remember rightly, I had to endure some very bitter words +from you on this very subject. I hope you will do justice to my +judgment at that time.”</p> +<p>“Yes, mother,” with downcast eyes. “I am afraid Archie +and I were very wilful.”</p> +<p>“You were wilful, Grace,”—for Mrs. Drummond never suffered +any one to find fault with her son in her hearing,—“you +who ought to have known better. And yet I do believe that, +but for my determination to enforce the right thing, you would +have left your post, and all your duties, because Archie wanted +you.”</p> +<p>“I was wrong. I see that plainly.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you were wrong: for a long time you bore yourself +towards me as no daughter ought to bear herself to her mother. +You angered me sorely, Grace, because I saw you were hardening +yourself against me, only because I insisted that no child of +mine should neglect her duty.”</p> +<p>“Mother, surely I am humbling myself now?”</p> +<p>“True; but how long have I waited for this confession? +Night after night I have said to myself, ‘Surely Grace will come +and tell me that she feels herself in the wrong!’ But no such +words came. At last I ceased to hope for them; and now at +this eleventh hour you can hardly expect me to show much joy +at hearing them spoken.”</p> +<p>Then Grace’s head drooped, and she was silent. She knew +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +she deserved all these hard words, bitter as they were to bear; +but Mrs. Drummond had said her say.</p> +<p>“Well, well, better late than never; and we will say no +more about it. Next time you will understand me better, +Grace.”</p> +<p>Then, as her mother kissed her, Grace knew that her sin +was condoned. Nevertheless, as she left the room a few minutes +later, her heart was not quite so light in her bosom; she +felt that her mother had been just, but hardly generous.</p> +<p>“I thought mothers forgave more easily,” she said to herself, +in somewhat aggrieved fashion. She had no idea that her +mother was equally disappointed.</p> +<p>Mrs. Drummond was a hard, but not an unloving woman; and +she would have liked more demonstration from her daughters. +If Grace, for example, instead of all these words, had thrown +herself into her arms and owned herself in the wrong, with a +child-like pleading for forgiveness, Mrs. Drummond would have +felt herself satisfied, and would have pressed her to her bosom +with a loving word or two that Grace would have remembered +when her mother was in her grave. But such outward forms +of tenderness were not possible to Mrs. Drummond’s daughters: +for in such matters we must reap as we sow; and Mrs. Drummond’s +manner hardly merited softness. For there are mothers +and mothers; and the world must produce its Drummonds and +its Challoners until the end of time.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXVIII_ABOUT_NOTHING_PARTICULAR' id='CHAPTER_XXXVIII_ABOUT_NOTHING_PARTICULAR'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> +<h3>ABOUT NOTHING PARTICULAR.</h3> +</div> +<p>It was as well that Grace had had this talk with her brother; +for, during the two days that remained of his brief visit, they +were not alone together until the last half-hour before his departure. +The young vicar had to return for his Sunday duties; +but Mattie remained behind for another week. Archie, indeed, +had once sought her in his old fashion,—running up to the +school-room for a chat; but Susie had been there all the time. +In former days, Archie would have sent her away with blunt +peremptoriness; but now he seemed well content to have her +there. He had no secrets to discuss, as he sat in his old place +in the window-seat; yet Grace was too happy to see him there +to find fault with his discourse.</p> +<p>But on the morning of his departure she had come down +early to pour out his coffee. He had bidden his mother good-bye +in her room; but he knew that, in spite of the earliness of +the hour, Grace would be in her place to minister to his wants. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span></p> +<p>“Well, Grace,” he said, entering with his travelling-plaid +over his arm, “so it is to be good-bye until Christmas.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she returned, looking at him with a sort of wistfulness; +“but the time will pass quickly now. It is so nice to +think that we shall begin our new year together.” And, as her +brother checked an involuntary sigh, she went on eagerly: +“If you knew how happy I am about it! It will be something +to wake every morning and know you are not a hundred miles +off,—that when I come down to breakfast I shall find you there,—that +I shall be able to talk to you as much as I like; and as +for work, why, it will be play to me to work for you, Archie!”</p> +<p>“Of course I know that,” rather mischievously.</p> +<p>“I would work for you like a servant: would I not, dear? +I mean to be ever so good to you. Your friends shall be my +friends; your likes and dislikes shall be mine too.”</p> +<p>“Why, Gracie,” he said, humoring her, “this is more than +a wife would do for me!”</p> +<p>“Ah! but it is not too much to ask from a sister,” she returned, +earnestly. “When you bring home your wife, Archie, +I mean to be good to her too. I shall have to leave you then, and +come back here; but if you are happy I shall not be miserable.” +But he interrupted her a little impatiently.</p> +<p>“What put such nonsense into your head? I shall never +marry. We shall be a pattern of old-bachelor brother and +maiden sister.” And then he pushed away his plate, and went +to the window. “Is it not Mrs. Carlyle who quotes that +quaint old story about some one who always thanked God ‘for +the blessings that passed over his or her head’? Is not that a +curious idea, when one comes to think it out? Fancy thanking +heaven really and seriously for all our disappointed hopes and +plans,—for ‘the blessings that go over our heads’! It would +be a new clause in our petitions,—eh, Gracie?”</p> +<p>“Why, yes,” she replied, as she came and stood near him. +“I am afraid I could never say that from my heart.”</p> +<p>“It is not easy,” he returned, quietly; “but I do not know +that we ought to give up trying, for all that.” And then his +manner changed, and he put his arm round her in his old fashion. +“Recollect, I want you very much, Grace: your coming will +make me far happier. Mattie only touches the outside of +things; I want some one near me who can go deeper than that,—who +will help me with real work, and put up with my bad +humors; for I am a man who is very liable to discouragement.” +And when he had said this, he bade her good-bye.</p> +<p>It was a comfort to Archie to find himself hard at work again. +These few days of idleness had been irksome to him. Now he +could throw himself without stint or limit into his pastoral +labors, walking miles of country road until he was weary, and +planning new outlets for the feverish activity that seemed to +stimulate him to fresh efforts.</p> +<p>People began to talk of the young vicar. His sermons were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +changed somehow. There was more in them,—“less of the +husk, and more of the kernel,” as Miss Middleton once remarked +rather pithily.</p> +<p>They were wonderfully brief discourses; but, whereas they +had once been elegant and somewhat scholarly productions, +they were now earnest and even pungent. If the sentences +were less carefully compiled, more rough-hewn, and deficient in +polish, there was matter in them that roused people and made +them think.</p> +<p>“I never could remember Mr. Drummond’s sermons before,” +Dulce once observed, “but now I can recollect whole sentences +quite nicely.”</p> +<p>Phillis, to whom she spoke, assented by a nod. If she had +chosen, she could have admitted the fact that she could remember +not sentences, but the entire sermon itself. In secret +she marvelled also at the change.</p> +<p>“He is more earnest,” she would say to herself. “He +preaches now, not from the outside, but from the inside of +things,—from his own experience, not from other people’s. +That makes the difference.”</p> +<p>And to Nan, who was her other conscience, she said one day, +when they were discussing this subject,—</p> +<p>“I have been thinking a great deal about sermons lately. I +wish I could publish the result of my cogitation. I feel inclined +to write a pamphlet and entitle it ‘Hints to the Clergy.’ +I think it would take vastly.”</p> +<p>It was Sunday afternoon, and they were sitting together on +their favorite boulder. Phillis had christened it her “thinking-stone.”</p> +<p>“I never think to more purpose than when I am sitting here,” +she would say.</p> +<p>Nan, who was looking out to sea rather dreamily, intent on +her usual vision, Dick, roused herself at this, and began to +smile in a lofty way.</p> +<p>“You think yourself very clever, Phillis, and so do I; but +sermons are hardly in your province, my dear.”</p> +<p>Phillis shook her head gravely. She dissented from this view +of the case.</p> +<p>“Common sense is in every one’s province,” she persisted. +“I am a practical woman, and some of my hints would be +valuable. Sermons are failures, Nan. They go over people’s +heads like a flight of badly-shot arrows. Does not Goulburn +say that? Now and then one touches the mark. When they +are all let fly hither and thither and anyhow, the preacher +shuts up his book, and his hearers cease to yawn.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Phillis, how absurd you are! Suppose Mr. Drummond +were to hear you?”</p> +<p>“I should have no objection. But, Nan, seriously, do you +not notice how formal and cut-and-dried most sermons are? +They come round regularly, like Sunday. People have to bear +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +being preached at, and so the unfortunate parson must hammer +it out of his head somehow. He picks out his text, writes out +his composition, drags in his learning by the ear, and delivers +it in his best fashion; and people listen to it politely, and the +best behaved do not yawn.”</p> +<p>“Phillis, you are positively irreverent! I am shocked at +you!”</p> +<p>“On the contrary, I am very reverent. Well, in my ‘Hints +to the Clergy’ I would say, first, ‘Never preach what you do +not feel yourself, or the current of electricity or sympathy, or +whatever it is that communicates between preacher and people, +will be checked or impeded. Do not preach out of the book: +we can read that for ourselves. Preach out of your own head +and your own experience, just as much as you can.’ Bless +you,” continued Phillis, in a wise, half-sad tone, “half the pulpits +would be empty: we should get sometimes no sermons at +all!”</p> +<p>This was too much for Nan’s simplicity.</p> +<p>“But people would be so disappointed,” she observed, plaintively. +“All the middle-aged people like sermons.”</p> +<p>“It would not hurt them to be disappointed sometimes. +They would appreciate the real thing all the more when it came. +It is as well to go without food altogether as to be fed on husks. +After all, people forget that they come to church to say their +prayers all together, and sing glorias.”</p> +<p>“That is very nicely said, dear,” was Nan’s admiring comment +on this.</p> +<p>But Phillis waved aside the praise. She was quite in earnest.</p> +<p>“But if I were speaking to one of these real and not make-believe +preachers, I would say to him, ‘Never be discouraged. +Say what you have got to say: if you really feel it and mean it, +some one will feel it too. You can’t see into people’s hearts: +and a good thing, too, my friend. But “the arrow at +the venture” may tell; some one may be “hit between the +joints of the armor.”’ There, come along; you shall have +more of my hints another time. I have said my say for the +present.” And Phillis rose from the boulder, with her eyes +bright and kindled by some moving thought, and went down to +the edge of the water, and watched a sea-gull dipping towards +the shore in the midst of the windy lights; while Nan, marvelling +at her sister’s unusual earnestness, followed more slowly.</p> +<p>The Challoners were holding up their heads in the place now. +There was no denying that. By the people at the vicarage and +the White House they were owned and regarded as equals. +Mrs. Cheyne made no secret of her affection for Phillis; and +she was full of kindness also to Nan and Dulce. It was their +own fault if they declined her frequent invitations. But there +was one person who refused to hold out the hand of amity to +the eccentric new-comers. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span></p> +<p>Colonel Middleton still shook his white head, and delivered +his protest into his daughter’s ear. Elizabeth, declared, laughingly, +“that the Challoner girls were to her father what a red +rag is to a bull.” He never met one of them without coming +home and relieving his mind, as he called it. “My father is +dying to know them,” she would say to Mr. Drummond. “He +has fallen in love with them all,—mother and daughters too; +but he is denying himself an introduction for a certain reason.” +But, though Archie looked curious and questioned her very +closely, she chose to be provoking and say no more. It was +Colonel Middleton who at last enlightened the young man.</p> +<p>They were walking from the town together. The colonel +was carrying his stick musket-wise over his shoulder, and had +the vicar by the arm, when Phillis and Dulce came out of the +gateway of the White House. As the girls passed Archie, they +smiled at him and nodded, and Phillis, in a pretty way she had, +waved her hand; and then they went on rapidly towards the +Friary. As they did so, Colonel Middleton groaned, and touched +his companion’s arm impressively.</p> +<p>“There, now, Drummond, did you ever see girls with a better +carriage?—heads up—light springy step? Why, it is a pleasure +even to an old fellow like myself to watch them. Fancy that +taller one on horseback in the Row! Why, she would cut out +half the girls. And think that one dare not notice them!” +And he struck his stick into the ground almost angrily.</p> +<p>Archie smiled: he could not help it. The colonel was so +whimsical in his wrath.</p> +<p>“They had plenty of notice from the folk at the White House,” +he returned, quietly.</p> +<p>“Ah, Cheyne was always a bit of a Radical, and madam is +no better. They can do as they like, without being afraid of +consequences. But that is not my case.” And, as Archie +looked at him rather mystified, he went on: “Bless me, you +do not suppose I am afraid of knowing them for my own sake? +Elizabeth tells me that she is intimate with them. But that is +not my business, so long as she does not have them at Brooklyn. +‘We must draw the line there, Elizabeth,’ I said. ‘If you +choose to visit your dressmakers, it is not for me to prevent +you; you are old enough to select your own friends, so you may +be as eccentric as you like. But your brother is coming home. +Young men are young men; and I do not choose to expose +Hammond to such temptation.’”</p> +<p>“Oh, Hammond! That is your son, I suppose?” asked +Archie, who was much amused at the colonel’s earnestness.</p> +<p>“Yes; my boy Hammond! the finest fellow in the regiment, +though I say it, who should not. Do you think that I, his +father, would expose him to such danger as to throw him into +the society of a set of fascinating young women who have chosen +to emancipate themselves from all conventionality, and who +call themselves—stuff and rubbish!—dressmakers?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span></p> +<p>“Not call themselves, so: they are excellent dressmakers!” +was Archie’s somewhat malicious reply.</p> +<p>“All the more reason that my son should not know them!” +thundered the old man. “What, sir! an officer in one of her +Majesty’s regiments—the son and grandson of officers,—is such +a one to be mixed up with a family that has lost caste,—to flirt +with or make love to girls who are not above making gowns for +my butcher’s wife? Before Hammond does such a thing as +that––” And here the colonel paused from excess of emotion.</p> +<p>“You are perfectly right to defend your son from such danger,” +returned the young clergyman with covert sarcasm. +“In your case I should probably feel the same. But, in my +position, being intimate with those ladies of whom you speak, +and having had good opportunity to form my opinions of them, +I cannot help saying, in their defence, that even your son, +excellent officer as he is,—and, I am sure, a most worthy young +man,—would scarcely be dishonored by an alliance with the +finest young gentlewomen I ever met!” And, as he said this, +with all due gravity, Archie released his arm, and, with a farewell +nod, went off, leaving the colonel, open-mouthed and gasping +with astonishment, at his own gate.</p> +<p>Elizabeth met him on the threshold.</p> +<p>“Oh, father, why did you not bring Mr. Drummond in!” she +said, reproachfully; “it is so long since he has paid us a visit.”</p> +<p>“Poor Drummond!” replied the colonel, with a mournful +shake of his head: “it is just as I thought. He has almost +owned it, in fact. He is seriously smitten with one of those +Challoner girls, and before long there will be a wedding in the +place.”</p> +<p>“Now, father, this is just one of your whimsies,” replied +Elizabeth, placidly. “Mr. Drummond is going to have his +favorite sister, Grace, to live with him and keep his house. He +told me so himself; and that does not look as though he expected +to bring home a wife. So you may just put this idea out of +your head.” But, though Elizabeth was well aware of the truth +of her words, that no new mistress was to come to the vicarage, +still her fine sympathy and unerring woman’s divination had +read the meaning of the young vicar’s clouded brow, and she +knew that he, too, had to try and be grateful for “the blessings +that went over his head.”</p> +<p>Archie’s grand and somewhat heroic speech failed in its effect, +as far as the colonel was concerned. Elizabeth was right in +saying her father was longing to know the Challoners. The +old man’s fancy had been mightily taken by the girls; but for +Hammond, for his boy’s sake, he was capable of any amount +of self-denial. Once he was sorely tempted to give in. When +turning the corner of the Braidwood Road, not far from his own +house, he came suddenly upon his daughter, who was standing +on the side-path, talking to Dulce.</p> +<p>Dulce, who always seemed a sort of reflection and shadow of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +her sisters, and who withdrew somewhat in the background, +obscured a little by Nan’s beauty and Phillis’s sprightliness, was +nevertheless in her way a most bewitching little maiden.</p> +<p>“There comes my father!” observed Elizabeth, tranquilly, +never doubting that he would join them; and Dulce looked up +a little shy and fluttered from under her broad-brimmed hat; +for she had taken a fancy to the colonel, with his white moustache +and kindly inquisitive eyes. He was a sort of hero in her +fancy; and Dulce loved heroes,—especially when they wore a +medal.</p> +<p>Colonel Middleton saw the little girl dimpling and blushing +with pleasure, and his old heart thumped a little with excitement +and the conflict of feeling: the innocent child-look appealed to +his fatherly sympathies. There was a moment’s wavering; +then he lifted his white hat, with a muttered “Good-morning,” +and the next minute he was walking on with squared shoulders +and tremendous energy.</p> +<p>Poor little Dulce’s lip quivered with disappointment: she +thought it hard, when other people were so kind to them. +Elizabeth said nothing; but she bade the child good-bye with +greater tenderness than usual, and sent all sort of messages to +her mother and Nan.</p> +<p>The colonel, meanwhile, had retreated into the house, and was +opening his papers with more than his usual fuss.</p> +<p>“It is for Hammond,” he murmured to himself. “When +one has boys, one must do one’s duty by them; but it was confoundedly +hard, by Jove!” And all the remainder of the day +a pair of appealing eyes seemed to reproach him with unkindness. +But Elizabeth never said a word; it was not her place +to find fault with her father.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXIX_HOW_DO_YOU_DO_AUNT_CATHERINE' id='CHAPTER_XXXIX_HOW_DO_YOU_DO_AUNT_CATHERINE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> +<h3>“HOW DO YOU DO, AUNT CATHERINE?”</h3> +</div> +<p>One drizzling November morning, Mattie was standing at the +hall door, looking out a little blankly through the open gateway +at the prospect before her,—at the rotting leaves that lay +heaped up in the road, and at the gray, humid sky,—when a +very big man suddenly blocked up the entrance, and startled +her dreadfully.</p> +<p>Mattie afterwards described the occurrence very graphically +to her brother:</p> +<p>“He was the biggest man I ever saw in my life, Archie. He +looked as strong as a navvy; and his shoulders reminded me of +one of those men one sees in brewers’ drays. And his face +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span> +was so red, and his hair, too,—that dreadfully red color, you +know, that no one admires; and his hands, and even his voice, +were big.”</p> +<p>“What a fascinating description!” laughed Archie. “Upon +my word, Mattie, you are rather tremendous in your language. +Well, and what did the navvy say to you?”</p> +<p>“Oh, he was not a navvy, really! Of course he was a +gentleman. He could not help his big voice, and what he said +was nice; but, I assure you, Archie, he nearly took my breath +away;” and so on, and so on, to the end of her story.</p> +<p>But it was enough to surprise any one whose nerves were not +of the strongest, when one lives in a lonely country road, and +the master of the house is out, to see a gigantic specimen of +manhood, not very carefully dressed, and with hair like a red +glory, come suddenly striding through one’s open gate, +without “by your leave,” or waiting for any possible permission.</p> +<p>Mattie dropped her umbrella,—for she was dressed in her +waterproof, and her oldest hat, ready for her district-work; +and the stranger picked it up, and handed it to her promptly, +and then he removed his hat politely.</p> +<p>“How do you do, cousin?” he said; and a broad, genial +smile revealed a set of white teeth.</p> +<p>Mattie retreated a step in genuine affright.</p> +<p>“For you know, Archie,” she explained afterwards, in her +simple way, “we have no cousins worth mentioning, except +Sophy Trinder, who is not our cousin at all, but mother’s; and +so you see it sounded so very odd.”</p> +<p>“Very odd indeed,” muttered Archie.</p> +<p>“If you please, Mr. Drummond—that is my brother—is out, +and I am going out too,” faltered Mattie, who was not a +specially heroic little person, and who decidedly had not got her +wits about her just then.</p> +<p>“I do not want Mr. Drummond, whoever he may be. I +never heard of him in my life. I only want my aunt and +cousins. Which of them are you, eh? Why, you must be Nan, +I suppose?” And the big man looked down at her with a sort +of supercilious good nature. The name gave Mattie instant +enlightenment.</p> +<p>“Nan!—Oh, you must mean the Challoners!” she exclaimed, +with a little gasp of surprise.</p> +<p>“Yes, of course; I am a Challoner myself. Well, which of +them are you, eh? You are a long time telling me your name.” +And the new-comer peered down at her still more curiously, as +though he were surprised to find anything so small and ordinary-looking.</p> +<p>Mattie never looked to advantage in her waterproof. More +than once her brother had threatened to burn the old rag of a +thing.</p> +<p>“My name is Mattie Drummond,” replied the bewildered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +Mattie, trying to speak with dignity,—she never would call +herself Matilda, she hated it so,—“and I live with my brother, +who is the clergyman of the parish. This is the vicarage: if +you want the Friary, it is a little lower down the road.”</p> +<p>“Where?” he asked, striding to the gate; and then he came +back again, taking the few steps at a single bound,—so at least +it appeared to Mattie. “Why—why—there is no house at all—only +a miserable cottage, and––”</p> +<p>“That is the Friary,” repeated Mattie, decidedly; “but it is +not miserable at all: it is very nice and pretty. The Challoners +are very poor, you know; but their house looks beautiful for +all that.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes; I know all about it. I have been down to that +place, Oldfield, where they lived; and what I heard has brought +me here like an express train. I say, Miss Mattie Drummond, +if you will excuse ceremony in a fellow who has never seen his +father’s country before, and who has roughed it in the colonies, +may I come in a moment and ask you a few questions about my +cousins?”</p> +<p>“Oh, by all means,” returned Mattie, who was very good-natured +and was now more at her ease. “You will be very +welcome, Mr. Challoner.”</p> +<p>“Sir Henry Challoner, at your service,” responded that singular +individual with a twinkle of his eye, as Mattie became +confused all at once. “You see,” he continued, confidentially, +as she led the way rather awkwardly to her brother’s study, +hoping fervently that Archie would come in, “I have been +making up my mind to come to England for years, but somehow +I have never been able to get away; but after my father’s +death—he was out in Australia with me—I was so lonely and +cut up that I thought I would take a run over to the mother-country +and hunt up my relations. He was not much of a father +perhaps; but, as one cannot have a choice in such matters, I +was obliged to put up with him;” which was perhaps the +kindest speech Sir Francis’s son could make under the circumstances.</p> +<p>Mattie listened intelligently, but she was so slightly acquainted +with the Challoners’ past history that she did not +know they possessed any relations. But she had no need to +ask any questions: the new-comer seemed determined to give a +full account of himself.</p> +<p>“So do you see, Miss Drummond, having made my fortune +by a stroke of good luck, and not knowing quite how to spend +it—the father and mother both gone,—and having no wife or +chick of my own, and being uncommon lonely under the circumstances, +I thought I would just run over and have a look at +my belongings. I have a sort of fancy for Aunt Catherine; +she used to write me such pretty letters when I was a little +chap in Calcutta, and tell me about Nan, and Phillis, and—what +was the baby’s name?—Dulce. I believe she and the poor +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +old governor never hit it off: the old man had been a sad sinner +in his day. But I never forgot those letters: and when he +was gone, poor old boy! I said to myself, Now I will go and +see Aunt Catherine.”</p> +<p>“And you went down to Oldfield, Sir Henry?”</p> +<p>“Eh, what? meaning me, I suppose? but out there they +called me Sir Harry, or Harry mostly, for what was the use of +a title there? Oh, yes, I went down and found out all about +them from a chatty little woman, rather like yourself, and she +sent me on here.”</p> +<p>“Oh, dear, I am so glad!” exclaimed Mattie, who was now +thoroughly herself: “they will be so pleased to see you, and +you will think them all so charming. I am sure I never saw +any one the least like them, except Grace, and she is not half so +pretty as Nan; and as for Phillis, I admire her even more, she +lights up so when she talks.”</p> +<p>“Aunt Catherine used to be beautiful,” observed Sir Harry, +gravely; for then and afterwards he insisted on that form of +address. He was not English enough or sufficiently stiff for +Henry, he would say.</p> +<p>“Oh, dear, yes! she is quite lovely now,—at least Archie and +I think so; and Dulce is the dearest little thing. I am ever so +fond of them; if they were my own sisters I could not love +them more,” continued Mattie, with a little gush; but, indeed +the girls’ gentle high-bred ways had won her heart from +the first.</p> +<p>Sir Harry’s eyes positively sparkled with delight; he had +pleasant eyes which redeemed his other features, for it must be +confessed he was decidedly plain.</p> +<p>“I must shake hands with you, Miss Drummond,” he said, +stretching out a huge hand, with a diamond ring on it that +greatly impressed Mattie. “We shall be good friends, I see +that.” And though poor Mattie winced with pain under that +cordial grasp, she hid it manfully.</p> +<p>“Did they tell you at Oldfield how poor they are?” she said, +when this ceremony had been performed, and Sir Harry’s face +looked more like a sunset than ever with that benevolent glow +on it.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” he returned, indifferently; “but all that is over +now.”</p> +<p>“You know they have to work for their living; the girls are +dressmakers,” bringing out the news rather cautiously, for fear +he should be shocked; a baronet must be sensitive on such +points. But Sir Harry only laughed.</p> +<p>“Well, they are plucky girls,” he said, admiringly; “I like +them for that.” And then he asked, a little anxiously, if his +aunt sewed gowns too,—that was how he put it,—and seemed +mightily relieved to hear that she did very little but read to +the girls.</p> +<p>“I would not like to hear she was slaving herself at her age,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +he remarked, seriously. “Work will not hurt the girls: it +keeps them out of mischief. But now I have come, we must +put a stop to all this.” And then he got up and threw back his +shoulders, as though he were adjusting them to some burden; +and Mattie, as she looked up at him, thought again of the +brewer’s dray.</p> +<p>“I was afraid when he got off his chair he would touch the +ceiling,” she said, afterwards. “He quite stooped of his own +accord going through the study doorway.”</p> +<p>When Sir Henry had shaken himself into order, and pulled +an end of his rough red moustache, he said, quite suddenly,—</p> +<p>“As you are a friend of the family, Miss Drummond, I think +it would be as well if you would go with me to the Friary and +introduce me in due form; for, though you would not believe +it in a man of my size, I am painfully shy, and the notion of all +these girls, unless I take them singly, is rather overwhelming.” +And, though this request took Mattie a little by surprise, she +saw no reason for refusing to do him this kindness. So she assented +willingly, for in her heart Mattie was fond of a scene. +It gave her such a hold on Archie’s attention afterwards; and, +to do him justice, when the Challoners were on the <i>tapis</i>, he +made a splendid listener.</p> +<p>Sir Henry walked very fast, as though he were in a tremendous +hurry; but he was nervous, poor fellow, and, though he +did not like to own as much to a woman, he would almost have +liked to run away, in spite of his coming all those thousands of +miles to see his relations. He had pressed Mattie into the service +to cover his confusion, but the little woman herself hardly +saw how she was needed, for, instead of waiting for her introduction, +or sending in his name or card by Dorothy, he just put +them both aside and stepped into the first room that stood +handy, guided by the sound of voices.</p> +<p>“How do you do, Aunt Catherine?” he said, walking +straight up to the terrified lady, who had never seen anything +so big in her life. “I am Harry,—Harry Challoner, you know,—to +whom you used to write when I was a little slip of a boy.”</p> +<p>A strange queen in a hive of bees could not have produced +more confusion. Dulce stopped her sewing-machine so suddenly +that her thread broke; Phillis, who was reading aloud, +let her book fall with quite a crash; and Nan said, “Oh, dear!” +and grew quite pale with surprise and disappointment: for a +moment she thought it was Dick. As for Mrs. Challoner, who +had a right to her nerves from years of injudicious spoiling +and indulgence, and would not have been without her feelings +for worlds, she just clasped her hands and murmured “Good +heavens!” in the orthodox lady-like way.</p> +<p>“Why, yes, Aunt Catherine, I am Harry; and I hope you +have not forgotten the existence of the poor little beggar to +whom you were so kind in the old Calcutta days.” And his big +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span> +voice softened involuntarily in the presence of this dignified +aunt.</p> +<p>“Oh, no, my dear!—no!” touched by his manner, and remembering +the boyish scrawls that used to come to her, signed +“Your affectionate nephew, Harry.” “And are you indeed +my nephew?—are you Harry?” And then she held out her +slim hand, which he took awkwardly enough. “Girls, you +must welcome your cousin. This is Nan, Harry, the one they +always say is like me; and this is Phillis, our clever one; and +this is my pet Dulce.” And with each one did their cousin +solemnly shake hands, but without a smile; indeed, his aspect +became almost ludicrous, until he caught sight of his homely +little acquaintance, Mattie, who stood an amused spectator of +this family tableau, and his red, embarrassed face brightened +a little.</p> +<p>“Aunt Catherine was such an awfully grand creature, you +know,” as he observed to her afterwards, in a confidential +aside: “her manners make a fellow feel nowhere. And as for +my cousins, a prettier lot of girls I never saw anywhere; and +of course, they are as jolly and up to larks as other girls; but +just at first, you know, I had a bull-in-a-china-shop sort of feeling +among them all.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner, in spite of her fine manners, was far too +nervous herself to notice her nephew’s discomfort. She had to +mention a name that was obnoxious to her, for of course she +must ask after his father. She got him into a chair by her at +length, where he stared into his hat to avoid the bright eyes +that seemed to quiz him so unmercifully.</p> +<p>“And how is Sir Francis?” she asked, uttering the name +with languid interest.</p> +<p>“My father! Oh, did you not know, Aunt Catherine?—he +died out in Sydney a year ago. Poor old fellow! he +had a terrible illness. There was no pulling him through +it.