"OH, YOU ARE PROUD!"
On the following Monday morning, Nan said in rather a curious voice to
Phillis,--
"If no customers call to-day, our work-room will be empty. I wonder
what we shall do with ourselves?"
To which Phillis replied, without a moment's hesitation,--
"We will go down and bathe, and Dulce and I will have a
swimming-match; and after that we will sit on the beach and quiz the
people. Most likely there will be a troupe of colored minstrels on the
Parade, and that will be fun."
"Oh, I hope no one will come!" observed Dulce, overjoyed at the idea
of a holiday; but, seeing Nan's face was full of rebuke at this
outburst of frivolity, she said no more.
It was decided at last that they should wait for an hour to see if any
orders arrived, and after that they would consider themselves at
liberty to amuse themselves for the remainder of the day. But, alas
for Dulce's hopes! long before the appointed hour had expired, the
gate-bell rang, and Miss Drummond made her appearance with a large
paper parcel, which she deposited on the table with a radiant face.
The story was soon told. Her silk dress was such a success, and dear
Archie was so charmed with it--here Mattie, with a blush, deposited a
neatly-sealed little packet in Nan's hand--that he had actually
proposed that she should have another gown made after the same pattern
for every-day wear. And he had taken her himself directly after
breakfast down to Mordant's, and had chosen her this dress. He had
never done such a thing before, even for Grace: so no wonder Mattie
was in the seventh heaven of delight.
"It is very pretty," observed Nan, critically: "your brother has good
taste." Which speech was of course retailed to Archie.
Mattie had only just left the cottage, when another customer appeared
in the person of Miss Middleton.
Nan, who had just begun her cutting-out, met her with a pleased glance
of recognition, and then, remembering her errand, bowed rather
gravely. But Miss Middleton, after a moment's hesitation, held out her
hand.
She had not been able to make up her mind about these girls. Her
father's shocked sense of decorum, and her own old-fashioned
gentlewoman's idea, had raised certain difficulties in her mind, which
she had found it hard to overcome. "Recollect, Elizabeth, I will not
have those girls brought here," the colonel had said to her that very
morning. "They may be all very well in their way, but I have changed
my opinion of them. There's poor Drummond: now mark my words, there
will be trouble by and by in that quarter." For Colonel Middleton had
groaned in spirit ever since the morning he had seen the young vicar
walking with Phillis down the Braidwood Road, when she was carrying
Mrs. Trimmings's dress. Elizabeth answered this gentle protest by one
of her gentle smiles. "Very well, dear father: I will ask no one to
Brooklyn against your wish, you may be sure of that; but I suppose
they may make my new dress? Mattie's has been such a success; they
certainly understand their business."
"You have a right to select your own dressmaker, Elizabeth," returned
the colonel, with a frigid wave of his hand, for he had not got over
his disappointment about the girls. "I only warn you because you are
very quixotic in your notions; but we must take the world as we find
it, and make the best of it; and there is your brother coming home by
and by. We must be careful, for Hammond's sake." And, as Elizabeth's
good sense owned the justice of her father's remark, there was nothing
more said on the subject.
But it was not without a feeling of embarrassment that Miss Middleton
entered the cottage: her great heart was yearning over these girls,
whom she was compelled to keep at a distance. True, her father was
right, Hammond was coming home, and a young officer of
seven-and-twenty was not to be trusted where three pretty girls were
concerned: it would never do to invite them to Brooklyn or to make too
much of them. Miss Middleton had ranged herself completely on her
father's side, but at the sight of Nan's sweet face and her grave
little bow she forgot all her prudent resolutions, and her hand was
held out as though to an equal.
"I have come to ask you if you will be good enough to make me a
dress," she said, with a charming smile. "You have succeeded so well
with Miss Drummond that I cannot help wishing to have one too." And
when she had said this she looked quietly round her, and surveyed the
pretty work-room, and Dulce sitting at the sewing-machine, and lastly
Phillis's bright, intelligent face, as she stood by the table turning
over some fashion-books.
At that moment Mrs. Challoner entered the room with her little
work-basket, and placed herself at the other window. Miss Middleton
began talking to her at once, while Nan measured and pinned.
"I don't think I ever spent a pleasanter half-hour," she told her
father afterwards. "Mattie was right in what she said: they have made
the work-room perfectly lovely with pictures and old china: and
nothing could be nicer than their manners,--so simple and unassuming,
yet with a touch of independence too."
"And the old lady?" inquired the colonel, maliciously, for he had seen
Mrs. Challoner in church, and knew better than to speak of her so
disrespectfully.
