DANGEROUS GROUND.
WHATEVER might be Rose's state of mind and temper, Mrs. Burford was in
a very good humour with the girl, and began to praise her "judicious"
conduct towards Miss Flint.
"If you will only go on as you have begun, I dare say you will become
as great a favourite with her as Nelly is. I have always felt that you,
darling, might benefit yourself greatly by conciliating Dorothy Flint."
Rose flamed up in a moment.
"If you think, mamma, that I asked Miss Flint's pardon to curry future
favour with her, you are mistaken. I did nothing of the kind. I did it
because I felt that I had been rude and unladylike towards a guest. It
was mean to boast of being young and—well, pretty, over one who had
been both in her time, though she is now a cantankerous old maid. Very
likely I shall be worse if I live as long. If I had gone to Miss Flint
from any other motive than the one which induced me to go, she would
have seen through me in a moment, and would have been more likely to
bid me 'get away for a little hypocrite' than to keep me by her side
for a moment," said Rose. "You, mamma, have known Miss Flint, in a
sense, nearly all your life, but I do not believe you understand her
as well as I do now. I should scorn to flatter Miss Flint, even if I
thought I could deceive her by it. I may not be as smooth-spoken as
Nelly is, but I mean what I say, and the old lady cannot help believing
me."
"I am not going to quarrel with you about motives, Rose. You have acted
rightly and straightforwardly, and produced a good impression on my old
friend. If I am anxious for you to please her, it can only be for your
future benefit."
"In what way, mamma? We are not paupers, that we need act
hypocritically and pretend a lot of affection which we do not feel for
Miss Flint. Our position and my father's means are good, and grandpapa
Burford is rich, too. We are his only grandchildren. Really, I cannot
understand why we should crouch and defer to Miss Flint on account of
her money; though I believe I shall get to like her for her own sake.
She is so delightfully different from everybody else."
Mrs. Burford was too wise in her generation to reply to her daughter's
last remark, but she took up the money question.
"Your father and grandfather may be very well off, my dear, but
remember, they still occupy their own shoes, and I trust they will be
long spared to do so. The dear old man is charming, and so liberal, as
I know. But why should not Dorothy Flint put my children before those
of other people? Who ought to be nearer than a life-long friend?"
"A relation, I should think," said Rose perversely.
"That young man at the station is her nearest, I believe, though he is
only a second cousin, and she will never leave him a penny."
"I wouldn't be too sure of that. Jack Simpson is a gentleman, and
very much respected. Grandfather thinks him perfection, and he is so
handsome."
Rose had never cared much for me, even in our childish days, and had
always been inclined to domineer over me, as girls do over boys of the
same age as themselves. But she was in an aggravating mood, and used my
name to tease her mother. The mention of it was like a lighted match to
gunpowder, and Mrs. Burford railed against me to her heart's content,
without provoking a word of reply from Rose.
When she stopped breathless, the girl quietly said, "I am not going
to defend Jack Simpson. I do not care enough about him to pose as his
champion. I will leave that to Nelly when she comes back."
"If Ellen dares—" began Mrs. Burford, but again her daughter
interrupted—
"You can tell Nelly what you will do when the time comes. Let us talk
about Miss Flint. She is a more interesting subject than Jack Simpson."
"I was going to say that, while you may have very nice fortunes at some
future time, you would be none the worse with my friend's property in
addition."
"People often are the worse for having riches. I am not sure that I
could stand much more temptation in that way," said Rose.
"I wonder whether Dorothy Flint has made a will. I am sure your father
knows all about her affairs, and I have asked him to tell me just
this one thing, but he will not satisfy me. Of course, professional
reticence is all very well, and your father would be blamable indeed
to trust outsiders with a client's affairs. But a wife is different,
especially when the client is that wife's oldest friend."
"I do not see that my father ought to make any exception," said Rose.
"A trust is a trust, and should be held sacred. Besides," she added,
after a brief pause, "men have paid dearly for letting their wives know
too much. Samson, for instance."
"Rose, you are really too provoking," said Mrs. Burford sharply. "As
if there were anything in what I said just now to suggest a comparison
between that wicked Philistine woman and myself."
Rose gave no direct reply to this remark, but said, "There is certainly
no external resemblance between poor papa and Samson in the matter of
hair. I heartily wish there were more." Mr. Burford was getting bald.
"But you know one does not speak of these things in the concrete,
but in the abstract. I got that nice, learned phrase from my father
himself. All I want to convey is, that if a client trusts a lawyer with
private matters, the fact of there being not merely a professional
but a friendly connection between them, ought to make the trust, if
anything, more sacred and inviolable. I am quite sure it would be wrong
in any of us to try and find out from my father how Miss Flint means to
leave her money."
