LATE AT NIGHT.
"WELL, I hope you are satisfied," Narcissus remarked sleepily, when
she and Marigold had retired to their bedroom. "You'd better have left
things alone, and not have got mother to go with us. It just spoilt
half our pleasure. I told you, she'd be sure to turn cross."
"I can't think what it was that put her out."
"Anything puts her out. If nothing at all is said, she fancies
something is meant. I know how it is. I've lived with her longer than
you."
"Yes, I know you have."
"And I told you how it would turn out."
"Yes, I know you did." Marigold spoke dreamily.
"Then why couldn't you believe me?"
"I think I did. It wasn't believing or not believing. It was because I
thought I ought."
Narcissus sat down on the bed, and leant against the iron frame at the
foot. "Oh dear, I'm so tired—I don't know how to undress," she said.
"Thought you ought to do what?"
"Get mother to come with us, if she was willing. Or at least—I thought
she ought to feel free."
"She was free, of course. She could do as she liked."
"Yes; only if she fancied we none of us wanted her—"
"Well, that's only what was true."
"I don't think it ought to be true. Mother has her rights. She is
father's wife, and it isn't right that we should leave her out of
everything. It isn't fair."
"Then you don't mean ever to do anything, or go anywhere, without
dragging her in!"
"I don't mean her to feel that we'd rather leave her behind."
"After this evening!"
"Yes—after this evening," echoed Marigold. She turned towards Narcissus
with a wistful look.
"It isn't what I want to do," she said; "it is what I know I ought to
do. And I think you ought to help me—not hinder. You haven't half such
a quick temper as I have; and so it isn't so hard for you as for me.
You ought to do all you can to help me to conquer, instead of—"
Narcissus was on the verge of tears. "I don't want to do wrong," she
said. "Only if you knew how mother worries and worries. At least, I
suppose you do know now, but you haven't had it so long. I don't feel
inclined to fly out, but I do long to get away from her. If it wasn't
for that, I shouldn't like leaving home at all."
"Only it must be even worse for her than for us—always to feel so
cross," said Marigold. She came close to her sister, speaking more
softly. "Narcissus, I've been praying lately, and making up my mind to
try to have things happier—and then all at once I seemed to see what I
ought to do. And you mustn't hinder. You must help me."
"You're a great deal better than I am," murmured Narcissus, in subdued
accents. "Yes, of course I'll try—and I—I'll pray too. I will really,
Marigold!"
James Todd strolled comfortably home in the darkness, not in the least
troubled by the fact that his old mother would be worried by his long
absence. He had not told her when he would return, or where he was
going; and anxiety on her part seemed to him unreasonable. Todd liked
to be perfectly free, and to have his own way on all occasions. It did
not occur to him that the old parents, who, though by no means too well
off, had given him a loving welcome, and had taken him in without a
word of reproach or blame, possessed a claim to their way also.
In fact, he was not thinking about them at all, but about Marigold.
She was a very nice girl, nice-looking, nice-mannered, nice in every
way. He had known Marigold from childhood, and had always found her
attractive; but she was very much more charming now than he had
expected her to become. He liked particularly her resolute silence
about Mrs. Plunkett's manner of faultfinding. A girl who was so
cautious in blaming a stepmother would be also cautious in blaming a
husband.
This idea developed slowly; for Todd's mental movements were not
quicker than his bodily movements. It did develop, however, as he
lounged homeward, turning Marigold admiringly over in his mind.
She might be just the very girl who would suit him for a wife! Why not?
He had not seen her for two years, and those two years had made a woman
of her. True, she was young still, barely eighteen, but her air was
womanly.
What the two years had made of him—whether or no he was a man who would
suit Marigold for a husband—how far he was in a position to support
a wife at all—these were questions which did not enter into Todd's
calculations. In fact, he was not in such a position. He had failed
to make his way in England, and had been sent out to Africa with just
enough money to start him. He had failed to get on as an emigrant, and
had reached England in a penniless condition. The kind old parents, who
had taken him in, were by no means able to undertake the support of a
big useless son without a wife, much less of such a son with a wife.
