A LUCKY ESCAPE.--A MELANCHOLY PARTING.--MRS. BARNABY SETTLES HERSELF AT
CHELTENHAM.--HER FIRST SORTIE.--BOARDING-HOUSE BREAKFAST.--A NEW
ACQUAINTANCE.--A MEDICAL CONVERSATION.
In addition to Mrs. Barnaby's pretty strong confidence in herself and
her own devices, she soon learned to think that she was very especially
favoured by fortune; for just as she began to find her idle and most
unprofitable abode at Clifton intolerably tedious, and that the recovery
of her property hardly atoned for the inconvenience of being obliged to
prosecute those who had stolen it, she received the welcome intelligence
that the trio had escaped by means of the superior ingenuity of Captain
Maintry, alias Purdham. The ends of justice being considerably less dear
to the widow's heart than the end of the adventures she promised herself
at Cheltenham, she welcomed the intelligence most joyfully, and set
about her preparations for departure without an hour's delay.
Several very elegant shops at Clifton had so earnestly requested the
honour of her name upon their books, that Mrs. Barnaby had found it
impossible to refuse; and the consequence was, that when she announced
her intended departure, so unexpected an amount of "mere nothings"
crowded in upon her, that she would have been very considerably
embarrassed, had not the manner of raising money during the last years
of her father's life been fresh in her memory, shewing her, as her
property was all in the funds, and, happily or unhappily, standing in
her own name, that nothing could be more easy than to write to her
broker, and order him to sell out a couple of hundreds.
Confidence in one's self,--the feeling that there is a power within us
of sufficient strength to reach the goal we have in view,--is in general
a useful as well as a pleasant state of mind; but in Mrs. Barnaby it was
very likely to prove otherwise. In all her meditations, in all her
plottings, in all her reasonings, she saw nothing before her but
success; the alternative, and all its possible consequences, never
suggested itself to her as possible, and therefore no portion of her
clever ingenuity was ever employed, even in speculation, to ward it off.
In a word, then, her bills, which, by the by, were wholly and solely for
her own dress, were all paid without difficulty or delay, and the day
was fixed for the departure of herself and Agnes by a stage-coach from
Bristol to Cheltenham.
Poor Agnes wept bitterly as she received the affectionate farewells of
her friends in Rodney Place; and Mary, who really loved her, wept too,
though it is possible that the severe disappointment which had attended
her matrimonial project for her, had a little dulled the edge of the
enthusiasm at first excited by the sweetness and beauty of the poor
motherless girl. But, under no circumstances, could the grief of Miss
Peters at losing sight of her have been comparable to that felt by Agnes
herself. How little had the tyranny of Mrs. Barnaby, and all the irksome
_desagremens_ of her home, occupied her attention during the month she
had spent at Clifton! How completely it had all been lost sight of in
the society of Mary, and the hospitable kindness of Rodney Place!
"But, Oh! the heavy change!"... That which had been chased by the happy
lightness of her young spirit, as a murky cloud is chased by the bright
sun of April, now rolled back upon her, looking like a storm that was to
last for ever! She knew it, she felt its approach, and, like a
frightened fawn, trembled as she gazed around, and saw no shelter near.
"You will write to me, dear Agnes!" said Mary. "I shall think of you
very often, and it will be a real pleasure to hear from you."
"And to write to you, Mary, will be by far the greatest pleasure I can
possibly have. But how can I ask you to write to me in return?... I am
sure my aunt will never let me receive a letter; ... and yet, would it
not be worth its weight in gold."
"Don't take up sorrow at interest, Agnes," replied Mary, laughing. "I
don't think your dragon will be so fierce as that either.... I can
hardly imagine she would refuse to let you correspond with me."
Agnes endeavoured to return her smile, but she blushed and faltered as
she said, "I mean, Mary, that she would not pay postage for me."
"Impossible!" cried Miss Peters, indignantly; "you cannot speak
seriously.... I know my mother does not believe a word about her _very_
large fortune, any more than she does her _very_ generous intention of
leaving it to us. But she says that my uncle must have left something
like a respectable income for her; and though we none of us doubt (not
even Elizabeth) that she will marry with all possible speed, and when
she has found a husband, with all her worldly goods will him endow;
still, till this happens, it is hardly likely she will refuse to pay the
postage of your letters."
