IN THE STUDY.
Miss Tredgold was the sort of woman who never let the grass grow under
her feet. She felt, therefore, altogether out of place at The Dales, for
at The Dales there was time for everything. "Time enough" was the motto
of the establishment: time enough for breakfast, time enough for dinner,
time enough for supper, time enough for bed, time enough for getting up,
time enough for mending torn garments; surely, above all things, time
enough for learning. To judge by the manner in which the family at The
Dales went on, life was to last for ever and a day. They never hurried;
they put things off when it pleased them; they stopped in the middle of
one pursuit and turned to something else when the fancy took them; they
were unruffled by the worries of life; they were, on the whole, gay,
daring, indifferent. There was no money--or very little--for the future
of these girls; they were absolutely uneducated; they were all but
unclothed, and their food was poor and often insufficient. Nevertheless
they were fairly happy. "Let well alone" was also their motto. "Never may
care" was another. As to the rush and toil and strain of modern life,
they could not even comprehend it. The idea of not being able to put off
an engagement for a week, a month, or a year seemed to them too
extraordinary to be believed. They were too young, too healthy, too happy
to need to kill time; for time presented itself to them with an agreeable
face, and the hours were never too long.
But although they were so indifferent to weighty matters, they had their
own enthusiasms, and in their idle way they were busy always and forever.
To have, therefore, a person like Aunt Sophia put suddenly into the
middle of their gay and butterfly lives was something which was enough to
madden the eight healthy girls who lived at The Dales. Aunt Sophia was,
in their opinion, all crotchets, all nervousness, all fads. She had no
tact whatsoever; at least, such was their first opinion of her. She put
her foot down on this little crotchet, and pressed this passing desire
out of sight. She brought new rules of life into their everyday
existence, and, what is more, she insisted on being obeyed. With all
their cleverness they were not half so clever as Aunt Sophia; they were
no match for this good lady, who was still young at heart, who had been
highly educated, who was full of enthusiasm, full of method, and full of
determination. Aunt Sophia brought two very strong essentials with her to
The Dales, and there was certainly little chance of the girls getting the
victory over her. One thing which she brought was determination, joined
to authority; the other thing was money. With these two weapons in her
hand, what chance had the girls?
It might have been supposed that Miss Tredgold had done enough on the
first night of her arrival. She had to a great extent vanquished the
cook; and she had, further, told Verena and Pauline what lay before them.
Surely she might have been contented, and have taken her dip candle in
its tin candlestick and retired to her own room. But that was not Aunt
Sophia's way. She discovered a light stealing from under another door,
and she made for that door.
Now, no one entered Mr. Dale's room without knocking. None of the girls
would have ventured to do so. But Aunt Sophia was made of sterner stuff.
She did not knock. She opened the door and entered. The scholar was
seated at the far end of the room. A large reading-lamp stood on the
table. It spread a wide circle of light on the papers and books, and on
his own silvery head and thin aquiline features. The rest of the room was
in shadow. Miss Tredgold entered and stood a few feet away from Mr. Dale.
Mr. Dale had already forgotten that such a person as Miss Sophia existed.
It was his habit to work for a great many hours each night. It was during
the hours of darkness that he most thoroughly absorbed himself in his
darling occupation. His dinner had been better than usual, and that
delicious coffee had stimulated his brain. He had not tasted coffee like
that for years. His brain, therefore, being better nourished, was keener
than usual to go on with his accustomed work. As Miss Sophia advanced to
his side he uttered one or two sighs of rapture, for again a fresh
rendering of a much-disputed passage occurred to him. Light was, in
short, flooding the pages of his translation.
"The whole classical world will bless me," murmured Mr. Dale. "I am doing
a vast service."
"I am sorry to interrupt you, Henry," said the sharp, incisive tones of
his sister-in-law.
At Miss Tredgold's words he dropped his pen. It made a blot on the page,
which further irritated him; for, untidy as he was in most things, his
classical work was exquisitely neat.
"Do go away," he said. "I am busy. Go away at once."
"I am sorry, Henry, but I must stay. You know me, don't you? Your
sister-in-law, Sophia Tredgold."
"Go away, Sophia. I don't want to be rude, but I never see any one at
this hour."
"Henry, you are forced to see me. I shall go when I choose, not before."
"Madam!"
Mr. Dale sprang to his feet.
"Madam!" he repeated, almost sputtering out his words, "you surely don't
wish me to expel you. You don't intend to stand there all night. I can't
have it. I don't allow people in my study. I am sorry to be discourteous
to a lady, but I state a fact; you must go immediately. You don't realize
what it is to have a brain like mine, nor to have undertaken such a
herculean task. Ah! the beautiful thought which meant so much has
vanished. Madam, you are responsible."