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner roused up at this:</p> +<p>“Your father dead! Then, Harry, you have come to the +title?”</p> +<p>But her nephew burst into a boisterous laugh at this:</p> +<p>“Yes,—a title and an old ruin. A precious heritage, is it +not? Not that I care what people call me. The most important +part is that another fellow—Dalton they call him—and +I made a grand hit out in Sydney. When I saw the money +flowing in, I just sent for the poor old governor to join me; +and we did not have a bad time of it, until the gout took him +off. And then I got sick of it all, and thought I would have a +look at England and hunt up my relations.”</p> +<p>Sir Harry had blurted out this long speech as he still attentively +regarded the lining of his hat; but, happening to look up, +he caught Phillis’s eyes, which were contemplating him. The +mischievous look of fun in them was not to be resisted. Sir +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +Harry first got redder, if possible; then his own eyes began to +twinkle, and finally they both laughed. And after that the ice +was broken, and they got on famously.</p> +<p>The girls chattered to him like magpies. They made Mattie +take off her hat and hideous old waterproof and stay to luncheon. +Nan smoothed her hair, which was sadly ruffled, and Phillis +settled her brooch and collar.</p> +<p>There was only cold mutton in the larder; but what did that +matter? Dulce ran out in the garden and picked dahlias for +the table; and Nan took her mother’s keys and drew from the +recesses of a dim sweet-smelling press some dainty napkins +and a fine old cloth that might have suited a princess. There +was a bottle of rare Madeira that remained from their stock +of wine; and Dorothy had made a batch of fresh dinner-rolls. +Dorothy was always full of resources in an emergency.</p> +<p>“Don’t fash yourself, Miss Nan,” she said, when her young +mistress came into the kitchen. “The cold mutton can’t be +helped; but we have got angels in the larder, and I will just +pop them into the oven.”</p> +<p>Sir Harry roared with laughter when Dorothy’s speech was +repeated to him. The little puddings were declared by Mattie +to be delicious; but Sir Harry could scarcely eat his for laughing.</p> +<p>“Who ever heard of baked angels, Aunt Catherine!” he exclaimed, +after another explosion.</p> +<p>“My dear, it is only a name,” she returned, mildly. “Will +you have another, Harry? And, Nan, you must pass your +cousin the Madeira.”</p> +<p>They were all seated round the table in the small parlor. It +was felt to be a triumph when Sir Harry contrived to seat himself +without grazing himself seriously against the chiffonnier or +knocking over a piece of the blue-and-gold china.</p> +<p>“What a cosey little cabin of a place!” he said with critical +approval; “but it is rather small to hold you all,—eh, Aunt +Catherine?”</p> +<p>“Yes: it is small after Glen Cottage,” she sighed. “We +had such a pretty drawing-room there.”</p> +<p>“And such a lovely garden!” added Dulce.</p> +<p>“Oh, this crib in not fit for you? We will alter all that,” he +returned, complacently. “I am the head of the family now, +and I must take my uncle’s place. I am awfully rich, Aunt +Catherine; so you have only got to tell me what you and the +girls want, you know.” And then he rubbed his hands as +though he were pleased about something.</p> +<p>But no one took any notice of this speech, hardly knowing +how to treat it.</p> +<p>When luncheon—which was, indeed, the family dinner—was +over, the girls carried him off to the work-room, and +showed him specimens of their skill.</p> +<p>“Very nice; very well done,” he observed, approvingly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span></p> +<p>“I am glad you showed such pluck; for why any woman should +think it <i>infra dig.</i> to make a gown for another woman quite +beats me. Why, bless you, in the colonies we fellows turned +our hands to anything! Well, Aunt Catherine, they are plucky +ones, these girls of yours. But we must put a stop to this sort +of thing, you and I. I don’t think my uncle would have liked it. +And as I am in his place––” And here he thrust aside some +amber satin with his great hands, with a movement full of suggestive +possibilities.</p> +<p>He took them all out to walk after that. Mrs. Challoner, +indeed, begged to be excused,—the poor lady was already sadly +fatigued, and longed for her nap,—but he would not dispense +with Mattie’s company.</p> +<p>“We were acquaintances first,” he said to her; “and I look +upon you as a sort of cousin too, Miss Mattie.” And poor little +Mattie, who had never met with so much friendliness before, +quite blushed and bridled with pleasure.</p> +<p>Mr. Drummond, who was coming out of his own gate, stood +as though transfixed as the procession came towards him. The +four girls were walking all abreast, Mattie in the middle; and +beside them stalked a huge man, in rough, rather outlandish +attire, looking like a son of the Anakin, or a red-headed +Goliath.</p> +<p>Archie stood still in the middle of the road, and Mattie rushed +up to him:</p> +<p>“We are going for a walk. Oh, Archie, I wish you would +come too! It would be such fun!”</p> +<p>“Yes; do come!” cried unconscious Nan, seconding her out +of pure good nature. “Mr. Drummond, this is our cousin, Sir +Henry Challoner, who has just come from Australia; and we +have never seen him before.” And then the young clergyman +shook hands with him very stiffly, and spoke a few conventional +words.</p> +<p>“They have not a man belonging to them,” he had said to himself, +triumphantly, and then that odious Dick had turned up +and now this extraordinary-looking being who called himself Sir +Henry Challoner.</p> +<p>Archie took down the “Peerage” when he got home, for he +could not be induced to join the merry party in their walk. +He found the name there all right,—“Henry Fortescue Challoner, +son of Sir Francis Challoner, son of Sir Henry Challoner,” +and so on. It was an old baronetcy,—one of the oldest in England,—but +the estates had dwindled down to a half-ruined residence +and a few fields. “Challoner Place,” as it was called, +was nothing but a heap of mouldering walls; but Mattie had +whispered to him gleefully that he was “awfully rich, and the +head of the family, and unmarried; and he did not mean to let +his cousins make gowns anymore for other people, though they +might do it for themselves.”</p> +<p>Mattie never forgot that walk. Never in her life had she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span> +enjoyed such fun. Archie, with his grave face and prim ways, +would have spoiled the hilarity.</p> +<p>First Sir Henry took his cousins to the hotel, where they heard +him order his apartments and dinner: he evidently considered +he had not dined; and there was a good deal of discussion about +some game that he ordered, and a certain brand of champagne +that was to his liking.</p> +<p>“If they make me comfortable, I may stop on a goodish bit,” +he informed them, “until we have settled where my aunt would +like to live. I shall run up to London every few days, and can +do all your commissions. By the bye, I got some trinkets for +you girls on my way down; we will haul them over when I +come up for the cup of coffee Aunt Catherine promised me this +evening.”</p> +<p>“Now, Harry, we don’t want presents,” remarked Phillis, +taking him to task as easily as though she had known him all +her life long.</p> +<p>In spite of his bigness, his great burly figure and plain face, +there was something very pleasant about him. He was rough +and unpolished, his dress was careless and of colonial cut; and +yet one could not fail to see he was a gentleman. His boyishness +and fun would have delighted Dick, who was of the same calibre; +only Dick was far cleverer, and had more in his little finger +than this great lumbering Harry in his whole body.</p> +<p>He was slow and clumsy, but his heart and intentions were +excellent; he was full of tenderness for women, and showed a +touching sort of chivalry in his intercourse with them. In some +way, his manners were far finer than those of a New Bond +Street gentleman; for he could not sneer at a woman, he believed +in the goodness of the sex, in spite of much knowledge to +the contrary, he could not tell a lie, and he only cheated himself. +This was saying a good deal for the son of that very black +sheep Sir Francis; but, as Sir Harry once simply observed, +“his mother was a good woman:” if this were the case, her +husband’s vices must have shortened her life, for she died young.</p> +<p>Phillis was glad when they turned their backs on the town: +she found her cousin’s long purse a difficulty: it seemed an +impossibility to get him past the shops.</p> +<p>First, he was sure Aunt Catherine was fond of champagne,—all +ladies liked sweet sparkling things; but he would see about +that at the hotel presently. Then his attention was attracted +by some grouse hanging up at the poulterer’s: Aunt Catherine +must have some grouse, as he remembered the cold mutton. +Phillis made no objection to the grouse, for she knew her +mother’s fondness for game; but she waxed indignant when +partridges and a hare were added, and still more when Sir Harry +ransacked the fruiterers for a supply of the rarest fruit the +town could afford. After this, he turned his attention to cakes +and bonbons; but here Dulce took his part, for she loved bonbons. +Phillis caught Nan by the arm, and compelled her to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +leave them; but Mattie deserted her friends, and remained to +watch the fun.</p> +<p>Dulce grew frightened at last, and tried to coax her cousin +away.</p> +<p>“Oh, no more—no more?” she pleaded. “Phillis and Nan +will be so angry with us.”</p> +<p>“I don’t see anything more worth getting,” returned her +cousin, contemptuously. “What a place this is, to be sure! +Never mind, Dulce; I am going up to London to-morrow, and +I will bring you down as many bonbons as you like from the +French place in Regent Street. I will bring Miss Mattie some +too,” he continued, as the girls hurried him along. “And, +Dulce, just write out a list of what you girls want; and I will +get them, as sure as my name is Harry.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XL_ALCIDES' id='CHAPTER_XL_ALCIDES'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XL.</h2> +<h3>ALCIDES.</h3> +</div> +<p>There was quite a battle-royal on the sea-shore after that: +Dulce and Phillis pelted Laddie with bonbons; while their +mother enjoyed her nap in the snug parlor. And Dorothy, +pleased, bewildered, and half frightened at what the mistress +might say, stowed away game and fruit and confectionery in +the tiny larder, and then turned her attention to such a tea as +her young ladies had not seen since the Glen Cottage days.</p> +<p>Laddie raced and barked, and nearly made himself ill with +the sweet things; and Nan laughed, and then grew serious as +she remembered an afternoon in the Longmead Meadows, when +Dick, in wild spirits, had pelted her and Phillis with roses until +their laps were full of the delicious, fragrant leaves. “‘Sweets +to the sweet,’—so look out for yourself, Nan!” he had said, in +his half-rough, boyish way. But that was in the days when +both were very young and Dick had not learned to make love.</p> +<p>Mattie joined in the game a little awkwardly,—it was so long +since the poor little woman had played at anything. Her +younger sisters never chose Mattie in their games. “She makes +such mistakes, and puts us out; and that spoils the fun,” they +said; and so Grace was their favorite playfellow.</p> +<p>For it is perfectly true that some grown-up people have forgotten +how to play, while others are such children at heart that +they can abandon themselves most joyously and gracefully to +any game, however romping; but Mattie, who was sobered by +frequent snubbing, was not one of these. She loved fun still, +in her way, but not as Phillis and Dulce, who thought it the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span> +cream of life and would not be content with the sort of skimmed-milk +existence of other young ladies.</p> +<p>Sir Harry watched them admiringly, and his enthusiasm grew +every moment.</p> +<p>“I say, you are the right sort, and no mistake. I never met +jollier girls in my life. A fellow would not know which to +choose: would he, Miss Mattie?”</p> +<p>Mattie took this seriously.</p> +<p>“Nan is chosen:—are you not, Nan?” she said, in her downright +fashion. And then, as Sir Harry stared at this, and Nan +blushed and looked even prettier, Phillis first scolded Mattie +soundly for her bluntness, and then took upon herself to describe +Dick’s perfections:</p> +<p>“The dearest fellow in the world, Harry, when you come to +know him; but not handsome, and dreadfully young looking, +some people think. But, as Nan will not look at any one else, +we must make the best of him.”</p> +<p>“And when are they to be married?” asked her cousin, curiously. +He was not quite pleased with this discovery.</p> +<p>“When?—Oh, Harry, there is an ‘if’ in the case,” returned +Phillis, solemnly. “The dearest fellow in the world has an ogre +of a father,—a man so benighted, so narrow in his prejudices, +that he thinks it decidedly <i>infra dig.</i> for his intended daughter +in-law to sew other people’s gowns. I do love that expression. +Harry: it is so forcible. So he forbids the banns.”</p> +<p>“No, really!—Is she serious, Nan?” But Nan grew shy all +at once, and would not answer.</p> +<p>“I am serious, Sir Henry Challoner,” replied Phillis, pompously. +“The path of true love is impeded. Poor Dick is +pining in his rooms at Oxford; and Nan—well, I am afraid her +looks belie her; only you know appearances are sometimes deceitful.” +And indeed Nan’s pink cheeks and air of placid contentment +scarcely bore out her sister’s words.</p> +<p>The newly found cousin sat in silent perplexity staring at them +both. Love-affairs were not much in his way; and until now +he had never been thrown much with his equals in the other +sex. His rough colonial life, full of excitement and money-getting, +had engrossed his youth. He was now a man of thirty; +but in disposition, in simplicity, and in a certain guilelessness +of speech, he seemed hardly more than an overgrown boy.</p> +<p>“Well, now, is it not like a book?” he said, at last, breaking +the silence quite abruptly. “It must be an awful bother +for you, Nan; but we must put a stop to all that. I am the +head of the family; and I shall have a word to say to that Mr.—what +is his name?”</p> +<p>“Mr. Mayne,” returned Nan, softly.</p> +<p>It was at this moment that the name of Hercules came into +Phillis’s head for her cousin. What feats of strength did he +mean to undertake on their behalf? Would he strangle the +hydra-headed monster of public opinion that pronounced +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span> +“women who sewed other women’s gowns” were not to be received +into society? Would he help Nan gather the golden +apples of satisfied love and ambition? What was it that he +meant to do by dint of sheer force and good nature?</p> +<p>Harry Challoner did not long leave them in ignorance of his +intentions. In the coolest possible way he at once assumed the +headship of the family,—adopting them at once, and giving +them the benefit of his opinions on every point that could possibly +be mooted.</p> +<p>“I had not a soul belonging to me until now,” he said, looking +around on his cousins’ bright faces with a glow of honest satisfaction +on his own. “It made a fellow feel precious lonely +out there, I can tell you.”</p> +<p>“You ought to have married, Harry,” suggested Dulce.</p> +<p>“I never thought any one would care for such a great hulking +fellow,” he returned, simply; “and then the girls over there +were not to my taste. Besides, I never thought of it; I was too +busy. I am going to take a holiday now, and look about me a +little; and when you and Aunt Catherine are settled, I may +have a try myself at some one,” he finished, with a big laugh.</p> +<p>This notion amused the girls immensely, then and afterwards. +They began to talk of the future Lady Challoner. Nan +proposed one of the Paines. Phillis thought if Grace Drummond +were only as sweet-looking as her photograph he could +hardly help falling in love with her. And Dulce was of opinion +that Adelaide Sartoris, handsome and queenly as she was, would +not consider a baronet beneath her. They confided all these +thoughts to Sir Harry, who thanked them quite gravely for +their interest and promised to consider the matter. He even +wrote down the names in his pocket-book one after another.</p> +<p>“Adelaide Sartoris, did you say? Ah, we had an Adelaide +at Sydney, a little, dark thing, with hair blown all over her +temples, and such a pair of mischievous eyes: that girl was +always laughing at me, somehow. And yet she seemed sorry +to bid me good-bye.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps she was in love with you?” observed Dulce. But +Phillis frowned at this. She thought they had gone too far in +their jokes already with a cousin who was such a complete +stranger. But he returned, quite gravely,—</p> +<p>“Well, now, you know, such a thing never came into my +head. I talked to her because a fellow likes to be amused by a +lively girl like Miss Addie. But as to thinking seriously of her—well, +I could not stand that, you know to be laughed at all +one’s life; eh, Miss Mattie?” And Mattie, at this appeal, +looked up with round, innocent eyes, and said, “Certainly +not,” in such an impressive tone that the other girls burst out +laughing.</p> +<p>They all went home after that. Sir Harry escorted his cousins +and Mattie to the Friary, and then returned to his hotel to dinner. +But the girls, who were in a merry mood, would not part +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +with Mattie. They sent her home to put on her green silk +dress, with strict orders that she was to return as soon as possible.</p> +<p>“We are all going to make ourselves pretty,” announced +Phillis. “A cousin does not turn up every day; and when he +promises to be a good fellow, like Harry, we cannot do him too +much honor.”</p> +<p>“Ah, I should like to come,” returned Mattie. “I have had +such a nice day; and, if Archie will not mind––” And then +she bustled into the vicarage, and into her brother’s study.</p> +<p>Archie roused himself a little wearily from his abstraction to +listen to his sister’s story; but at the end of it he said good-naturedly, +for he had taught himself to be tolerant of Mattie’s +little gaucheries,—</p> +<p>“And the long and short of it is that you want to be gadding +again. Well, run and get ready, or you will keep their tea +waiting; and do put on your collar straight, Mattie.” But +this slight thrust was lost on Mattie as she delightedly withdrew. +Archie sighed as he tried to compose himself to his reading. +He had not been asked to join Mattie. For the last few +weeks he had become a stranger to the cottage. Did they +notice his absence? he wondered. Did they miss the visits that +had once been so frequent? By and by he would resume his +old habits of intimacy, and go among them as he had done; +but just now the effort was too painful. He dreaded the unspoken +sympathy in Phillis’s eyes. He dreaded anything like +an understanding between them. Nan’s perfect unconsciousness +was helpful to him; but there was something in Phillis’s +manner that stirred up an old pain. For the present he was +safer and happier alone in his study, though Mattie did not +think so, and told her friends that Archie looked terribly +dull.</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner proposed sending for him; but Phillis, +greatly to her mother’s surprise, negatived the proposition:</p> +<p>“Oh, no, mother; pray do not! Mattie, you must excuse +me. I do not mean to be rude, but we should all have to be so +dreadfully well-behaved if Mr. Drummond came, and I just feel +myself in a ‘nonsense mood,’ as Dulce used to say when she +was a baby.” And then they all forgot Archie, and fell to +discussing the new cousin.</p> +<p>“He is dreadfully ugly, mammie, is he not?” observed +Dulce, who had a horror of red hair. But Mrs. Challoner +demurred:</p> +<p>“Well, no, pet; I cannot agree with you. He is very plain, +but so is Dick; but it struck me they were both rather alike.” +An indignant “How can you, mother!” from Nan. “Well, +my dear,” she continued, placidly, “I do not mean really +alike, for they have not a feature in common; but they have +both got the same honest, open look, only Dick’s face is more +intelligent.” But this hardly appeased Nan, who was heard to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +say under her breath “that she thought Dick had the nicest +face in the world.”</p> +<p>“And Sir Harry has a nice face too: has he not, Mrs. Challoner?” +exclaimed Mattie, who never could be silent in a discussion. +“It takes time to get used to such very red hair; and, +of course, he is dreadfully big,—almost too big, I should say. +But when he talks he has such a good-natured way with him; +now, hasn’t he?” appealing to Nan, who looked just a little +glum,—that is, glum for Nan, for she could not do the sulks +properly; she could only look dignified.</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner grew a little alarmed at her daughter’s demure +face: “Nan, darling, you know I am as fond of Dick as +possible; but I cannot help being pleased with my new nephew, +can I? And I must say I think Harry is very nice, in spite of +his roughness.” But here Phillis, who had been unaccountably +silent, suddenly struck in:</p> +<p>“Mother, it was a mistake mentioning Dick: the name is +sacred. Nan, if it will please you we will declare that he is +beautiful as a young Apollo.”</p> +<p>“Don’t be a goose, Phil!” from her sister. But Nan was +smiling.</p> +<p>“As for Harry, he is a perfect hero. I expect great things +from the great man. To my imagination he is a perfect Hercules,—Heracles, +son of Zeus and Alcmene. I wonder if +Harry could tell us the name of Hercules’s mother?”</p> +<p>“Of course not, and no one else either,” retorted Dulce.</p> +<p>But Phillis did not heed this.</p> +<p>“To me he shall be the young Alcides. He has promised to +fight the Nemæan lion, in the shape of Richard Mayne the elder. +By and by we shall have him striking off the heads of the +Lernean Hydra. You look mystified, Nan. And I perceive +Mattie has a perplexed countenance. I am afraid you are deficient +in heathen mythology; but I will spare your ignorance. +You will see, though, I am right––”</p> +<p>“But, Phillis––” broke in Dulce, eagerly. But Phillis +waved her hand majestically at the interruption:</p> +<p>“Mother, to be serious, I consider Harry in the light of a providential +interposition. You are always mourning that there is +not a man belonging to us. Well, now we have got one, large +as life, and larger, and a very good fellow, as you say; and we +are no longer ‘forlorn females.’”</p> +<p>“And indeed, Phillis, I am most thankful for that, my dear; +for if Harry be only as good as a brother to you––”</p> +<p>“He means to be more,” returned Phillis, with a sage nod of +her head. “He talks in the coolest way, as though he had +adopted the whole family and meant to put a spoke into the +domestic wheel. ‘I must put a stop to this,’ or, ‘That must be +altered,’ has been a frequent remark of his. Mother, if he is +dreadfully rich, as he says, does he mean to make us rich +too?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span></p> +<p>“My dear, we have no claim on him.”</p> +<p>“He thinks we have the strongest possible claim: does he +not, Nan? You should have heard him talk this afternoon! +According to him, we were never to sew gowns again; Nan +and Dick were to be immediately united; the Friary was to be +pulled down, and a glorified Glen Cottage to be erected in its +stead. But mother,”—here Phillis’s lip grew plaintive,—“you +won’t desert your own girls, and be talked over even by an +Alcides? We do not mean to have our little deeds all put on +the shelf in that off-hand fashion. I shall sew gowns as long +as I like, in spite of a hundred Sir Harrys.”</p> +<p>And then they perceived that under Phillis’s fun there was +a vein of serious humor, and that, in spite of her admiration of +her hero, she was a little afraid that her notions of independence +would be wounded.</p> +<p>They became divided on the question. Mrs. Challoner, who +had never had a son of her own, and did not much like the idea +of a son-in-law, was disposed to regard her nephew warmly, +and to accord to him at once his privilege of being head of the +family.</p> +<p>“In this case, a cousin is as good as a brother,” she averred; +and Nan rather leaned to her opinion.</p> +<p>“You see,” she said, in her practical way, addressing no one +in particular, but looking at Phillis, “it has been terribly against +us, having no one belonging to us of the same name; and it +will really give us a standing with some sort of people.”</p> +<p>“Fie, Nan! what a worldly speech! You are thinking of +that tiresome Mayne <i>pere</i> again.”</p> +<p>“I have to think of him,” returned Nan, not at all put out +by this. “Dick’s father must be a person of great importance to +me. He has often hinted in my hearing that we have no relations, +and that the Challoner name will die out. I expect he +will be rather taken aback at Harry’s appearance.”</p> +<p>“Yes; and Dick will be jealous: he always is of other fellows, +as he calls them. You must score that up against Dick, please. +Well, I won’t deny that Harry may make himself useful there: +all I protest against is the idea that he will bundle us out of this +dear old Friary, and make us grand, in spite of ourselves.”</p> +<p>“Dear old Friary!—Oh, oh!” gasped Dulce; and even Nan +looked mildly surprised.</p> +<p>“He will not make me give up my work until I choose,” continued +Phillis, who was in an obstinate mood. “It is not make-believe +play-work, I can tell him that;” but Mrs. Challoner +grew tearful at this.</p> +<p>“Phillis, my dear, pray hush! Indeed—indeed I cannot have +you talking as though you meant and wished to be a dressmaker +all your life.”</p> +<p>And when Phillis asked, “Why not?” just for the sake of +argument,—for in her heart she was growing heartily sick of +her employment,—her mother threw up her hands in despair: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span></p> +<p>“Oh, my dear Miss Drummond, do not believe her: Phillis +is a good girl; but she is always like that,—hard to be convinced. +She does not really mean it. She has worked harder +than any of them; but she has only done it for her mother’s +sake.”</p> +<p>“Of course she does not mean it,” echoed Nan, affectionately, +and much struck by a sudden yearning look on Phillis’s face,—an +expression of smothered pain; but Phillis drew away from +her sister’s gentle grasp.</p> +<p>“I do mean it!” she said, almost passionately. “I am +dreadfully tired of the work sometimes, and hate it. Oh, how +I hate it! But I think I have been happy, too. I liked the +excitement of the fighting, and the novelty of the thing; it +was such fun,—first shocking people, and then winning them +over in spite of themselves. One felt ‘plucky,’ as Harry said. +And then one’s friends were so real.” And her eyes fell unconsciously +on Mattie.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” returned Mattie, with her usual gush: “Archie +and I took to you from the first. I must say I was surprised, +knowing how fastidious Archie was, and his notions about +young ladies in general. But, dear, he never would hear a +word against you: he was even angry with Colonel Middleton +the other day because—but there! I ought not to have told you +that.”</p> +<p>“Oh, we know all about it,” returned Phillis, carelessly; but +Dulce’s bright face looked a little overcast. “Son Hammond is +in the case; and we can all judge of a father’s feelings by a +certain example that shall be nameless. Good gracious, +mammie! there comes the Alcides himself, and Dorothy has +not cleared the tea-things! I vote we meet him in the garden, +to avert breakages.” And Phillis’s proposition was carried +out.</p> +<p>But when they were all seated in the little parlor again, and +the lamp was brought, sundry packages made their appearence, +and were delightedly unpacked by the girls, Phillis assisting +with great interest, in spite of her heroic speeches.</p> +<p>“One can accept gifts from a cousin,” she said, afterwards.</p> +<p>Sir Harry had shown good taste in his purchases. The ornaments +and knick-knacks were all pretty and well chosen. The +good-natured fellow had ransacked the shops in Paris for such +things as he thought would please his unknown cousins. The +bracelets, and fans, and gloves, and laces, made Dulce almost +dance with glee. The lace was for Aunt Catherine, he said; +and there were gloves for everybody,—dozens and dozens of +them. But the fans and bracelets were for the girls; and to-morrow +he would get the bonbons for Dulce. And then, as the +girls laughingly apportioned the spoil, he whispered something +to Nan, at which she nodded and smiled.</p> +<p>Mattie, who was carefully admiring the lace in her short-sighted +way, felt something touch her elbow, and found Nan +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span> +pushing a fan and a parcel of gloves towards her,—beautiful +gloves, such as Isabel had in her trousseau.</p> +<p>“Yes; take them; we have so many; and, indeed, we have +no use for more than a fan apiece. Oh, you extravagant +Harry!”</p> +<p>Sir Harry laughed as he balanced the fan clumsily on his +huge finger:</p> +<p>“Take it; you are very welcome, Miss Mattie. You know +we are quite old acquaintances; and, indeed, I look on you as +a sort of cousin.”</p> +<p>“Oh, dear!—thank you; you are very good, Sir Harry,” +cried poor Mattie, blushing with pleasure.</p> +<p>Never had she spent such a day in her life,—a day wherein +she had not been once snubbed, except in that remark of +Archie’s about her collar, and that did not matter.</p> +<p>“Poor little woman, she looks very happy!” observed Mrs. +Challoner, benevolently, as Mattie gathered up her spoils and +went out of the room, accompanied by Dulce. “She is such a +good little soul, and so amiable, that it is a pity Mr. Drummond +is always finding fault with her. It spoils him, somehow; and +I am sure she bears it very well.” She spoke to Nan, for her +nephew seemed engrossed with tying up Laddie’s front paw +with his handkerchief.</p> +<p>“I am afraid, from what she says, that they all snub her at +home,” returned Nan. “It seems Grace is the favorite; but +you know, mother, Mattie is just a little tiresome and awkward +at times.”</p> +<p>“Yes; but she is very much improved. And I must say +her temper is of the sweetest; for she never bears her brother +any malice.” But at that moment Mattie re-entered the room: +and Sir Harry, releasing Laddie, proceeded, as in duty bound, +to escort her to the vicarage.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XLI_SIR_HARRY_BIDES_HIS_TIME' id='CHAPTER_XLI_SIR_HARRY_BIDES_HIS_TIME'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XLI.</h2> +<h3>SIR HARRY BIDES HIS TIME.</h3> +</div> +<p>Phillis might have spared herself that little outburst to +which she had given vent on the day of her cousin’s arrival. +For, in spite of the lordly way in which he had claimed his prerogative +as the only male Challoner, Sir Harry took no further +steps to interfere with her liberty: indeed, as the days and +even the weeks passed away, and nothing particular happened +in them, she was even a little disappointed.</p> +<p>For it is one thing to foster heroic intentions, but quite +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +another when one has no choice in the matter. The heroism +seemed lost, somehow, when no one took the trouble to combat +her resolution. Phillis began to tire of her work,—nay, more, +to feel positive disgust at it. The merry evenings gave her a +distaste for her morning labors, and the daylight seemed sometimes +as though it would never fade into dark, so as to give her +an excuse for folding up her work.</p> +<p>These fits of impatience were intermittent, and she spoke of +them to no one: in other respects the new cousin brought a +great deal of brightness and pleasure into their daily life.</p> +<p>They all grew very fond of him. Mrs. Challoner, indeed, was +soon heard to say that she almost loved him like a son,—a +speech that reached Dick’s ears by and by and made him excessively +angry. “I should like to kick that fellow,” he growled, +as he read the words. But then Dick never liked interlopers. +He had conceived a hatred of Mr. Drummond on the spot. Sir +Harry took up his quarters at the same hotel where Dick and +his father had spent that one dreary evening. He gave lavish +orders and excited a great deal of attention and talk by his careless +munificence. Without being positively extravagant he +had a free-handed way of spending his money: as he often +said, “he liked to see things comfortable about him.” And, as +his notions of comfort were somewhat expensive, his host soon +conceived a great respect for him,—all the more that he gave +himself no airs, never talked about his wealth except to his +cousins, and treated his title as though it were not of the slightest +consequence to himself or any one else; indeed, he was +decidedly modest in all matters pertaining to himself.</p> +<p>But, being a generous soul, he loved to give. Every few days +he went up to London, and he never returned without bringing +gifts to the Friary. Dulce, who was from the first his chief +favorite, revelled in French bonbons; hampers of wine, of +choice game, or fruit from Covent Garden, filled the tiny larder +to overflowing. Silks and ribbons, and odds and ends of female +finery, were sent down from Marshall & Snelgrove’s, or Swan & +Edgar’s. In vain Mrs. Challoner implored him not to spoil the +girls, who had never had so many pretty things in their lives, +and hardly knew what to do with them. Sir Harry would not +deny himself this pleasure; and he came up evening after evening, +overflowing with health and spirits, to join the family +circle in the small parlor and enliven them with his stories of +colonial life.