"Perhaps she will not," said Agnes, blushing again for saying what she
did not think; "but, at any rate, try the experiment, dearest Mary....
To know that you have thought of me will be comfort inexpressible."
"And suppose Mr. Frederick Stephenson were to ramble back to Clifton,
Agnes, ... and suppose he were to ask me which way you are gone ... may
I tell him?"
"He never will ask you, Mary...."
"But an' if he should?" persisted Miss Peters.
"Then tell him that it would be a great deal more kind and amiable if he
never again talked about me to any one."
* * * * *
Arrived at Cheltenham, Mrs. Barnaby set about the business of finding a
domicile with much more confidence and _savoir faire_ than heretofore. A
very few inquiries made her decide upon choosing to place herself at a
boarding-house; and though the price rather startled her, she not only
selected the dearest, but indulged in the expensive luxury of a handsome
private sitting-room.
"I know what I am about," thought she; "faint heart never won fair lady,
and sparing hand never won gay gentleman."
It was upon the same principle that, within three days after her
arrival, she had found a tiger, and got his dress (resplendent with
buttons from top to toe) sent home to her private apartments, and
likewise that she had determined to enter her name as a subscriber at
the pump-room.
The day after all this was completed, was the first upon which she
accounted her Cheltenham existence to begin; and having informed herself
of the proper hours and fitting costume for each of the various stated
times of appearing at the different points of re-union, she desired
Agnes carefully to brush the dust from her immortal black crape bonnet,
and with her own features sheltered by _paille de fantaisie_,
straw-coloured ribbons, and Brussels lace, she set forth, leaning on the
arm of her niece, and followed by her tiger and parasol, to take her
first draught at the spring, at eight o'clock in the morning.
Her spirits rose as she approached the fount on perceiving the throng of
laughing, gay, and gossiping invalids that bon ton and bile had brought
together; and when she held out her hand to receive the glass, she had
more the air of a full-grown Bacchante, celebrating the rites of
Bacchus, than a votary at the shrine of Hygeia. But no sooner had the
health-restoring but nauseous beverage touched her lips, or rather her
palate, than, making a horrible grimace, she set down the glass on the
marble slab, and pushed it from her with very visible symptoms of
disgust. A moment's reflection made her turn her head to see if Agnes
was looking at her; ... but no ... Agnes indeed stood at no great
distance; but her whole attention seemed captivated by a tall,
elegant-looking woman, who, together with an old lady leaning on her
arm, appeared like herself to be occupied as spectators of the
water-drinking throng.
Satisfied that her strong distaste for the unsavoury draught had not
been perceived, Mrs. Barnaby backed out of the crowd, saying, as she
took the arm of her niece in her way, "This water must be a very fine
medicine, I am sure, for those who want it; but I don't think I shall
venture upon any more of it till I have taken medical advice ... it is
certainly very powerful, and I think it might do you a vast deal of
good, Agnes."
These words being spoken in the widow's audible tone, which she always
rather desired than not should make her presence known at some
distance ... excepting, indeed, when she was making love ... were very
distinctly heard by the ladies above mentioned; and the elder of them,
having witnessed Mrs. Barnaby's look of disgust as she sat down her
unemptied glass, laughed covertly and quietly, but with much merriment,
saying, though rather to herself than her companion, "Good!... very
good, indeed!... This will prove an acquisition."
A turn or two up and down the noble walk upon which the pump-room opens
was rendered very delightful to the widow by shewing her that even at
that early hour many dashing-looking, lace-frocked men, moustached and
whiskered "to the top of her bent," might be met sauntering there; and
having enjoyed this till her watch told her the boarding-house breakfast
hour was arrived, she turned from the fascinating promenade in excellent
spirits, and after a few minutes passed at the mirror in arranging her
cap and her curls, and refreshing her bloom, entered for the first time
the public eating-room, well disposed to enjoy herself in every way.
Having left the Peters family behind her, she no longer thought it
necessary to restrain her fancy in the choice of colours; and, excepting
occasionally on a provincial stage, it would be difficult to find a
costume more brilliant in its various hues than that of our widow as she
followed the obsequious waiter to the place assigned her. Agnes came
after her, like a tranquil moon-lit night following the meretricious
glare of noisy fireworks; the dazzled sight that had been drawn to Mrs.