"Stop!" interrupted Miss Tredgold. "I will go the moment you do what I
want."
"Will you? I'll do anything--anything that keeps you out of this room."
"That is precisely what I require. I don't wish to come into this
room--that is, for the present. By-and-by it must be cleaned, for I
decline to live in a dirty house; but I give you a fortnight's grace."
"And the rendering of the passage is beyond doubt, according to
Clericus---- I beg your pardon; are you still speaking?"
"Yes, Henry. I am annoying you, I know; and, all things considered, I am
glad, for you need rousing. I intend to sit or stand in this room, close
to you, until morning if necessary. Ah! here is a chair."
As Miss Tredgold spoke she drew forward an unwieldy arm-chair, which was
piled up with books and papers. These she was calmly about to remove,
when a shriek from the anguished scholar stopped her.
"Don't touch them," he exclaimed. "You destroy the work of months. If you
must have a chair, take mine."
Miss Tredgold did take it. She now found herself seated within a few
yards of the scholar's desk. The bright light from the lamp fell on her
face; it looked pale, calm, and determined. Mr. Dale was in shadow; the
agony on his face was therefore not perceptible.
"Take anything you want; only go, woman," he said.
"Henry, you are a difficult person to deal with, and I am sorry to have
to speak to you as I do. I am sorry to have to take, as it were,
advantage of you; but I intend to stay in this house."
"You are not wanted, Sophia."
"I am not wished for, Henry; but as to being wanted, no woman was ever
more wanted."
"That you are not."
"I say I am; and, what is more, I intend to remain. We need not discuss
this point, for it is settled. I take up my sojourn in this house for
three months."
"Three months!" said Mr. Dale. "Oh, my word! And this is only June. From
June to July, from July to August, from August to September! It is very
cruel of you, Sophia. I did not think my poor wife's sister would torture
me like this."
"For the sake of your family I intend to stay, Henry. You will have to
submit. I do not leave this room until you submit. What is more, you have
to do something further. I want you to give me authority over your
children. The moment I have it--I want it in writing, remember--I will
leave you; and I will trouble you in the future as little as woman can
trouble man. You will have better meals; but that you won't care about."
"The coffee," murmured Mr. Dale.
"Yes, you will have plenty of that delicious coffee. You will also have
cleaner rooms."
"This room is not to be touched; you understand?"
"For the present we will let that matter lie in abeyance. Come, give me
your authority in writing, and I leave the room; but if you don't, I stay
in this chair--your chair, Henry Dale--all night if necessary."
If ever there was a poor, bewildered man, it was Mr. Dale at that moment.
He did not give many thoughts to anything on earth but his beloved
studies; but, all the same, when he had time for a momentary reflection
that he possessed girls, he felt that he quite liked them. In his own
fashion he was fond of Verena; and once when Briar had a very bad cold he
sat with her for a very few minutes, and recommended her to try snuff. He
did not wish to make his children unhappy, and he thought that the advent
of Miss Tredgold would have that effect on them. But, after all, a
determined woman like her must be humored; and what were the children
compared to his own most valuable work? In the days to come they would be
proud to own him. He would be spoken of as the very great English scholar
whose rendering of Virgil was the most perfect that had ever been put
into English prose. Oh! it was impossible to hesitate another moment. The
woman was in his chair, and his thoughts were leaving him.
"Madam," he said, "you have taken me at a cruel disadvantage. I am
seriously sorry for my poor children."
"Never mind about that now, Henry. You are, I perceive, a wise man. You
can rest assured that I will do what is best both for you and for them."
"Very well, madam, I yield."
"You give me absolute authority to do what I think best for your
children?"
"Ye--s."
"To reorganize this household?"
"Not this room."
"With the exception of this room."
"I suppose so."
"You will uphold my authority when the girls come to you, as perhaps they
will, and ask you to interfere?"
"Oh, Sophia, you won't be hard on the poor children?"
"I will be just to them. You will uphold my authority?"
"Ye--s."
"If I think it necessary to punish them, you won't condemn the
punishment?"
"Oh, please, Sophia, do go away! The night is passing quickly. I never
think well by daylight."
"Put it on paper, Henry. Or stay! that will take too long. Give me a
sheet of paper; I will write what I require. I only want your signature."
Poor Mr. Dale had to search among his papers for a blank sheet. Miss
Sophia seized his special stylographic pen, pressed very hard on the nib,
and wrote what she required. Mr. Dale felt certain he would find it quite
spoilt when he came to use it again. But at last all her requirements
were on paper, and Henry Dale wrote his signature at the end.
"Thank you, Henry; you have acted wisely. You have your study now to
yourself."
Miss Tredgold bowed as she left the room.