Then he hesitated, groping for the name. 'Mrs.,' said Dolly, sweetly
correcting him, her hand in his.
'Ah, I beg your pardon. Married. These introductions--especially in that
noisy wind.'
'No--not exactly married,' said Dolly, still sweetly correcting him, her
hand still in his.
'Not exactly--?'
'My sister has lost her--my sister is a widow,' said Mrs. Barnes hastily
and nervously; alas, these complications of Dolly's!
'Indeed. Indeed. Sad, sad,' said my uncle sympathetically, continuing to
hold her hand. 'And so young. Ah. Yes. Well, good night then, Mrs--'
But again he had to pause and grope.
'Jewks,' said Dolly sweetly.
'Forgive me. You may depend I shall not again be so stupid. Good night.
And may the blessed angels--'
A third time he stopped; pulled up, I suppose, by the thought that it
was perhaps not quite seemly to draw the attention of even the angels to
an unrelated lady's bed. So he merely very warmly shook her hand, while
she smiled a really heavenly smile at him.
We left him standing with his back to the fire watching us go up the
stairs, holding almost tenderly, for one must expend one's sympathy on
something, a glass of hot water.
My uncle is very sympathetic. In matters that do not touch his own
advancement he is all sympathy. That is why widows like him, I expect.
My aunt would have known the reason if she hadn't been his wife.
_October 1st._
While I dress it is my habit to read. Some book is propped up open
against the looking-glass, and sometimes, for one's eyes can't be
everywhere at once, my hooks in consequence don't get quite
satisfactorily fastened. Indeed I would be very neat if I could, but
there are other things. This morning the book was the Bible, and in it
I read, _A prudent man_--how much more prudently, then, a
woman--_foreseeth the evil and hideth himself, but the simple pass on
and are punished._
This made me late for breakfast. I sat looking out of the window, my
hands in my lap, the sensible words of Solomon ringing in my ears, and
considered if there was any way of escaping the fate of the simple.
There was no way. It seemed hard that without being exactly of the
simple I yet should be doomed to their fate. And outside it was one of
those cold windy mornings when male relations insist on taking one for
what they call a run--as if one were a dog--in order to go through the
bleak process they describe as getting one's cobwebs blown off. I can't
bear being parted from my cobwebs. I never want them blown off. Uncle
Rudolph is small and active, besides having since my aunt's death
considerably dwindled beneath his apron, and I felt sure he intended to
run me up the mountain after breakfast, and, having got me breathless
and speechless on to some cold rock, sit with me there and say all the
things I am dreading having to hear.
It was quite difficult to get myself to go downstairs. I seemed rooted.
I knew that, seeing that I am that unfortunately situated person the
hostess, my duty lay in morning smiles behind the coffee pot; but the
conviction of what was going to happen to me after the coffee pot kept
me rooted, even when the bell had rung twice.
When, however, after the second ringing quick footsteps pattered along
the passage to my door I did get up,--jumped up, afraid of what might be
coming-in. Bedrooms are no real protection from uncles. Those quick
footsteps might easily be Uncle Rudolph's. I hurried across to the door
and pulled it open, so that at least by coming out I might stop his
coming in; and there was Mrs. Antoine, her hand lifted up to knock.
'_Ces dames et Monsieur l'Evêque attendent,_' she said, with an air of
reproachful surprise.
'_Il n'est pas un évêque_,' I replied a little irritably, for I knew I
was in the wrong staying upstairs like that, and naturally resented not
being allowed to be in the wrong in peace. '_Il est seulement presque
un_.'
Mrs. Antoine said nothing to that, but stepping aside to let me pass
informed me rather severely that the coffee had been on the table a
whole quarter of an hour.
'_Comment appelle-t-on chez vous_,' I said, lingering in the doorway to
gain time, '_ce qui vient devant un évêque?_'
'_Ce qui vient devant un évêque?_' repeated Mrs. Antoine doubtfully.
'_Oui. L'espèce de monsieur qui n'est pas tout à fait évêque mais
presque?_'
Mrs. Antoine knit her brows. '_Ma foi--_' she began.
'_Oh, j'ai oublié_,' I said. '_Vous n'êtes plus catholique. Il n'y a
rien comme des évêques et comme les messieurs qui sont presque évêques
dans votre église protestante, n'est-ce pas?_'
'_Mais rien, rien, rien_,' asseverated Mrs. Antoine vehemently, her
hands spread out, her shoulders up to her ears, passionately protesting
the empty purity of her adopted church,--'_mais rien du tout, du tout.
Madame peut venir un dimanche voir...._'
Then, having cleared off these imputations, she switched back to the
coffee. '_Le café--Madame désire que j'en fasse encore? Ces dames et
Monsieur l'Evêque--_'
'_Il n'est pas un év--_'
'Ah--here you are!' exclaimed my uncle, his head appearing at the top of
the stairs. 'I was just coming to see if there was anything the matter.