Barnaby as she entered, rested upon Agnes, as if to repose itself, and
by the time they both were seated, it was on her fair, delicate face,
and mourning garb, that every eye was fixed. The vicarial crape and
bombasin which she wore in compliance with the arrangement of her too
sensitive aunt, did Agnes at least one service among strangers, for it
precluded the idea of any near relationship between her companion and
herself; and though no one could see them together without marvelling at
the discordant fellowship of two persons so remarkably contrasted in
manner and appearance, none explained it by presuming that they were
aunt and niece.
The party assembled and assembling at the breakfast-table consisted of
fourteen gentlemen and five ladies; the rest of the company inhabiting
the extensive and really elegant mansion preferring to breakfast in
their own apartments, though there were few who did not condescend to
abandon their privacy at dinner. Of the gentlemen now present, about
half were of that lemon tint which at the first glance shewed their
ostensible reason for being there was the real one. Of the other half it
would be less easy to render an account. The five ladies were well
dressed; and, two being old, and three young, they may be said for the
most part to have been well-looking. Any more accurate description of
them generally would but encumber and delay the narrative unnecessarily,
as such among them as may come particularly in contact with my heroine
or her niece will of necessity be brought into notice.
Our two ladies were of course placed side by side, Mrs. Barnaby being
flanked to the right by a staid and sober gentleman of middle age, who
happily acted as a wet blanket to the crackling and sparkling vivacity
of the widow, obliging her, after one or two abortive attempts at
conversation, and such sort of boarding-table _agaceries_ as the
participation of coffee and eggs may give room for, either to eat her
breakfast in silence, or to exercise her social propensities on the
neighbour of Agnes. This was an elderly lady, who, though like Mrs.
Barnaby, but just arrived for the season, had, unlike her, been a
constant visiter at Cheltenham for the last twelve years; and being an
active-minded spinster of tolerably easy means, and completely mistress
of them, was as capable of giving all sorts of local information as Mrs.
Barnaby was desirous of receiving it. Miss Morrison (such was her name)
being now, and having ever been, a lady of great prudence and the most
unimpeachable discretion, might probably have taken fright had she
chanced, at first meeting with our widow, to see her under full sail in
chase of conquest; but luckily this was not apparent at their first
interview, and the appearance and manner of Agnes offering something
like a guarantee for the respectability of the lady to whose charge she
was intrusted, she met Mrs. Barnaby's advances towards making an
acquaintance with great civility.
Before many sentences had been exchanged between them, the spinster had
the satisfaction of perceiving, that all her minute acquaintance with
Cheltenham and its ways gave her an immeasurable superiority over her
richly-dressed new acquaintance; while the widow with like facility
discovered that all she most particularly desired to know, might be
learned from the very respectable-looking individual near whom her good
fortune had placed her.
The consequence of this mutual discovery was so brisk an exchange of
question and answer as obliged Agnes to lean back in her chair, and eat
her breakfast by means of a very distant communication with the
table; ... but she was thankful her aunt had fallen upon a quiet though
rather singular-looking female of forty, instead of another whiskered
Major Allen, and willingly placed herself in the attitude least likely
to interrupt their conversation.
"Never been at Cheltenham before?... really!... Well, ma'am, I have
little doubt that you will soon declare it shall not be your last
visit, though it is your first," said Miss Morrison.
"Indeed, ma'am, I think you will prove right in that opinion," replied
Mrs. Barnaby, "for I never saw a place I admired so much. We are just
come from Clifton, which is called so beautiful, ... but it is not to be
compared to Cheltenham."
"You are just come from Clifton, are you, ma'am?... I understand it is a
very beautiful place, but terribly dull, I believe, when compared to
this.... If a person knows Cheltenham well, and has a little notion how
to take advantage of all that is going on, he may pass months and months
here without ever knowing what it is to have an idle hour.... I don't
believe there is such another place in the whole world for employing
time."
"I am sure that's a blessing," replied Mrs. Barnaby earnestly. "If there
is one thing I dread and hate more than another, it is having nothing to
do with my time. Idleness is indeed the root of all evil."