"Old lady, father! why, she is not old at all. She is an exceedingly
pleasing person, only a little stately in her manner; one would not
venture to take a liberty with her. We had such a nice talk while the
eldest daughter was fitting me. Is it not strange, father dear, that
they know the Paines? and Mrs. Sartoris is an old acquaintance of
theirs. I think they were a little sorry when they heard we knew them
too, for the second girl colored up so when I said Adelaide was your
goddaughter."
"Humph? we will have Adelaide down here, and hear all about them,"
responded her father, briskly.
"Well, I don't know; I am afraid that would be painful to them, under
their changed circumstances. Just as we were talking about Adelaide,
Miss Mewlstone came in; and then they were so busy that I did not like
to stay any longer. Ah, there is Mr. Drummond coming to interrupt us,
as usual."
And then the colonel retailed all this for Archie's benefit. He had
come in to glean a crumb or two of intelligence, if he could, about
the Challoners' movements, and the colonel's garrulity furnished him
with a rich harvest.
Phillis had taken Miss Mewlstone in hand at once in the intervals of
business: she had inquired casually after Mrs. Cheyne's injured
ankle.
"It is going on well: she can stand now," returned Miss Mewlstone.
"The confinement has been very trying for her, poor thing, and she
looks sadly the worse for it. Don't take out those pins, my dear: what
is the good of taking so much pains with a fat old thing like me and
pricking your pretty fingers? Well, she is always asking me if I have
seen any of you when I come home."
"Mrs. Cheyne asks after us!" exclaimed Phillis, in a tone of
astonishment.
"Ah, just so. She has not forgotten you. Magdalene never forgets any
one in whom she takes interest; not that she likes many people, poor
dear! but then so few understand her. They will not believe that it is
all on the surface, and that there is a good heart underneath."
"You call her Magdalene," observed Phillis, rather curiously, looking
up into Miss Mewlstone's placid face.
"Ah, just so; I forgot. You see, I knew her as a child,--oh, such a
wee toddling mite! younger than dear little Janie. I remember her just
as though it were yesterday; the loveliest little creature,--prettier
even than Janie!"
"Was Janie the child who died?"
"Yes, the darling! She was just three years old; a perfect angel of a
child! and Bertie was a year older. Poor Magdalene! it is no wonder
she is as she is,--no husband and children! When she sent for me I
came at once, though I knew how it would be."
"You knew how it would be?" repeated Phillis, in a questioning voice,
for Miss Mewlstone had come to a full stop here. She looked a little
confused at this repetition of her words.
"Oh, just so--just so. Thank you, my dear. You have done that
beautifully, I am sure. Never mind what an old woman says. When people
are in trouble like that, they are often ill to live with. Magdalene
has her moods; so have we all, my dear, though you are too young to
know that; but no one understands her better than her old Bathsheba;
that is my name, and a funny old name too, is it not?" continued Miss
Mewlstone, blinking at Phillis with her little blue eyes. "The worst
of having such a name is that no one will use it; even father and
mother called me Barby, as Magdalene does sometimes still."
Bathsheba Mewlstone! Phillis's lip curled with suppressed amusement.
What a droll old thing she was! and yet she liked her, somehow.
"If she takes it into her head to come and see you, you will try and
put up with her sharp speeches?" continued Miss Mewlstone, a little
anxiously, as she tied on her bonnet. "Mr. Drummond does not
understand her at all: and I will not deny that she is hard on the
poor young man, and makes fun of him a bit; but, bless you, it is only
her way! She torments herself and other people, just because time will
not pass quickly enough and let her forget. If we had children
ourselves we should understand it better, and how in Ramah there must
be lamentation," finished Miss Mewlstone, with a vague and peculiar
reference to the martyred innocents which was rather inexplicable to
Phillis, as in this case there was certainly no Herod, but an ordinary
visitation of Providence; but then she did not know that Miss
Mewlstone was often a little vague.
After this hint, Phillis was not greatly surprised when, one morning,
a pair of gray ponies stopped before the Friary, and Mrs. Cheyne's
tall figure came slowly up the flagged path.
It must be owned that Phillis's first feelings were not wholly
pleasurable. Nan had gone out: an invalid lady staying at Seaview
Cottage had sent for a dressmaker rather hurriedly, and Miss Milner
had of course recommended them. Nan had gone at once, and, as Dulce
looked pale, she had taken her with her for a walk. They might not be
back for another hour; and a _tete-a-tete_ with Mrs. Cheyne after
their last interview was rather formidable.
Dorothy preceded her with a parcel, which she deposited rather
gingerly on the table. As Mrs. Cheyne entered the room she looked at
Phillis in a cool, off-hand manner.