"I ought to be very much obliged to you for making your father's duty
and mine so plain to us. Things are coming to a pretty pass when a girl
like you sets herself up to be a judge of her parent's actions. We old
people educate our children, and they get so wise in their own conceits
that they treat us as mere nobodies. I know well enough that you have
had greater advantages than I had, but I do not see that these should
give you the right to lecture and look down on your mother. If I feel
anxious about the disposal of Miss Flint's property, is it on my own
account or my children's? She is a few years older than I am, but she
is far stronger, and likely enough to outlive me."
Mrs. Burford put her handkerchief to her eyes in very real distress or
annoyance, or both.
"You have misunderstood me, mamma," said Rose. "I have no wish to
lecture or give myself airs. Neither did I think of paining you, for
you are always very good to me. But it was, to my mind, a question
of right or wrong, a principle that must be applied all round, in my
father's case, and that of every upright professional man. I am very
proud of my father. People run down lawyers sometimes, but if I hear
them, I carry my head just a little bit higher and say to myself, 'I
know one against whose goodness no one can say a word with truth.'
He is always trying to act the peacemaker, to put the knowledge his
profession gives him to a good use, without ever betraying a trust or
thinking what course will pay him best; and I say that he must be true
and staunch all round, and neither to you nor anybody living, tell a
client's secret."
"As if I wanted your father to do wrong!"
Mrs. Burford was fairly sobbing, but even this fact did not stir Rose
from the position she had assumed.
"I am certain you never thought of wrong in the matter, mamma. Please
do not be hurt at my words. I am afraid I express myself in a very
blunt way, but, remember, the first lesson my father and you taught
us all was to tell the truth, and sometimes perhaps I speak it too
harshly."
Did Mrs. Burford's conscience reproach her as Rose said this? She knew
that, whilst in words she had always urged her children to speak the
truth and had condemned deceit, she had been guilty of many an evasion
in their presence, when self-interest was concerned. About their
father's teaching, there could be no two opinions, and his own upright
life was its best practical illustration.
At any rate, she chose to accept Rose's words as an apology, and said,
as she wiped away real tears—
"I know you did not mean to pain me, darling, but I am very sensitive
where the affection and respect of my children are concerned. You know,
too, that I would rather have you too brusque in saying what is true,
than be guilty of deceit in the least thing."
Here the discussion ended, but a circumstance occurred which gave Mrs.
Burford an early opportunity of airing her views on the subject of
will-making.
Dinner was over, and Mr. Burford, with his slippered feet resting on a
fender-stool, was looking forward to a quiet evening after a busy day.
He was not to have it. A ring came at the hall door, which was followed
by a second, before time had elapsed to allow of its being answered.
"Who can be coming at this time?" said Mrs. Burford.
"An impatient caller, whoever it is," said Rose.
"Do clients follow you home?" asked Miss Flint. "If so, I should think
this is a call for you. Were you a doctor, I should feel sure of it."
"Sometimes they do. It is generally the sick who send for me out of
business hours as well as for the doctor," replied Mr. Burford.
He had scarcely finished speaking when a servant entered to say that he
was wanted, and the lawyer, without returning to the room again, left
the house in company with the messenger.
"Most likely some one is dying and wants a will made all in a hurry,"
said Mrs. Burford. "This often happens, and what might have been
prepared with due thought and care, has to be hurried through or cannot
be done at all. I think it is quite wicked of people to put off such an
important matter as the making of a will; do not you?"
"That depends upon circumstances," said Miss Flint, to whom the
question was addressed.
"What circumstances could excuse carelessness in such a matter?"
"Indifference as to who may possess your property after you have done
with it," replied Miss Flint calmly. "I can quite imagine persons who
have no near family ties—men without wives or children, women alone
in the world, like myself, for instance—who care very little who may
squabble over their belongings. You must love a person in order to
wish that he may have them, or you must dislike a person, such as your
next-of-kin, in order to bestir yourself and make a will to prevent his
getting them. If you have no particular likes or dislikes, you may be
pardoned if you allow the survivors to fight it out amongst themselves."
"My dear, how can you talk in such a way?" said Mrs. Burford.
"My dear, how can you, a lawyer's wife, forget how much the legal
profession owes to the people who make no wills, or such as are liable
to be disputed? Why, the solicitors and all the tribe of people learned
in the law and, deriving their incomes therefrom, would lose some of
their most exciting and profitable practice if everybody with property,
made a sound will at the right time."