"I'm pleased to hear you say so, ma'am," said Miss Morrison, "because
it is so exactly my own opinion, and because, too, you will find
yourself so particularly well off here as to the avoiding it; and I
shall be very happy, I'm sure, if any advice of mine may put you in the
way of making the most of the advantages in that line that Cheltenham
offers."
"You are exceedingly kind and obliging, ma'am," returned Mrs. Barnaby
very graciously; "and I shall be very grateful for any counsel or
instruction you can bestow. With my handsome fortune I should consider
it quite a crime if I did not put my time to profit in such a place as
Cheltenham."
This phrase produced its proper effect; Miss Morrison eyed the speaker
not only with increased respect, but increased good-will.
"Indeed, my dear madam, you are quite right," she said; "and by merely
paying attention to such information as I shall be able to give you, I
will venture to say that you will never have the weight of an idle hour
upon your hands while you remain here; for what with the balls, and the
music at the libraries, and the regular hours for the walks, and
attendance at all the sales, (and I assure you we have sometimes three
in a day,) and shopping, and driving between the turnpikes, if you have
a carriage, and morning visits, and evening parties, and churches and
chapels, if you have a taste for them, and looking over the new names,
and the pump-room, and making new acquaintance, and finding out old
ones, there is not a day of the week, or an hour in the day, in which
one may not be well employed."
"I am sure, ma'am, it is perfectly a pleasure to a person of my active
turn of mind to listen to such a description; and it is a greater
pleasure still to meet with a lady like yourself, with taste and good
sense to value what is valuable, and to find out how and where to enjoy
it.... I hope we shall become better acquainted; I have a private
drawing-room here where I shall be delighted to see you.... Give me
leave to present you with my card."
A gilt-edged and deeply-embossed card, inscribed--
MRS. BARNABY,
_The ---- Hotel and Boarding House._
No. 5.
was here put into Miss Morrison's hand, who received it with an air of
great satisfaction, and reiterated assurances that she would by no means
fail of paying her compliments.
Unlike many vain persons who receive every civility under the persuasion
that it is offered for their own _beaux yeux_, Miss Morrison had
sufficient good sense and experience to understand that any convenience
or advantage she might derive from Mrs. Barnaby, or Mrs. Barnaby's
private drawing-room, must be repaid by accommodation of some sort or
other. All obligations of such kind were, for a variety of excellent
reasons, always repaid by Miss Morrison with such treasure as her own
lips could coin, aided by her wit and wisdom, without drawing on any
other exchequer; and now, having placed her little modest slip of
pasteboard, bearing in broad and legible, though manuscript
characters,--
MISS MORRISON,
_The ---- Hotel and Boarding House._
by the side of Mrs. Barnaby's buttered roll, she began at once, like an
honest old maid as she was, to pay the debt almost before it was
incurred.
"I don't know how they do those sort of things at Clifton, Mrs.
Barnaby," she said, "but here the medical gentlemen, or at least many of
them, always call on the new-comers; and though I hope and trust that
neither you nor this pretty young lady,--who, I suppose, is your
visiter,--though I hope with all my heart that you won't, either of you,
have any occasion in the world for physic or doctors, yet I advise you
most certainly to fix on one in your own mind beforehand, and just let
him know it. There are not more kind and agreeable acquaintances in the
world than gentlemen of the medical profession ... at least, I'm sure it
is so here. There are one or two apothecaries in particular,--surgeons,
though, I believe they are called,--who certainly are as elegant,
conversable gentlemen, as can be met with in London or anywhere, unless,
indeed, just in Paris, where I certainly found the apothecaries, like
everything else, in a very out-of-the-common-way style of elegance,
_toutafay par fit_, as we say on the Continent. Of course, you have
been abroad, Mrs. Barnaby?"
"No, Miss Morrison, I have not," replied the widow, making head against
this attack with great skill and courage. "I am obliged to confess that
the extreme comfort and elegance of my own home, have absolutely made a
prisoner of me hitherto; ... but since I have lost my dear husband I
find change absolutely necessary for my health and spirits, and I shall
probably soon make the tour of Europe."
"Indeed!... Oh dear! how I envy you!... But you speak all the languages
already?"
"Oh! perfectly."