</p> +<p>People began to talk about him. He was too big and too +prominent a figure to pass unnoticed in Hadleigh. The Challoners +and their odd ways, and their cousin the baronet who was +a millionaire and unmarried, were canvassed in many a drawing-room. +“We always knew they were not just ‘nobodies,’” +as one young lady observed; and another remarked, a little +scornfully, “that she supposed Sir Henry Challoner would put +a stop to all that ridiculous dressmaking now.” But when they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span> +found that Nan and Phillis went about as usual, taking orders +and fitting on dresses, their astonishment knew no bounds.</p> +<p>Sir Harry watched them with a secret chuckle. “He must +put a stop to all that presently,” he said; but just at first it +amused him to see it all. “It was so pretty and plucky of +them,” he thought.</p> +<p>He would saunter into the work-room in the morning, and +watch them for an hour together as he sat and talked to them. +After the first they never minded him, and his presence made +no difference to them. Nan measured and cut out, and consulted +Phillis in her difficulties, as usual. Dulce sang over her +sewing-machine, and Phillis went from one to the other with a +grave, intent face. Sometimes she would speak petulantly to +him, and bid him not whistle or tease Laddie: but that was +when one of her fits of impatience was on her. She was generally +gracious to him, and made him welcome.</p> +<p>When he was tired of sitting quiet, he would take refuge with +Aunt Catherine in her little parlor, or go into the vicarage for +a chat with Mattie and her brother: he was becoming very +intimate there. Sometimes, but not often, he would call at the +White House; but, though the Cheynes liked him, and Magdalene +was amused at his simplicity, there was not much in common +between them.</p> +<p>He had taken a liking to Colonel Middleton and his daughter, +and would have found his way to Brooklyn over and over again, +only the colonel gave him no encouragement. They had met +accidentally in the grounds of the White House, and Mr. Cheyne +had introduced them to each other; but the colonel bore himself +very stiffly on that occasion and ever after when they met on +the Parade and in the reading-room. In his heart he was secretly +attracted by Sir Harry’s blunt ways and honest face; but he was +a cousin of those Challoners, and intimacy was not to be desired: +so their intercourse was limited to a brief word or +two.</p> +<p>“Your father does not want to know me,” he said once, in +his outspoken way, to Miss Middleton, when they met at the very +gate of Brooklyn, and she had asked him, with some little hesitation, +if he were coming in. “It is a pity,” he added, regretfully, +“for I have taken a fancy to him: he seems a downright +good sort, and we agree in politics.”</p> +<p>Elizabeth blushed; for once her courtesy and love of truth +were sadly at variance.</p> +<p>“He does like you very much, Sir Harry,” she said; and +then she hesitated.</p> +<p>“Only my cousins sew gowns,” he returned, with a twinkle +of amusement in his eyes, “so he must not encourage me,—eh, +Miss Middleton?—as we are all in the same boat. Well, we +must allow for prejudice. By and by we will alter all that.” +And then he gave her a good-natured nod, and sauntered away +to tell his old friend Mattie all about it; for he had a kindly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span> +feeling towards the little woman, and made her his confidante +on these occasions.</p> +<p>Phillis still called him Alcides, to his endless mystification: +but she privately wondered when his labors were to begin. +After that first afternoon he did not speak much of his future +intentions: indeed, he was a little reserved with the girls, considering +their intimacy; but to his aunt he was less reticent.</p> +<p>“Do you know, Aunt Catherine,” he said one day to her, +“that that old house of yours—Glen Cottage, is it not?—will +soon be in the market? Ibbetson wants to get off the remainder +of the lease.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner leaned back in her chair and put down her +knitting:</p> +<p>“Are you sure, Harry? Then Adelaide was right: she +told me in her last letter that Mrs. Ibbetson’s health was so bad +that they thought of wintering at Hyeres, and that there was +some talk of giving up the house.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, it is true,” he returned, carelessly; “Ibbetson told +me so himself. It is a pretty little place enough, and they have +done a good deal to it, even in a few months: they want to get +off the lease, and rid themselves of the furniture, which seems to +be all new. It appears they have had some money left to them +unexpectedly; and now Mrs. Ibbetson’s health is so bad, he wants +to try travelling, and thinks it a great pity to be hampered with +a house at present. I should say the poor little woman is in a +bad way, myself.”</p> +<p>“Dear me, how sad! And they have been married so short +a time,—not more than six months. She comes of a weakly +stock, I fear. I always said she looked consumptive, poor thing! +Dear little Glen Cottage! and to think it will change hands so +soon again!”</p> +<p>“You seem fond of it, Aunt Catherine,” for her tone was full +of regret.</p> +<p>“My dear,” she answered, seriously, “I always loved that +cottage so! The drawing-room and the garden were just to my +taste; and then the girls were so happy there.”</p> +<p>“Would you not like a grander house to live in?” he asked, +in the same indifferent tone. “I do not think it is half good +enough for you and the girls.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner opened her eyes rather widely at this: but +his voice gave her no clue to his real meaning, and she thought +it was just his joking way with her.</p> +<p>“It would seem a palace after this!” she returned, with a +sigh. “Somehow, I never cared for great big houses, they are +so much expense to keep up; and when one has not a man in +the house––”</p> +<p>“Why, you have me, Aunt Catherine!” speaking up rather +briskly.</p> +<p>“Yes, my dear; and you are a great comfort to us all. It +is so nice to have some one to consult; and, though I would +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +not say so to Nan for the world, Dick is so young that I never +could consult him.”</p> +<p>“By the bye, that reminds me I must have a look at that +young fellow,” returned her nephew. “Let me see, the Oxford +term is over, and he will be home again. Suppose I run over +to Oldfield—it is no distance from town—and leave my card on +Mr. Mayne senior?”</p> +<p>“You, Harry!” And Mrs. Challoner looked quite taken +aback at the proposition.</p> +<p>“Well,” he remarked, candidly, “I think it is about time +something was done: Nan looks awfully serious sometimes. +What is the good of being the head of one’s family, if one is not +to settle an affair like that? I don’t feel inclined to put up with +any more nonsense in that quarter, I can tell you that, Aunt +Catherine.”</p> +<p>“But, Harry,”—growing visibly alarmed,—“you do not +know Mr. Mayne: he can make himself so excessively disagreeable.”</p> +<p>“So can most men when they like.”</p> +<p>“Yes; but not exactly in that way. I believe he is really +very fond of Dick; but he wants to order his life in his own +way, and no young man will stand that.”</p> +<p>“No, by Jove! that is rather too strong for a fellow. I +should say Master Dick could not put up with that.”</p> +<p>“It seems my poor Nan is not good enough for his son, just +because she had no money and has been obliged to make herself +useful. Does it not seem hard, Harry?—my beautiful Nan! +And the Maynes are just nobodies: why, Mr. Mayne’s father +was only a shopkeeper in a very small way, and his wife’s +family was no better!”</p> +<p>“Well, you must not expect me to understand all that,” replied +her nephew, in a puzzled tone. “In the colonies, we did +not think much about that sort of thing: it would not have +done there to inquire too narrowly into a man’s antecedents. +I knew capital fellows whose fathers had been butchers, and +bakers, and candlestick-makers; and, bless me! what does it +matter if the fellow is all right himself?” he finished; for the +last Challoner was a decided Radical.</p> +<p>But Mrs. Challoner, who was mildly obstinate in such matters, +would not yield her point:</p> +<p>“You would think differently if you had been educated at +Eton. In England, it is necessary to discriminate among one’s +acquaintances. I find no fault with Dick: he is as nice and +gentlemanly as possible; but his father has not got his good-breeding; +possibly he had not his advantages. But it is they—the +Maynes—who would be honored by an alliance with one of +my daughters.” And Mrs. Challoner raised her head and drew +herself up with such queenly dignity that Sir Harry dared not +argue the point.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes; I see,” he returned, hastily. “Well, I shall let +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span> +him know what you think. You need not be afraid I shall +lower your dignity, Aunt Catherine. I meant to be rather high +and mighty myself,—that is, if I could manage it.” And he +broke into one of his huge laughs.</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner was very fond of her nephew; but she was +not a clever woman, and she did not always understand his +hints. When they were alone together, he was perpetually +making this sort of remarks to her in a half-serious, half-joking +way, eliciting her opinions, consulting her tastes, with a view +to his future plans.</p> +<p>With the girls he was provokingly reticent. Phillis and +Dulce used to catechise him sometimes; but his replies were +always evasive.</p> +<p>“Do you know, Harry,” Phillis said to him once, very +gravely, “I think you are leading a dreadfully idle life? You +do nothing absolutely all day but walk to and fro between the +hotel and the Friary.”</p> +<p>“Come, now,” retorted her cousin, in an injured tone, “I call +that confoundedly hard on a fellow who has come all these +thousands of miles just to cultivate his relations and enjoy a +little relaxation. Have I not worked hard enough all my life to +earn a holiday now?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” she returned, provokingly, “we all know how +hard you have worked; but all the same it does not do to play +at idleness too long. You are very much improved, Harry. +Your tailor has done wonders for you; and I should not be +ashamed to walk down Bond Street with you any afternoon, +though the people do stare, because you are so big. But don’t +you think it is time to settle down? You might take rooms +somewhere. Lord Fitzroy knows of some capital ones in Sackville +Street; Algie Burgoyne had them.”</p> +<p>“Well, no, thank you, Phillis: I don’t think I shall go in for +rooms.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, a house: you know you are so excessively rich, +Harry,” drawling out her words in imitation of his rather slow +pronunciation.</p> +<p>“Oh, of course I shall take a house; but there is plenty of +time for that.”</p> +<p>And when she pressed him somewhat eagerly to tell her in +what neighborhood he meant to live, he only shrugged his +shoulders, and remarked, carelessly, that he would have a look +round at all sorts of places by and by.</p> +<p>“But do you mean to take a house and live all alone?” asked +Dulce. “Won’t you find it rather dull?”</p> +<p>“What’s a fellow to do?” replied her cousin, enigmatically. +“I suppose Aunt Catherine will not undertake the care of me?—I +am too big, as you call it, for a houseful of women!”</p> +<p>“Well, yes; perhaps you are,” she replied, contemplating +him thoughtfully. “We should not know quite what to do +with you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span></p> +<p>“I wish I could get rid of a few of my superfluous inches,” +he remarked, dolorously; “for people seem to find me sadly in +the way sometimes.”</p> +<p>But Dulce said, kindly,—</p> +<p>“Oh, no, Harry; we never find you in the way: do we, +mammie? We should be dreadfully dull without you now. I +can hear you whistling a quarter of a mile off, and it sounds so +cheerful. If there were only a house big enough for you next +door, that would do nicely.”</p> +<p>“Oh. I dare say I shall not be far off: shall I, Aunt Catherine?” +for, to his aunt’s utter bewilderment, he had established +a sort of confidence between them, and expected her to understand +all his vague hints. “You will not speak about this to +the girls; this is just between you and me,” he would say to +her, when sometimes she had not a notion what he meant.</p> +<p>“I don’t understand you, Harry,” she said, once. “Why +did you stop me just now when I was going to tell Phillis about +the Ibbetsons leaving Glen Cottage? She would have been so +interested.”</p> +<p>“You must keep that to yourself a little while, Aunt Catherine: +it will be such a surprise to the girls, you know. Did I +tell you about the new conservatory Ibbetson has built? It +leads out of the drawing-room, and improves the room wonderfully, +they say.”</p> +<p>“My dear Harry! what an expense! That is just what Mr. +Mayne was always wanting us to do; and Nan was so fond of +flowers. It was just what the room needed to make it perfect.” +And Mrs. Challoner folded her hands, with a sigh at the remembrance +of the house she had loved so dearly.</p> +<p>“They say Gilsbank is for sale,” remarked her nephew, rather +suddenly, after this.</p> +<p>“What! Gilsbank, where old Admiral Hawkins lived? Nan +saw the announcement of his death the other day, and she said +then the place would soon be put up for sale. Poor old man! +He was a martyr to gout.”</p> +<p>“I had a look at it the other day,” he replied, coolly. +“Why, it is not a hundred yards from your old cottage. There +is a tidy bit of land, and the house is not so bad, only it wants +doing up; but the furniture—that is for sale too—is very old-fashioned +and shabby.”</p> +<p>“Are you thinking of it for yourself?” asked his aunt, in +surprise. “Why, Gilsbank is a large place; it would never do +for a single man. You would find the rooms Phillis proposed +far handier.”</p> +<p>“Why, Aunt Catherine!” in a tone of strong remonstrance. +“You don’t mean to condemn me to a life of single blessedness +because of my size?”</p> +<p>“Oh, Harry, of course not! My dear boy, what an idea!”</p> +<p>“And some one may be found in time who could put up even +with red hair.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span></p> +<p>“Oh, yes; that need not be an obstacle.” But she looked at +him with vague alarm. Of whom could he be thinking?</p> +<p>He caught her expression, and threw back his head with one +of his merry laughs:</p> +<p>“Oh, no, Aunt Catherine; you need not be afraid. I am not +going to make love to one of my cousins; I know your views on +the subject, and that would not suit my book at all. I am +quite on your side there.”</p> +<p>“Surely you will tell me, my dear, if you are serious?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, when I have anything to tell; but I think I will +have a good look round first.” And then, of his own accord, he +changed the subject. He was a little sparing of his hints after +that, even to his aunt.</p> +<p>It was shortly after this that he came into the Friary one +evening and electrified his cousins by two pieces of news. He +had just called at the vicarage, he said; but he had not gone in, +for Miss Mattie had run downstairs in a great bustle to tell him +her sister Grace had just arrived. Her brother had been down +to Leeds and brought her up with him. Phillis put down her +work; her face had become suddenly rather pale.</p> +<p>“Grace has come,” she half whispered to herself. And then +she added aloud, “Poor Mattie will be glad, and sorry too! +She will like to have her sister with her for the New Year; but +in a few weeks she will have to pack up her own things and go +home. And she was only saying the other day that she has +never been so happy in her life as she has been here.”</p> +<p>“Why can’t she stay, then?” asked Sir Harry, rather abruptly. +“I don’t hold with people making themselves miserable +for nothing: that does not belong to my creed.”</p> +<p>“Oh, poor Mattie has not a choice in the matter,” returned +Nan, who had grown very fond of her little neighbor. “Though +she is thirty, she must still do as other people bid her. They cannot +both be spared from home,—at least, I believe not,—and so +her mother has recalled her.”</p> +<p>“Oh, but that is nonsense!” replied Sir Harry, rather crossly +for him. “Girls are spared well enough when they are married. +And I thought the Drummonds were not well off. Did not +Phillis tell me so?”</p> +<p>“They are very badly off; but then, you see, Mr. Drummond +does not want two sisters to take care of his house; and, though +he tries to be good to Mattie, he is not so fond of her as he is of +his sister Grace; and they have always planned to live together, +and so poor Mattie has to go.”</p> +<p>“Yes, and I must say I am sorry for the poor little woman,” +observed Mrs. Challoner. “There is a large family of girls and +boys,—I think Mr. Drummond told us he had seven sisters,—and +Mattie seems left out in the cold among them all: they +laugh at her oddities, and quiz her most unmercifully; even Mr. +Drummond does, and Nan scolds him for it; but he has not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span> +been so bad lately. It is rather hard that none of them seem +to want her.”</p> +<p>“You forget Grace is very good to her, mother,” broke in +Phillis, somewhat eagerly. “Mattie always says so.”</p> +<p>“By the by, I must have a look at this paragon. Is not her +name among those in my pocket-book?” returned her cousin, +wickedly. “I saw Miss Sartoris at Oldfield that day, and she +was too grand for my taste. Why, a fellow would never dare +to speak to her. I have scored that one off the list, Phillis.”</p> +<p>“My dears, what have you been saying to Harry?”</p> +<p>“Oh, nothing, mammie,” returned Dulce, hastily, fearing her +mother would be shocked. “Phillis was only in her nonsense-mood; +but Harry is such a goose, and will take things seriously. +I wish you would let me have your pocket-book a moment, and +I would tear out the page.” But Sir Harry returned it safely +to his pocket.</p> +<p>“What was your other piece of news?” asked Nan, in her +quiet voice, when all this chatter had subsided.</p> +<p>“Oh, I had almost forgotten it myself! only Miss Middleton +charged me to tell you that ‘son Hammond’ has arrived by +the P. and O. Steamer the ‘Cerberus,’ and that she and her +father were just starting for Southampton to meet him.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XLII_COME_NOW_I_CALL_THAT_HARD' id='CHAPTER_XLII_COME_NOW_I_CALL_THAT_HARD'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XLII.</h2> +<h3>“COME, NOW, I CALL THAT HARD.”</h3> +</div> +<p>Phillis was unusually silent during the remainder of the +evening; but, as she bade Nan good-night at the door of her +little room, she lingered a moment, shading the flame of her +candle with her hand.</p> +<p>“Do you think Mattie will bring her sister round to see us, +to-morrow?” she asked, in a very low tone.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,—I am sure I hope so,” returned Nan, sleepily, not +noticing the restrained eagerness of Phillis’s manner. “We can +hardly call first, under our present circumstances. Mr. Drummond +knows that.” And Phillis withdrew, as though she were +satisfied with the answer.</p> +<p>Nothing more was said on the subject; and they settled themselves +to their work as usual on the following morning, Dulce +chattering and singing snatches of songs,—for she was a most +merry little soul,—Nan cheerful and ready for conversation +with any one; but Phillis withdrew herself to the farthest +window and stitched away in grave silence. And, seeing such +was her mood, her sisters wisely forbore to disturb her.</p> +<p>At twelve o’clock the gate-bell sounded, and Dulce, who +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span> +hailed any interruption as a joyful reprieve, announced delightedly +that Mattie and a tall young lady were coming up the +flagged walk; and in an instant Phillis’s work lay untouched +on her lap.</p> +<p>“Are you all here? Oh, dear, I am so glad,” exclaimed +Mattie, bustling into the room with a radiant face. “I have +brought Grace to see you; she arrived last night.” And in a +moment the young stranger was surrounded and welcomed +most cordially.</p> +<p>Phillis looked at her curiously for a moment: indeed, during +the whole visit her eyes rested upon Grace’s face from time to +time, as though she were studying her. She had heard so +much of this girl that she had almost feared to be disappointed in +her; but every moment her interest increased.</p> +<p>Grace Drummond was not a pretty girl,—with the exception +of Isabel and the boys, the Drummond family had not the +slightest pretension to beauty,—but she was fair and tranquil-looking, +and her expression was gentle and full of character. +She had very soft clear eyes, with a trace of sadness in them; but +her lips were thin—like her mother’s—and closed firmly, and +the chin was a little massively cut for a woman.</p> +<p>In looking at the lower part of this girl’s face, a keen observer +would read the tenacity of a strong will; but the eyes +had the appealing softness that one sees in some dumb +creatures.</p> +<p>They won Phillis at once. After the first moment, her reserved +manner thawed and became gracious; and before half +an hour had passed she and Grace were talking as though they +had known each other all their lives.</p> +<p>Nan watched them smilingly as she chatted with Mattie: she +knew her sister was fastidious in her likings, and that she did not +take to people easily. Phillis was pleasant to all her friends +and acquaintances: but she was rarely intimate with them, +as Nan and Dulce were wont to be. She held her head a little +high, as though she felt her own superiority.</p> +<p>“Phillis is very amusing and clever; but one does not know +her as well as Nan and Dulce,” even Carrie Paine had been +heard to say; and certainly Phillis had never talked to Carrie +as she did to this stranger.</p> +<p>Grace was just as must charmed on her side. On her return, +she delighted and yet pained her brother by her warm praises +of his favorites.</p> +<p>“Oh, Archie!” she exclaimed, as they sat at luncheon in the +old wainscoted dining-room at the vicarage, “you are quite +right in saying the Challoners are not like any other girls. They +are all three so nice and pretty; but the second one—Miss +Phillis—is most to my taste.”</p> +<p>Archie checked an involuntary exclamation, but Mattie +covered it.</p> +<p>“Dear me, Grace!” she observed, innocently; “I rather +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span> +wonder at your saying that. Nan is by far the prettiest: is she +not, Archie? Her complexion and coloring are perfect.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes! If you are talking of mere looks, I cannot dispute +that,” returned Grace, a little impatiently; “but, in my +opinion, there is far more in her sister’s face: she has the beauty +of expression, which is far higher than that of form or coloring. +I should say she has far more character than either of them.”</p> +<p>“They are none of them wanting in that,” replied Archie, +breaking up his bread absently.</p> +<p>“No; that’s just what I say: they are perfectly unlike other +girls. They are so fresh, and simple, and unconscious, that it +is quite a pleasure to be with them: but if I were to choose a +friend from among them I should certainly select Miss Phillis.” +And to this her brother made no reply.</p> +<p>“They are all so pleased about Tuesday,” interrupted Mattie, +at this point,—“Nan was so interested and amused about my +grand tea-party, as she called it. They have all promised to +come, only Mrs. Challoner’s cold will not allow her to go out +this severe weather. And then we met Sir Harry, and I introduced +him to Grace, and he will be delighted to come too. I +wish you would let me ask Miss Middleton and her brother, +Archie; and then we should be such a nice little party.”</p> +<p>“How can you be so absurd, Mattie?” returned Archie, with +a touch of his old irritability. “A nice confusion you would +make, if you were left to arrange things! You know the +colonel’s one object in life is to prevent his son from having any +intercourse with the Challoners; and you would ask him to +meet them the first evening after his arrival in the place.”</p> +<p>“Is the father so narrow in his prejudices as that?” asked +Grace, who had quite forgotten her own shocked feelings when +she first heard that Archie was visiting a family of dressmakers +on equal terms.</p> +<p>“Oh, dear! I forgot,” sighed Mattie, taking her brother’s +blame meekly, as usual. “How very stupid of me! But would +you not like the Cheynes or the Leslies invited, Archie? Grace +ought to be introduced to some of the best people.”</p> +<p>“You may leave Grace to me,” returned her brother, somewhat +haughtily: “I will take care of her introductions. As +for your tea-party, Mattie, I shall be much obliged if you will +keep it within its first limits,—just the Challoners and Sir +Harry. If any one be asked, it ought to be Noel Frere: he has +rather a dull time of it, living alone in lodgings,”—the Rev. +Noel Frere being a college chum of Archie’s, who had come +down to Hadleigh to recruit himself by a month or two of idleness. +“Perhaps we had better have him, as there will be so +many ladies.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,—of course! He is so nice and clever,” observed +Grace, not noticing the shade on Mattie’s face. “How pleased +you must be to have him staying here so long, Archie!—you +two were always such friends.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span></p> +<p>“He comes nearly every evening,” returned Mattie, disconsolately. +“He may suit you, Grace, because you are clever +yourself; but I am dreadfully afraid of him, he is so dry and +sarcastic. Must he really be asked for Tuesday, Archie?”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed: you ought to have thought of him first. I +am sorry for your bad taste, Mattie, if you do not like Frere: +he is a splendid fellow, though terribly delicate, I fear. Now, +Gracie, if we have finished luncheon, I should like you to put +on your wraps, and I will show you some of my favorite haunts; +and perhaps we shall meet Frere.”</p> +<p>Grace hesitated for a moment. She thought Archie would +have included Mattie in his invitation; but he did nothing of +the kind, and she knew him too well to suggest such a thing.</p> +<p>“Good-bye, Mattie dear. I hope you will have some tea +ready for us when we come back,” she said, kissing her sister +affectionately; but they neither of them noticed the pained +wistfulness of Mattie’s look as the door closed upon them.</p> +<p>They were going out without her; and on Grace’s first day, +too. Archie was going to show her the church, and the +schools, and the model cottages where his favorite old women +lived,—all those places that Mattie had visited and learned to +love during the eight months she had lived with her brother. +In a few weeks she must say good-bye to them all, and go back +to the dull old house at Leeds, to be scolded by her mother for +her awkward ways, and to be laughed at and teased by her +brothers and sisters. Archie was bad enough sometimes, but +then he was Archie, and had a right to his bad humors; but +with the boys and girls it was less endurable. It was, “Oh, +you stupid old Matt! Of course it was all your fault;” or, +“Mattie, you goose!” from Fred; or, “You silly child, Mattie” +from her father, who found her a less amusing companion +than Grace; and even Dottie would say, “Oh, it is only +Mattie: I never care if she scolds me.”</p> +<p>The home atmosphere was a little depressing, Mattie thought, +with a sigh, dearly as she loved her young torments. She knew +she would find it somewhat trying after these eight months of +comparative freedom. True, Archie had snubbed her and kept +her in order; but one tyrant is preferable to many. At home the +thirty-years-old Mattie was only one of the many daughters,—the +old maid of the family,—the unattractive little wall-flower +who was condemned to wither unnoticed on its stalk. Here, in +her brother’s vicarage, she had been a person of consequence, +whom only the master of the house presumed to snub.</p> +<p>The maids liked their good-natured mistress, who never found +fault with them, and who was so bustling and clever a little +housekeeper. The poor people and the school-children liked +Mattie too. “Our Miss Drummond” they called her for a long +time, rather to Grace’s discomfiture. “Ah, she is a rare one, +when a body is low!” as old Goody Saunders once said.</p> +<p>And Archie’s friends respected the little woman, in spite of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span> +her crudities and decidedly odd ways. Miss Middleton and the +Challoners were quite fond of her. So no wonder Mattie grew +low at the thought of leaving her friends.</p> +<p>Grace had come to take her place. Nevertheless, she had +welcomed her on the previous evening with the utmost cheerfulness +and unselfishness. She had shown her the house; she +had introduced her to the Challoners; she had overwhelmed +her with a thousand little attentions; and Grace had not been +ungrateful.</p> +<p>“I am afraid this is hard for you, Mattie,” Grace had said to +her, as the sisters were unpacking late the previous night. “I +ought not be so happy to come, when I know I am turning you +out.” And Mattie had winked away a tear, and answered, quite +cheerily,—</p> +<p>“Oh, no, Grace; you must not feel that. I have had a nice +time, and enjoyed myself so much with dear Archie, and now +it is your turn; and, you know, he has always wanted you from +the first.”</p> +<p>“Poor dear fellow!” murmured Grace; “but he looks thin, +Mattie. Perhaps I ought to be here, as he wants me; but I shall +never keep his house as beautifully as you have done. Mother +would be astonished if she saw it.” And this piece of well-deserved +praise went far to console Mattie that night.</p> +<p>But she began to feel just a little sore at breakfast-time. +Once or twice, Archie decidedly ignored her, and turned to +Grace; he even brought her his gloves to mend, though Mattie +had been his faithful mender all these months.</p> +<p>“Come into the study, and we will have a talk, Grace,” he +had said, and as Grace had involuntarily waited for her sister +to accompany them, he had-added, hastily: “Oh, Mattie is +always busy at this time with butchers and bakers! Come +along, Grace:” and, though Mattie had no such business on her +hands, she dared not join them.</p> +<p>It was only when a parish meeting called the young vicar +away that Mattie bethought herself of the Challoners.</p> +<p>Poor Mattie! Low spirits were not much in her line. She +had never thought enough of herself to indulge in the luxury +of wounded susceptibility,—the atmosphere that surrounded +her had been too rough and bracing for that; but nevertheless +this afternoon she longed to indulge in a good cry. Happily, +however, before the first tear had begun to redden her eyelids—indeed, +she hardly got her mouth into the proper pucker—a +vigorous pull at the bell warned her of an impending visitor, and +immediately afterwards Sir Harry marched into the room, looking +ruddier than ever with the cold air and exercise, his warm +coloring kindling a glow in the room.</p> +<p>His heavy footsteps shook the old flooring of the vicarage; +but as he greeted Mattie he looked round him, as though somewhat +surprised to find her alone.</p> +<p>“How do you do, Miss Mattie? Why, what have you done +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +with your sister?” he asked, in rather a disappointed tone. +“I came to have a chat with you both.”</p> +<p>Another little sting for Mattie: he had only come to see Grace.</p> +<p>“She has gone out with Archie,” she returned, in a subdued +voice. “He is showing her the church and the schools.”</p> +<p>“I was up at the Friary just now,” he said, carelessly, “and +they were all talking about your sister, praising her up to the +skies. What an odd capacity women have for falling in love +with each other at first sight! Phillis especially seemed very +far gone. So I told them I would just come and have a good +look at this paragon: one cannot judge of a person in a hat and +veil.”</p> +<p>“I am sure you will like Grace,” replied Mattie, reviving a +little at the idea of her sister’s perfections. “She is not pretty, +exactly, though Archie and I think her so; but she is so nice and +clever. Oh, you should hear those two talk! it is perfectly +wonderful to listen to them!”</p> +<p>“It strikes me you are a little left out in the cold, aren’t you, +Miss Mattie?” asked Sir Harry, with one of his shrewd good-humored +looks. “Why did you not go out with them?”</p> +<p>“Oh, Archie never wants me when he has Grace,” answered +Mattie, with a sudden pang at the truthfulness of this speech. +“They have always been so much to each other, those two.”</p> +<p>“He would want you fast enough if Miss Grace—is that not +her name?—were to marry and leave him to shift for himself,” +was the somewhat matter-of-fact answer.</p> +<p>But Mattie shook her head at this with a faint smile:</p> +<p>“Grace will never marry. She would not leave Archie.”</p> +<p>“Oh, but that is nonsense, do you know?—sheer nonsense! +Many girls talk like that, but they change their mind in the +end. Why, the parson may marry himself. You don’t suppose +a good looking fellow like that intends to be an old bachelor? +And then what will Miss Grace do?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. I am afraid she will miss him dreadfully.”</p> +<p>“Oh, but she will get over it all right. It does not do to +make a fuss over that sort of thing. Sentimentality between +brothers and sisters is all very well in its way, but it won’t +hold against a wife’s or husband’s claims. I never had any +myself, so I don’t know; but I find it precious lonely without +them. That is why I have adopted my cousins. A man must +care for some one.”