MRS EDGERLY’S THURSDAY.
Mr Atheling’s visit to the country had, after all, not been so necessary
as the family supposed; no one seemed disposed to pounce upon the small
bequest of Miss Bridget. The Hall took no notice either of the death or
the will which changed the proprietorship of the Old Wood Lodge. It
remained intact and unvisited, dilapidated and picturesque, with Miss
Bridget’s old furniture in its familiar place, and her old maid in
possession. The roses began to brush the little parlour window, and
thrust their young buds against the panes, from which no one now looked
out upon their sweetness. Papa himself, though his heart beat high to
think of his own beautiful children blooming in this retired and
pleasant place, wept a kindly tear for his old aunt, as he stood in the
chamber of her long occupation, and found how empty and mournful was
this well-known room. It was a quaint and touching mausoleum, full of
relics; and good Mr Atheling felt himself more and more bound to carry
out the old lady’s wishes as he stood in the vacant room.
And then it would be such a good thing for Agnes! That was the most
flattering and pleasant view of the subject possible; and ambitious
ideas of making the Old Wood Lodge the prettiest of country cottages,
entered the imagination of the house. It was pretty enough for anything,
Papa said, looking as he spoke at his beautiful Marian, who was
precisely in the same condition; and if some undefined notion of a
prince of romance, carrying off from the old cottage the sweetest bride
in the world, did flash across the thoughts of the father and mother,
who would be hard enough to blame so natural a vision? As for Marian
herself, she thought of nothing but Agnes, unless, indeed, it was Mrs
Edgerley’s party; and there must, indeed, have been quite a moral
earthquake in London had all the invitees to this same party been as
much disturbed about it as these two sisters. They wondered a hundred
times in a day if it was quite right to go without any further
invitation--if Mrs Edgerley would write to them--who would be there? and
finally, and most momentous of all, if it would be quite proper to go in
those simple white dresses, which were, in fact, the only dresses they
could wear. Over these girlish robes there was great discussion, and
councils manifold; people, however, who have positively no choice, have
facilities for making up their minds unknown to more encumbered
individuals, and certainly there was no alternative here.
Another of these much discussed questions was likewise very shortly set
to rest. Mrs Edgerley did write to Agnes the most affectionate and
emphatic of notes--deeply, doubly underscored in every fourth word,
adjuring her to “_remember_ that I NEVER _forgive_ any one who _forgets_
my _Thursday_.” Nobody could possibly be more innocent of this
unpardonable crime than Agnes and Marian, from whose innocent minds,
since they first heard of it, Mrs Edgerley’s Thursday had scarcely been
absent for an hour at a stretch; but they were mightily gratified with
this reminder, and excited beyond measure with the prospect before them.
They had also ascertained with much care and research the names of their
new acquaintance’s works--of which one was called _Fashion_, one
_Coquetry_, and one _The Beau Monde_. On the title-page of these famous
productions she was called the Honourable Mrs Edgerley--a distinction
not known to them before; and the girls read with devotion the three
sets of three volumes each, by which their distinguished friend had made
herself immortal. These books were not at all like _Hope Hazlewood_. It
was not indeed very easy to define what they were like; they were very
fine, full of splendid upholstery and elevated sentiments, diamonds of
the finest water, and passions of the loftiest strain. The girls
prudently reserved their judgment on the matter. “It is only some people
who can write good books,” said Marian, in the tone of an indulgent
critic; and nobody disputed the self-evident truth.
Meanwhile Mr Foggo continued to pay his usual visit every night, and
Miss Willsie, somewhat curious and full of disapprovals, “looked in”
through the day. Miss Willsie, who in secret knew _Hope Hazlewood_
nearly by heart, disapproved of everything. If there was one thing she
did not like, it was young people setting up their opinion, and
especially writing books; and if there was one thing she could not bear,
it was to see folk in a middling way of life aiming to be like their
betters. Miss Willsie “could not put up with” Mrs Edgerley’s presumption
in sending the girls home in her carriage; she thought it was just as
much as taunting decent folk because they had no carriage of their own.
Altogether the mistress of Killiecrankie was out of temper, and would
not be pleased--nothing satisfied her; and she groaned in spirit over
the vanity of her young _protégés_.
“Silly things!” said Miss Willsie, as she came in on the eventful
morning of Thursday itself, that golden day; “do you really think
there’s satisfaction in such vanities? Do you think any person finds
happiness in the pleasures of this world?”
“Oh, Miss Willsie! if they were not very pleasant, why should people be
so frightened for them?” cried Marian, who was carefully trimming, with
some of her mother’s lace, the aforesaid white dress.
“And then we are not trying to _find_ happiness,” said Agnes, looking up
from her similar occupation with a radiant face, and a momentary
perception of the philosophy of the matter. After all, that made a
wonderful difference. Miss Willsie was far too Scotch to remain
unimpressed by the logical distinction.
“Well, that’s true,” acknowledged Miss Willsie; “but you’re no to think
I approve of such a way of spending your happiness, though ye have got
it, ye young prodigals. If there is one thing I cannot endure, it’s
countenancing the like of you in your nonsense and extravagance; but I’m
no for doing things by halves either--Here!”
Saying which, Miss Willsie laid a parcel upon the table and disappeared
instantly, opening the door for herself, and closing it after her with
the briskest energy. There was not much time lost in examining the
parcel; and within it, in a double wrapper, lay two little pairs of
satin shoes, the whitest, daintiest, prettiest in the world.
Cinderella’s glass slippers! But Cinderella in the story was not half so
much disturbed as these two girls. It seemed just the last proof
wanting of the interest all the world took in this momentous and
eventful evening. Miss Willsie, the general critic and censor, who
approved of nothing! If it had not been for a little proper pride in the
presence of Susan, who just then entered the parlour, Marian and Agnes
would have been disposed for half a minute to celebrate this pleasure,
in true feminine fashion, by a very little “cry.”
And then came the momentous duties of the toilette. The little white
bedchamber looked whiter to-night than it had done all its days before,
under the combined lustre of the white dresses, the white ribbons, and
the white shoes. They were both so young and both so bright that their
colourless and simple costume looked in the prettiest harmony imaginable
with their sweet youth--which was all the more fortunate, that they
could not help themselves, and had nothing else to choose. One of those
useful and nondescript vehicles called “flies” stood at the door.
Charlie, with his hat on, half laughing, half ashamed of his office,
lingered in the hall, waiting to accompany them. They kissed Bell and
Beau (dreadfully late for this one night, and in the highest state of
exultation) with solemnity--submitted themselves to a last inspection on
the part of Mrs Atheling, and with a little fright and sudden terror
were put into the “carriage.” Then the carriage drove away through the
late summer twilight, rambling into the distance and the darkness. Then
at last Mamma ventured to drop into the easy-chair, and rest for a
moment from her labours and her anxieties. At this great crisis of the
family history, small events looked great events to Mrs Atheling; as if
they had been going out upon a momentous enterprise, this good mother
paused awhile in the darkness, and blessed them in her heart.