"I'm so glad of that, Mrs. Barnaby, ... for, upon my word, I find it
quite out of my power to avoid using a French word every now and then
since I came from abroad, and it is so vexing when one is not
understood. A lady of your station has, of course, been taught by all
sorts of foreigners; but those who can't afford this indulgence never do
get the accent without going abroad.... I'm sure you'll find, before you
have been a week on the Continent, a most prodigious difference in your
accent, though I dare say its very good already. But, a _prop po_, about
the apothecaries and surgeons that I was talking about.... I hope you
will give orders at the door that, if Mr. Alexander Pringle calls, and
sends in his card, he shall be desired to walk up; and then, you know,
just a _prop po de nang_, you can talk to him about whatever you wish to
know; ... and you can say, if you like it, that Miss Morrison
particularly mentioned his name.... There is no occasion _do too_ that
you should give him any fee; but you may ask him a few questions about
the waters _cum sa_, and you will find him the most agreeable,
convenient, and instructive acquaintance _do mund_."
The breakfast was now so evidently drawing to its close, that the new
friends deemed it advisable to leave the table; and Mrs. Barnaby having
repeated her invitation, and Miss Morrison having replied to it by
kissing her fingers, and uttering "_Mercy! Mercy! O revor_," they
parted ... the widow to give orders, as she passed to her drawing-room,
that if Mr. Alexander Pringle called on her, he should be admitted; and
the spinster to invent and fabricate, in the secret retirement of her
attic retreat, some of those remarkably puzzling articles of dress, the
outline of which she had studied during a three weeks' residence in
Paris, and which passed current with the majority of her friends and
acquaintance for being of genuine Gallic manufacture.
The prediction of Miss Morrison was speedily verified; Mr. Alexander
Pringle did call at the hotel to leave his card for Mrs. Barnaby, and,
in consequence of the orders given, was immediately admitted to her
presence.
She was alone; for Agnes, though unfortunately there was no little dear
miserable closet for her, had received the welcome _conge_, now always
expressed by the words, "There, you may go to your lessons, child, if
you will," and had withdrawn herself to an out-of-the-way corner in
their double-bedded room, where already her desk, and other Empton
treasures, had converted about four feet square of her new abode into a
home. The sofa, therefore, with the table and its gaudy cover, adorned
with the widow's fine work-box, a boarding-house inkstand of bright
coloured china, and THE ALBUM (still sacred to the name of Isabella
d'Almafonte), had all been set in the places and attitudes she thought
most becoming by Mrs. Barnaby herself, and, together with her own
magnificent person, formed a very charming picture as the medical
gentleman entered the room; ... but it is probable Mr. Alexander Pringle
expected rather to find a patient than to be ushered into the presence
of a lady in a state of health apparently so perfect.
"Pray, sit down, sir!... Mr. Pringle, I believe?" said Mrs. Barnaby,
half rising, and pointing to a chair exactly opposite her place upon the
sofa.
Mr. Pringle took the indicated chair; but before he was well seated in
it, the idea that some mistake might be the source of this civility
occurred to him, and he rose again, made a step forward, and laid his
card, specifying his name, profession, and address, on the table
immediately before the eyes of the lady.
"Oh yes!" said she, smiling with amiable condescension, "I understand
perfectly; ... and should myself, or my young niece, or any of my
servants, require medical assistance, Mr. Pringle, this card (placing it
carefully in her work-box) will enable us to find it. But, though at
present we are all pretty well, I am really very glad to have an
opportunity of seeing you, sir.... Miss Morrison ... I believe you know
Miss Morrison?... (Mr. Pringle bowed).... Miss Morrison has named you to
me in a manner that made me extremely desirous of making your
acquaintance.... Gentlemen of your profession, Mr. Pringle, have so much
knowledge of the world, that it is a great advantage for a stranger, on
first arriving at a new place, to find an opportunity of conversing with
them. Will you afford me five minutes while I explain to you my very
peculiar situation?"
"Assuredly, madam," replied Mr. Pringle, "I shall be most happy to
listen to you."