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed,” echoed Mattie, with a sigh.</p> +<p>“I am afraid your people do not use you very well, Miss +Mattie,” he went on, with cheerful sympathy that was quite a +cordial in its way. “You look a bit down this afternoon; a +fellow would call it in the blues, and he would be thinking of a +cigar and brandy-and-soda. What a pity women don’t smoke! +it is no end soothing to the spirits!”</p> +<p>“We have got afternoon tea,” returned Mattie, beginning to +smile at this. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span></p> +<p>“Well, why don’t you ring and order some?” he replied, +quite seriously. “Do, please, Miss Mattie, if it will put a little +heart into you. Why, I should like a cup myself uncommonly. +There never was such a fellow for afternoon tea.” And then +Mattie did ring the bell, and, Sir Harry having stirred the fire +into a cheerful blaze, and the little brass kettle beginning to +sing cheerily on its trivet, things soon looked more comfortable.</p> +<p>“Now you are all right,” he remarked, presently. “You +look quite a different sort of body now. When I first came in +you reminded me of Cinderella in a brown dress, sitting all +alone, by a very black fire. I do believe you were on the verge +of crying. Now, weren’t you, Miss Mattie?” And Mattie, with +much shame, owned to the impeachment.</p> +<p>“And what was it all about, eh?” he asked, with such a +coaxing peremptoriness that Mattie confessed that she was +rather dull at the thought that nobody wanted her, and that +she must go home; and, on being further pressed and questioned, +out it all came,—Mattie’s shortcomings, her stupid +ways, and the provocation she offered to home criticism. Sir +Harry listened and laughed, and every now and then threw in +a jesting remark; but so encouraging was his manner and so +evident his interest that Mattie found herself talking as she had +never done to any one but Miss Middleton. Before she had +finished, Sir Harry knew all about the household in Lowder +Street, and had formed a tolerable estimate of every member of +the family,—the depressed father; the care-worn and some +what stern mother; the boys, clever and handsome and flippant; +the girls in all stages of awkwardness; and the quiet, +talented Grace, who was every one’s right hand, and who had +come to the vicarage to dispossess Mattie.</p> +<p>“Come, now, I call that hard; I do, upon my word!” he +repeated more than once at the end of Mattie’s little narrative. +“Women have a lot put upon them. I dare say if I had had +sisters I should have bullied them sometimes. Men are awful +tyrants, aren’t they, Miss Mattie?”</p> +<p>Mattie took this literally.</p> +<p>“I do not think you would be a tyrant, Sir Harry,” she returned, +simply, and then wondered why he suddenly colored +up to the roots of his hair.</p> +<p>“Oh, there is no knowing,” he replied, in an embarrassed +tone. “I have never had any one to bully. I think I shall try +my hand on Dulce, only she is such a little spit-fire. Well, I +must be going,” he went on, straightening himself. “By the +bye, I shall not see you again until Tuesday; I have to run +over to Oldfield about a lot of business I have in hand. Do +you know Oldfield?”</p> +<p>“Oh, no; but Nan and Phillis have described it so often that +I seem as though I have been there.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span></p> +<p>“It is a niceish place, and I am half inclined to settle there +myself; there is a house going that would just suit me.”</p> +<p>Mattie’s face lengthened: she did not like the idea of losing +Sir Harry, he had been so good-natured and kind to her.</p> +<p>“One would never see you if you live at Oldfield,” she said, a +little sorrowfully; and again Sir Harry looked embarrassed.</p> +<p>“Oh, but you will be at Leeds, so it won’t make much difference. +But I do not want to be parted from Aunt Catherine and +the girls: there is a great deal to arrange. Perhaps, before you +go, I shall be able to tell you that things are settled. Anyhow, +good-bye till Tuesday.” And then he nodded to her in a friendly +way, and Mattie returned to her fireplace refreshed and comforted.</p> +<p>Archie and Grace came in presently, bringing another current +of cold air with them. They both looked bright and happy, +as though they had enjoyed their walk. Grace’s pale cheeks +had the loveliest tinge in them.</p> +<p>“Have we left you too long alone, Mattie dear?” she asked, +as she took the cup of tea offered her. “How cosy this dear +old room looks! and what a beautiful fire!”</p> +<p>“Sir Harry has been emptying the coal-scuttle!” laughed +Mattie. “What a pity you missed him, Grace! he has been so +amusing.”</p> +<p>Grace smiled incredulously:</p> +<p>“Why, that great big Sir Harry Challoner whom you introduced +this morning! my dear Mattie, I am sure he could never +be amusing. I was not greatly prepossessed with him.”</p> +<p>“Mattie’s geese are all swans. I don’t think much of him +myself,” broke in Archie, in a satirical voice. “I like quality +better than quantity. He is so big, I am sure his brains must +suffer by comparison. Now, there is Frere.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, we met Mr. Frere!” interrupted Grace, eagerly; +“and Archie and he had such a talk: it was delightful only to +listen to it. I liked his ideas on ecclesiastical architecture, +Archie.” And then followed an animated discussion between +the sister and brother, about a book of Ruskin’s that they had +both been reading. Mattie tried to follow them; but she had +not read Ruskin, and they soon left her miles behind; indeed, +after the first few minutes they seemed to have forgotten her +existence; but somehow Mattie did not feel so forlorn as +usual.</p> +<p>“Come, now, I call that hard,” a sympathizing voice seemed +to say in her ear. Sir Harry’s genial presence, his blunt, kindly +speeches, had done Mattie good: he had called her Cinderella, +and made the fire blaze for her, and had coaxed her in quite a +brotherly manner to tell him her little troubles and Mattie felt +very grateful to him.</p> +<p>So she stared into the fire wistful and happy, while the +others talked over her head, and quite started when she heard +her own name. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span></p> +<p>“We are forgetting Mattie; all this must be so dull for her,” +Grace was saying, as she touched her shoulder caressingly. +“Come upstairs with me, dear: we can have a chat while we +get ready for dinner. You must not let your friends make themselves +so much at home, you extravagant child, for your fire is +far too large for comfort;” but Mattie turned away from it reluctantly +as she followed her sister out of the room.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XLIII_I_WILL_WRITE_NO_SUCH_LETTER' id='CHAPTER_XLIII_I_WILL_WRITE_NO_SUCH_LETTER'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIII.</h2> +<h3>“I WILL WRITE NO SUCH LETTER.”</h3> +</div> +<p>The new year had not opened very auspiciously at Longmead, +neither had the Christmas festivities been great.</p> +<p>Dick on his first return home had put on a great appearance +of cheerfulness, and had carried himself much as usual; but +Mr. Mayne had been glum, decidedly glum, and Mrs. Mayne +had found it difficult to adjust the balance of her sympathy between +Dick’s voluble quicksilver on the one hand, and her husband’s +dead weight of ill humor on the other.</p> +<p>The truth was, Mr. Mayne’s sharp eyes had discerned from +the first moment of his son’s entrance into the house that there +was no change in his purpose.</p> +<p>To an outsider, Dick’s behavior to his father was as nice as +possible. He still kept up his old jokes, rallying him on his +matutinal activity, and saying a word about the “early worm,” +“so bad for the worm, poor beggar,” observed Dick. And he +sauntered after him into the poultry-yard, and had a great deal +to say about some Spanish fowls that had been lately imported +into Longmead and that were great sources of pride to Mr. +Mayne.</p> +<p>Dick paid a great deal of dutiful attention to his father’s hobbies: +he put on his thickest boots every day after luncheon, that +his father might enjoy the long walks in which he delighted. +Dick used to sally forth whistling to his dogs when they went +down Sandy Lane; he was careful to pause where the four roads +met, that Mr. Mayne might enjoy his favorite view. In all +these things Dick’s behavior was perfect. Nevertheless, on their +return from one of these walks they each had a secret grievance +to pour into Mrs. Mayne’s ear.</p> +<p>Dick’s turn would come first.</p> +<p>“Mother,” he would say, as he lounged into the room where +she sat knitting by the firelight and thinking of her boy—for +just now she was heart and soul on Dick’s side—and full of +yearning for the sweet girl whom he wanted for his wife, “I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +don’t know how long this sort of thing is going on, but I don’t +think I can put up with it much longer.”</p> +<p>“Have you not had a nice walk with your father?” she asked, +anxiously.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes; the walk was well enough. We had some trouble +with Vigo, though, for he startled a pheasant in Lord Fitzroy’s +preserve, and then he bolted after a hare. I had quite a difficulty +in getting him to heel.”</p> +<p>“These walks do your father so much good, Dick.”</p> +<p>“That is what you always say; but I do not think I can stand +many more of them. He will talk of everything but the one subject, +and that he avoids like poison. I shall have to bring him +to book directly, and then there will be no end of a row. It is +not the row I mind,” continued Dick, rather ruefully; “but I +hate putting him out and seeing him cut up rough. If he would +only be sensible and give me my way in this, there is nothing +I would not do to please him. You must talk to him; you must +indeed, mother.” And then Mrs. Mayne, with a sinking heart, +promised that she would do what she could.</p> +<p>And after that it would be her husband’s turn.</p> +<p>“I tell you what Bessie; I am not satisfied about that boy,” +he remarked, once, as he came in to warm his hands before +going upstairs to dress for dinner. “I don’t know from whom +he gets his obstinacy,—not from either of us, I am sure of that,—but +his cheerfulness does not deceive me. He means mischief; +I can see that plainly.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Richard! And Dick has been so nice to you ever since +he came home. Why, he has not once asked to have any of his +friends down to stay. And before this he was never content +unless we filled the house. He takes walks with you, and is as +domesticated and quiet as possible, so different from other +young fellows, who are always racketing about.”</p> +<p>“That is just what bothers me,” returned her husband, +crossly. “You have no discernment, Bessie, or you would +know what I mean. I should not care a straw if Dick were to +cram the house with young fellows: that sort of larking is just +natural at his age. Why, he quite pooh-poohed the idea of a +dinner-party the other night, though I planned it for his pleasure. +His mind is set on other things, and that is why I say he +is up to mischief.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Mayne sighed as she smoothed down her satin dress with +her plump white hands; but she could not gainsay the truth of +this speech: his father was right,—Dick’s mind was set on +other things.</p> +<p>“I wish you would let him talk to you,” she began, timidly, +remembering her promise. “Do, my dear; for I am sure Dick +is very much in earnest.”</p> +<p>“So am I very much in earnest,” he returned, wrathfully; +and his small eyes grew bright and irritable. “No, it is no use +your looking at me in that way, Bessie. I am determined not to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span> +allow that boy to ruin his prospects for life. He will thank me +one day for being firm; and so will you, though you do turn +against your own husband.”</p> +<p>This was too much for Mrs. Mayne’s affectionate nature to +bear.</p> +<p>“Oh, Richard, how can you talk so? and I have been a good +wife to you all these years!” And here the poor woman began +to sob. “You might make allowance for a mother’s feelings; +he is my boy as well as yours, and I would cut off my right hand +to make him happy; and I do—I do think you are very hard +upon him about Nan.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mayne stared at her in speechless amazement. Bessie, +his long-suffering Bessie,—the wife of his bosom, over whom he +had a right to tyrannize,—even she had turned against him, and +had taken his son’s part. “Et tu, Brute!” he could have said, +in his bitterness; but his wrath was too great.</p> +<p>“I tell you what,” he said, rising from the seat that was no +longer restful to him, and pointing his finger at her, “you and +your boy together will be the death of me.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Richard, how can you be so wicked?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I am wicked, am I? That is a nice wifely speech.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you are, when you say such things to me!” she returned, +plucking up spirit that amazed herself afterwards. +“If you do not know when you have a good wife and son, I +am sorry for you. I say again, I think you are making a grievous +mistake, Richard. Dick’s heart is set on the girl; and I don’t +wonder at it, a dear pretty creature like that. And if you cross +him, and set him wrong, you will have to answer to both of +us for the consequences.” And then she, too, rose, trembling +in every limb, and with her comely face very much flushed. +Even a worm will turn, and Bessie Mayne had for once +ventured to speak the truth to her husband.</p> +<p>She had the victory that night, for he was too much dumbfounded +by her rebellion to indulge in his usual recriminations: +he had never imagined before that Bessie owned a will +of her own; but he felt now, with a pang of wounded self-love, +that the younger Richard had proved a formidable rival.</p> +<p>His wife’s heart relented when she saw his moody looks; but +he would not be reconciled to her, in spite of her coaxing +speeches.</p> +<p>“Come Richard,—come, my dear! you must not be so cross +with me,” she said to him later on that night. “We have been +married three-and-twenty years, and have never had a serious +quarrel; and I don’t like your black looks at me.”</p> +<p>“Then you should not anger me by taking that boy’s part,” +was his only answer; and he could not be induced to say anything +more conciliatory. And the poor woman went to bed +weeping.</p> +<p>Things were in this uncomfortable state, when, one morning, +Dick thrust his head into the study where his father was jotting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span> +down some household accounts; for he managed all such minor +details himself, much to his wife’s relief.</p> +<p>“Are you particularly busy, father?—I want to have a talk +with you.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mayne looked up quickly, and his bushy eyebrows drew +together.</p> +<p>“Well, yes, I am, Dick,—most particularly busy just now;” +for there was a look on his son’s face that made him feel disinclined +for conversation.</p> +<p>“Oh, very well, then; I can leave it until after luncheon,” +was the cheerful response; then Mr. Mayne knew that Dick +was determined to take the bull by the horns.</p> +<p>They went out after luncheon, taking the dogs with them, +and turning their steps in the direction of Sandy Lane. For +the first mile, Dick said very little; he had his eye on Vigo, +who seemed to be inclined to bolt. But when they had reached +the second mile-stone, he cleared his throat; and then Mr. +Mayne knew that his trouble was beginning.</p> +<p>“Well, father,” commenced Dick, “I think it is about +time we had a little serious talk together about my future plans. +Of course I want to know if I am to go down next term.”</p> +<p>“I don’t see that we need discuss that. You will read for +your degree, of course.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mayne spoke fast and nervously; but Dick was quite +cool,—at least, outwardly so.</p> +<p>“There is no ‘of course’ in the matter. I can only read for +my degree on one condition.”</p> +<p>“And what is that, may I ask?” with rising choler in his voice.</p> +<p>“That you will have Nan down to Longmead, and that you +and my mother sanction our engagement.”</p> +<p>“Never, sir! never!” in a vehement tone.</p> +<p>“Please don’t excite yourself, father. I think it is I who +ought to be excited; but, you see, I am quite cool,—perfectly so. +I am far too much in earnest to be otherwise. When a man’s +future prospects are at stake, and his own father seems determined +to thwart him, it is time to summon up all one’s energies. +I hope you are not serious in what you say,—that you do absolutely +refuse to sanction my engagement with Nan?”</p> +<p>“There is no engagement. If there were, I do absolutely +refuse; nay, more, I am determined actively to oppose it.”</p> +<p>“I am sorry to find you have not changed your mind; for it +makes all the difference to me, I assure you. Very well: then +I must go in for a City life.”</p> +<p>“Do you threaten me, sir?”</p> +<p>“No, father, I would not be so undutiful; but it is a pity +your throwing all that money away on my education if I am not +to complete it. If I had taken a good degree, I might have +turned out something; but never mind,—it can’t be helped +now. Then you will be kind enough to write a letter of introduction +to Stansfield & Stansfield?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span></p> +<p>“No, sir; I will write no such letter!” thundered Mr. +Mayne; and Dick put his hands in his pocket and whistled. +He felt himself losing patience; but, as he said afterwards, his +father was in such an awful rage that it was necessary for one +of them to keep cool. So, as soon as he recovered, he said, +quite pleasantly,—</p> +<p>“Well, if you will not, you will not. We may take a horse +to the water, but we can’t make him drink. And the time has +not come yet for a son to order his own father, though we are +pretty well advanced now.”</p> +<p>“I think we are, Dick.”</p> +<p>“I confess I am rather disappointed at not getting that letter. +Mr. Stansfield would have attached some importance to +it; but I dare say I shall get on with the old boy without it. I +may as well tell you that I shall accept anything he likes to +offer me,—even if it be only a clerkship at eighty pounds a year. +After all, I am not worse off than you were at my age. You +began at the bottom of the ladder: so I need not grumble.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean to say,” demanded his father, in a tone of +grief, “that you really intend to throw me over, and not only +me, but all your advantages, your prospects in life, for the sake +of this girl?”</p> +<p>“I think it is you who are throwing me over,” returned his +son, candidly. “Put yourself in my place. When you were a +young man, father, would you have given up my mother, if my +grandfather had wished you to do so?”</p> +<p>“The cases are different,—altogether different,” was the +angry response. “I never would have married a dressmaker.”</p> +<p>“There are dressmakers and dressmakers: but at least my +<i>fiancee</i> is a gentlewoman,” returned his son, hotly.</p> +<p>Dick meant nothing by this speech more than his words implied: +he was far too good-natured for an <i>arriere-pensee</i>. But +his father chose to consider himself insulted.</p> +<p>“You insolent young fellow!” he exclaimed, fuming. “Do +you mean your mother was not as good as Miss Nancy, any +day? I never did believe in those Challoners,—never, in spite +of the mother’s airs. I tell you what, Dick, you are treating me +shamefully; after all the money I have wasted on you, to turn +round on me in this way and talk about the City. I wash my +hands of you, sir. I will have nothing to do with introductions: +you may go your way, but you will never see a penny of my +money.” And he walked on with a very black look indeed.</p> +<p>“All right,” returned Dick. But he was not quite so cool +now. “Thank you for all you have done for me, and for letting +me know your future intentions. I am thinking it is a good +thing Nan has learned her business, for, as we shall be tolerably +poor, it will be handy for her to make her own gowns.”</p> +<p>“Very well, Dick.”</p> +<p>“I shall go up to Mr. Stansfield to-morrow; and the day +after I suppose I had better write to the Dean. You may not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span> +believe me, father,”—and here Dick’s lip quivered for the first +time,—“but I am awfully sorry to cross you in this way; but +my heart is so set on Nan that I could not possibly bring myself +to live without her.” But to this Mr. Mayne made no reply, +and they walked the remainder of the way in silence.</p> +<p>Mrs. Mayne’s heart grew sick with apprehension when she +saw their faces at dinner.</p> +<p>Dick looked decidedly cross. To do him justice, the poor +fellow was thoroughly miserable; but his aspect was cheerful +compared to that of her husband.</p> +<p>Mr. Mayne would not speak; neither would he eat. And +even the footman, who took away the untasted viands, looked +at his master with fear and trembling, his countenance was so +gloomy.</p> +<p>Dick did not seem to notice his father’s failure of appetite; +but Mrs. Mayne was one of those women who are given to fancy +that if a man refuse his dinner there is something serious the +matter with him. And as the meal proceeded she cast piteous +looks at her son, but Dick totally ignored them.</p> +<p>As soon as the servants had handed round the fruit, and had +left the room, Mr. Mayne rose from the table, leaving his claret +untasted, and shut himself into the library, first banging the +door behind him, a sound that made his wife’s heart palpitate.</p> +<p>“Oh, Dick, what was happened to your father?” she asked, +turning to her boy for comfort. But Dick was unusually +sulky, and refused to answer.</p> +<p>“You had better ask him, mother, if you are anxious to +know,” he replied, in a voice he very seldom used to her. “As +for me, I am so sick of the whole thing, and feel myself so +badly used, that I would rather not open my lips on the subject.”</p> +<p>Then Mrs. Mayne sighed, for she knew Dick had one of his +obstinate fits on him, and that there would be no further word +spoken by him that night.</p> +<p>Poor woman! She knew it was her duty to go into the library +and speak a word of comfort to her husband. It might be +that Dick had been contumacious, and had angered his father, +and it might be her task to pour in the balm of sympathy. +Even if he had been hard on her boy, she must not forget that +he was her husband.</p> +<p>But as she opened the door she forgot her doubts in a moment. +Mr. Mayne’s face was so pale, despite its blackness, that she was +moved to instant pity.</p> +<p>“Oh, Richard, what is it?” she said, hurrying to him, +“My dear, you must not take it to heart in this way.” And +she took his forehead between her hands and kissed it with the +old tenderness she had once felt for him, when they, too, had +lived and worked for each other, and there was no Master Dick +to plague them and rule over his mother’s heart.</p> +<p>“Bessie, that boy will be the death of me,” he groaned. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span> +But, notwithstanding the despondency of these words, the comfort +of his wife’s presence was visibly felt, and by and by he +suffered her to coax the truth from him.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XLIV_MR_MAYNE_ORDERS_A_BASIN_OF_GRUEL' id='CHAPTER_XLIV_MR_MAYNE_ORDERS_A_BASIN_OF_GRUEL'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIV.</h2> +<h3>MR. MAYNE ORDERS A BASIN OF GRUEL.</h3> +</div> +<p>On the following morning Mr. Mayne did open his lips to +address a word to his son:</p> +<p>“I shall be obliged to you, Dick, if you will postpone your +intended visit to town, for this day at least;” for Dick had an +“ABC” beside him, and was picking out a fast train while he +ate his breakfast.</p> +<p>“All right,” replied Dick: “I can wait another four-and-twenty +hours.” But though he yielded the point graciously +enough, he did not look at his father, or say anything more on +the subject; and as soon as his appetite was satisfied, he took up +the “Times,” and lounged into his den. Shortly afterwards +they heard him whistling to his dogs, and knew that he would +not appear until luncheon.</p> +<p>Mrs. Mayne wished that her husband would follow his example; +but he had put on his slippers, and showed no inclination +to leave the fireside. He read his paper and dozed a good +deal, and snapped up Bessie if she spoke to him: so, on the +whole, Mrs. Mayne had rather a dull morning. When the luncheon-bell +rang, he chose to put on invalid airs, and ordered a +basin of gruel to be brought to him in the library. Mrs. Mayne +who knew he was not ill, and that his indisposition was purely +mental and imaginary, was yet wise enough to fall in with his +whim.</p> +<p>“Your master would like his gruel nicely flavored, James,” +she said to the footman. “Please ask Mrs. Simpkins to prepare +it in the way he likes.” And then she placed his favorite little +table beside him, and stirred the fire into a more cheerful blaze.</p> +<p>“Your father does not feel himself well enough to come in +to luncheon, Dick,” she said to her son, probably for the benefit +of the servant, who was waiting to remove the covers; and +Dick, for the same reason, testified a proper amount of sympathy.</p> +<p>“He takes too long walks for a man of his age,” he said, +applying himself vigorously to the dismemberment of a chicken. +“Mother, I will trouble you for some of that game-pie.” And +then he told her another anecdote about Vigo.</p> +<p>After luncheon Dick again disappeared, and Mrs. Mayne, +who dreaded an afternoon’s <i>tete-a-tete</i> with her husband in his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span> +present mood, went up to her own room, for some feminine +business, or to take a nap. Mr. Mayne, a little mollified by +the gruel, which had been flavored exactly to his liking with a +<i>soupcon</i> of rum, was just composing himself for another doze, +when he was roused by the loud pealing of the hall bell, and +the next moment the door was flung open by James, and Sir +Henry Challoner was announced.</p> +<p>It was a dark wintry afternoon, and the library was somewhat +sombre: the fire had died down, owing to Mr. Mayne’s +drowsiness. In the dim light Sir Harry’s big burly figure +looked almost gigantic. Mr. Mayne, with his little lean shoulders +and sharp face, looked beside him much as a small gray-hound +would beside a mastiff.</p> +<p>“How do you do?” began Sir Harry, in his loud voice. “I +must apologize for my intrusion; but I think my name is well +known to you, and needs no introduction. I have often heard +of Mr. Mayne, I can assure you.”</p> +<p>“You do me too much honor,” returned that gentleman, +stiffly; and he glanced at the card in his hand. There it was, +“Sir Henry Challoner.” “But what the––” And here his +favorite expletive rose to his lips.</p> +<p>“We can scarcely see each other’s faces,” observed Sir Harry, +cheerfully. “Will you allow me to take the liberty, though I +have not known you for seven years—and hardly for seven +minutes!” And then he seized the poker, and broke up an +obstinate piece of coal.</p> +<p>“Actually, in my own house, and before my own eyes,” as +Mr. Mayne told his wife afterwards.</p> +<p>“There, now! I have made a glorious blaze. These are first-rate +coals. Now we can have our talk comfortably together. +You do not know me personally; but I dare say you have heard +of my father,—Sir Francis Challoner? Poor old fellow! I am +afraid too many people heard of him in his time.”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir: but, as it is hardly becoming of me to say to his +son, I have never heard much good of him. If I remember +rightly, he did poor Challoner a bad turn once.”</p> +<p>“Hush, my good friend!” And Sir Harry’s ruddy face +looked a little disturbed. “I thought no one but myself and +Aunt Catherine knew that story. It is rather hard on a man +to have this sort of things brought up. And the poor old governor +is dead now: so, if you will permit me to observe, bygones +had better be bygones on that subject.”</p> +<p>“Oh, by all means, Sir Harry; but you introduced the +matter yourself.”</p> +<p>“Excuse me, Mr. Mayne,” rather haughtily, “I introduced +myself. I am the son of Sir Francis. Well, if you know so +much, you will understand the sort of interest I take in my +cousins and how I consider it my duty to make up to them for +what they have lost.”</p> +<p>“Very proper, I am sure.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span></p> +<p>“As to that, duty is a pleasure. They are such awfully jolly +girls, and so uncommonly plucky, that I am as proud of them +as though they were my own sisters. Nan is so confoundedly +pretty, too. I don’t wonder at your son’s taste. He must be a +lucky fellow who gets Nan.”</p> +<p>“Sir!” vociferated Mr. Mayne; and Sir Harry immediately +changed his tactics:</p> +<p>“That is a tidy place opposite you,—Gilsbank, I mean. I +have been over there settling about the purchase. I am afraid +Crauford is rather a screw: he wanted to drive too close a +bargain. But I said, ‘No; you shall have your money down, +right and tight, but not a farthing over.’ And I insisted on my +right to change the name if I like. I have half a mind to call it +‘Challoner Place.’”</p> +<p>Mr. Mayne was wide awake now; his astonishment knew no +bounds.</p> +<p>“You are going to buy Gilsbank!”</p> +<p>“I have bought it,” was the cool response; “and I am now +in treaty for Glen Cottage. My aunt has a fancy for her old +home; and, though it is not much of a place, it is big enough +for her and the girls; and Ibbetson has done a good deal to +improve it. You look surprised, Mr. Mayne; but I suppose a +man must live somewhere!”</p> +<p>“Of course it is none of my business; but I thought Sir +Francis was as poor as a church mouse. Mrs. Challoner was +my informant; and she always led me to suppose so.”</p> +<p>“She was perfectly right. The poor old man never could +keep money in his pocket: it always seemed to slip through his +fingers. But that is not my case. I have been a lucky fellow +all my life. I roughed it a bit in the colonies at first; but it +did me no harm. And then we made a splendid hit out in Sydney,—coined +money, in fact. I would not like to tell you what +I made in one year: it seems blowing one’s trumpet, somehow. +But I soon got sick of making it; and here I am, with a tidy +fortune,—plenty for myself, and enough to set up my aunt and +the girls comfortably without feeling the loss. And now, Mr. +Mayne when they are back at Glen Cottage, I want to know +what you will do about your son.”</p> +<p>To do Mr Mayne justice, he was far too perplexed to answer +off-hand; in fact, he was almost rendered dumb by excessive +astonishment. To borrow his own forcible expression, used to +his wife afterwards, “he hardly knew where he was, things +were so topsy-turvy.”</p> +<p>In the old days, before Dick had produced that wonderful +moustache that was so long in growing, Mr. Mayne had been +very partial to his neighbors at Glen Cottage. It is always +pleasant to a man to patronize and befriend a pretty woman; +and Mrs. Challoner was an exceedingly pretty woman. It was +quite an occupation to a busy man like the master of Longmead +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span> +to superintend their garden and give his advice on all subjects +that belong to a man’s province.</p> +<p>But for the last year, since Dick had so greatly developed in +mental culture, his father had been growing very weary even +of the name of Challoner; it had become a habit with him to +decry them on every possible occasion. “What is in a name?” +he would say, when some person would lament the dead-and-gone +glories of Challoner Place. “There is not a soul belonging +to them, except that disreputable Sir Francis; and he is as +good as a beggar.”</p> +<p>But since Glen Cottage had given way to the Friary, and the +dressmaking scheme had been carried out, his opposition had +become perfectly frantic: he could have sworn at Dick for his +senselessness, his want of pride, his lamentable deficiency in +ambition. “Never, as long as my name is Richard Mayne, will +I give in to that boy,” he had vowed inwardly.</p> +<p>And now there had suddenly started up, like a piece of gilded +clap-trap, this amazing man of inches, calling himself their +cousin, Sir Henry Challoner; a man who was absolutely tired +of making money,—who called Gilsbank, a far finer house +than Longmead, a tidy little place, and who could throw in +Glen Cottage, that bijou residence, as a sort of dower-house for +widowed Challoners; a man who would soon be talked about in +Hadleigh, not because he was rich,—most of the Hadleigh families +were rich,—but because he was restoring an ancient name +to something of its old respectability.</p> +<p>Mr. Mayne was essentially a shrewd, far-sighted man. Like +other self-made men, he attached great importance to good +blood. In a moment he realized that Nan Challoner of the +Friary was a very different person from Nan Challoner of Glen +Cottage, the cousin of Sir Henry Challoner. Under the latter +circumstances she would be received on equal terms at Fitzroy +Lodge and at the other houses of the aristocracy. In marrying +her, Dick would be at once on an intimate footing with those +very people who only just tolerated his father.</p> +<p>“Well,” observed Sir Harry, after a lengthy pause, “what +do you say about the matter, eh? Though I have accumulated +a pretty sum of money, I do not pretend to be a millionaire; and +of course, as I may settle down some day and have a family of +my own, I must not treat my cousins as though they were my +sisters. I think of allowing my aunt a sufficient income during +her lifetime to keep up Glen Cottage, and I do not mind paying +the girls three thousand pounds down on their wedding-day just +for pin-money; but more than that cannot be expected of me.”