James meant, as he said, to do something; but he had no definite plans,
no particular idea of what that something might be. It was as likely as
not that he would try half-a-dozen things, and would fail in each as he
had done in the past.
He knew all this, and it made not one iota of difference. James never
troubled himself, and he never had troubled himself, to look forward.
If he had a shilling in his pocket, and no prospect of any more to
come, he would spend that shilling unhesitatingly on the first thing
that he desired, without a qualm. He had flung up work in England
because the fancy took him, and had emigrated by his friends' advice
because he liked the notion. He had come home again, with equal
light-heartedness, because he found that life in Africa could be no
more a success than life in England without the trouble of steady toil.
If he wanted a wife, he would take her just so easily, unburdened by
care for the future, untroubled by any thought of responsibility.
James Todd was an absolute child still, as regarded any sense of
responsibility. He did whatever he felt inclined to do, so far as lay
in his power. If he wished to marry, he would marry; if he married, his
wife might take her chance. He supposed that something would turn up in
the way of work; and, should it fail, he would never blame himself for
the consequent misery of his wife or children.
Such men as Todd never do blame themselves. If things go wrong, it is
always somebody else's fault, never their own.
His notion of marriage was, in fact, simply of an event which should
add to his comfort, and should give him pleasure. In a good-natured and
easy fashion, Todd was eaten through and through with selfishness. The
possible comfort or pleasure of his wife lay outside the range of his
imagination; and the mere suggestion that he was strictly accountable,
not only before man, but unto God Himself, for the well-being, the
happiness, the training, of his future children, should he have any,
would have made him open his eyes widely, with slow amazement.
Such a notion had never occurred to his imagination. He thought only of
what he wanted, and of what would be agreeable to himself. Following
this line of thought, he resolved to cultivate a closer acquaintance
thenceforward with the Plunkett family.
"How long is that there young fellow going to hang dawdling about,
doing nothing?" demanded Mrs. Plunkett of her husband, two or three
weeks later. "He's got a lot too much time on his hands, and that's a
fact."
"Todd? Well, he says he's on the look-out for work, and it isn't easy
to find just the thing. He's had a job or two."
"And threw up the chance of something more than a job, because it
wasn't to his mind!"
"Well, he said that sort o' thing wasn't in his line."
"Nor nothing else—seems to me—except dangling round and talking
nonsense."
"Don't see that neither. If he can't do nothing else, he can talk."
"I'd like you just to hear him when you ain't at hand. That's all."
"Anyway, it ain't our business. I'm not given to meddling with other
folk's concerns—never was."
"Shouldn't wonder if it is your business—more than you think." Plunkett
shook his head; and she added with sharpness—"If you don't see to it,
you'll lose Marigold—next thing."
"Lose Marigold!" Plunkett stared as if his wife were demented.
"Oh, you don't see—of course you don't. You men never see nothing!
'Tisn't you he comes mooning after, and you needn't think it!
Marigold's tiresome enough some ways, but she ain't a bad-looking girl
by any manner of means, and a young fellow like him knows it too."
"Marigold! Why—bless me! The girl ain't hardly eighteen."
"That's it! And James Todd is twenty-three. I won't go for to say that
a man mayn't never marry at twenty-three, if he's got enough to marry
on, and to keep a family in comfort. But if he hasn't—and James Todd
hasn't—I say it's a sin and a shame. Who does he mean to keep his wife
for him, I wonder?"
"I'll tell you what it is, Jane!" Plunkett waxed red in the face, and
brought down his hand with a thump upon the table. "I'll tell you what
it is—I'm not a-going to have nothing of that sort! A lass barely
eighteen, and a lad without a penny to his name! It's folly. I've not
got a word to say agin my girls marrying, all in good time, if it's
a man I can approve of; and when that time comes, I'll not say no.