"Well, then ... without farther apology I will explain myself. My name
is Barnaby.... I am a widow of good fortune, and without children ...
for I have lost both my little ones!" Here Mrs. Barnaby drew forth one
of her embroidered handkerchiefs, as she always did when speaking of
her children "which were not;" and this frequently happened, for she had
a great dislike to being considered as one unblessed by offspring,--a
peculiarity which, together with some others, displaying themselves in
the same inventive strain, proved an especial blessing to Agnes,
inasmuch as it made her absence often desirable. Having wiped her eyes,
and recovered her emotion, she continued: "I have no children; ... but
an elder sister ... so much older, indeed, as almost to be considered as
my mother, ... died several years ago, leaving an orphan girl to my
care. In truth, I am not a great many years older than my niece, and the
anxiety of this charge has been sometimes almost too much for me....
However, she is a good girl, and I am most passionately attached to her.
Nevertheless she has some peculiarities which give me pain, ... one is,
that she will never wear any dress but the deepest mourning, thus
consecrating herself, as I may say, to the memory of her departed
parents. Now this whim, Mr. Pringle, shews her spirits to be in a state
requiring change of scene, and it is on this account that I have left
my charming place in Devonshire, in the hope that variety, and a gayer
circle than is likely to be found in the immediate neighbourhood of a
large mansion in the country, might be of service to her."
"Indeed, ma'am, I think you are quite right," replied Mr. Pringle. "What
age is the young lady?"
"Just seventeen ... and I should have no objection whatever to take her
into company ... and this is indeed the point on which I most wish for
your advice. I came to Cheltenham, sir, fully expecting to find my
friends the Gordons ... near relations of the Duke, and persons of
first-rate fashion and consequence, who would at once have placed us in
the midst of all that is most elegant in the way of society here....
But, by a letter they sent to meet us at Clifton, I find that they are
absolutely obliged to pay a visit of some weeks to the Duchess of
Bedford, ... and thus I find myself here a perfect stranger, without any
means whatever of getting into society."
"A most vexatious _contretems_, certainly, madam," replied Mr. Pringle;
"but there can be no doubt of your obtaining quite as much society as
you wish, for Cheltenham is extremely full just now, and a lady in your
situation of life can hardly fail of meeting some of your
acquaintance.... Of course you will go to the pump-room, Mrs. Barnaby,
and look over the subscription-books, and I doubt not you will soon find
there are many here whom you know.... Besides, I will myself, if you
wish it, take care to make it known that you intend to enter into
society ... and probably intend to receive...."
"Indeed, sir, you will oblige me.... On my own account I should
certainly never particularly desire to make acquaintance with strangers,
but there is nothing I would not be willing to do for this dear girl!...
Of course I shall make a point of subscribing to everything, and
particularly of taking my poor dear niece to all the balls.... She is
really very pretty, and if I can but contrive to get suitable partners
for her, I think dancing may be of great service. Are there many of the
nobility here at present, Mr. Pringle?"
"Yes, madam, several, and a great deal of good company besides."
"That gives us a better chance of finding old acquaintance certainly....
But there is another point, Mr. Pringle, on which I am anxious to
consult you.... My niece is decidedly very bilious, and I feel quite
convinced that a glass of the water every morning would be of the most
essential benefit to her.... Unfortunately, dear creature, she is quite
a spoiled child, and I do not think she will be prevailed on to take
what is certainly not very pleasant to the taste, unless ordered to do
it by a medical man."
"I must see the young lady, ma'am," replied Mr. Pringle, "before I can
venture to prescribe for her in any way."
Mrs. Barnaby internally wished him less scrupulous, but feeling that it
would be better he should send in a bill and charge a visit, than that
she should lose a daily excuse for visiting the delightful pump-room,
and, moreover, feeling more strongly still that, in order to make Agnes
swallow the dose instead of herself, it would be good economy to pay for
half a dozen visits, she rose from the sofa, and said with a
fascinating smile.... "I will bring her to you myself, my dear sir, but
I hope you will not disappoint me about prescribing the Cheltenham
waters for her. I know her constitution well, and I venture to pledge
myself to you, that she is exactly the subject for the Cheltenham
treatment.... So bilious, poor girl!... so dreadfully bilious!"