</p> +<p>“Of course not,” returned Mr. Mayne; and then he hesitated. +Three thousand pounds was not much of a fortune. Why, the +girl he wanted for Dick had fifteen thousand, at least; but then +Dick would not look at her; and even three thousand was better +than nothing. “I had hoped better things for my son,” he +went on, stiffly. “I always meant Dick to marry money.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span></p> +<p>“Oh, true, money is very good in its way; but then, you see, +young fellows are not always to be coerced. I believe there is a +very strong attachment between your son and my cousin Nan.”</p> +<p>“It has cost me a great deal of vexation,” replied Mr. Mayne +very testily,—all the more that his resolution was wavering. +“I do not wish to hurt your feelings, Sir Henry, but this confounded +dressmaking of theirs––” But here Sir Harry +stopped him by a most extraordinary facial contraction, which +most certainly resembled a wink.</p> +<p>“Hush!” he exclaimed, in a very loud whisper. “It does +not matter to me, of course; but if I were you, I would not +mention this little fact to any one else. Girls are girls, and they +will have their fling. A good steady husband, that is what they +want, the best of them, to sober them when the right time comes. +I mean to put a stop to this nonsense; but after all, a little bit +of larking like that with a lot of high-spirited generous creatures, +what does it matter in the long run? You just settle +things with me off-hand, and I will come to terms with the +young ladies. I am the head of the family, as they know.” +And Sir Harry threw out his big chest with a sudden movement +of importance and pride. “I am the head of the family: they +will be pleased to remember that,” he repeated pompously.</p> +<p>It was just at this moment, when victory lay within his +grasp, that Dick sauntered lazily into the room.</p> +<p>Dick was in an execrable humor: he was tired and worried, +and his boots were muddy. And what was the use of being +still contumacious, unless his obstinacy were to be a spectacle to +men and gods,—unless he were to flaunt his ill humor in the +face of his tyrant, and make his father’s soul wretched within +him? Such is youthful reasoning, that hates to veil its feelings +unobserved.</p> +<p>Dick had not perceived Sir Harry’s card, so he stared at the +intruder a little coolly. Sir Harry returned his look with a +glance of mingled surprise and amusement.</p> +<p>“Is this the young gentleman in question?” he asked, in a +tone that roused Dick’s ire. To tell the truth, he was a little +disappointed by Nan’s choice. It was not so much Dick’s want +of good looks, but in Sir Harry eyes he appeared somewhat insignificant; +and then a scowl is not always becoming to a face. +Dick’s bright genial expression was wanting; he looked a little +too like his father at this moment for Sir Harry’s taste.</p> +<p>“Do you mean me?” observed Dick, in a magnificent tone. +“Is it I who am the young gentleman in question?—Father, +will you have the goodness to introduce me to this gentleman +with whom you have been talking me over?” And Dick twirled +his moustache angrily.</p> +<p>Mr. Mayne looked at his son’s moody face, and his feelings +underwent a sudden revulsion; but before he could speak Sir +Harry stepped in nimbly before him:</p> +<p>“Well now, I like spirit—no one cares to be talked about behind +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span> +one’s back. Supposing we shake hands, you and I, as we +are to be so nearly related. I am Nan’s guardian, her next of +kin,—Sir Harry Challoner, at your service; and Nan sends her +love and you are a lucky fellow, that is what you are!” exclaimed +Sir Harry, genially, as he struck Dick a sounding blow +on his shoulder. But Dick did not wince; and, though the +diamond ring cut into his hand as they exchanged that grasp, +no expression of pain crossed his face, which became all at once +quite radiant.</p> +<p>Sir Harry hailed the metamorphosis with delight. Here +was the real Dick emerging like a young sun-god from the +clouds.</p> +<p>“Come, that is first-rate; I like the look of you better now,” +he said, with an appreciative nod.</p> +<p>“Father, what does this mean?” faltered Dick.</p> +<p>“It means,” growled Mr. Mayne, for he could not get quite +amiable all at once, though his heart was lightening in his bosom, +“it means that I am an old fool, Dick, and that you are a +young one.”</p> +<p>“No, father,—not really,—does it?” And Dick beamed still +more.</p> +<p>“And it means that you are not to plague me any more about +the City. But there! though you have behaved so badly to me, +Dick, I forgive you. Sir Harry and I have been talking over +things, and if you will work hard for your degree your mother +shall ask the girl down here, and we will see about it, and that is +all I can say at present. And so we may as well shake hands +upon it too.”</p> +<p>But Dick did more than that; he threw his arm over his +father’s shoulder with a movement that was almost caressing.</p> +<p>“Thank you, pater; you are a brick and no mistake!” was +all the undemonstrative Briton’s tongue could say. But Mr. +Mayne, as he looked in his boy’s face and felt that pressure on +his shoulder, thought them sufficiently eloquent.</p> +<p>“There! get along with you, and have it out with your +mother,” he growled. But, in spite of his surly tone, Mr. +Mayne felt an amount of relief that astonished himself: to +see Dick’s face happy again, to have no cloud between them, +to know that no domestic discord would harass his soul and +render gruel necessary to his well-being, was restoring him to +his old self again. Sir Harry longed to throw back his head +and indulge in a good laugh as he witnessed this little scene of +reconciliation.</p> +<p>Mrs. Mayne, who was sitting somewhat sadly by her own +fireside, thinking over that day’s discomfort, was quite taken +aback by hearing Dick coming upstairs in his old way—three +steps at a time—and then bursting into the room after a hasty +knock at the door.</p> +<p>“Mother,” he cried, breathlessly, “Sir Harry Challoner is in +the library—and pater wants you to come down and give them +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span> +some tea—and Sir Henry is going to stop to dinner—and the +woodcock is to be cooked—and you are to get the best room +ready. But first of all—like the dear, darling mother you are—you +are to sit down and write a letter to Nan.”</p> +<p>But the letter was not written then; for how could Bessie +keep her husband and his guest waiting for their tea after such +an urgent message? And had she not first of all to listen to +Dick’s incoherent story, which she heard better from Sir Harry +afterwards, who took great pains to explain it to the poor bewildered +woman?</p> +<p>Mr. Mayne thought he had never seen Bessie look so handsome +since the days he courted her, as she sat smiling at the +head of the table in her velvet gown. And Sir Harry, too, was +quite charmed with the soft, comely creature.</p> +<p>Later on, while the two elder gentlemen were chatting confidentially +over their cigars and whisky-and-water, she did +manage to write a few lines to Nan. But it was not much of a +letter; for how was she to construct a decent sentence with that +torment Dick hanging over the back of her chair and interrupting +her every moment? But Nan was not ill pleased by the +missive when she received it.</p> +<hr class='p30' /> +<p>“My own dear girl,” it said,—“my dearest girl,—for no +daughter could ever be so dear to me as you will be, Nan, for +my boy’s sake, and because he loves you so.” (“You are right +there, mother!” struck in Dick, in a tone of ecstasy.) “Everything +has come right, through Sir Henry’s intercession and my +Richard’s goodness.” (“Humph!” coughed Dick. “Well, it is +not for the like of me to contradict you.”)</p> +<p>“You are to come to us—at once—at once,”—underlined,—“for +Dick will be going back to Oxford, so there is no time to +lose; and you have not got any good of your engagement +yet.” (“Only just at that last moment,” muttered her son at +this.)</p> +<p>“My precious boy looks so happy that I could cry with joy +to see him.” (“Oh, shut up, mother! Nan knows all that.”) +“And his dear father looks as pleased as possible, and he sends +his love.” (“He did indeed, Dick,” as an incredulous sound +broke from his lips), “and he says bygones are bygones. And +you are on no account to feel yourself awkward as regards him, +for of course Dick’s <i>fiancee</i>” (“Are you sure that is spelt +right, Dick?”) “will bring her own welcome. Is not that a +sweet speech for my Richard to say? So you will come, my +dear, will you not? And I remain, just what I always was, my +Nan’s loving friend,</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'>“<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Bessie Mayne.</span>”<br /></p> +<hr class='p30' /> +<p>And then the letter was carefully consigned to Dick’s pocket, +and in due course of time was delivered into Nan’s fair hands. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span></p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XLV_AN_UNINVITED_GUEST' id='CHAPTER_XLV_AN_UNINVITED_GUEST'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XLV.</h2> +<h3>AN UNINVITED GUEST.</h3> +</div> +<p>During the next few days Grace and Phillis made great +strides towards intimacy; and, as though some magnetic influence +attracted each to each, they were to be found constantly +together. Neither of them was a girl to indulge in gushing +sentimentality; but Grace, whose refined intellectual nature +had hitherto met with no response except from her brother, +perceived at once Phillis’s innate superiority and clear generous +temperament. For the first time she felt feminine friendship a +possibility, and hailed it as a new-found joy. Nan testified her +pleasure on more than one occasion: jealousy never found a +resting-place in a corner of her heart.</p> +<p>“I am so glad, Phillis,” she observed, once, “that you and +Grace Drummond like each other so much. You have never +found any girl equal to you yet; and I was always too stupid +to give you what you wanted.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Nannie, as though I would change you for a dozen +Grace Drummonds!” returned Phillis, stanch as ever to her +domestic creed, that there never was and never could be such +another as Nan.</p> +<p>“Oh, of course we shall always be the same to each other, +you and I,” returned Nan, seriously, “we are such old comrades, +Phil; but then I have Dick, and it is only fair you should +have some one too;” but she did not understand why Phillis +suddenly sighed and turned away.</p> +<p>An amusing little incident happened to Phillis after this, +which she greatly enjoyed. Colonel Middleton’s avoidance of +them had long been a sore point with her, as it was with Dulce.</p> +<p>“I feel almost like that wicked Haman,” she said, once, in a +serio-comic voice, “and as if he were my Mordecai. I shall +never think we have achieved perfect success until I have +forced him to shake hands with me.” But Nan, who cared +very little about such things, only laughed.</p> +<p>On Sunday morning Colonel Middleton marched up the aisle +rather more pompously than usual, and there followed him a +tall, very solemn-faced young man, with serious eyes that reminded +them of Elizabeth.</p> +<p>“Son Hammond,” whispered Phillis, who was not always as +devout as she ought to be; and Dulce tried hard to compose +her dimples.</p> +<p>Possibly the young officer was not as solemn as his looks, for +he certainly paid more attention to the opposite pew than he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span> +did to his prayer-book; and as he walked home with his sister, +Colonel Middleton being just then out of earshot, he questioned +her rather closely on the subject:</p> +<p>“Who were those girls, Elizabeth? I mean the three who +were just opposite us with their mother. Are they visitors or +residents?” Then Elizabeth told him very briefly their name +and occupation.</p> +<p>“Good gracious!” he returned, in a thunderstruck tone; +and then all at once he burst out laughing, as though at a good +joke:</p> +<p>“I call that a piece of splendid pluck. Do you know, I could +see in a moment there was something out of the common about +them? They are all very pretty,—at least good-looking,—and +I liked their quiet style of dress. You must introduce me to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“My dear Hammond, I can do nothing of the kind,” returned +Elizabeth, glancing round in an alarmed way. “Father has +refused to have them at Brooklyn; and it will annoy him terribly +if you were to take any notice of them.” But to this Hammond +turned a deaf ear, and, though he forbore to question her +any further on that occasion, he had fully made up his mind +that the introduction should take place as soon as possible.</p> +<p>As it fell out, accident favored him the very next day; for, +as he was calling with his sister, at the White House, who +should be announced the next minute but the Misses Challoner,—Phillis +and Dulce, who had been bidden to afternoon tea!</p> +<p>Mrs. Cheyne kissed and welcomed them both. Then Captain +Middleton was introduced; and they were soon chatting +merrily together, to Elizabeth’s secret amusement.</p> +<p>Captain Middleton made himself very agreeable to the two +girls, as Dulce observed afterwards. She had never before +been so deceived in a man’s appearance,—for he was not solemn +at all; and, though the serious brown eyes certainly inspected +them rather critically from time to time, he proved himself a +bright amusing companion, and fully bore out his father’s and +sister’s encomiums.</p> +<p>The Middletons were easily induced to prolong their visit. +Elizabeth felt herself a traitor to her father; but she could not +refuse Hammond’s imploring glance. And so they stayed, and +all took their leave together.</p> +<p>Mr. Cheyne walked down to the gate with them. He had an +errand in the town; and he and Elizabeth walked behind the +young people, talking them over in a low voice.</p> +<p>Now, it so happened that Colonel Middleton was trudging +down the Braidwood Road; and as he neared the White House +he looked up, and there was his son walking contentedly with +a Challoner girl on each side of him, and the three were laughing +merrily.</p> +<p>It was Dulce who saw him first.</p> +<p>“There comes your father!” she said; and she began to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span> +blush as she had done on the day when he had left her at the +gate of Brooklyn, talking to Elizabeth.</p> +<p>Hammond proved himself quite worthy of the occasion.</p> +<p>“Well met, father,” he called out, cheerily, “We seem all +going one way. I suppose no one needs any introduction? Of +course you know my father, Miss Challoner?”</p> +<p>Then the colonel threw down his arms. He had fought very +bravely on his son’s behalf; but, after all his labors, his bristling +defences and skilful retreats, Hammond had of his own free +will delivered himself into the hands of the Philistines. What +was the use of guarding an empty citadel?—his treasure was +already in the enemy’s grasp.</p> +<p>All this was written on the colonel’s lugubrious face as he +bowed stiffly and walked in sorrowful silence beside them, shaking +his white head at intervals; but no one but Dulce took any +notice of his sombre mood.</p> +<p>Dulce was very timid by nature. She was the least outspoken +of the three, and always kept in the background, like a modest +little flower that loved the shade; but she was very soft-hearted, +and had great regard for people’s feelings. And the old man’s +downcast looks pained her; for how was she to know that he +was secretly pleased at this meeting?</p> +<p>“I hope—I wish—you did not mind knowing us so much. +But it has not been our fault this afternoon,” sighed Dulce, +stammering and blushing over her words. “You will believe +that, will you not, Colonel Middleton?”</p> +<p>If a cannon shot had been fired into the old warrior’s ear, he +could hardly have started more than he did at these childish +words. He looked round. There was the little girl, looking up +at him with the innocent eyes he remembered so well, and her +mouth puckered a little as though she wanted to cry.</p> +<p>This was more than any man could bear, even if he had a +harder heart than Colonel Middleton.</p> +<p>“My dear,” he said, taking the little hand, “I have always +wanted to know you; Elizabeth will tell you that. I lost my +heart to your sisters the first day I saw them. I am sure we +shall be good friends in time, if you will forgive an old man’s +pride.” And then he patted her hand as though she had been +an infant.</p> +<p>When Mr. Drummond sat down to dinner that evening, he +astonished Mattie very much by saying,—</p> +<p>“You can ask the Middletons, after all, for your tea-party, +if you like, Mattie. What wonderful sight do you think I saw +just now? Why, the colonel himself coming out from the +Friary, and all the three girls were round him, chattering as +though they had known him all their life; and I am pretty sure +that in spite of the dark, I saw ‘son Hammond’ behind him.” +And Mattie, glad of the permission, gave the invitation the next +day.</p> +<p>Mattie grew a little alarmed as the evening approached. It +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span> +was her first party and she knew Archie would be critical; but +Grace proved herself a useful ally.</p> +<p>In spite of her efforts to keep in the background and leave +Mattie in her position as mistress of her brother’s house, she +felt herself becoming insensibly its presiding spirit.</p> +<p>Archie was tolerably good-natured to Mattie; but the habits +of a lifetime were too strong for him, and he still snubbed and +repressed her at intervals. Mattie felt herself of no importance +now that Grace had come: her duties were usurped before her +eyes. Archie made a fresh demand on her forbearance every +day.</p> +<p>“Why cannot you keep to the housekeeping, and let Grace +do the schools and visitings?” he said, once. “It must come +to her by and by, when you are gone; and I want her to begin +as soon as possible. It will not do to let her think she has +come too soon,” implying that good taste should lead Mattie to +resign of her own account.</p> +<p>Poor Mattie! she had many a good cry in secret before that +Tuesday. She could hardly help feeling pained to see how all-in-all +those two were to each other, and the glad eagerness +Grace threw into her work, knowing the reward of commendation +she would reap. “It must be so strange never to be +snubbed or scolded,—to do everything right,” Mattie thought.</p> +<p>Grace felt very sorry for her, and petted her a good deal. +The dark little face had always a pained wistfulness on it now +that touched her. She spoke kindly of Mattie to her brother on +all possible occasions.</p> +<p>“I think Mattie is so generous in giving up to me as she +does,” she observed, as Archie joined her in the drawing-room +in expectation of their guests. Mattie had not yet made her +appearance. She had been lighting the wax candles and trimming +a refractory lamp that refused to burn, and had just run +past her brother with blackened fingers and hot, tired face.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, she is good enough,” he returned, indifferently, as +he straightened a crooked candle; “but I wish she would not +always be late. She has not begun to dress, and it is the time +we appointed for the Challoners to come. Of all things I hate +unpunctuality and fuss, and Mattie is always so fussy.”</p> +<p>Grace’s conscience pricked her. “I am afraid I left her too +much to do,” she said, penitently. “Phillis asked me to go for +a walk with them; but I ought not to have left her. I will go +and help her now.”</p> +<p>But Archie objected:</p> +<p>“No, no; let her be. You must not leave me alone to receive +them. How nice you look in that cream-colored dress, +Grace! I thought it would suit you.” But, though his eyes +rested on her as he spoke, he seemed rather absent. And when +the door-bell rang a moment afterwards, a sudden flush came +to his face.</p> +<p>It was very odd to feel that he was receiving Nan as his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span> +guest. He had dreaded the ordeal greatly, but after the first +moment it was not so bad. Grace, who had her suspicions and +watched them closely, had them verified without doubt during +the moment that followed the Challoners’ entrance; but no +other eyes but hers would have read anything amiss in the +young vicar’s gravely composed face.</p> +<p>Nan, who was looking beautiful, met him with her usual unconsciousness: +though neither of them knew it, it was this very +unconsciousness that was fast healing the wound. One cannot +mourn long after a lost dream, and there had never been any +reality in it. Not one of Nan’s thoughts had ever belonged to +him for a moment: his existence, his individuality had never +grazed the outer edge of her susceptibilities. Dick had encased +her from childhood in armor of proof against all manhood. +Archie felt this even as he touched her hand, and his lips gave +her welcome.</p> +<p>“I am so sorry your mother could not come,” he said, politely. +And then he turned to Phillis, who was regarding him with an +odd, dubious look.</p> +<p>Archie felt the look, and his spirit rose in instant opposition.</p> +<p>“Do you know the Middletons are to be here, after all?” he +said, moving a little into the background, for this girl had keen +vision, and, as of old, her sympathy moved him strangely.</p> +<p>“Oh, then we shall be quite a party,” she returned, brightly. +“It seems ages since we have been at one, and I feel disposed to +enjoy myself. The very sight of wax candles is exhilarating. +I am half afraid to touch coffee, for fear it will get into my +head. And how sweet Grace looks in that dress!”</p> +<p>“Your <i>chef-d’œuvre</i>!” he replied, rather wickedly.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I recognize my handiwork,” returned Phillis, nonchalantly. +“I am quite as proud of it as an artist would be of +a picture. Here comes Mattie; poor little thing! she seems +tired, but she looks nice, too.”</p> +<p>Archie moved away after this, for the Middletons were announced; +but he thought as he left her that he had never seen +her look so handsome. Nan’s beauty had so blinded him that +he had hardly been aware what a charming face Phillis really +had: when she was pleased or excited she lighted up quite +radiantly.</p> +<p>“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Mattie, fussily coming up at that +moment. “I don’t know what has become of your cousin; +but Captain Middleton says all the trains have been snowed up.”</p> +<p>“If the train he is in has been snowed up, of course we must +not expect to see him this evening,” was Phillis’s laughing reply. +“Never mind; I dare say we shall all survive it; though +Harry is such a good fellow, and I am immensely fond of him.”</p> +<p>“Oh, but the tea and coffee will be spoiled. I must go and +pour it out now. Look, Grace is making signs to me.”</p> +<p>“Shall I come and help you?” was the ready response. +“What a pretty little tea-table, Mattie, and how charmingly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span> +snug it looks in the bay-window! The gentlemen will wait on +us, of course. I like this way better than servants handing +round lukewarm cups from the kitchen: it is not so grand, but +it is cosier. Was it your arrangement, Mattie?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” returned Mattie, in a disconsolate tone, as she +took her place. “But, Phillis, are you really not anxious +about your cousin? It is so dreadful to think of him snowed +up all night, with nothing to eat and drink!”</p> +<p>Phillis laughed outright at this.</p> +<p>“My imagination will not conjure up such horrors. I believe +Harry is at this moment sitting in the hotel discussing a good +dinner before a blazing fire.” And, as Mattie looked injured +at this, she continued, still more merrily: “My dear, are you +such an ignoramus as to believe that any amount of wax candles +and charming women will induce an Englishman to forego his +dinner? He will come by and by; and if he gets cold coffee, +he will have his deserts.” And then Mattie’s anxious face grew +more cheerful.</p> +<p>The tea-table became the nucleus of the whole room before +long. Even Mr. Frere, a tall scholarly-looking man, with spectacles +and a very bald head, though he was still young, seemed +drawn magnetically into the circle that closed round Phillis. +The girl was so natural and sprightly, there was such buoyancy +and brightness in her manner; and yet no man could ever have +taken a liberty with her, or mistaken the source of that pure +rippling fun. The light jesting tone, the unembarrassed manner, +were as free from consciousness as though there were gray-headed +dons round her. And yet, alas for Phillis! there was +not a word uttered in a certain voice that did not reach her ear +somehow; not a movement that was lost upon her, even when +she chatted and laughed with those who stood round her.</p> +<p>Colonel Middleton was stanch to his little favorite, and sat on +the couch between her and Grace, while Nan and Miss Middleton +talked apart. Nan watched the tea-table smilingly. She +did so love to see Phillis happy; it never occurred to her to feel +herself a little neglected, or to wonder why the grave young +master of the house so seldom addressed her: thoughts of this +sort never entered Nan’s head.</p> +<p>But she grew a little silent by and by, and began to answer +Elizabeth somewhat absently. She did not know what it meant, +but a certain strong longing took possession of her,—a sort of +craving to see Dick’s face and hear his voice. It was foolish, +of course; and then she roused herself with difficulty.</p> +<p>“How late Harry is! I wonder if the train be really +snowed up! Oh, that must be he!” as the door-bell sounded. +“Mattie will be glad; she was so afraid the coffee would be +cold.” For Mattie had poured this grievance into every one’s +ears.</p> +<p>Of course it was Sir Harry. Yes, as the door opened, there +were the broad, genial face and the massive shoulders that could +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span> +only belong to one person. And who was this young man following +him,—a somewhat insignificant young man compared to +this son of Anak,—a young man with sandy hair, with a trivial +moustache, with a free, careless expression of good-nature that +seemed somehow stamped on his features?</p> +<p>Nan did not speak or move in her corner; but she locked her +hands together tightly, and a most wonderful blush came to +her face; for the young man’s eyes had moved quickly round +the room, with an eager expression in them, and had just rested +upon her.</p> +<p>Nan sat immovable while Sir Harry, gave the necessary introduction +in his loud, jovial voice:</p> +<p>“I am sorry to be late,—I am, ’pon my honor, Miss Mattie! +but it could not be helped: could it, Mayne? Mr. Drummond, +I have taken the liberty to bring a friend with me; he is my +guest at present,—Mr. Richard Mayne. He has come down to +Hadleigh to see some old acquaintances of his.”</p> +<p>“Dick! Oh, Dick!” the words would come out now. Miss +Middleton had judiciously vacated the corner of the couch, and +Dick had boldly placed himself there instead, after first touching +Nan’s trembling hand. “What does it mean? Why have you +startled me so?” she whispered, for they were in a snug corner, +and no one was near them.</p> +<p>“I suppose a man has a right to come and look after his own +belongings?” returned Dick, in the coolest possible manner. +But his eyes were more eloquent than his words, as usual. +“How lovely you are looking, Nan! I do believe you grow +prettier every day. And are you glad to see me?—half or a +quarter as glad as I am to see you?”</p> +<p>“I was thinking of you,” she returned, softly. “I was wondering +what you were doing, and picturing you at Longmead; +and then the door opened, and there you were, half hidden by +Harry; and I thought I was dreaming.”</p> +<p>“Well, that was transmission of thought, don’t you see?—animal +magnetism, and all that sort of thing. You thought of +me because I was thinking of you; but you did not know that +only the door divided us. Oh, Nan! isn’t it awfully jolly to be +together again?”</p> +<p>“Yes; but I don’t understand it yet,” she replied. “Have +you come without your father’s permission, Dick? Are you +sure he will not be very angry?”</p> +<p>“Oh, no; the pater is all right. Sir Harry—what a brick +that fellow is!—has talked him over, and he has given his consent +to our engagement. Look here, Nan! what you have got +to do is to pack up your things, and I am to take you down to-morrow. +This is a note from mother, and you will see what +she says.” And Nan’s gloved hand closed eagerly upon the +precious missive.</p> +<p>The letter could not be read just then. Nan sent Dick away +after that, though he would willingly have remained in his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span> +corner during the remainder of the evening. He went off +grumbling, to be civil to his hostess, and Nan remained behind +trying to calm herself. It was “all right,” Dick had told her. +She was to go down with him the next day to dear Longmead. +Were their troubles really over? Well, she would hear all +about it to-morrow. She must wait patiently until then.</p> +<p>Nan did not long remain alone. Archie, who had watched +this little scene from the bay-window, suddenly took his opportunity +and crossed the room.</p> +<p>Nan looked up at him with a happy smile.</p> +<p>“You have had a surprise this evening, have you not, Miss +Challoner? Sir Harry has just been telling me all about it. +You will permit me now to offer my congratulations?”</p> +<p>“Most certainly, Mr. Drummond.”</p> +<p>“I am so glad, for both your sakes, that things should be so +comfortably settled,” he went on, placing himself beside her,—a +movement that mightily displeased Dick, who had conceived +a dislike to the handsome parson from the first. “A parent’s +opposition is always a serious drawback in such cases; but Sir +Harry tells me that Mr. Mayne has given his full consent.”</p> +<p>“I believe so,” returned Nan, blushing a little; “but I really +hardly know any particulars. It is such a surprise to me altogether; +but his mother has written to me, and I am expected +down there.”</p> +<p>“You have my warmest wishes for your happiness,” continued +Archie, gravely; and then Nan thanked him.</p> +<p>But here Dick interrupted them. He was still new to his +<i>role</i>, and hardly had the assurance that belongs to the engaged +man, who feels himself safely steering towards the desired +haven of matrimony. It appeared to him that on this evening +he ought not to lose sight of Nan for a moment. To see Mr. +Drummond taking his place was too much for him, and he put +down his untasted coffee.</p> +<p>“I am afraid it is rather cold,” observed Mattie, anxiously; +but she spoke to deaf ears.</p> +<p>Dick was already half-way to the corner. Nan received him +a little shyly; but Mr. Drummond at once took the hint.</p> +<p>“Oh, Dick, people will notice! you must take care,” remonstrated +Nan.</p> +<p>She was preparing one of those gentle little lectures to which +she sometimes treated him, and to which he was wont to listen +with the utmost submission; but, to her intense surprise, he +turned restive.</p> +<p>“That was all very well when things were not settled between +us,” observed Dick, decidedly. “Now we are engaged, +of course I shall assert my rights publicly. What does it matter +if people notice? They will only think what a lucky fellow +I am, and how they would like to be in my place. Do you +think I was going to remain at the other end of the room while +that parson was talking to you?” And then Nan all at once discovered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span> +that, in spite of Dick’s boyish looks and easy temper, +she had found her master,—that, like other men, he was capable +of jealousy and insisted on an entire and undivided allegiance.</p> +<p>Nan was weak enough to like him all the better for this little +touch of tyranny; and, after all, though she felt it a little hard +on Mr. Drummond, who was so harmless and good-natured, the +sense of this monopoly was very sweet to her.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XLVI_A_NEW_INVASION_OF_THE_GOTHS' id='CHAPTER_XLVI_A_NEW_INVASION_OF_THE_GOTHS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVI.</h2> +<h3>A NEW INVASION OF THE GOTHS.</h3> +</div> +<p>It was the most successful evening—every one said so; but, +somehow, Mattie had not enjoyed it. She supposed she was +tired; that lamp had worried her; but, though every one had +been very pleasant, and had said nice things to her,—even that +formidable Mr. Frere,—Mattie felt something had been lacking. +She had been very pleased to see Sir Harry, and he had come +up to her at once and spoken to her in his usual genial manner; +but after the first few minutes, during which he had drunk his +coffee standing beside her, she did not remember that he had +again addressed her. After that, he had made his way to Grace, +and did not stir for a long time.</p> +<p>Mattie had Colonel Middleton on her hands then; but her +eyes would stray to that part of the room. How pretty Grace +looked in that soft creamy dress, with the dainty lace ruffles +that Archie had sent her! Her face generally wanted color +and animation, but to-night she was quite rosy by comparison. +She seemed to find Sir Harry amusing, for she looked up at +him very brightly. And then Archie joined them: he would +not be <i>de trop</i> there, he knew. And the three talked as though +they never meant to leave off.</p> +<p>When Sir Harry came to take his leave, he said, a little +abruptly,—</p> +<p>“I like that sister of yours, Miss Mattie. She is sensible for +a girl; and yet she knows how to laugh. Clever girls are generally +a little priggish, do you know? But one need not be afraid +of Miss Grace.” And Mattie knew that from Sir Harry this +was high praise.</p> +<p>“Every one likes Grace,” she faltered.