Here she is--coming, coming!' he called out genially to the others; and
on my hurrying to join him, for I am not one to struggle against the
inevitable, he put his arm through mine and we went down together.
Having got me to the bottom he placed both hands on my shoulders and
twisted me round to the light. 'Dear child,' he said, scrutinizing my
face while he held me firmly in this position, 'we were getting quite
anxious about you. Mrs. Barnes feared you might be ill, and was already
contemplating remedies--' I shuddered--'however--' he twisted me round
to Mrs. Barnes--'nothing ill about this little lady, Mrs. Barnes, eh?'
Then he took my chin between his finger and thumb and kissed me lightly,
gaily even, on each cheek, and then, letting me go, he rubbed his hands
and briskly approached the table, all the warm things on which were
swathed as usual when I am late either in napkins or in portions of Mrs.
Barnes's clothing.
'Come along--come along, now,--breakfast, breakfast,' cried my uncle.
'_For these and all Thy mercies Lord_--' he continued with hardly a
break, his eyes shut, his hands outspread over Mrs. Barnes's white
woollen shawl in benediction.
We were overwhelmed. The male had arrived and taken us in hand. But we
were happily overwhelmed, judging from Mrs. Barnes's face. For the first
time since she has been with me the blessing of heaven had been implored
and presumably obtained for her egg, and I realised from her expression
as she ate it how much she had felt the daily enforced consumption,
owing to my graceless habits, of eggs unsanctified. And Dolly too looked
pleased, as she always does when her poor Kitty is happy. I alone
wasn't. Behind the coffee pot I sat pensive. I knew too well what was
before me. I distrusted my uncle's gaiety. He had thought it all out in
the night, and had decided that the best line of approach to the painful
subject he had come to discuss would be one of cheerful affection.
Certainly I had never seen him in such spirits; but then I haven't seen
him since my aunt's death.
'Dear child,' he said, when the table had been picked up and carried off
bodily by the Antoines from our midst, leaving us sitting round nothing
with the surprised feeling of sudden nakedness that, as I have already
explained, this way of clearing away produces--my uncle was actually
surprised for a moment into silence,--'dear child, I would like to take
you for a little run before lunch.'
'Yes, Uncle Rudolph?'
'That we may get rid of our cobwebs.'
'Yes, Uncle Rudolph.'
'I know you are a quick-limbed little lady--'
'Yes, Uncle Rudolph?'
'So you shall take the edge off my appetite for exercise.'
'Yes, Uncle Rudolph.'
'Then perhaps this afternoon one or other of these ladies--' I noted his
caution in not suggesting both.
'Oh, delightful,' Mrs. Barnes hastened to assure him. 'We shall be only
too pleased to accompany you. We are great walkers. We think a very
great deal of the benefits to be derived from regular exercise. Our
father brought us up to a keen appreciation of its necessity. If it were
not that we so strongly feel that the greater part of each day should be
employed in some useful pursuit, we would spend it, I believe, almost
altogether in outdoor exercise.'
'Why not go with my uncle this morning, then?' I asked, catching at a
straw. 'I've got to order dinner--'
'Oh no, no--not on _any_ account. The Dean's wishes--'
But who should pass through the hall at that moment, making for the
small room where I settle my household affairs, his arms full of the
monthly books, but Antoine. It is the first of October. Pay day. I had
forgotten. And for this one morning, at least, I knew that I was saved.
'Look,' I said to Mrs. Barnes, nodding in the direction of Antoine and
his burden.
I felt certain she would have all the appreciation of the solemnity, the
undeferability, of settling up that is characteristic of the virtuous
poor; she would understand that even the wishes of deans must come
second to this holy household rite.
'Oh, how unfortunate!' she exclaimed. 'Just this day of all days--your
uncle's first day.'
But there was nothing to be done. She saw that. And besides, never was a
woman so obstinately determined as I was to do my duty.
'Dear Uncle Rudolph,' I said very amiably--I did suddenly feel very
amiable--'I'm so sorry. This is the one day in the month when I am
tethered. _Any_ other day--'
And I withdrew with every appearance of reluctant but indomitable virtue
into my little room and stayed there shut in safe till I heard them go
out.
From the window I could see them presently starting off up the mountain,
actively led by my uncle who hadn't succeeded in taking only one, Mrs.
Barnes following with the devoutness--she who in our walks goes always
first and chooses the way--of an obedient hen, and some way behind, as
though she disliked having to shed her cobwebs as much as I do,
straggled Dolly. Then, when they had dwindled into just black specks
away up the slope, I turned with lively pleasure to paying the books.
Those blessed books! If only I could have gone on paying them over and
over again, paying them all day! But when I had done them, and conversed
about the hens and bees and cow with Antoine, and it was getting near
lunch-time, and at any moment through the window I might see the three
specks that had dwindled appearing as three specks that were swelling, I
thought I noticed I had a headache.
