"I always thought there was good in him by his looks," said Miss
Wodehouse, standing in the porch of St Roque's, after the wedding-party
had gone away. "To think he should have come in such a sweet way and
married Mrs Fred! just what we all were wishing for, if we could have
ventured to think it possible. Indeed, I should have liked to have given
Mr Chatham a little present, just to mark my sense of his goodness. Poor
man! I wonder if he repents----"
"It is to be hoped not yet," said Lucy, hurrying her sister away before
Mr Wentworth could come out and join them; for affairs were seriously
compromised between the perpetual curate and the object of his affections;
and Lucy exhibited a certain acerbity under the circumstances which
somewhat amazed the tender-hearted old maid.
"When people do repent, my belief is that they do it directly," said
Miss Wodehouse. "I daresay he can see what she is already, poor man; and
I hope, Lucy, it won't drive him into bad ways. As for Nettie, I am not
at all afraid about her. Even if they should happen to quarrel, you
know, things will always come right. I am glad they were not married
both at the same time. Nettie has such sense! and of course, though it
was the very best thing that could happen, and a great relief to everybody
concerned, to be sure, one could not help being disgusted with that
woman. And it is such a comfort they're going away. Nettie says----"
"Don't you think you could walk a little quicker? there is somebody in
Grove Street that I have to see," said Lucy, not so much interested as
her sister; "and papa will be home at one to lunch."
"Then I shall go on, dear, if you have no objection, and ask when the
doctor and Nettie are coming home," said Miss Wodehouse, "and take poor
little Freddy the cakes I promised him. Poor child! to have his mother
go off and marry and leave him. Never mind me, Lucy, dear; I do not walk
so quickly as you do, and besides I have to go home first for the
cakes."
So saying the sisters separated; and Miss Wodehouse took her gentle
way to the doctor's house, where everything had been brightened up, and
where Freddy waited the return of his chosen guardians. It was still the
new quarter of Carlingford, a region of half-built streets, vulgar new
roads, and heaps of desolate brick and mortar. If the doctor had ever
hoped to succeed Dr Marjoribanks in his bowery retirement in Grange
Lane, that hope nowadays had receded into the darkest distance. The
little surgery round the corner still shed twinkles of red and blue
light across that desolate triangle of unbuilt ground upon the other
corner houses where dwelt people unknown to society in Carlingford, and
still Dr Rider consented to call himself M.R.C.S., and cultivate the
patients who were afraid of a physician. Miss Wodehouse went in at the
invitation of Mary to see the little drawing-room which the master of
the house had provided for his wife. It had been only an unfurnished
room in Dr Rider's bachelor days, and looked out upon nothing better
than these same new streets--the vulgar suburb which Carlingford
disowned. Miss Wodehouse lingered at the window with a little sigh over
the perversity of circumstances. If Miss Marjoribanks had only been
Nettie, or Nettie Miss Marjoribanks! If not only love and happiness, but
the old doctor's practice and savings, could but have been brought to
heap up the measure of the young doctor's good-fortune! What a pity that
one cannot have everything! The friendly visitor said so with a real
sigh as she went down-stairs after her inspection. If the young people
had but been settling in Grange Lane, in good society, and with Dr
Marjoribanks's practice, this marriage would have been perfection
indeed!
But when the doctor brought Nettie home, and set her in that easy-chair
which her image had possessed so long, he saw few drawbacks at that moment
to the felicity of his lot. If there was one particular in which his sky
threatened clouds, it was not the want of Dr Marjoribanks's practice,
but the presence of that little interloper, whom the doctor in his
heart was apt to call by uncomplimentary names, and did not regard with
unmixed favour. But when Susan and her Australian were fairly gone, and
all fear of any invasion of the other imps--which Dr Rider inly dreaded
up to the last moment--was over, Freddy grew more and more tolerable.
Where Fred once lay and dozed, and filled the doctor's house with heavy
fumes and discreditable gossip, a burden on his brother's reluctant
hospitality, little Freddy now obliterated that dismal memory with
prayers and slumbers of childhood; and where the discontented doctor had
grumbled many a night and day over that bare habitation of his, which
was a house, and not a home, Nettie diffused herself till the familiar
happiness became so much a part of his belongings that the doctor
learned to grumble once more at the womanish accessories which he had
once missed so bitterly. And the little wayward heroine who, by dint
of hard labour and sacrifice, had triumphantly had her own way in St
Roque's Cottage, loved her own way still in the new house, and had it as
often as was good for her. But so far as this narrator knows, nothing
calling for special record has since appeared in the history of the
doctor's family, thus reorganised under happier auspices, and discharging
its duties, social and otherwise, though not exactly in society, to the
satisfaction and approval of the observant population of Carlingford.
THE END.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Contemporary spellings have been retained even when inconsistent or
unusual. A small number of obvious typographical errors have been
corrected, and missing punctuation has been silently added
The following additional changes have been made:
looked after the salvage man looked after the _savage_ man
curiosity about that salvage man curiosity about that _savage_ man
End of Project Gutenberg's The Doctor's Family, by Mrs. (Margaret) Oliphant