</p> +<p>“I am not surprised at that,” was the ready response; and +then he shook hands and thanked her for the pleasant evening. +He did not even look at her as he spoke, Mattie remembered +afterwards: he was watching Nan, who was smiling on Dick’s +arm. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span></p> +<p>The young vicar stood bare-headed on the snowy door-step, +as his guests merrily trooped out together. Dick and Nan +came first: Nan had a scarlet hood over her bright hair, and +Dick was grumbling over the lightness of her cloak, and was +wrapping his gray overcoat round her.</p> +<p>“Nonsense, Nan! I insist upon it! and you know nothing +gives me cold!” Dick was saying, in his authoritative way; +and then of course Nan yielded.</p> +<p>“‘Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast,’” sang Phillis, mockingly, +who was following them under Captain Middleton’s escort. +“Don’t you think engaged people are sometimes very masterful?” +She spoke, of course, to her companion; but he had turned +to warn his father and Dulce of an awkward step, and Archie +intercepted the sentence:</p> +<p>“Most men are masterful, Miss Challoner. You will find +that out some day for yourself.” He meant nothing by this +little speech, and he was rather taken aback by the sudden hot +blush that came to the girl’s face, and the almost angry light in +her eyes, as she turned away from him and ran down the slippery +steps, to Captain Middleton’s alarm.</p> +<p>“‘On yonder lea, on yonder lea,’” they heard her humming +gayly; and Hammond caught the refrain, and finished it in a +fine manly bass, while Archie stood still under the wintry sky. +Why had she looked like that at him? What was there in his +lightly-uttered speech to offend her?</p> +<p>Grace was standing alone when he re-entered the drawing-room. +Most of the wax candles were extinguished, but the soft +glow of the firelight irradiated the farthest corner of the room.</p> +<p>“What a glorious fire!” he said, warming his chilly hands +at it, and then throwing himself into the easy-chair that Grace +silently placed for him. “And where is Mattie? Really, she +did very well to-night.”</p> +<p>“You must tell her to-morrow, she will be so pleased; she +seems tired, and her head aches, so I advised her to go to bed.” +And, though Archie did not say openly that he approved of +this sensible advice, he implied it by the way he drew a low +chair forward for Grace,—so close beside him that she could +rest her arm upon the cushioned elbow of his.</p> +<p>They remained comfortably silent for along time: it was Grace +who spoke first.</p> +<p>“Archie,” she said, rather nervously, but her eyes had a +settled purpose in them, “shall you be angry if I disobey you, +dear, and speak again on a certain subject?”</p> +<p>“What subject?” he asked, rather surprised by her manner. +He had not a notion to what she was referring; he did not +know how during that long silence their thoughts had been +couching the same point, and that all this time she was seeking +courage to speak to him.</p> +<p>“I know your secret, Archie; I discovered it to-night.”</p> +<p>“My secret!” he returned, in utter amazement. “I have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span> +no secret, Gracie.” And then, as he caught her meaning, a +cloud came to his brow. “But this is nonsense!” he continued +harshly,—“pure nonsense; put it out of your head.”</p> +<p>“I saw it to-night,” she went on, in a very low voice, undisturbed +by his evident displeasure. “She is good and sweet, +and quite lovely, Archie, and that young man is not half worthy +of her; but she has no thought but for him.”</p> +<p>“Do you think I do not know that?” he returned, in an exasperated +tone. “Grace, I will not have you talk in this way. +I am cured,—quite cured: it was nothing but a passing folly.”</p> +<p>“A folly that made you very unhappy, my poor Archie; +but—hush! you must not interrupt me—I am not going to talk +about her.”</p> +<p>“Oh, that is well,” he returned, in a relieved tone.</p> +<p>“I was sorry—just a little sorry—at first, because I knew +how much it had cost you; but this evening I could have found +it in my heart to be angry with you,—yes, even with you. +‘Oh, the blindness of these men!’ I thought: ‘why will they +trample on their own happiness?’”</p> +<p>“Are you speaking of me?” he asked, in a bewildered +tone.</p> +<p>“Of whom should I be speaking?” she answered; and her +voice had a peculiar meaning in it. “You are my dear brother,—my +dearest brother; but you are no more sensible than other +men.”</p> +<p>“I suppose not,” he returned, staring at her; “I suppose +not.”</p> +<p>“Many men have done what you are doing,” she went on, +quietly. “Many have wanted what belonged to another, and +have turned their backs upon the blessing that might have been +theirs. It is the game of cross-purposes. Do you remember +that picture, Archie,—the lovely print you longed to buy—the +two girls and the two men? There was the pretty demure +maiden in front, and at the back a girl with a far sweeter face +to my mind, watching the gloomy-looking fellow who is regarding +his divinity from afar. There was a face here to-night that +brought that second girl strongly to my mind; and I caught an +expression on it once––” Here Archie violently started.</p> +<p>“Hush! hush! what are you implying? Grace, you are +romancing; you do not mean this?”</p> +<p>“As there is a heaven above us, I do mean it, Archie.”</p> +<p>“Then, for God’s sake, not another word!” And then he +rose from his seat, and stood on the rug.</p> +<p>“You are not really angry with me?” she urged, frightened +at his vehemence.</p> +<p>“No; I am not angry. I never am angry with you, Grace, +as you know; but all the same there are some things that +never should be said.” And, when he had thus gravely rebuked +her speech, he kissed her forehead, and muttering some excuse +about the lateness of the hour, left the room. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span></p> +<p>Grace crept away to her chamber a little discomfited by this +rebuff, gently as it had been given; but if she had only guessed +the commotion those few hinted words had raised in her +brother’s mind!</p> +<p>He had understood her; in one moment he had understood +her. As though by a lightning-flash of intelligence, the truth +had dawned upon him; and if an electric shock had passed +through his frame and set all his nerves tingling he could not +have been more deeply shaken.</p> +<p>Was that what she thought, too, when she had turned away +from him with that quiet look of scorn on her face! Did she +know of any possible blessing that might have been his, only +that he had turned his back upon it, crying out childishly for a +shadowy happiness? Did she mutter to herself also, “Oh, +the blindness of these men!”?</p> +<p>There is an old saying, greatly credited by the generality of +people, that hearts are often caught at the rebound,—that in +their painful tossings from uneven heights and depths, and that +sad swinging over uncertain abysses, some are suddenly attracted +and held fast; and there is sufficient proof to warrant +the truth of this adage.</p> +<p>The measurements of pain are unequal: different natures +hold different capacities. A trouble that seems very real at the +time, and full of stings, may be found later on to be largely +alloyed by wounded self-love and frustrated vanity. Sound it +with the plumb-line of experience, of time, of wakening hopefulness, +and it may sink fathoms, and by and by end in nothingness, +or perhaps more truly in just a sense of salt bitterness +between the teeth, as when one plunges in a waning tide.</p> +<p>Not that Archie realized all this as he paced his room that +night: no; he was very strangely moved and excited. Something, +he knew not what, had again stirred the monotony of +his life. He had been sick and sad for a long time; for men +are like children, and fret sometimes after the unattainable, if +their hearts be set upon it. And yet, though he forbore to +question himself too closely that night, how much of his pain +had been due to wounded vanity and crossed wilfulness!</p> +<p>It was long before he could sleep, for the sudden broadening +of the prospective of his future kept him wide awake and restless. +It was as though he had been straining his eyes to look +down a long, gray vista, where he saw things dimly, and that +suddenly there was a low light on the horizon,—not brilliant, +not even clear; but it spoke of approaching daybreak. By and +by the path would be more plainly visible.</p> +<p>There was great excitement at the Friary on the next day. +They had found it hard to get rid of Dick the previous night; +but Sir Harry, who read his aunt’s tired face rightly, had carried +him off almost by sheer force, after a lengthy leave-taking +with Nan in the passage.</p> +<p>It was only Mrs. Challoner who was tired. Poor woman! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span> +she was fairly worn out by the violence of her conflicting feeling,—by +sympathy with Nan in her happiness, with pleasure +in Dick’s demonstrative joy, and sorrow at the thought of losing +her child. The girl herself was far too much excited for sleep.</p> +<p>She and Phillis did all the packing for the next day, and it was +not until Dulce sleepily warned them of the lateness of the hour +that they consented to separate; and then Nan sat by the parlor +fire a long time alone, enjoying the luxury of undisturbed meditation.</p> +<p>But the next morning, just as they had gone into the work-room,—not +to settle to any business,—that was impossible under +the present exciting circumstances,—but just to fold up and +despatch a gown that had been finished for Mrs. Squails, while +Dulce put the finishing-touches to Mrs. Cheyne’s tweed dress, +Nan announced in a glad voice that their cousin and Dick were +at the gate; “and I am so thankful we packed last night,” she +continued, “for Dick will not let me have a free moment until +we start.”</p> +<p>“You should keep him in better order,” observed Phillis, +tersely: “if you give him his own way so much, you will not +have a will of your own when you are married: will she, +mother?” Mrs. Challoner smiled a little feebly in answer to +this: she could not remember the time when she had had a will +of her own.</p> +<p>Nan went out shyly to meet them; but she could not understand +her reception at all. Dick’s grasp of her hand was sufficiently +eloquent, but he said nothing; and Nan thought he was +trying not to laugh, for there was a gleam of fun in his eyes, +though he endeavored to look solemn. Sir Harry’s face, too, +wore an expression of portentous gravity.</p> +<p>“Are you all in the work-room, Nan?” he asked, in a tone +as though they were assembled at a funeral.</p> +<p>“Yes; mother and all,” answered Nan, brightly. “What is +the matter with you both? You look dreadfully solemn.”</p> +<p>“Because we have a little business before us,” returned Sir +Harry, wrinkling his brows and frowning at Dick. “Come, +Mayne, if you are ready.”</p> +<p>“Wait a minute, Nan. I will speak to you afterwards,” +observed that young gentleman, divesting himself of his gray +overcoat; and Nan, very much puzzled, preceded them into the +room.</p> +<p>“How do you do, Aunt Catherine? Good-morning, girls,” +nodded Sir Harry; and then he looked at Dick. And what +were they both doing? Were they mad? They must have +taken leave of their senses; for Dick had raised his foot gently,—very +gently,—and Mrs. Squails’s red merino gown lay in the +passage. At the same moment, Sir Harry’s huge hand had +closed over the tweed, and, by a dexterous thrust, had flung it +as far as the kitchen. And now Dick was bundling out the +sewing-machine. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span></p> +<p>“Dick! oh, Dick!” in an alarmed voice from Dulce. And +Phillis flew to the great carved wardrobe, that Sir Harry was +ransacking; while Nan vainly strove to rescue the fashion-books +that Dick was now flinging into the fender.</p> +<p>“Oh, you great Goth! You stupid, ridiculous Harry!” +observed Phillis, scornfully, while the rolls of silk and satin +and yards of trimming were tossed lightly into a heap of +<i>debris</i>.</p> +<p>Laddie was growling and choking over the buttons. Dorothy +afterwards carried away a whole shovelful of pins and +hooks and eyes.</p> +<p>Nan sat down by her mother and folded her hands on her +lap. When men were masterful, it was time for maidens to sit +still. Dulce really looked frightened; but Phillis presently +broke into a laugh.</p> +<p>“This is a parable of nature,” she said. “Mammie, does +your head ache? Would you like to go into the next room?”</p> +<p>“There, we have about done!” observed Sir Harry. “The +place is pretty well clear: isn’t it, Mayne?” And, as Dick +nodded a cheerful assent, he shut the door of the wardrobe, +locked it, and, with much solemnity, put the key in his pocket. +“Now for my parable,” he said. “Aunt Catherine, you will +excuse a bit of a spree, but one must take the high hand with +these girls. I have bundled out the whole lot of trumpery; +but, as head of this family, I am not going to stand any more +of this nonsense.”</p> +<p>“Oh, indeed!” put in Phillis. “I hope Mrs. Squails will +take her creased gown! Dulce, the sewing-machine is right +on the top of it,—a most improving process, certainly.”</p> +<p>“Now, Phillis, you will just shut up with your nonsense! As +head of the family, I am not going to stand any more of this +sort of thing.”</p> +<p>“What sort of thing?” asked Mrs. Challoner, timidly. “My +dears, I thought it was only fun; but I do believe your cousin +is in earnest.”</p> +<p>“I am quite in earnest, Aunt Catherine,” returned Sir Harry, +sitting down beside her, and taking her hand. “I hope our +bit of larking has not been too much for you; but that fellow +vowed it would be a good joke.” Here Dick’s eyes twinkled. +“If Mrs. Squails’s gown is spoiled, I will buy her another; but +on your peril, girls, if you put a stitch in any but your own +from this day forward!”</p> +<p>“Please your honor, kindly,” whined Phillis, dropping a courtesy, +“and what will your honor have us do?”</p> +<p>“Do!” and then he broke into a laugh. “Oh, I will tell you +that presently. All I know is, Nan is engaged to my friend +Mayne here; and I have promised his father, on my word as a +gentleman and head of this family, that this dressmaking +humbug shall be given up.”</p> +<p>“You had no right to give such a promise,” returned +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span> +Phillis, offended at this; but Nan’s hand stole into Dick’s. She +understood now.</p> +<p>“But, Harry, my dear,” asked Mrs. Challoner, “what would +you have them do?”</p> +<p>“Oh, play tennis,—dance,—flirt, if they like! How do +young ladies generally occupy their time? Don’t let us talk +about such petty details as this. I want to tell you about my +new house. You all know Gilsbank? Well, it is ‘Challoner +Place’ now.”</p> +<p>“You have bought it, Harry?”</p> +<p>“Yes; I have bought it,” he returned, coolly. “And what +is more, I hope to settle down there in another month’s time. +How soon do you think you will be ready to move, Aunt +Catherine?”</p> +<p>“My dear!” in a voice of mild astonishment. But Dulce +clapped her hands: she thought she guessed his meaning. “Are +we to live with you, Harry? Do you really mean to take us +with you?”</p> +<p>“Of course I shall take you with me; but not to Challoner +Place. That would be rather close quarters; and—and—I may +make different arrangements,” rather sheepishly. “Aunt Catherine, +Glen Cottage will be all ready for you and the girls. I +have settled about the furniture; and Mrs. Mayne will have +fires lighted whenever you like to come down. Why, aunt,—dear +Aunt Catherine,” as he felt her thin hand tremble in his, +and the tears started to her eyes, “did you not tell me how +much you loved your old home? And do you think, when you +have no son to take care of you, that I should ever let you be +far from me?”</p> +<p>“Confound you!” growled Dick. “Is not a son-in-law as +good as a son any day.”</p> +<p>But no one heard this but Nan.</p> +<p>Mrs. Challoner was weeping for joy, and Dulce was keeping +her company; but Phillis walked up to her cousin with a shamefaced +look:</p> +<p>“I am sorry I called you a Goth, Harry. I ought to have +remembered Alcides. You are as good as gold. You are a dear +generous fellow. And I love you for it; and so do Nan and +Dulce. And I was not a bit cross, really; but you did look +such a great goose, turning out that wardrobe.” But, though +she laughed at the remembrance, the tears were in Phillis’s +eyes.</p> +<p>Dick was nobody after this: not that he minded that. How +could they help crowding round this “big hero” of theirs who +had performed such wonders?</p> +<p>Gilsbank turned into Challoner Place; Glen Cottage, with its +conservatory and brand-new furniture, theirs again,—their own,—their +very own (for Sir Harry intended to buy that too as soon +as possible); Nan engaged to her dearest Dick, and all the +neighborhood prepared to welcome them back! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343' name='page_343'></a>343</span></p> +<p>“If you please, Miss Phillis, Mrs. Squails desires her compliments, +and she is waiting for her dress.”</p> +<p>We forbare to repeat Sir Harry’s answer. Nevertheless, with +Dick’s help, the unfortunate gown was extricated, and privately +ironed by Dorothy.</p> +<p>“That is a good morning’s work of yours,” observed Phillis, +quietly looking down at the heap at her feet. “Dorothy, it +seems Sir Harry is master here. If any more orders come for +us, you may as well say, ‘The Misses Challoner have given up +business.’”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XLVII_IT_WAS_SO_GOOD_OF_YOU_TO_ASK_ME_HERE' id='CHAPTER_XLVII_IT_WAS_SO_GOOD_OF_YOU_TO_ASK_ME_HERE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVII.</h2> +<h3>“IT WAS SO GOOD OF YOU TO ASK ME HERE.”</h3> +</div> +<p>Mrs. Challoner heaved a gentle little sigh when in the +afternoon the fly carried off Nan and Dick to the station: it +brought to her mind another day that would come far too soon. +Phillis spoke out this thought boldly as she ran back to the +cottage.</p> +<p>“I wanted to throw an old shoe for luck, mammie,” she +said, laughing, “only I knew Nan would be so dreadfully +shocked. How happy they looked! And Dick was making +such a fuss over her, bringing out his plaid to wrap her in. +Certainly he is much improved, and looks five years older.”</p> +<p>Perhaps Dick shared Mrs. Challoner’s thought too, for an expression +of deep gravity crossed his face as he sat down by Nan,—a +look that was tender, and yet wistful, as he took her hand.</p> +<p>“Oh, Nan! it does seem so nice to have you all to myself for +a little,—just you and I, alone, and all the rest of the world +outside somewhere! Do you know it is possible to be almost +too happy!” And Dick sighed from the very fulness of content.</p> +<p>Nan gave a merry little laugh at this.</p> +<p>“Oh, no: to me it seems only natural to be happy. When +things were at their worst I knew that they would come right +some day; and I could not be quite miserable, even then. It +was hard, of course; but when one is young, one ought not to +mind a little waiting. And we have not waited long, have we, +dear?” But to this Dick demurred.</p> +<p>“It was the longest term I ever passed,” he returned, seriously. +“When a fellow is in that sort of unsettled state, one +cannot measure time in the ordinary way. Well, the ordeal is +over, thank heaven!” And then he paused, and continued, a +little thoughtfully: “What I have to do now is to work hard +and do my best to deserve you. I shall never be worthy of you, +Nan; I know that.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344' name='page_344'></a>344</span></p> +<p>“I think you quite worthy of me,” she answered, softly, and +now there were tears in her eyes.</p> +<p>“Oh, no; no fellow could be that,” he replied, decidedly. +“I am well enough in my way, and compared with other men +I am not so bad,” continued Dick, who had a sufficiently good +opinion of his own merits, in spite of the humility of his speech; +“but as to coming up to you, Nan, by a long way, why, the +thing is impossible! But I tell you this, it helps a fellow to keep +right and steady when he believes in the goodness of the girl +belonging to him.”</p> +<p>“You must not make me vain,” she half whispered, and her +lips trembled a little at his praise. But he disregarded this remonstrance, +and went on:</p> +<p>“You have kept me right all my life. How could I ever do a +mean or a shabby action to make you ashamed of me? When +I was tempted once or twice,—for idle young fellows will be +tempted,—I used to say to myself, No, Nan would not approve +if she knew it. And I held tight to this thought, and I am glad +now that I can look in your dear face and tell you this. It +makes me feel so happy.” And indeed Dick’s face was radiant.</p> +<p>They were almost sorry when the journey was over; they had +so much to say to each other. The wintry landscape was +growing gray and indistinct as they reached their destination, +and, though Nan peered anxiously into the darkness for a +glimpse of each well-remembered spot, she could only just discern +the dim outline of Glen Cottage before the carriage turned +in at the gates of Longmead.</p> +<p>Mr. Mayne had determined to pay his intended daughter-in-law +all becoming honors, and as soon as the carriage wheels +were heard he had the hall door thrown back to show the +bright, welcoming light, and he himself descended the flight of +steps to the terrace. “Just as though I were a royal personage,” +laughed Nan. But she was a little nattered by the compliment.</p> +<p>Most girls would have felt the awkwardness of the situation, +but not Nan. The moment Dick assisted her out of the carriage +she walked up to his father, and put up her face to be kissed in +the most natural way. “It was so good of you to ask me here; +and I am so glad to come,” she said, simply.</p> +<p>“There, there! run in out of the cold,” was all his answer; +and he patted her hand a little awkwardly. But, though his +voice had its usual gruffness, his manner was otherwise kind. +“How are you, Dick? I hope Roper did not keep you waiting +at the station, for you are a quarter of an hour behind your +time.” And then he took his son’s arm and walked up the steps +again.</p> +<p>Nan, meanwhile, had run through the hall and into the warm, +softly-lighted drawing-room, and there she soon found herself +in Mrs. Mayne’s motherly arms. When the gentlemen came in +they interrupted quite a little scene, for Mrs. Mayne was actually +crying over the girl, and Nan was kissing her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345' name='page_345'></a>345</span></p> +<p>“Don’t you think you had better stop that sort of thing, +Bessie,” observed her husband, drily, “and get Nan a cup of +tea? You would like some tea, my dear, would you not?” in +a more gracious voice.</p> +<p>Of course Nan said she would like some, just to show her +appreciation of his thoughtfulness; and then Dick said he +should like some too, and his father quizzed him a little as he +rang the bell. And as Mrs. Mayne obediently dried her eyes at +her husband’s behest, they were soon very happy and comfortable. +When Nan’s cup was empty, Dick darted to take it, +that it might be replenished; but his father was before him.</p> +<p>All that evening Mr. Mayne waited on Nan, quite ignoring +his son’s claims. He had a special brand of champagne served +that Nan had once said she liked; and he reminded her of this, +and pressed her to partake of it.</p> +<p>“This is to your health, my dear,” he said, lifting his glass +of port to his lips when the servants had withdrawn; “and to +yours too, Dick.” And then Nan blushed very becomingly, and +Dick thanked him a little gravely.</p> +<p>“I do think the old boy has fallen in love with you himself, +for he has not let me come near you all the evening,” whispered +Dick later on that night, pretending to grumble, but in reality +looking very happy.</p> +<p>“He has been so good to me,” returned the girl; and she +repeated this for Mrs. Mayne’s benefit, when at last the two +women found themselves free to indulge in a little talk. Nan +had coaxed her friend to sit beside her fire for a few minutes, +and then she had knelt down beside her, wrapping her arms +round her in the most affectionate way.</p> +<p>“Dear, dear Mrs. Mayne, how nice all this is! and how good +Mr. Mayne has been to me all this evening!”</p> +<p>“My Richard never does things by halves,” returned Mrs. +Mayne, proudly. “People cannot always understand him, because +his manner is a little rough sometimes; but I know, and +none better, his real goodness of heart. Why, he is so pleased +with himself and you and Dick this evening that he hardly +knows how to contain himself; but he is a little awkward in +showing it.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no; I did not think him awkward at all.”</p> +<p>“I must say you behaved beautifully, Nan, never seeming as +though you remembered that there had been anything amiss, +but just taking everything as he meant it. Of course I knew +how you would act: I was not afraid that I should be disappointed.”</p> +<p>“Of course I could not do otherwise.”</p> +<p>“And Dick, too, behaved so well, keeping in the background +just to give his father full freedom. I must say I was pleased +with him, too, for most young men are so thoughtless; but then +his behavior to his father has been perfect throughout.”</p> +<p>“I knew it would be,” whispered Nan. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_346' name='page_346'></a>346</span></p> +<p>“I am sure it made my heart ache to see him. Sometimes +he would come in whistling and pretending to be his old self, +so light-hearted and cheerful; and all the time he was fretting +himself to death, as I told Richard. Richard was terribly trying +sometimes,—you know his way,—but the boy bore it so +well. It was not till the last, when they had that walk, and +Dick was goaded into positive anger, that he ever lost his temper +in the least. I will say this, Nan, that though my Dick may +not be much to look at, he has the sweetest temper and the +kindest heart.” And so the simple woman ran on, and Nan +listened, well pleased.</p> +<p>When Mr. Mayne came up to his dressing-room that evening, +his wife stole in after him, and laid her hands on his shoulder +as he stood thoughtfully contemplating the fire.</p> +<p>“Well, Richard, won’t you own she is lovely now?”</p> +<p>“Humph! yes; I suppose people would call her pretty,” he +returned, in his grudging way. “But I tell you what, Bessie,” +suddenly kindling into animation, “she is better than handsome; +she is out and out good, and she will make a man of +Dick.”</p> +<p>“God bless him, and her too!” whispered the mother, as +she withdrew softly, but not before she caught the sound of an +“Amen” uttered distinctly in her husband’s voice.</p> +<p>Nan made Dick take her to all their old haunts the next +morning; but first of all they went to Glen Cottage. Nan ran +through all the rooms with almost a child’s glee: nothing could +exceed her delight when Dick showed her the drawing-room, +with the new conservatory opening out of it.</p> +<p>“It always was a pretty room,” she said, glancing round +her; “but the conservatory and the new furniture have quite +transformed it. How charmed mother and the girls will be! +The whole house looks better than when we were in it.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense!” returned Dick, stoutly. “There never was a +house to compare with it. I always loved it; and so did you, +Nan. What a summer we shall have here, when I am reading +up for honors in the long vacation! I mean to work pretty +hard; for when a fellow has such an object as that––” And +then he looked at Nan meaningly; but she was not to be beguiled +into that subject.</p> +<p>They were so happy, and so young, that they could afford +to wait a little; and she did not wish Dick to speak yet of that +day that was looming in the distance.</p> +<p>She could only be sure of one summer at Glen Cottage; but +what a time they would have! She stood for a long while looking +out on the lawn and calling up possible visions of summer +afternoons. The tennis-ground was marked out already in her +imagination; the tea-table in its old place under the trees; there +was her mother knitting in her favorite wicker-chair; there +were Dulce and Phillis, surrounded by their friends</p> +<p>“Come away, Nan. Are you moon-struck, or dreaming?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347' name='page_347'></a>347</span> +questioned Dick, drawing her arm through his. “Do you remember +what we have to do before luncheon? And Vigo looks +so impatient for his run.” But even Dick paused for a moment +in the veranda to show Nan the rose she had picked for him +just there, and which still lay in his pocket-book.</p> +<p>All her old friends crowded round Nan to welcome her back; +and great were the rejoicings when they heard that Glen Cottage +was to be in the Challoners’ possession again. Carrie Paine +and Adelaide Sartoris called first. Carrie embraced Nan with +tearful effusion: she was an honest, warm-hearted creature. +But Adelaide looked at her a little curiously.</p> +<p>“Oh, my dear, the scandal that has been talked about you +all!” she said, in a mysterious tone. “Carrie and I would not +believe it: would we, Car? We told people to hold their +tongues, and not talk such nonsense.”</p> +<p>“Never mind that now, Addie,” returned Nan, cheerfully. +She felt she must be careful of what she said, for Dick’s sake. +“We have had our worries, and have worked as better people +have before us; but now it is all over.”</p> +<p>“But is it true that your cousin, Sir Henry Challoner, has +bought Gilsbank?” broke in Carrie. “Tell us about him, +dear. Addie thought she saw him once. Is he a tall man, +with red hair?”</p> +<p>“Very red hair,” responded Nan, laughing.</p> +<p>“Then I did see him,” replied Miss Sartoris, decidedly. “He +is quite a giant, Nan; but he looks very good-natured.”</p> +<p>Miss Sartoris was just engaged to a dapper little colonel in +the Hussars, so she could afford to be quizzical on the subject +of Sir Harry’s inches; but Carrie, who was at present unattached, +was a little curious about the future master of Gilsbank.</p> +<p>After this, Nan called at Fitzroy Lodge, and Dick went with +her. Lady Fitzroy, who was looking very pretty and delicate, +welcomed Nan with the greatest kindness. When Lord Fitzroy +came in with the rest of the gentlemen from hunting, he questioned +Nan very closely about their new neighbor, Sir Henry +Challoner, and made a great many kind inquiries after his +favorite, Miss Phillis.</p> +<p>“So we are to have you all back, eh,” he queried, pleasantly. +“Well, I call that good news. I am bound that Evelyn is as +pleased to hear it as I am.”</p> +<p>“I am very much pleased,” returned Lady Fitzroy graciously. +“And you must tell your mother so, with my love. Percival, +will you ring for some more hot water, please? I shall not be +long: but I am going to take Miss Challoner upstairs to see +our boy.”</p> +<p>Nan knew that a great privilege was being conferred on her +as she followed Lady Fitzroy into the grand nursery, where +the tiny heir lay in his bassinette.</p> +<p>“Is he not just like Fitzroy?” exclaimed the proud young +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348' name='page_348'></a>348</span> +mother, as they stood looking down on the red crumpled features +of the new-comer. “Nurse says she has never seen such +a striking likeness.”</p> +<p>“He is a darling!” exclaimed Nan, who was, like other girls, +a devout baby-worshipper; and then they discoursed very +eloquently on his infantile beauties.</p> +<p>It was after this that Lady Fitzroy congratulated Nan on her +engagement, and kissed her in quite a sisterly way.</p> +<p>“Fitzroy and I do not think him half good enough for you,” +she said, very prettily. “But no one who knows Mr. Mayne +can fail to like him, he is so thoroughly genuine and nice. Will +the engagement be a long one, Miss Challoner?”</p> +<p>“Not so very long,” Nan returned, blushing. “Dick has to +read for honors; but, when he has taken his degree, his father +has promised to make things straight for us, while Dick reads +for the bar.”</p> +<p>“He is to be a barrister, then?” asked Lady Fitzroy, in surprise. +“You must not think me inquisitive, but I thought Mr. +Mayne was so very well off.”</p> +<p>“So he is,” replied Nan, smiling,—“quite rich, I believe; +but Dick would not like an idle life, and during his father’s lifetime +he can only expect a moderate income.”</p> +<p>“You will live in London, then?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes; I suppose so;” was Nan’s answer. “But we have +not talked much about that yet. Dick must work hard for +another year, and after that I believe things are to be settled.” +And then Lady Fitzroy kissed her again, and they went downstairs.</p> +<p>Nan wrote home that she was <i>fêted</i> like a queen, and that +Dick grumbled sadly at having her so little to himself; but then +Dick was much given to that sort of good-natured grumbling.</p> +<p>The visit was necessarily a very brief one, as term-time was +approaching, and Dick had to go up to Oxford. On the last +morning he took Nan for a walk down to Sandy Lane. Vigo +and the other dogs were with them, and at the point where the +four roads met, Dick stopped and leaned his arms over a gate.</p> +<p>“It will seem a long time to Easter, Nan,” he said, rather +lugubriously.</p> +<p>“Oh, no,” she replied brightly to this; “you will have my +letters,—such long ones, Dick,—and you know Mr. Mayne has +promised to bring Phillis and me down for a couple of days. +We are to stay at the Randolph, and of course we shall have +afternoon tea in your rooms.”</p> +<p>“Yes; I will ask Hamilton and some of the other fellows to +meet you. I want all my friends to see you, Nan.” And as +Dick thought of the glory of this introduction, and of the envy +of Hamilton and the other fellows, his brow cleared and his old +spirits returned.