"I am come on business," she said with a little nod. "How do you do,
Miss Challoner? You are looking rather pale, I think." And then her
keen glance travelled round the room.
The girl flushed a little over this abruptness, but she did not lose
her courage.
"Is this the dress?" she asked, opening the parcel; but her fingers
would tremble a little, in spite of her will. And then, as the rich
folds of the black brocade came into view, she asked, in a
business-like tone, in what style Mrs. Cheyne would wish it made, and
how soon she required it. To all of which Mrs. Cheyne responded in the
same dry, curt manner; and then the usual process of fitting began.
Never had her task seemed so tedious and distasteful to Phillis. Even
Mrs. Trimmings was preferable to this: she hardly ventured to raise
her eyes, for fear of meeting Mrs. Cheyne's cold, satirical glance;
and yet all the time she knew she was being watched. Mrs. Cheyne's
vigilant silence meant something.
If only her mother would come in! but she was shelling peas for
Dorothy. To think Nan should have failed her on such an occasion! even
Dulce would have been a comfort, though she was so easily frightened.
She started almost nervously when Mrs. Cheyne at last broke the
silence:
"Yes, you are decidedly paler,--a little thinner, I think, and that
after only a fortnight's work."
Phillis looked up a little indignantly at this; but she found Mrs.
Cheyne was regarding her not unkindly.
"I am well enough," she returned, rather ungraciously; "but we are not
used to so much confinement and the weather is hot. We shall grow
accustomed to it in time."
"You think restlessness is so easily subdued?" with a sneer.
"No; but I believe it can be controlled," replied poor Phillis, who
suffered more than any one guessed from this restraint on her sweet
freedom.
Mrs. Cheyne was right: even in this short time she was certainly paler
and thinner.
"You mean to persevere, then, in your moral suicide?"
"We mean to persevere in our duty," corrected Phillis, as she pinned
up a sleeve.
"Rather a high moral tone for a dressmaker to take: don't you think
so?" returned Mrs. Cheyne, in the voice Archie hated. The woman
certainly had a double nature: there was a twist in her somewhere.
This was too much for Phillis: she fired up in a moment.
"Why should not dressmakers take a high moral tone? You make me feel
glad I am one when you talk like that. This is our ambition,--Nan's
and mine, for Dulce is too young to think much about it,--to show by
our example that there is no degradation in work. Oh, it is hard!
First Mr. Drummond comes, and talks to us as though we were doing
wrong; and, then you, to cry down our honest labor, and call it
suicide! Is it suicide to work with these hands, that God has made
clever, for my mother?" cried Phillis; and her great gray eyes filled
up with sudden tears.
Mrs. Cheyne did not look displeased at the girl's outburst. If she had
led up to this point, she could not have received it more calmly.
"There, there! you need not excite yourself, child!" she said, more
gently. "I only wanted to know what you would say. So Miss Mewlstone
has been to you, I hear?--and Miss Middleton, too? but that's her
benevolence. Of course Miss Mattie comes out of curiosity. How I do
detest a fussy woman, with a tongue that chatters faster than a
purling brook! What do you say? No harm in her?" for Phillis had
muttered something to this effect. "Oh, that is negative praise! I
like people to have a little harm in them: it is so much more
amusing."
"I cannot say I am of your opinion," returned Phillis, coldly: she was
rather ashamed of her fit of enthusiasm, and cross in consequence.
"My dear, I always thought Lucifer must have been rather an
interesting person." Then, as Phillis looked scandalized, and drew
herself up, she said, in a funny voice, "Now, don't tell your mother
what I said, or she will think me an improper character; and I want to
be introduced to her."
"You want to be introduced to my mother!" Phillis could hardly believe
her ears. Certainly Mrs. Cheyne was a most inexplicable person.
"Dressmakers don't often have mothers, do they?" returned Mrs. Cheyne,
with a laugh; "at least, they are never on view. I suppose they are in
the back premises doing something?"
"Shelling peas, for example," replied Phillis, roused to mischief by
this: "that is mother's work this morning. Dorothy is old and
single-handed, and needs all the help we can give her. Oh, yes! I will
take you to her at once."
"Indeed you must not, if it will inconvenience her!" returned Mrs.
Cheyne, drawing back a little at this. She was full of curiosity to
see the mother of these singular girls, but she did not wish to have
her illusion too roughly dispelled; and the notion of Mrs. Challoner's
homely employment grated a little on the feelings of the fine lady who
had never done anything useful in her life.
"Oh, nothing puts mother out!" returned Phillis, in an indifferent
tone. The old spirit of fun was waking up in her, and she led the way
promptly to the parlor.
