"Hold your tongue, Conny."
"Go back to your book; we'll tell mamma," scolded the elder girls;
and Conny hung her head, scarlet with shame and consternation.
Conny had truth on her side; yet Polly's independence and animal
delight in life, in this artificial world, was not to be altogether
despised either.
Polly maintained honestly that the girl had done no harm. She was glad
she had never had to endure senior sisters, and if she had been
afflicted with younger plagues, she would have made a point of not
snubbing them, on the principle of fair play.
"And you were a little heathenish, Polly," suggested Joanna, "not giving
fair play to the heroism of the ancients."
But Susan had long been waiting her turn, testifying more interest in
her right to speak than she usually wasted on the affairs of the state.
She wished to cross-examine Polly on a single important expression, and
although Susan at least was wonderfully harmless, her patience could
hold out no longer.
"Why are you afraid of being blowsy to-night, Polly?"
"I'm not frightened, I would not disturb myself about a risk; but you've
kept an invitation all this time under my tongue, not in my pockets, I
assure you;" and Polly elaborately emptied them, the foppish breast
pocket, and that at the waist.
"It is only from Mrs. Maxwell," sighed Susan; "we are never invited
anywhere except to Hurlton, in this easy way."
"But there is company; young Mr. Jardine has come home to Whitethorn,
and he is to dine with the Maxwells, and we are invited over to Hurlton
in the evening lest the claret or the port should be too much for him."
The girls did not say "Nonsense!" they looked at each other; Joanna was
very pale, the red stain was very clear now. At last Lilias spoke,
hesitating a little to begin with, "It is so like Mrs. Maxwell--without
a moment's consideration--so soon after his return, before we had met
casually, as we must have done. I dare say she is sorry now, when she
comes to think over it. I hope Mr. Maxwell will be angry with her--the
provoking old goose," ran on Lilias, neither very reverently nor very
gratefully for an excellent, exemplary girl.
"There is one thing, we can't refuse," said Susan with marvellous
decision; "it would be out of the question for us to avoid him; it would
be too marked for us to stay away."
"Read your book, Conny," commanded Lilias fiercely; "you were
sufficiently intent upon it a moment ago; girls should not be made
acquainted with such troubles."
"I don't want to be a bar upon you," cried the belated Conny, rising and
walking away sulkily, but pricking her ears all the time.
"Joanna, you had better mention the matter to papa."
"Don't you think you're making an unnecessary fuss?" remarked Polly. "Of
course, I remembered uncle's misfortune," she admitted candidly, "though
none of you speak of it, and I noticed Oliver stammer dreadfully when
Mrs. Maxwell mentioned Mr. Jardine; but I thought that at this time of
day, when everybody knew there was no malice borne originally, and Uncle
Crawfurd might have been killed, you might have been polite and
neighbourly with quiet consciences. I tell you, I mean to set my cap at
young Mr. Jardine of Whitethorn, and when I marry him, and constitute
him a family connexion, of course the relics of that old accident will
be scattered to the winds."
"Oh! Polly, Polly!" cried the girls, "you must never, never speak so
lightly to papa."
"Of course not, I am not going to vex my uncle; I can excuse him,
but Joanna need not look so scared. There is not such a thing as
retribution and vengeance, child, in Christian countries; it is you
who are heathenish. Or have you nursed a vain imagination of
encountering Mr. Jardine, unknown to each other, and losing your
hearts by an unaccountable fascination, and being as miserable as
the principals in the second last chapter of one of Conny's three
volumes? or were you to atone to him in some mysterious, fantastic,
supernatural fashion, for the unintentional wrong? Because if you have
done so, I'm afraid it is all mist and moonshine, poor Jack, quite as
much as the twaddling goody stories."
"Polly," said Joanna angrily, but speaking low, "I think you might spare
us on so sad a subject."
"I want you to have common sense; I want you to be comfortable; no
wonder my uncle has never recovered his spirits."
"Indeed, Polly, I don't think you've any reason to interfere in
papa's concerns."
"I don't see that you are entitled to blame Joanna," defended sister
Lilias, stoutly;--Lilias, who was so swift to find fault herself.
"There, I'll say no more; I beg your pardon, I merely intended to show
you your world in an ordinary light."
"Do you know, Polly, that Mrs. Jardine has never visited us since?"
asked Susan.
"Very likely, she was entitled to some horror. But she is a reasonable
woman. Mr. Maxwell told me--every third party discusses the story behind
your backs whenever it chances to come up, I warn you--Mr. Maxwell
informed me that she never blamed Uncle Crawfurd, and that she sent her
son away from her because she judged it bad for him to be brought up
among such recollections, and feared that when he was a lad he might be
tampered with by the servants, and might imbibe prejudices and aversions
that would render him gloomy and vindictive, and unlike other people for
the rest of his life; she could not have behaved more wisely. I am
inclined to suppose that Mrs. Jardine of Whitethorn has more knowledge
of the world and self-command than the whole set of my relations here,
unless, perhaps, my Aunt Crawfurd--she will only speculate on your
dresses--that is the question, Susan."