</p> +<p>“I shall think of nothing but my work and those letters, +Nan,” were his last words. “I am determined that next summer +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_349' name='page_349'></a>349</span> +shall see you my wife.” His voice dropped over the last +word almost shyly; but Nan saw a great brightness come into +his eyes.</p> +<p>“You must not work too hard,” was all her answer to this, +as she moved gently away from him. But her heart beat a little +faster at his words. No; she would only have another summer +at Glen Cottage. She knew that, and then the new life would +lie before them, which she and Dick were to live together.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XLVIII_MRS_SPARSITS_POODLE' id='CHAPTER_XLVIII_MRS_SPARSITS_POODLE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVIII.</h2> +<h3>MRS. SPARSIT’S POODLE.</h3> +</div> +<p>While Nan was being <i>fêted</i> and petted at Longmead, Mattie’s +visit was dragging heavily to its close. Since the evening of +the tea-party things had been more unsatisfactory than ever.</p> +<p>Archie and Grace were a good deal out. Grace was perpetually +at the Friary, and Archie had resumed his old habit of +dropping in there for a morning or evening chat. Sir Harry +came almost daily, and often spent his disengaged hours with +them; but Mattie never saw him for a moment alone. Grace +was always in the room, and his conversation was chiefly +addressed to her. When Mattie dropped sadly out of the talk, +or sat silent in her corner, he did not in his old kind fashion +try to include her in the conversation: indeed, he rarely noticed +her, except in his brief leave-taking. It hurt Mattie inexpressibly +to be thus ignored by her old friend, for from the first his +cordiality had had a sunshiny influence over her,—he had been +so good to her, so thoughtful for her comfort, before Grace came; +but now he seemed to forget sometimes that such a person as +Mattie even existed. Was it because Grace’s fair, serious face +had bewitched him, or was there anything on his mind? for +more than once Mattie thought he seemed absent and ill at +ease.</p> +<p>Mattie could not understand it at all. She was not a very +acute little person, neither was she over-sensitive by nature, but +this sudden coldness on Sir Harry’s part was wounding and +perplexing in the extreme. Had she done anything to offend +him? Mattie wondered, or was he simply bored by her as most +people were?</p> +<p>Once Archie had snubbed her very severely in his presence; +something had put him out, and he had spoken to Mattie as +though no one were present but their two selves. It was Grace +who called him so gently to order, and made him feel ashamed +of himself. Sir Harry did not even seem to notice it: he had a +paper in his hand, and he went on reading it. But as Mattie +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_350' name='page_350'></a>350</span> +left the room she heard him speaking to Grace in his usual way +about some political question or other.</p> +<p>Mattie cried bitterly in her room that day. Somehow, she +had never taken Archie’s snubbing so much to heart before. +How could he speak to her like that, she thought? What would +Sir Harry think of her, and of him too? Archie’s conscience +pricked him when he saw the traces of tears on Mattie’s face +that afternoon, and he was very kind to her all the remainder +of the day; but he did not apologize for his words: no one ever +did apologize to Mattie. But to his surprise, and Grace’s too, +Mattie’s sad face did not clear.</p> +<p>It was her last afternoon but one at the vicarage, and Mattie +was sitting alone. All the morning she and Grace had been +packing together, for Grace, in her sensible way, had begged +her sister not to leave things for the last day. It would tire her +for her journey, she said; and the Challoners were coming to +spend Mattie’s last evening with her at the vicarage; and there +were the Middletons probably coming for an afternoon visit, +and so Mattie had better keep herself free for her friends. +Mattie had assented to this, and she had been very grateful to +Grace for all the help she had given her. Her boxes were ready +for cording, and her little parting gifts for the servants laid +ready labelled in her drawers, and nothing remained for her +busy hands to do.</p> +<p>It was a cold, cheerless afternoon; a cutting north wind and +a gray cloudy sky made the fireside all the more tempting by +comparison; but Mattie knew there was one duty unfulfilled +that she ought to perform. She had promised to call and say +good-bye to an old acquaintance of hers who lived at Rock +Building.</p> +<p>Mrs. Chamberlain was not a favorite with most people: she +was an invalid of somewhat uncertain temper, and most of her +friends felt her society an infliction on their patience. Mattie, +who was very good-natured, had often done kindly little offices +for her, sitting with her for an hour or two at a time, and teaching +her some new stitch, to beguile her tedious and often painful +days.</p> +<p>Mrs. Chamberlain would feel herself aggrieved if Mattie disappointed +her. And she never had stayed at home for the +weather; only she was lazy,—tired, perhaps, from her packing,—and +reluctant to move.</p> +<p>Sir Harry was in the study, she knew: she had heard his +voice some time ago. He often turned in there of his own accord +or perhaps Archie had waylaid him and brought him in, for +they were excellent friends now; Grace was there, of course, +but Mattie had hesitated to join them: none of them wanted +her, she said bitterly to herself.</p> +<p>A dim hope that Grace might come in search of her, or that +even Sir Henry might saunter in by and by and ask for a cup +of tea in his old way, had kept Mattie in her place; but now it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_351' name='page_351'></a>351</span> +was getting a little late, and perhaps after all Grace would ring, +and have the tea in there, as she had done once before: and it +was no use waiting. And so, when Mattie reached this point, +she hurried upstairs and put on her hat and thick jacket, and +then, after a moment’s hesitation, opened the study door.</p> +<p>It was just the scene she pictured. Sir Harry was in the big +chair in front of the blazing fire, and Grace in her low wicker +seat, facing him, with a Chinese screen in her hand. Archie +was standing on the rug, with his elbow against the narrow +wooden mantelpiece, and all three were talking merrily. Sir +Harry stopped in the middle of a laugh, as Mattie entered, and +shook hands with her a little gravely.</p> +<p>“How comfortable you all look!” faltered Mattie. The +words came in spite of her efforts not to say them.</p> +<p>“Then come and join us,” returned Archie, with unusual affability. +“Grace was just wondering what you were doing.”</p> +<p>“I was in the drawing-room alone. No, I cannot sit down, +Archie, thank you. I am just going to bid old Mrs. Chamberlain +good-bye: she is expecting me, and I must not disappoint +her.”</p> +<p>“Oh, but it is not fit for you,” remonstrated Grace. “Sir +Harry says the wind is piercing. Do put off your visit until to-morrow, +Mattie, and we will go together.”</p> +<p>“Fie, Miss Grace! never put off until to-morrow what can be +done to-day,” observed Sir Harry, in his joking voice. “What +is it the copy-books say?—is it procrastination or money that is +the root of all evil?”</p> +<p>“Sir Harry is quite right, and I must go,” stammered Mattie, +made quite desperate by this joke; he knew how the wind was +sweeping over the gray sea, and yet he had not said a word +about her remaining. Poor Mattie! a miserable choking feeling +came into her throat, as she closed the door on another laugh +and struggled along in the teeth of the wind. Another time she +would not have minded it, for she was hardy by nature; but +now the cold seemed to freeze her very heart; she looked quite +blue and pinched when she entered Mrs. Chamberlain’s drawing-room. +It seemed to Mattie as though hours had passed before +she brought her visit to a close, and yet she had been sitting +there only three quarters of an hour before she took her leave. +The old lady was very gracious this afternoon; she pressed +Mattie again and again to wait a little until Sallie brought up +the tea and a nice hot cake she was baking. But Mattie steadily +refused even these tempting delicacies: she was not cold any +longer, she said; but it was growing late, or the afternoon was +darker than usual. And then she wished her old friend good-bye,—oh, +good-bye for such a long time, Mattie thought,—and +sallied forth bravely into the wind gain.</p> +<p>It had lulled a little, but the scene before her was very +desolate; just the gray expanse of sea, with the white line of +surge breaking into the shore; and here and there a wave tossing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_352' name='page_352'></a>352</span> +up its foamy head in the distance. The air seemed full of +that continuous low rolling and splashing of breakers on the +beach: a sea-gull was flying inland; the Parade looked white +and wind-bleached,—not a creature in sight but a coast-guard +on duty, moving backwards and forwards in a rather forlorn +manner, except––Here Mattie turned her head quickly: +yes, a little beyond there was a man in a rough pilot’s coat, +looking out seaward,—a nautical man, Mattie thought, by the +way he stood, as though summer gales were blowing about his +ears.</p> +<p>Mattie passed quite close to him, for the wind drifted her a +little as she did so. He turned coolly round and confronted +her.</p> +<p>“Sir Harry! Oh, I did not know you in the least,” faltered +Mattie, standing still in her surprise.</p> +<p>“I dare say not,” he replied, quietly: “you have never seen +me in this costume before, and I had my back turned towards +you. I saw you coming, though, walking as unsteadily as a +duck in a storm. What a time you have been, Miss Mattie! +You ladies are so fond of a gossip.”</p> +<p>“Were you waiting for me?” she asked, rather breathlessly, +and then colored painfully at her question. How absurd! Of +course he was not waiting for her; his hotel was just opposite, +and he was probably taking a constitutional before his dinner. +“Mrs. Chamberlain pressed me to take tea with her,” she went +on, by way of saying something, “but I told her I would rather +go home.”</p> +<p>“Miss Grace was just ringing for tea when I left,” he returned. +“No wonder you look cold or like a starved robin, Miss Mattie. +Why are you walking so fast? there is no hurry, is there? I +think you owe me some amends for keeping me standing for an +hour in this bitter wind. There! why don’t you take my arm +and hold on, or you will be blown away?”</p> +<p>Mattie always did as she was bidden, and Sir Harry’s tone +was a little peremptory. He had been waiting for her, then; +he had not quite forgotten her. Mattie began to feel a little +less chilled and numb. If he would only say a kind word to +her, she thought, she could go away more happily.</p> +<p>“I am thinking about that rejected cup of tea,” he said, +suddenly, when they had walked for a moment in silence: “it +will be all cleared away at the vicarage, and you do look so cold, +Miss Mattie.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no, not very,” she corrected.</p> +<p>“But I say that you do,” he persisted, in quite a determined +manner: “you are cold, and tired, and miserable,—there!”</p> +<p>“I—I am not particularly miserable,” but there were tears in +Mattie’s voice, as she uttered this little fib. “I don’t quite like +going away and saying good-bye to people.”</p> +<p>“Won’t your people be kind to you?” Then changing his +tone, “I tell you what, Miss Mattie, no one is in a hurry for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_353' name='page_353'></a>353</span> +you at home, and I don’t see why we should not enjoy ourselves. +You remember my old friend Mrs. Sparsit, who lives up at Rose +Cottage,—you know I saved her poodle from drowning one +rough day, when some boys got hold of it: well, Mrs. Sparsit +and I are first-rate friends, and I will ask her to give us some +tea.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no,” faltered Mattie, quite shocked at this; for what +would Grace say? “I only know Mrs. Sparsit a very +little.”</p> +<p>“What does that matter?” returned Sir Harry, obstinately: +“I am always dropping in myself for a chat. Now, it is no use +your making any objection, Miss Mattie, for I have got a lot to +say to you, and I don’t mean to part with you yet. They will +only think you are still at Rock Building, and I suppose you are +old enough to act without Miss Grace’s advice sometimes.”</p> +<p>Mattie hung her head without replying to this. What a +feeble, helpless sort of creature he must think her! his voice +seemed to express a good-humored sort of contempt. Well, he +was right; she was old enough to do as she pleased, and she +would like very much to go with him to Mrs. Sparsit’s. It was +rather a reckless proceeding, perhaps; but Mattie was too down +and miserable to argue it out, so she walked beside Sir Harry in +a perfectly unresisting manner. Perhaps this was the last time +she would enjoy his company for a long time: she must make +the most of it.</p> +<p>“We need not walk quite so fast,” he said, checking her, for +she was hurrying again. “Look here, Miss Mattie, I want to +ask you a queer sort of question, if only this confounded wind +will let me make myself heard. Please don’t laugh; I don’t +want to be laughed at, for I am quite in earnest. But have you +any special objection to red hair?—I mean, do you particularly +dislike it?”</p> +<p>Mattie opened her eyes rather widely at this. “No, I rather +like it,” she returned, without a moment’s hesitation, and quite +in the dark as to his possible meaning.</p> +<p>“Oh, that is all right,” he returned, cheerfully. “You won’t +believe it, Miss Mattie, but, though I am such a great big fellow, +I am as bashful as anything; and I have always had a fancy +that no one would have me because of my red hair.”</p> +<p>“What an idea!” observed Mattie, with a little laugh, for +she thought this so droll, and had not the dimmest idea of his +real purpose in asking her such a question.</p> +<p>“Don’t laugh, please,” he remonstrated, “for I am quite +serious; I never was more serious in my life; for this sort of +thing is so awkward for a fellow. Then, Miss Mattie, you won’t +say ‘No’ to me?”</p> +<p>Mattie stared; but Sir Harry’s face, red and embarrassed as +it was, gave her no clue to his meaning.</p> +<p>“I don’t think you understand me,” he said, a little impatiently; +“and yet I am sure I am putting it very plainly. You +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_354' name='page_354'></a>354</span> +don’t object to me, do you, Miss Mattie? I am sure I will do +my best to make you happy. Gilsbank is a pretty place, and +we shall have Aunt Catherine and the girls near us. We shall +all be as merry as larks, if you will only promise to marry me, +for I have liked you from the first; I have indeed, Miss +Mattie.”</p> +<p>Sir Harry was a gentleman, in spite of his rough ways. He +understood in a moment, when Mattie’s answer to this was +a very feeble clutch at his arm, as though her strength were +deserting her. What with the sudden surprise of these words, +and the force of the wind, the poor little woman felt herself +reeling.</p> +<p>“Stand here for a moment, and I will shelter you from the +wind. No, don’t speak; just hold on, and keep quiet: there is +no hurry. No one shall scold you, if I can help it. I am afraid”—speaking +as gently as to a child—“that I have been a little +rough and sudden with you. Do you feel faint? I never saw +you look so pale. What a thoughtless brute I have been!”</p> +<p>“No,—oh, no,” panted Mattie; “only I am so giddy, and—so +happy.” The last words were half whispered, but he caught +them. “Are you sure you really mean this, Sir Harry?”</p> +<p>“As sure as that the wind blows,” he returned, cheerfully. +“Well, that’s settled. You and I are to be in the same boat +for good and all,—eh, Miss Mattie? Now let us walk on; and +I won’t say another word until we reach Mrs. Sparsit’s.”</p> +<p>Perhaps he had taken this resolution because he saw that +Mattie found speech impossible. Her very footsteps tottered +as she struggled against the opposing wind. Only the arm on +which she leaned seemed to give her strength; and yet Mattie +no longer shivered in the cutting blast. She was no longer cold, +and numb, and desolate. Something wonderful and incredible +and altogether unreal had befallen her,—something that had +turned her dizzy with happiness, and which she could not in +the least believe. All she knew was that he had told her that +no one should scold her now.</p> +<p>“Here we are!” exclaimed Sir Harry, stopping at a trim +little cottage, with a side-view of the sea; “and, by Jove, there +is the poodle himself at the window. How do you do, Mrs. +Sparsit?” as a pleasant, wrinkled dame appeared on the +threshold. “You know Miss Drummond, I believe? though +not as well as you know me. How is Popples? Oh, there you +are, old fellow,—ready to give me your paw, as usual! Look +at him, Miss Mattie! Now, Mrs. Sparsit,” in a coaxing voice, +“this lady is dreadfully tired; and I know your kettle is boiling––” but +here Mrs. Sparsit interrupted him:</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, indeed, Sir Harry; and you shall have some tea +directly. Dear me, Miss Drummond, you do look poorly, to be +sure! Let me stir the fire a little, and draw out the couch. +Bettie has gone out to see her sick mother, Sir Harry; but if +you don’t mind my leaving you a minute, while I just brew the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_355' name='page_355'></a>355</span> +tea––” And without waiting for his answer, the worthy creature +bustled off to her tiny kitchen, leaving Popples to entertain +her guests.</p> +<p>Sir Harry closed the door, and then he helped Mattie to +divest herself of her warm jacket, and placed her in a snug +corner of the old-fashioned couch.</p> +<p>“You will be all right directly,” he said, as he sat down +beside her. “The wind was too strong; and I was a little sudden: +wasn’t I, Mattie?” And now the color began to come into +Mattie’s face.</p> +<p>Sir Harry found plenty to tell her as Mrs. Sparsit brewed the +tea and prepared the hot buttered cakes.</p> +<p>Mattie shed tears of pure happiness when she heard from his +own lips how good and unselfish and amiable he thought her, +and how he had liked her from the first in a sort of way,—“not +quite the right way, you know,” explained Sir Harry, candidly; +“but every one was so hard on you, and you bore it so well, +and were such a good little woman, that I quite longed to stand +your friend; and we were friends,—were we not, Mattie? +And then somehow it came to me what a nice little wife you +would make; and so––” but here Mattie timidly interrupted +him:</p> +<p>“But Grace,—I thought you liked Grace best!”</p> +<p>Sir Harry laughed outright at this; but he had the grace to +look ashamed of himself:</p> +<p>“So I did like her very much; but I was only trying you, +Mattie. I was not sure how much you liked me; but you +seemed such a miserable little Cinderella among them all that +I could hardly keep it up. If they snub you now, they will +have to answer to me.” And at this moment Mrs. Sparsit entered +with the tea-tray.</p> +<p>Dinner was nearly over at the vicarage when Mattie’s step +was heard in the hall. Archie, who was the soul of punctuality, +frowned a little when the sound reached his ear.</p> +<p>“This is too bad of Mattie,” he said, rather fretfully. “She +has no right to put us to such inconvenience. I suppose we +must have the fish up again?”</p> +<p>“Miss Drummond desires that you will go on with your dinner, +sir,” observed the maid, entering at that moment. “She +has had a late tea, and will not require anything more.”</p> +<p>“Very strange!” fumed Archie; but he was a little pacified +by the message. But Grace slightly elevated her eyebrows with +an expression of surprise. Such independence was new in +Mattie.</p> +<p>The brother and sister had adjourned to the drawing-room, +and Archie was about to ring for his coffee, before Mattie made +her appearance.</p> +<p>Grace uttered a little exclamation when she saw her sister:</p> +<p>“My dear Mattie, we have no visitors coming in this evening! +Why have you put on your best gown? You extravagant +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356' name='page_356'></a>356</span> +child!” for Mattie had come into the room rustling in +her green silk dress, and her little dark face glowing from the +wind. “She looked almost pretty,” as Grace said afterwards; +but at her sister’s quizzical observation Mattie blushed and +seemed confused.</p> +<p>“It is no use saving it,” she began. “Sir Harry is coming in +by and by. And, oh, Archie! he told me to say it, but I don’t +know how to do it.” And then, to Archie’s intense surprise,—for +she had never done such a thing in her life,—she suddenly +threw her arms round his neck. “Oh, Archie! he says you +are never to scold me again,—any of you,” she sobbed, “because +I belong to him now. And he—Sir Harry, I mean—is so +good to me; and I am so happy. And won’t you wish me joy, +both of you? And what—what will mother say?” finished +Mattie, as though this were the climax of everything.</p> +<p>“Good heavens, Mattie!” gasped Archie; but he did not +shake her off: on the contrary, he kissed her very kindly. “Do +you mean you are going to marry Sir Harry Challoner?”</p> +<p>“He means to marry me,” returned Mattie, smiling, in spite +of her tears; and then Grace came forward, and took her in her +arms.</p> +<p>“I am so glad, dear Mattie,” she whispered, soothingly. +“Of course we none of us expected it; and we are all very +much surprised. Oh, dear! how happy mother will be!”</p> +<p>“I tell you what,” exclaimed Archie, in great excitement, +“I will take you down myself to Lowder Street, and see +what she says. They will all be out of their senses with joy; +and, upon my word, Mattie, I never was so pleased about anything +in my life. He is a right-down good fellow, I am sure of +that; and you are not such a bad little thing yourself, Mattie. +There!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_XLIX_MATTIE_IN_A_NEW_CHARACTER' id='CHAPTER_XLIX_MATTIE_IN_A_NEW_CHARACTER'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIX.</h2> +<h3>MATTIE IN A NEW CHARACTER.</h3> +</div> +<p>The family at Lowder Street were all gathered together when +the travellers made their appearance. There was a general +shout of delight when Archie’s face peered in at them from the +dusky hall over Mattie’s shoulder. Mrs. Drummond’s thin face +flushed with the unexpected pleasure.</p> +<p>“Oh, Archie! my dear boy, I never thought you would surprise +us in this way!” she said, throwing down her work with tremulous +hands. She kissed Mattie affectionately; but that dark glow +of tenderness in her eyes was for Archie. In spite of her ordinary +undemonstrativeness, she seldom spoke to him without that +involuntary softening of her voice. However much she loved +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_357' name='page_357'></a>357</span> +her other children, her maternal passion was reserved for her +first-born son.</p> +<p>“How naughty of you to steal a march on us in this manner!” +she said, playfully. “We have only prepared a meat-tea +for Mattie, because I knew she would not mind; but if you +had telegraphed I would have had dinner ready for you, +Archie.”</p> +<p>“Stuff! nonsense! why need he have telegraphed? I suppose +what is good enough for Mattie and the rest of us is good +enough for Archie!”</p> +<p>Mr. Drummond spoke testily as he put down the paper. +These hints about the late dinners always nettled him. His +renunciation of them years ago had been a heavy piece of self-denial, +for he was a man rather fond of creature comforts; he +had done it for his children’s sake; but it was more than flesh +and blood could bear that this renounced luxury should be +served for his son’s benefit. Was he not as good as Archie, +though he had not been to a University and become fellow of +his college?</p> +<p>“Father is quite right,” returned Archie, cheerfully. “I +would not telegraph, because I wanted to surprise you; and I +knew you were such a good manager, mother, that you would +have plenty of aired sheets ready for my bed. Of course what +is good enough for Mattie is right for me. As we are both as +hungry as hunters, we shall do justice to anything you have +prepared.”</p> +<p>“There is only some cold meat and some ham and eggs,” +observed Mrs. Drummond, a little plaintively. She did not +dare anger her husband further by proposing even a chop, for +she knew how touchy he was about Archie’s fastidiousness; +but if she could have had her own way she would have killed +the fatted calf for this dearest son. Nothing was too good for +him in her eyes; and yet for the sake of tranquillity she dared +not even hazard the question of a chop.</p> +<p>“Cold meat,—that is just what I should like,” replied +Archie, with excellent <i>sang-froid</i>. He detested that stock-dish +of the Lowder Street larder, ham and eggs. The eggs were +dubious, he considered,—not actually new-laid, but a little suggestive +of lime. “But there! you must not give me all your +attention, mother,” he continued. “I have brought Mattie +home, you see, and you have never told her even how she looks.”</p> +<p>“She looks very well,” replied Mrs. Drummond. In spite +of her anxiety about Archie, she had been looking at her +daughter more than once with puzzled eyes. There was something +different about her, she thought. It was hardly like +Mattie to come in so quietly among them all and take her +place beside her father. Mattie seldom did anything without +a fuss: it was her ordinary way to stand among them chattering +as fast as her tongue would go, until some one reminded +her that it was time for her to take off her hat and jacket or +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_358' name='page_358'></a>358</span> +she would be late for tea. But to-night Mattie had hardly +opened her lips, except to answer her father’s questions about +the journey. She had kissed her sisters very quietly, and had +asked after Isabel, and had then proposed of her own accord to +go upstairs.</p> +<p>“Clara, go up with your sister. No, not Laura; you will all +get chattering, and then we shall be kept waiting. Isabel is upstairs, +Archie: she has come in to sit with us this evening, as +Ellis has to go to a business dinner. He will call for her on his +way.”</p> +<p>“I am very glad she is here,” returned Archie, “for I have +to go back by the early train to-morrow. Ah, there she is. +Well, how are you, Belle?” greeting her affectionately as she +came up to him rather shyly. Archie could hardly help smiling +at the contrast between Isabel’s brilliant evening toilet and +his other sister’s brown stuff dress. It was a little trying to his +gravity to see her putting on such pretty little airs of matronly +dignity. Mrs. Ellis Burton was an important person now; +that was sufficiently obvious; the plump little figure was most +lavishly adorned. But the round childish face was certainly +very pretty; and, as every other sentence brought in “Ellis,” +and as Ellis’s opinion appeared always right in her eyes, Archie +deduced that his sister was satisfied with her choice.</p> +<p>“Oh, dear, Mattie! how droll it is to see you home again!” +exclaimed Susie, who was noted for making awkward speeches. +“And how funny you look beside Isabel!”</p> +<p>“We are very glad to have her back,” returned Mrs. Drummond, +in her repressive tones. She was just refilling her teapot +from the urn, but she found opportunity to shake her head at +Susie. “People do not generally look smart in their travelling-dress; +but I think she looks very nice. Had you not a commoner +gown, my dear? That looks almost too good for the +purpose;” for Mrs. Drummond’s sense of economy was a little +shocked by perceiving that Mattie’s gown was a new one.</p> +<p>“It is very well made,” observed Isabel, critically. “I am +so glad, Mattie, that you have given up that hideous plaid: it +never suited you.”</p> +<p>“If I had been you, I would have travelled in it,” persisted +Mrs. Drummond, who never could remember that Mattie was +over thirty and might possibly have opinions of her own.</p> +<p>Archie listened to all this with great amusement.</p> +<p>“Don’t you think it is about time I started a pleasanter subject, +Mattie?” he asked, laughing. “Have you finished your +tea, my dear? for I do not want to spoil your appetite; but +time is getting on, and––” here he glanced at the clock.</p> +<p>Every one stared at this, for Archie had never spoken in exactly +that way to Mattie before; and, as he did so, Mattie’s +cheeks were burning. But what was their surprise when Archie +suddenly rose from his seat and laid his hand kindly on Mattie’s +shoulder! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_359' name='page_359'></a>359</span></p> +<p>“She is too shy to tell you herself; I have come all these +miles to do it for her. Isabel, you need not look so consequential. +Ellis is a good fellow, I dare say, but our little Mattie has +done better for herself than even you. Mother, you have +achieved a success in one of your seven daughters: let me introduce +to you the future Lady Challoner!” And then, still +keeping his hand upon her shoulder, he looked blandly round +on them all.</p> +<p>“Well, I am sure!” from Isabel, half pouting; but no one +else spoke except Mr. Drummond:</p> +<p>“What does this mean, Archie? Can’t you speak for yourself, +my girl? Is this a joke? Does he mean something amusing?” +asked the father; but his lip quivered a little: if it +should be true,—if it were no joke!</p> +<p>“It is just as Archie says!” replied Mattie, timidly, not +daring to raise her eyes. “Sir Harry asked me to marry him, +and I said yes, because—because he was always so good to +me.” And here Mattie laughed a little hysterically. “And +I did not think you would object, father.”</p> +<p>“Me object!” replied Mr. Drummond, oblivious of grammar +just then. “Why, my little Mattie, what news is this? Come +here and kiss me, my girl. I am proud of you; I am delighted +to think a daughter of mine is going to make such a splendid +match. Why don’t you speak to her, my dear?” addressing +his wife, with some excitement. “Bless my soul,—Lady Challoner, +my plain little Mattie Lady Challoner! Is it possible? +Why, you were telling us, Archie, what a Crœsus this Sir +Henry was, and how he had just bought quite a fine place for +himself.”</p> +<p>“Mattie, come here.” Her children could hardly recognize +their mother’s voice, it was so broken, and the tears were running +down her cheeks, though not one of them remembered seeing +her cry before. Mattie never felt her triumph greater, never +understood the magnificence of her own success, until she saw +those tears, and felt the presence of her mother’s arms round +her. Never since the child Mattie had had to make way for the +new-born brother, and had toddled away with the never-forgotten +words, “Mammy’s arms are full; no room for Mattie now,” +had she laid her head upon that mother’s shoulder to indulge +in the good cry that was needed to relieve her. Isabel looked almost +affronted as she twirled her diamond rings round her plump +fingers. When she and Ellis had been engaged, her mother had +not made all this fuss. And Mattie was such an old thing; and +it was so ridiculous; and her father seemed on the verge of crying +too. “But then,” as Susie said afterwards, “Belle did +not like her consequence to be set aside; and she and Ellis were +just nobodies at all.”</p> +<p>No one enjoyed the scene so much as Archie: that was how +his mother ought to be with her girls. Nevertheless, he interrupted +them ruthlessly: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_360' name='page_360'></a>360</span></p> +<p>“Don’t make your eyes too red, Mattie: remember who will +be in by and by.” And as she started up at this and began to +smooth her rumpled hair, he explained to them generally that +they had not travelled alone; Sir Harry had accompanied them +to Leeds, and was at present dining, he believed at the Star +Hotel, where he had bespoken a room. “He thought it best +to make himself known personally to you; and, as Mattie raised +no objection, he announced his intention of calling this evening––” but +before Archie could finish his sentence, or the awe-struck +domestic announce him properly, Sir Harry himself was +among them all, shaking hands with everybody, down to Dottie.</p> +<p>And, really, for a shy man he did his part very well: he +seemed to take his welcome for granted, and beamed on them +all most genially.</p> +<p>“I suppose the parson has already introduced me,” he said, +when Mr. Drummond senior held out his hand, “What a lot +of you there are!” he continued, as he reached Dottie, who, +dreadfully frightened at his size, tried to hide behind Susie. +Dottie compared him in her own mind to one of their favorite +giants. “He was so dreadfully like Fee-fo-fum in ‘Jack the +Giant-Killer,’” she pouted, when Mattie afterwards took her to +task, “when he kissed me I thought he was going to eat me +up.”</p> +<p>Mattie’s dark little face lit up with shy happiness when she +saw him sit down beside her mother and talk to her in his frank +pleasant way. In her eyes he was nothing less than an angel +of light. True, the room had never looked so small and shabby +as it looked to-night, but what did that matter to Mattie?—the +poor little Cinderella in the brown gown had found her prince. +By and by the pumpkin-coach would fetch her to a grand house, +she would have jewels and fine clothes,—everything that the +heart of woman could desire; but it may be doubted if such +thoughts ever crossed Mattie’s mind. That he had chosen her, +this was the miracle; that she was never to be scolded, and +laughed at, and teased; that he had stooped to her, this noble, +great-hearted man, to raise her from her humbleness; that he +could care for her, in spite of her plainness and her many +faults. No wonder if such happiness almost beautified Mattie, +as she sat a little apart, surrounded by her young sisters.