Mrs. Barnaby left the room, and presently returned with Agnes, who was
considerably surprised at being told that it was necessary a medical man
should see her; for, in the first place, save a heaviness at her heart,
she felt quite well; and in the second, she had never before, since she
left Empton, perceived any great anxiety on the part of her aunt as to
her being well or ill. However, she yielded implicit obedience to the
command which bade her leave the letter she was writing to Miss Peters,
and meekly followed her imperious protectress to their sitting-room.
Mr. Alexander Pringle was decidedly a clever man, and clever men of his
profession are generally skilful in discerning diagnostics of various
kinds. He had expected to see a yellow, heavy-eyed girl, looking either
as if she were ready to cry with melancholy, or pout from perverseness;
instead of which, he saw a lovely, graceful creature, with a step
elastic with youth and health, and an eye whose clear, intelligent
glance, said as plainly as an eye could speak, "What would you with
me?... I have no need of you."
He immediately perceived that the amiable child-bereaved widow had quite
misunderstood the young lady's case.... It might be, perhaps, from her
too tender affection; but, let the cause be what it would, it was not to
solve any professional doubts that he took her delicate hand to feel the
"healthful music" of her pulse. Nevertheless, Mr. Pringle, who had seven
promising children, knew better than to reject the proffered custom of a
rich widow who had none; so, looking at his beautiful patient with much
gravity, he said,--
"There is little or nothing, madam, to alarm you. The young lady is
rather pale, but I am inclined to believe that it rather proceeds from
the naturally delicate tint of her complexion than from illness. It will
be proper, however, that I should see her again, and, mean time, I would
strongly recommend her taking about one-third of a glass of water
daily. If more be found necessary, the dose must be increased; but I am
inclined to hope that this will prove sufficient, with the help of a few
table-spoonfuls of a mixture ... by no means disagreeable, my dear young
lady ... which I will not fail to send in." And so saying, Mr. Pringle
rose to take leave, but was somewhat puzzled by Agnes saying, with a
half smile in which there was something that looked very much as if she
were quizzing him,--
"You must excuse me, sir, if I decline taking any medicine whatever till
I feel myself in some degree out of health."
Mr. Pringle, who was very near laughing himself, answered with great
good-humour,... "Well then, Mrs. Barnaby, I suppose we must do without
it, ... and I don't think there will be much danger either." He then
took his departure, leaving Mrs. Barnaby quite determined that Agnes
should drink the water, but not very sorry that she was to have no
physic to pay for ... whilst Agnes was altogether at a loss to guess
what this new vagary of her aunt might mean.
"What made you think I was ill, aunt?" said she.
"Ill?... Who told you, child, that I thought you ill?... I don't think
any such thing, ... but I did not choose you should drink the waters
till I had the opinion of the first medical man in the place about it.
There is no expense, no sacrifice, Agnes, that I am not ready to make
for you."
"But I don't mean to drink the waters at all, thank you, aunt," replied
Agnes.
"Don't mean, miss?... you don't mean?... And perhaps you don't mean to
eat any dinner to-day? and perhaps you don't mean to sleep in my
apartment to-night?... Perhaps you may prefer walking the streets all
night?... Pretty language, indeed, from you to me!... And now you may
take yourself off again, and, as you like to stick to your lessons, you
may just go and write for a copy, 'I must do as I'm bid.'"
Agnes quitted the room in silence, and Mrs. Barnaby prepared to receive
her new friend, Miss Morrison, who she doubted not would call before
the hour she had named as the fashionable time for repairing to the
public library; nor was she at all displeased by this abrupt departure,
as, for obvious reasons, it was extremely inconvenient for her to have
Agnes present when she felt inclined to enter upon a little
autobiography. But, while anticipating this agreeable occupation, she
recalled, as she set herself to work upon one of her beautiful collars,
the scrape she had got into respecting her park, and firmly resolved not
even to mention a paddock to Miss Morrison by name, whatever other
flights of fancy she might indulge in.
"This has been no idle day with me as yet," thought she, as she
proceeded with her elegant "satin-stitch".... "I have got well stared
at, though only in my close straw-bonnet, at the pump-room,--have made a
capital new acquaintance, and,"--remembering with a self-approving smile
all she had said to Mr. Pringle,--"I know I have not been sowing seed on
barren ground.... I have not forgotten how glad my poor dear Barnaby was
to get hold of something new.... He will repeat it every word, I'll
answer for him."