"I am glad to think that no such selfish considerations were in my mind
when I talked about will-making. I thought of the cases which have come
under my notice, where dissension, misery, and family troubles might
have been averted by prudence and foresight in this respect. I feel so
strongly about it, that if I had but a shilling to leave, I would make
a will."
Mrs. Burford spoke with energy, and drew herself up with an air of
determination as she finished.
"My dear friend," said Miss Flint, "if you had but a shilling, how
would you pay a lawyer for making your will? He would want a good many
shillings for his trouble."
Rose had been sitting with a book in her hand, but she was really
listening to her mother and Miss Flint. The last question was too much
for her gravity, and she broke into a hearty laugh, in which Miss Flint
joined.
Mrs. Burford looked displeased for a moment, but afterwards appeared to
think she had better not stand on her dignity, and began to explain.
"You seem determined to take my words literally," she said. "Of course,
the shilling meant just a little property, and if I had ever so little,
I should take care that it went to some one I liked."
"A shilling to me means exactly twelve pence, or two sixpences," said
Rose.
"The same to me until now. Henceforth, I shall know that it may
represent property worth bequeathing. If my views on these subjects
were as decided as yours, my dear," said Miss Flint, addressing her
hostess, "I should know exactly what to do with my little property."
"Little!" exclaimed Mrs. Burford. "My little and yours have very
different meanings." At the same time she thought, "I have, at any
rate, found out that Dorothy has not yet made a will."
"Little or much, I have been a perfect human weathercock as to the
disposal of it. I have made ever so many wills, or at least your
husband has made them for me, and no two have been alike. At this
moment, I cannot be sure what the last is about, or whether there is a
last: Do you know?"
Miss Flint turned sharply round and faced her hostess.
"I do not," was Mrs. Burford's instant reply, and the inquirer felt
that it was true.
"I am surprised at your asking such a question. You know my husband
would never betray the confidence of a client, and that, if you thought
him capable of doing it, you would never give him the chance," she
continued.
Mrs. Burford drew herself up with a look of conscious virtue.
And Miss Flint gave a satisfied nod as she remarked—
"And you, my dear, would not tempt him to tell you his professional
secrets for the world. You are quite in the right, and I am well
satisfied with my legal adviser, as I have good reason to be."
Whatever Rose thought, or whether she mentally compared her mother's
previous remarks with those addressed to Miss Flint, cannot be told.
She bent over her book and said nothing.
When Mr. Burford returned, he looked very grave and thoughtful.
"Was it to make a will that you were called out so suddenly?" asked his
wife.
"Yes, but I was too late. It is very unfortunate for the family," was
the reply.
He gave no further information, but Mrs. Burford looked at Miss Flint
as if she would say, "You have now had a practical proof of the wisdom
of my advice."
What Miss Flint said was—
"How glad I am that no neglect of mine can affect the well-being of
sons and daughters! Single life may have its drawbacks, but it has its
privileges too. And it escapes so many responsibilities. Think what
it must be never to feel bound to ask leave of any human being as to
what I shall spend, whither I shall go, or when. Think what it must
be to know that if I choose to leave my money to buy parasols for the
dwellers in Central Africa, or to found a 'home for starving dogs' in
Constantinople, no one will have a right to find fault. What do you
think of such a state of independence, Rose? Would you not like it?"
"I am afraid not," replied Rose.
"And why, may I ask? You have always seemed to me to have a very
independent nature, and to hold very decided views of your own on many
subjects."
"If you mean that I have always liked to have my own way, and that I
have got it whenever I could, you are right. But I doubt if I should
care always to have it without an effort, and with nobody to object to
my views and plans. As to my goings and comings, I should not care a
pin for going anywhere unless some one were sorry to part with me, or
to return if there were no one waiting with outstretched arms to give
me a welcome back. Independence may be very nice to a certain extent,
but loneliness and isolation are too dreadful. I would not have the one
at the cost of the other two," replied Rose.
"The fact is, Rose, that, you are a perfect illustration of the old
proverb, that a woman cannot live without contradiction. You only value
what you have had to fight for, and you like to be fussed after. Now,
good people, I will go to my own room. Good-night, Mr. Burford. You are
very weary. I leave you to the best society of all, that of your wife.
Good-night, Rose; and, though last, not least, good-night my dear—"
this to Mrs. Burford. "If I do not dream of wills and will-making, it
will not be your fault. I am going to take myself to task before I
sleep, and, it may be, decide on the terms of one more last will and
testament, to be drawn up by your good husband with all convenient
speed."
Miss Flint withdrew, but whatever might have been the subject of
her private cogitations, she did not trouble Mr. Burford with any
instructions of the kind alluded to, when the morrow came.