</p> +<p>Mrs. Drummond’s stern face glowed with pleasure when Sir +Harry in a few simple words spoke to her of his pride in winning +her daughter. Could it be her homely, old-fashioned little +Mattie of whom he was speaking, whose unselfishness and +goodness he praised so highly! “I have never known a more +beautiful nature: she does not seem to me to have an unkind +thought of any one. All my cousins love her. If you will trust +her to me, I think I can promise, as far as a man can, that her +life shall be a happy one.” No wonder if the mother’s eyes filled +with joyous tears at such words as these.</p> +<p>“Mattie, dear,” said Sir Harry to her the next day, when they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_361' name='page_361'></a>361</span> +found themselves alone,—a rather difficult thing to achieve in +the crowded household, but Mrs. Drummond had just left the +room,—“I have been talking to your mother. She is a sensible +woman, and she thinks in six weeks everything can be ready. +What do you say?”</p> +<p>“If mother thinks so, I suppose she is right,” returned Mattie, +very much confused by this sudden appeal to her opinion. +Sir Harry had already importuned for a speedy marriage, and +she had in much trepidation referred him to her mother, feeling +herself unequal to the task of answering him.</p> +<p>“Yes, your mother is a sensible woman,” continued Sir Harry, +taking no notice of her confusion. “She knows that a great +house full of servants is more than a man can manage alone; +and so, as I told her that Gilsbank was ready, and its master +waiting, she was quite of my opinion that there should be no +delay. You see, Mattie,” in a tone of great gentleness, “though +I am very fond of you, I cannot help feeling stifled in a small +house full of people. There is no getting you to myself, or being +comfortable; and a man of my size feels out of place +among a lot of girls. So if you are willing, as of course you +are,” very coaxingly, “and I am willing, we may as well get +the thing over. It takes a good deal out of a fellow to go through +this sort of thing properly, and I don’t fancy I hit it off well: +so we will say this day six weeks. And to-morrow you will be +a good little woman, and let me go back to my comfortable +quarters at Hadleigh, for one breathes only smoke here; and how +you have always borne it all these years is a mystery to me.”</p> +<p>So Mattie let him go cheerfully. She had never been selfish +in her life, and of course she spoke no word to dissuade him; +but, though she had but few letters from him, and those of the +briefest possible kind,—for Sir Harry was not fond of penmanship,—those +six weeks were far from being unhappy. How +could they be, when they were all so good to her, Mattie +thought?—when her opinion was deferred to even by her mother, +and when her brothers and sisters treated her with such respect +and affection?</p> +<p>Mattie had no sense of the ludicrous, or she would have +laughed at the change in Clyde’s tone, or at the way Fred boxed +Dottie’s ears for speaking rudely to Mattie: in their eyes the +future Lady Challoner was a person of the utmost importance. +The boys vied with each other in waiting on her; the girls were +always ready with their little services. Mattie felt herself +almost overwhelmed sometimes.</p> +<p>“Oh, mother, ask them not to do it!” she said, one day, +with tears in her eyes. “I am only Mattie; I am not different; +I never shall be different. I shall want to wait on you all +my life,—on you and all of them!”</p> +<p>“It is for them to wait on you more!” returned her mother, +gravely. “I am afraid they have not always been good to +you, and they want to make up for it.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_362' name='page_362'></a>362</span></p> +<p>But not all the attentions she received could move Mattie +from her own humble estimate of herself; and yet in some +ways, if she could have seen herself, she would have owned +there was a difference. Mattie no longer fussed and fidgeted: +always sweet-natured, she grew placid in her new happiness.</p> +<p>“I consider myself a fortunate fellow, for I have the dearest +little wife in the world,” Sir Harry said to her a few days after +they were married, when Mattie had, as usual, said something +disparaging of herself. “Never mind what you think, so long +as I am satisfied; and it is very rude of you to be always finding +fault with my choice,—ay, Lady Challoner!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_L_PHILLISS_FAVORITE_MONTH' id='CHAPTER_L_PHILLISS_FAVORITE_MONTH'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER L.</h2> +<h3>PHILLIS’S FAVORITE MONTH.</h3> +</div> +<p>Archie had been persuaded to remain until the following +evening, and to take the night mail up to London. “You know +you always sleep so soundly in a railway-carriage,” his mother +had said, with her eyes full of pleading.</p> +<p>“Perhaps so; but all the same it is dreary work to be shunted +on to a platform in the middle of the night, and to have to find +your way across London to catch a Sussex train.” But, in +spite of his grumbling he had remained. For once it was difficult +to tear himself away from that happy family party.</p> +<p>But all through that night he scarcely closed his eyes, but sat +staring at the swinging-lamp and his drowsy fellow-passengers, +or out into the blank wall of darkness, too wide awake and full +of thought to lose himself in his usual placid slumbers. The +fortunes of the Drummond family seemed rising a little, he +thought, with pleasure. How alert and full of energy his +father had seemed when he had parted from him at the station! +he had lost that subdued despondent look that had grown on +him of late. Even his shoulders were a little less bowed, as +though the burden did not press quite so heavily.</p> +<p>“All this makes a great difference to me, Archie,” he had +said, as they had walked to and fro on the platform. “Two +such wealthy sons-in-law ought to satisfy any father’s ambition. +I can hardly believe yet that my little Mattie—whom her sisters +always called ‘the old maid’—should have secured such a prize. +If it had been Grace, now, one need not have wondered so +much.”</p> +<p>“You may leave Grace out of your reckoning,” returned +Archie, smiling assent to this, “and consider you have three +out of your seven daughters provided for, for Grace will always +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_363' name='page_363'></a>363</span> +be my care. Whatever happens in the future, I think I can +promise as much as that.”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay! I remember when she was a little thing she always +called herself Archie’s wife. Well, well, the mother must +bring on Clara now: it would be a shame to separate you two. +Look, there is your train, my boy! Jump in, and God bless +you! You will come down to the wedding of course, and bring +Grace.”</p> +<p>“Archie’s wife.” It was these two words that were keeping +him so wide awake in the rushing darkness. A dusky flush +mounted to the young man’s forehead as he pondered over +them.</p> +<p>He knew himself better now. Only a few weeks, scarcely +more than a fortnight, had passed since Grace had given him +that hint; but each day since then had done the work of years. +Caught at the rebound indeed, and that so securely and +strongly that the man’s heart could never waver from its fixed +purpose again.</p> +<p>Now it was that he wondered at his blindness; that he began +to question with a perfect anguish of doubt whether he should +be too late; whether his vacillation and that useless dream of his +would hinder the fulfilment of what was now his dearest hope.</p> +<p>Would he ever bring her to believe that he had never really +loved before,—not, at least, as he could love now? Would he +ever dare to tell her so, when she had known and understood +that first stray fancy of his for Nan’s sweet face?</p> +<p>Now, as day after day he visited the cottage and talked apart +with her mother, his eyes would follow Phillis wistfully. Once +the girl had looked up from her work and caught that long, +watchful glance; and then she had grown suddenly very pale, +and a pained expression crossed her face, as though she had +been troubled.</p> +<p>Since that night when the young vicar had stood bare-headed +on the snowy steps, and had told Phillis laughingly that one +day she would find out for herself that all men were masterful, +and she had run down the steps flashing back that disdainful +look at him, he had felt there was a change in her manner to +him.</p> +<p>They had been such good friends of late; it had become a +habit with him to turn to Phillis when he wanted sympathy. +A silent, scarcely perceptible understanding had seemed to draw +them together; but in one moment, at a word, a mere light jest +of his that meant nothing, the girl had become all at once reserved, +frozen up, impenetrable even to friendship.</p> +<p>In vain he strove to win her back to her old merry talk. +Her frank recklessness of speech seemed over for the present. +In his presence she was almost always silent,—not with any +awkwardness of embarrassment, but with a certain maidenly +reserve of bearing, as though she had marked out a particular +line of conduct for herself. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_364' name='page_364'></a>364</span></p> +<p>When Grace was in the room, things were better: Phillis +could not be otherwise than affectionate to her chosen friend. +And when they were alone together, all Phillis’s bright playfulness +seemed to return; but nothing would induce her to cross +the threshold of the vicarage.</p> +<p>The evening after his return from Leeds, Archie, as usual, +dropped in at the Friary; but this time he brought Grace with +him. They were all gathered in the work-room, which had now +become their favorite resort. On some pretext or other, the +lamp had not been brought in; but they were all sitting round +the fire, chatting in an idle desultory way.</p> +<p>Phillis was half hidden behind her mother’s chair: perhaps +this was the reason why her voice had its old merry chord. +She had welcomed Archie rather gravely,—hardly turning her +face to him as she spoke; but as soon as she was in her corner +again, she took up the thread of their talk in her usual frank +way. But it was Grace that she addressed.</p> +<p>“Poor dear Harry! We have all been laughing a little at +the notion of Alcides being in love. Somehow, it seems so +droll that Mattie should turn out his Deianeira; but, after all, +I think he has shown very good sense in his choice. Mattie +will wear well.”</p> +<p>“You seem to agree with the ‘Vicar of Wakefield,’ Miss +Challoner,” observed Archie, rather amused at this temperate +praise. “Did not that excellent man choose his wife for the +same reason that she choose her wedding-dress, with a view to +durability?”</p> +<p>“Oh, there is a vast amount of wisdom in all that,” returned +Phillis, with mock solemnity; for she did not mind what nonsense +she talked in the darkness. “If life had nothing but fair-weather +days, it might be excusable for a man to choose his wife +for mere beauty; but when one thinks of fogs and east-winds, +and smoky chimneys, and all such minor evils, they may need +something a little more sustaining than a pink complexion. At +least,” catching herself up, and hurrying on as though the real +meaning of her words only just occurred to her, “though Mattie +may not be beautiful outwardly, she is just the right sort of person +for a regular east-windy day. Not even a smoky chimney +and a fog together will put her out of temper.”</p> +<p>“I will recollect your advice when the time comes,” replied +Archie rather audaciously at this, as he laughed and stroked +his beard.</p> +<p>It pleased him to see the old fun brimming over again, fresh +and sparkling; but, as he answered her in the same vein of +pleasantry, she colored up in her dark corner and shrank back +into herself, and all the rest of the evening he could hardly win +a smile from her.</p> +<p>“My dear, I think Mr. Drummond comes very often,” Mrs. +Challoner said to her eldest daughter that night. “He is very +gentlemanly, and a most excellent young man: but I begin to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_365' name='page_365'></a>365</span> +be afraid what these visits mean.” But Nan only laughed at +this.</p> +<p>“Poor mother!” she said, stroking her face. “Don’t you +wish you had us all safe at Glen Cottage again? There are so +few young men at Oldfield.”</p> +<p>“I cannot bear young men,” was the somewhat irritable +answer. “What is the use of having children, when just when +they grow up to be a comfort to you, every one tries to deprive +you of them? Dick has robbed me of you,”—and here Mrs. +Challoner grew tearful,—“and Dulce is always with the Middletons; +and I am not at all sure that Captain Middleton is not +beginning to admire her.”</p> +<p>“Neither am I,” observed Nan, a little gravely; for, though +they seldom talked of such things among themselves, “son +Hammond’s” attentions were decidedly conspicuous, and Dulce +was looking as shy and pretty as possible.</p> +<p>No; she could not give her mother any comfort there, for the +solemn-faced young officer was clearly bent on mischief. Indeed, +both father and son were making much of the little girl. +But as regarded Mr. Drummond there could be no question of +his intentions. The growing earnestness, the long wistful looks, +were not lost on Nan who knew all such signs by experience. +It was easy to understand the young vicar: it was Phillis who +baffled her.</p> +<p>They had never had any secrets between them. From their +very childhood, Nan had shared Phillis’s every thought. But +once or twice when she had tried to approach the subject in the +gentlest manner, Phillis had started away like a restive colt, and +had answered her almost with sharpness:</p> +<p>“Nonsense, Nannie! What is it to me if Mr. Drummond +comes a dozen times a day?” arching her long neck in the +proudest way, but her throat contracting a little over the uttered +falsehood; for she knew, none better, what these visits were to +her. “Do you think I should take the trouble to investigate +his motives? Don’t you know, Nan,” in her sweet whimsical +voice, “that the masculine mind loves to conjugate the verb ‘to +amuse’? Mr. Drummond is evidently bored by his own company; +but there! the vagaries of men are innumerable. One +might as well question the ebbing tide as inquire of these young +divinities the reason of all their eccentric actions. He comes +because we amuse him, and we like to see him because he +amuses us: and when he bores us, we can tell him so, which is +better than Canute and the waves, after all.” And of course, +after this, Nan was compelled to drop the subject.</p> +<p>But she watched Phillis anxiously; for she saw that the girl +was restless and ill at ease. The thoughtful gray eyes had a +shadow in them. The bright spirits were quenched, and only +kindled by a great effort; and, as the time for their leaving +the Friary grew closer day by day, until the last week approached, +she flagged more, and the shadow grew deeper. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_366' name='page_366'></a>366</span></p> +<p>“If he would only speak and end all this suspense!” thought +Nan, who knew nothing of the real state of things, and imagined +that Mr. Drummond had cared for Phillis from the +first.</p> +<p>They had already commenced their packing. Sir Harry was +back in his hotel, solacing himself with his cousin’s company, +and writing brief letters to his homely little bride-elect, when +one fine afternoon he met them and Grace just starting for the +shore.</p> +<p>This was their programme on most afternoons, and of course +they had not gone far before Captain Middleton and his father +and sister joined them; and a little later on, just as they were +entering the town, they overtook Mr. Drummond.</p> +<p>Phillis nodded to him in a friendly manner, and then walked +on with Grace, taking no further notice; but when they were +on the shore, admiring the fine sunset effect, Grace quietly +dropped her arm and slipped away to join the others. Phillis +stood motionless: her eyes were riveted on the grand expanse +of sky and ocean. “It is so like life,” she said at last, not seeing +who stood beside her, while all the others were walking on +in groups of twos and threes, Dulce close to the colonel, as +usual. “Do you see those little boats, Grace? one is sailing so +smoothly in the sunlight, and the other scarcely stirring in the +shadow,—brightness to some, you see, and shade to others; and +beyond, that clear line of light, like the promise of eternity.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you think it lies within most people’s power to make +their own lives happier?” returned Archie so quietly to this +that she scarcely started. “The sunshine and shade are more +evenly balanced than we know. To be sure, there are some +lives like that day that is neither clear nor dark,—gray, +monotonous lives, with few breaks and pleasures in them. But +perhaps even that question may be happily solved when one +looks out a little farther to the light beyond.”</p> +<p>“Yes, if one does not grow tired of waiting for the answer,” +she said, a little dreamily. “There is so much that cannot be +clear here.” And then she roused with a little difficulty from +her abstraction, and looked around her. The others had all +gone on: they were standing alone on the shingly beach, just +above a little strip of yellow sand,—only they two. Was it for +this reason that her eyes grew wide and troubled, and she moved +away rather hurriedly? But he still kept close to her, talking +quietly as he did so.</p> +<p>“Do you remember this place?” he said: “it reminds me +of a picture I once saw. I think it was ‘Atalanta’s Race,’ only +there was no Paris. It was just such as scene as this: there +was the dark breakwater, and the long line of surf breaking on +the shore, and the sun was shining on the water; and there +was a girl running with her head erect, and she scarcely seemed +to touch the ground, and she stopped just here,” resting his +hand on the black, shiny timber. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_367' name='page_367'></a>367</span></p> +<p>“Do not,” she answered, in a low voice, “do not recall that +day: it stings me even now to remember it.” And as the +words “Bravo Atalanta!” recurred to her memory, the hot +blush of shame mounted to her face.</p> +<p>“I have no need to recall it,” he returned, still more quietly, +for her discomposure was great, “for I have never forgotten +it. Yes, this is the place, not where I first saw you, but where +I first began to know you. Phillis, that knowledge is becoming +everything to me now!”</p> +<p>“Do not,” she said, again, but she could hardly bring out the +words. But how wonderful it was to hear her name pronounced +like that! “The others have gone on: we must join +them.”</p> +<p>“May I not tell you what I think about you first?” he asked, +very gently.</p> +<p>“Not now,—not yet,” she almost whispered; and now he +saw that she was very pale, and her eyes were full of tears. +“I could not bear it yet.” And then, as she moved farther +away from him, he could see how great was her agitation.</p> +<p>It was a proof of his love and earnestness that he suffered +the girl to leave him in this way, that he did not again rejoin +her until they were close to the others. In spite of his impatience +and his many faults, he was generous enough to understand +her without another word. She had not repelled him; +she had not silenced him entirely; she had not listened to +him and then answered him with scorn. On the contrary, +her manner had been soft and subdued, more winning than he +had ever known it; and yet she had refused to hearken to his +suit. “Not now,—not yet,” she had said, and he could see +that her lip quivered, and her beautiful eyes were full of tears. +It was too soon, that was what she meant; too soon for him +to speak and for her to listen. She owed it to her own dignity +that his affection should be put to greater proof than that. +She must not be so lightly won; she must not stoop down +from her maidenly pride and nobleness at his first words because +she had grown to care for him. “It must not be so, +however much the denial may cost me,” Phillis had said to +herself. But as she joined the others, and came to Nan’s side, +she could scarcely steady her voice or raise her eyes, for fear +their shy consciousness would betray her. “At last,” and “at +last!”—that was the refrain that was ringing so joyously in her +heart. Well, and one day he should tell her what he would.</p> +<p>She thought she had silenced him entirely, but she forgot that +men were masterful and had cunning ways of their own to +compass their ends. Archie had recovered his courage; he +had still a word to say, and he meant to say it; and just before +the close of the walk, as they were in the darkest part of the +Braidwood Road, just where the trees meet overhead, before +one reaches the vicarage, Phillis found him again at her side.</p> +<p>“When may I hope that you will listen?” he said. “I am +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_368' name='page_368'></a>368</span> +not a patient man: you must remember that, and not make it +too hard for me. I should wish to know how soon I may come.”</p> +<p>“Spring is very beautiful in the country,” she answered, +almost too confused by this unexpected address to know what +she was saying. “I think May is my favorite month, when +the hawthorns are out.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, I will come in May.” And then Phillis woke +up to the perception of what she had said. “Oh, no, I did not +meant that,” she began, incoherently; but this time it was +Archie who moved away, with a smile on his face and a certain +vivid brightness in his eyes, and her stammered words were +lost in the darkness.</p> +<p>The whole week was much occupied by paying farewell +visits. On the last afternoon Phillis went down to the White +House to say good-bye. It was one of Magdalene’s bad days; +but the unquiet hour had passed, and left her, as usual, weak +and subdued. Her husband was sitting beside her: as Phillis +entered he rose with a smile on his lips. “That is right, +Miss Challoner!” he said, heartily. “Magdalene always looks +better the moment she hears your voice. Barby is unfortunately +out, but I can leave her happily with you.”</p> +<p>“Is he not good?” exclaimed his wife, as soon as he had left +them. “He has been sitting with me all the afternoon, my +poor Herbert, trying to curb his restlessness, because he knows +how much worse I am without him. Am I not a trying wife to +him? and yet he says he could not do without me. There, it +has passed: let us talk of something else. And so you are going +to leave us?” drawing the fresh face down to hers, that she +might kiss it again.</p> +<p>“Yes, to-morrow!” trying to stifle a sigh.</p> +<p>“There are some of us that will not know what to do without +you. If I am not very much mistaken, there is one person +who––” but here the girl laid her hand hurriedly on her lips. +“What! I am not to say that? Well, I will try to be good. +But all the same this is not good-bye. Tell your mother from +me that she will not have her girls for long. Captain Middleton +has lost his heart, and is bent on making that pretty little sister +of yours lose hers to; and as for you, Phillis––” but here Phillis +stooped, and silenced her this time by a kiss.</p> +<p>“Ah, well!” continued Magdalene, after a moment’s silence, +as she looked tenderly into the fair face before her; “so you +have finished your little bit of play-work, and are going back +into your young-ladyhood again?”</p> +<p>“It was not play-work!” returned Phillis, indignantly: “you +say that to provoke me. Do you know,” she went on, earnestly, +“that if we should have had to work all our lives as +dressmakers, Nan and I would have done it, and never given +in. We were making quite a fine business of it. We had more +orders then we could execute; and you call that play? Confess, +now, that you repent of that phrase!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_369' name='page_369'></a>369</span></p> +<p>“Oh, I was only teasing you,” returned Magdalene, smiling. +“I know how brave you were, and how terribly in earnest. Yes, +Phillis, you are right; nothing would have daunted you; you +would have worked without complaint all your life long, but +for that red-haired Alcides of yours.”</p> +<p>“Dear Harry! how much we owe to him!” exclaimed Phillis.</p> +<p>“No, dear, you will owe your happiness to yourself,—the +happiness,” as the girl looked at her in surprise, “that is coming +to you and Dulce. It was because you were not like other +girls—because you were brave, self-reliant gentlewomen, afraid +of nothing but dishonor; not fearful of small indignities, or of +other people’s opinions, but just taking up the work that lay +to your hands, and going through with it—that you have won +his heart: and, seeing this, how could he help loving you as he +does?” But to this Phillis made no answer.</p> +<p>The next day was rather trying to them all. Phillis’s cheerfulness +was a little forced, and for some time after they had left +the Friary—with Grace and Archie waving their farewells +from the road—she was very silent.</p> +<p>But no sooner had they crossed the threshold of Glen Cottage +than their girlhood asserted itself. The sight of the bright +snug rooms, with their new furniture, the conservatory, with +its floral treasures, and Sir Harry’s cheery welcome, as he +stood in the porch with Mrs. Mayne, was too much even for +Phillis’s equanimity. In a few minutes their laughing faces +were peering out of every window and into every cupboard.</p> +<p>“Oh, the dear, beautiful home! Isn’t it lovely of Harry to +bring us back!” cried Phillis, oblivious of everything at that +moment but her mother’s satisfied face.</p> +<p>In a few days they had settled down into their old life. It was +too early for tennis while snowdrops and crocuses were peeping +out of the garden borders. But in the afternoon friends dropped +in in the old way, and gathered round the Challoner tea-table; +and very soon—for Easter fell early that year—Dick showed +himself among them, and then, indeed, Nan’s cup of happiness +was full.</p> +<p>But as April passed on Phillis began to grow a little silent +again; and it became a habit with her to coax Laddie to take +long walks with her, when Nan and Dulce were otherwise engaged. +The exercise seemed to quiet her restlessness; and the +spring sights and sounds, the budding hedgerows, and the +twittering of the birds as they built their nests, and the fresh +leafy green, unsoiled by summer heat and dust, seemed to refresh +her flagging spirits.</p> +<p>It was the 1st of May, when one afternoon she called to Laddie, +who was lying drowsily in the sunny porch. Nan, who +was busily engaged in training the creeper round the pillars of +the veranda, looked up in a little surprise:</p> +<p>“Are you going out again, Phil? And neither Dulce nor I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_370' name='page_370'></a>370</span> +can come with you. Mrs. Mayne has some friends coming to +five-o’clock tea, and she wants us to go over for an hour. +It is so dull for you, dear, always to walk alone.”</p> +<p>“Oh no; I shall not be dull, Nannie,” returned Phillis, with +an unsteady smile, for her spirits were a little fluctuating that +afternoon. “I am restless, and want a good walk: so I shall +just go to Sandy Lane, and be back in time to make tea for +mother.” And then she waved her hand, and whistled to Laddie +as she unlatched the little gate. It was a long walk. But, as +usual, the quiet and the sweet air refreshed her, and by the +time she reached Sandy Lane her eyes were brilliant with exercise, +and a pretty pink tinge of color was in her cheeks. It is +May-day,—the 1st of May. I wonder how soon he will come, +she thought, as she leaned on the little gate where poor Dick had +leaned that day.</p> +<p>There were footsteps approaching, but they made no sound +over the sandy ruts. A tall man, with a fair beard and a clerical +felt hat, was walking quickly up the road that leads from +Oldfield; and as he walked his eyes were scanning the path before +him, as though he were looking for some one. At the sight +of the girl leaning against the gate his face brightened, and he +slackened his steps a little, that he might not startle her. She +was looking out across the country with a far-off, dreamy expression, +and did not turn her head as he approached. It was +Laddie who saw him first, and jumped up with a joyous bark +to welcome him; and then she looked round, and for a moment +her eyes grew wide and misty, for she thought it was a continuation +of her dream.</p> +<p>“Laddie saw me first,” he said, stepping up quietly to her +side,—for he still feared to startle her,—and his voice was very +gentle. “Phillis, you must not look so surprised! Surely you +expected me? It is the 1st of May!”</p> +<p>“Oh, I knew that,” she said; and then she turned away from +him. But he had not dropped her hand, but was holding it +very quietly and firmly. “But I could not tell the day; +and––”</p> +<p>“Did you think I should wait an hour beyond the time you +fixed?” he answered, very calmly. “May is your favorite +month; and what could be more beautiful than May-day for +the purpose I have in hand! Phillis, you will not go back from +your promise now? You said you would listen to me in May.”</p> +<p>There was no answer to this; but, as Archie looked in her +face, he read no repulse there. And so, in that quiet lane, with +Laddie lying at their feet, he told all he had to tell.</p> +<p>“Are you sure you can trust me now, Phillis?” he asked, +rather wistfully, when he had finished. “You know what I +am, dear—a man with many faults.”</p> +<p>“Yes; now and forever,” she answered, without a moment’s +hesitation. “I am not afraid—I never should have been afraid +to trust you, I have faults of my own: so why should I wish +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_371' name='page_371'></a>371</span> +you to be perfect? I care for you as you are; you will believe +that?” for there was almost a sad humility in his face as he +pleaded with her that went to her heart.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes; I believe what you tell me. You are truth itself, +my darling,—the bravest and truest woman I have ever met. +You do not know how happy you have made me, or how different +my life will be when I have you by my side. Phillis, do you know +how glad Grace will be about this?”</p> +<p>“Will she?” returned Phillis, shyly. They were walking homeward +now, hand in hand toward the sunset,—so, at least, it seemed +to the girl. No one was in sight, only the quiet country round +them bathed in the evening light, and they two alone. “Archie!” +she exclaimed, suddenly, and her beautiful eyes grew wistful all +at once, “you will not let this make any difference to Grace? She +loves you so; and you are all she has at present. You must never +let me stand between you two. I am not so selfish as that.”</p> +<p>“You could not be selfish if you tried, dearest. How I wish +Grace could have heard you! No; you are right. We must not +let her suffer from our happiness. But, Phillis, you know who +must come first now.” And then, as she smiled in full understanding, +he put her hand upon his arm, and held it there. His promised +wife,—Archie’s wife! Ah, the Drummond star was rising now in +earnest! His life lay before him, like the road they were now +entering, white and untrodden and bathed in the sunlight. What +if some clouds should come, and some shadows fall, if they might +tread it together to the end? And so, growing silent with happiness, +they walked home through the sunset, till the spring dusk +and the village lights saw them standing together on the threshold +of Glen Cottage, and the dear faces and loving voices of home +closed around them and bade them welcome.</p> +<h3>THE END</h3> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/nlog-370.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 400px; height: 693px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/nlog-371.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 395px; height: 678px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/nlog-372.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 418px; height: 696px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/nlog-373.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 423px; height: 694px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/nlog-374.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 436px; height: 703px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/nlog-375.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 401px; height: 698px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/nlog-376.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 407px; height: 695px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/nlog-377.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 403px; height: 697px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/nlog-378.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 414px; height: 639px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/nlog-379.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 423px; height: 693px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/nlog-380.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 401px; height: 699px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/nlog-381.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 399px; height: 695px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/nlog-382.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 417px; height: 699px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/nlog-383.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 403px; height: 691px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/nlog-384.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 400px; height: 672px;' /><br /> +</div> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: 0.21a --> +<!-- timestamp: Mon Mar 30 15:15:42 -0600 2009 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Not Like Other Girls, by Rosa N. 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