Addings-up often give me a headache, especially when they won't, which
they curiously often won't, add up the same twice running, so that it
was quite likely that I _had_ got a headache. I sat waiting to be quite
sure, and presently, just as the three tiny specks appeared on the sky
line, I was quite sure; and I came up here and put myself to bed. For, I
argued, it isn't grape-stones this time, it's sums, and Mrs. Barnes
can't dose me for what is only arithmetic; also, even if Uncle Rudolph
insists on coming to my bedside he can't be so inhumane as to torment
somebody who isn't very well.
So here I have been ever since snugly in bed, and I must say my guests
have been most considerate. They have left me almost altogether alone.
Mrs. Barnes did look in once, and when I said, closing my eyes, 'It's
those tradesmens' books--' she understood immediately, and simply nodded
her head and disappeared.
Dolly came and sat with me for a little, but we hadn't said much before
Mrs. Antoine brought a message from my uncle asking her to go down to
tea.
'What are you all doing?' I asked.
'Oh, just sitting round the fire not talking,' she said, smiling.
'_Not_ talking?' I said, surprised.
But she was gone.
Perhaps, I thought, they're not talking for fear of disturbing me. This
really was most considerate.
As for Uncle Rudolph, he hasn't even tried to come and see me. The only
sign of life he has made was to send me the current number of the
_Nineteenth Century_ he brought out with him, in which he has an
article,--a very good one. Else he too has been quite quiet; and I have
read, and I have pondered, and I have written this, and now it really is
bedtime and I'm going to sleep.
Well, a whole day has been gained anyhow, and I have had hours and hours
of complete peace. Rather a surprising lot of peace, really. It _is_
rather surprising, I think. I mean, that they haven't wanted to come and
see me more. Nobody has even been to say goodnight to me. I think I like
being said goodnight to. Especially if nobody does say it.
_October 2nd._
Twenty-four hours sometimes produce remarkable changes. These have.
Again it is night, and again I'm in my room on my way to going to sleep;
but before I get any sleepier I'll write what I can about to-day,
because it has been an extremely interesting day. I knew that what we
wanted was a man.
At breakfast, to which I proceeded punctually, refreshed by my retreat
yesterday, armed from head to foot in all the considerations I had
collected during those quiet hours most likely to make me immune from
Uncle Rudolph's inevitable attacks, having said my prayers and emptied
my mind of weakening memories, I found my three guests silent. Uncle
Rudolph's talkativeness, so conspicuous at yesterday's breakfast, was
confined at to-day's to saying grace. Except for that, he didn't talk at
all. And neither, once having said her Amen, did Mrs. Barnes. Neither
did Dolly, but then she never does.
'I've not got a headache,' I gently said at last, looking round at them.
Perhaps they were still going on being considerate, I thought. At least,
perhaps Mrs. Barnes was. My uncle's silence was merely ominous of what I
was in for, of how strongly, after another night's thinking it out, he
felt about my affairs and his own lamentable connection with them owing
to God's having given me to him for a niece. But Mrs. Barnes--why didn't
_she_ talk? She couldn't surely intend, because once I had a headache,
to go on tiptoe for the rest of our days together?
Nobody having taken any notice of my first announcement I presently
said, 'I'm very well indeed, thank you, this morning.'
At this Dolly laughed, and her eyes sent little morning kisses across to
me. She, at least, was in her normal state.
'Aren't you--' I looked at the other two unresponsive breakfasting
heads--'aren't you glad?'
'Very,' said Mrs. Barnes. 'Very.' But she didn't raise her eyes from her
egg, and my uncle again took no notice.
So then I thought I might as well not take any notice either, and I ate
my breakfast in dignity and retirement, occasionally fortifying myself
against what awaited me after it by looking at Dolly's restful and
refreshing face.
Such an unclouded face; so sweet, so clean, so sunny with morning
graciousness. Really an ideal breakfast-table face. Fortunate Juchs and
Siegfried, I thought, to have had it to look forward to every morning.
That they were undeserving of their good fortune I patriotically felt
sure, as I sat considering the gentle sweep of her eyelashes while she
buttered her toast. Yet they did, both of them, make her happy; or
perhaps it was that she made them happy, and caught her own happiness
back again, as it were on the rebound. With any ordinarily kind and
decent husband this must be possible. That she _had_ been happy was
evident, for unhappiness leaves traces, and I've never seen an object
quite so unmarked, quite so candid as Dolly's intelligent and charming
brow.
We finished our breakfast in silence; and no sooner had the table been
plucked out from our midst by the swift, disconcerting Antoines, than my
uncle got up and went to the window.
There he stood with his back to us.
'Do you feel equal to a walk?' he asked, not turning round.
Profound silence.
We three, still sitting round the blank the vanished table had left,
looked at each other, our eyes inquiring mutely, 'Is it I?'
But I knew it was me.
'Do you mean me, Uncle Rudolph?' I therefore asked; for after all it had
best be got over quickly.
'Yes, dear child.'
'Now?'
'If you will.'
'There's no esc--you don't think the weather too horrid?'
'Bracing.'