But Todd,—why, he's got nothing to put in his own mouth, except what
his old father gives him. I like him well enough; but I do say it's a
disgrace for a lusty young fellow to be depending on his old father,
and I wouldn't mind if I said it to Todd's face. And what's more,
though I like the lad, I'm afraid he's not got much work in him. Never
had, and maybe never will have. That's what it is; and a man who's got
no work in him, ain't good for anything. If Todd marries, as like as
not his wife 'll have to keep him; and that's a nice look-out for any
girl. But Marigold ain't a fool. Marigold's got sense in her head, and
she knows better than to take to Todd."
"Don't you be too sure. If she does take a fancy to him, her sense
won't have much to say in the matter. I know the ways of girls."
"Well, it isn't to be! You mind that. She shan't have him, and he
shan't have her. So you just see to it. I'll have no sort of nonsense
between them two. So mind you take care."
"Anyway you needn't shout the house down. I ain't deaf," said Mrs.
Plunkett.
"What makes you think anything o' the sort?" demanded Plunkett, in a
lower key.
"Well, he said yesterday he'd had a chance of work, some miles off;
and he said he wasn't going. He didn't mean to leave the place, not
for nobody. And he looked at Marigold, and Marigold she got as red as
anything. That's more work he's thrown up, when he might have got it."
"Marigold shan't marry Todd. That's settled," said Plunkett decisively.
But to say that a thing is settled is by no means identical with
actually settling it.
Todd continued to come often to the house, despite a rigidly cold
shoulder turned to him by Mrs. Plunkett. He did not care a brass
farthing for Mrs. Plunkett, so long as Marigold smiled upon him.
Plunkett, who might have done more, was not at all a good hand at
turning cold shoulders. He could get into a brief rage, and speak out
his mind loudly; but a course of quiet checking was beyond his power.
He enjoyed seeing a friend; and, apart from Todd's idle inclinations,
he liked the young fellow, and he preferred to leave disagreeable lines
of action to his wife. So he welcomed Todd genially still, when the
latter appeared, while privately exhorting Mrs. Plunkett to "see that
things didn't go wrong."
Perhaps it was not surprising that Marigold liked Todd's attentions.
She was, it is true, a very sensible girl in most respects; but she was
extremely young, and she had of course her little feminine vanities.
It flattered her vanity to be admired and run after by so big and
comely a young man. To be sure, his slowness was sometimes a little
exasperating; and she did wish he would find something to do, and would
stick to it. But he always assured her that he was only waiting for
"the right thing," and she did not realise that "the right thing" in
Todd's eyes meant simply no hard work at all.
Mrs. Plunkett's frequent harsh words of blame about his laziness acted
in a reverse fashion upon Marigold, driving her to find excuses for
him. She was sure Todd was not lazy, only unfortunate so far; and
indeed, to hear him talk, one might almost have imagined that he was
the steadiest toiler in existence, when only he had the chance.
Moreover, he had such a pleasant manner. Everybody was agreed on that
point. The manner alone was enough to take captive Marigold's girlish
fancy.
Beside all this, she was not happy in her home.
Narcissus had gone to the Vicarage for a year of training, Plunkett
was away all day, and Mrs. Plunkett grew more irritable, more
worrying, more untidy than ever. Things really were most trying to a
well-brought-up girl, tidy in her ways and affectionate in disposition,
like Marigold. Jars between herself and her stepmother were incessant.
Marigold could not see how to avoid them. She wanted to be on pleasant
terms, but Mrs. Plunkett's gloom and ill-temper rendered pleasantness
out of the question; and the disorder of the little house, which she
would seldom permit Marigold to put right, was a perpetual misery.
If only Marigold might have worked hard, and have "kept everything
nice" as she expressed it, she would have been happy; but she was
checked and foiled at every turn. It could scarcely be wondered at,
that the contrast of Todd's bearing caused her to think of him much
more than she would otherwise have done. Whenever Mrs. Plunkett was
especially cross, Marigold's mind fled straight to James Todd.
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