"Mother, Mrs. Cheyne wishes to see you," she announced, in a most
matter-of-fact voice, as though that lady were a daily visitor.
Mrs. Challoner looked up in a little surprise. One of Dorothy's rough
aprons was tied over her nice black gown, and the yellow earthenware
bowl was on her lap. Phillis took up some of the green pods, and began
playing with them.
"Will you excuse my rising?--you see my employment," observed Mrs.
Challoner, with a smile that was almost as charming as Nan's; and she
held out a white soft hand to her visitor.
The perfect ease of her manner, the absence of all flurry, produced an
instant effect on Mrs. Cheyne. For a moment she stood as though at a
loss to explain her intrusion; but the next minute one of her rare
sunshiny smiles crossed her face:
"I must seem impertinent; but your daughters have interested me so
much that I was anxious to see their mother. But I ought to apologize
for disturbing you so early."
"Not at all; all hours are the same to me. We are always glad to see
our friends: are we not, Phillis? My dear, I wish you would carry
these away to Dorothy and ask her to finish them."
"Oh, no! pray do nothing of the kind," returned Mrs. Cheyne, eagerly.
"You must not punish me in this way. Let me help you. Indeed, I am
sure I can, if I only tried." And, to Phillis's intense amusement,
Mrs. Cheyne drew off her delicate French gloves, and in another moment
both ladies were seated close together, shelling peas into the same
pan, and talking as though they had known each other for years.
"Oh, it was too delicious!" exclaimed Phillis, when she had retailed
this interview for Nan's and Dulce's benefit. "I knew mother would
behave beautifully. If I had taken the Princess of Wales in to see
her, she would not have had a word of apology for her apron, though it
was a horrid coarse thing of Dorothy's. She would just have smiled at
her, as she did at Mrs. Cheyne. Mother's behavior is always lovely."
"Darling old mammie!" put in Dulce, rapturously, at this point.
"I made some excuse and left them together, because I could see Mrs.
Cheyne was dying to get rid of me; and I'm always amiable, and like to
please people. Oh, it was the funniest sight, I assure you!--Mrs.
Cheyne with her long fingers blazing with diamond rings, and the peas
rolling down her silk dress; and mother just going on with her
business in her quiet way. Oh, I had such a laugh when I was back in
the work-room!"
It cost Phillis some trouble to be properly demure when Mrs. Cheyne
came into the work-room some time afterwards in search of her. Perhaps
her mischievous eyes betrayed her, for Mrs. Cheyne shook her head at
her in pretended rebuke:
"Ah, I see; you will persist in treating things like a comedy. Well,
that is better than putting on tragedy airs and making yourselves
miserable. Now I have seen your mother, I am not quite so puzzled."
"Indeed!" and Phillis fixed her eyes innocently on Mrs. Cheyne's
face.
"No; but I am not going to make you vain by telling you what I think
of her: indiscriminate praise is not wholesome. Now, when are you
coming to see me?--that is the point in question."
"Dorothy will bring home your dress on Saturday," replied Phillis, a
little dryly. "If it requires alteration, perhaps you will let me
know, and of course I will come up to the White House at any time."
"But I do not mean to wait for that. You are misunderstanding me
purposely, Miss Challoner. I want you to come and talk to me one
evening,--any evening. No one but Miss Mewlstone will be there."
"Oh, no!" responded Phillis, suddenly turning very red:
"I do not think that would do at all, Mrs. Cheyne. I do not mean to be
rude or ungrateful for your kindness, but--but----" Here the girl
stammered and broke down.
"You wish, then, to confine our intercourse to a purely business
relation?" asked Mrs. Cheyne, and her voice had a tone of the old
bitterness.
"Would it not be better under the circumstances? Forgive me if I am
too proud, but----"
"Oh, you are proud, terribly proud!" returned Mrs. Cheyne, taking up
her words before she could complete her sentence. "You owe me a grudge
for what I said that night, and now you are making me pay the penalty.
Well, I am not meek: there is not a human being living to whom I would
sue for friendship. If I were starving for a kind word, I would sooner
die than ask for one. You see, I am proud too, Miss Challoner."
"Oh, I did not mean to hurt you," returned Phillis, distressed at
this, but determined not to yield an inch or bend to the sudden
caprice of this extraordinary woman, who had made her suffer so once.
"To be hurt, one must have feelings," returned this singular person.
"Do not be afraid, I shall not attempt to shake your resolution: if
you come to me now it must be of your own free will."
"And if I come, what then?" asked Phillis, standing very straight and
stiff, for she would not be patronized.
"If you come you will be welcome," returned Mrs. Cheyne; and then,
with a grave inclination of the head, she swept out of the room.