How long a time passed before my composure came back to me, I cannot
remember now. It seemed as if I was waiting through some interval of my
life that was a mystery to myself. I was content to wait, and feel the
light evening air in the garden wafting happiness over me. And all this
had come from a kiss! I can call the time to mind when I used to wonder
why people made such a fuss about kissing.
I had been indebted to Maria for my first taste of Paradise. I was
recalled by Maria to the world that I had been accustomed to live in;
the world that was beginning to fade away in my memory already. She had
been sent to the garden in search of me; and she had a word of advice
to offer, after noticing my face when I stepped out of the shadow of the
tree: “Try to look more like yourself, miss, before you let them see you
at the tea-table.”
Papa and Miss Jillgall were sitting together talking, when I opened the
door. They left off when they saw me; and I supposed, quite correctly
as it turned out, that I had been one of the subjects in their course
of conversation. My poor father seemed to be sadly anxious and out of
sorts. Miss Jillgall, if I had been in the humor to enjoy it, would have
been more amusing than ever. One of her funny little eyes persisted in
winking at me; and her heavy foot had something to say to my foot, under
the table, which meant a great deal perhaps, but which only succeeded in
hurting me.
My father left us; and Miss Jillgall explained herself.
“I know, dearest Euneece, that we have only been acquainted for a day or
two and that I ought not perhaps to have expected you to confide in
me so soon. Can I trust you not to betray me if I set an example of
confidence? Ah, I see I can trust you! And, my dear, I do so enjoy
telling secrets to a friend. Hush! Your father, your excellent father,
has been talking to me about young Mr. Dunboyne.”
She provokingly stopped there. I entreated her to go on. She invited
me to sit on her knee. “I want to whisper,” she said. It was too
ridiculous--but I did it. Miss Jillgall’s whisper told me serious news.
“The minister has some reason, Euneece, for disapproving of Mr.
Dunboyne; but, mind this, I don’t think he has a bad opinion of the
young man himself. He is going to return Mr. Dunboyne’s call. Oh, I do
so hate formality; I really can’t go on talking of _Mr._ Dunboyne. Tell
me his Christian name. Ah, what a noble name! How I long to be useful
to him! Tomorrow, my dear, after the one o’clock dinner, your papa will
call on Philip, at his hotel. I hope he won’t be out, just at the wrong
time.”
I resolved to prevent that unlucky accident by writing to Philip. If
Miss Jillgall would have allowed it, I should have begun my letter at
once. But she had more to say; and she was stronger than I was, and
still kept me on her knee.
“It all looks bright enough so far, doesn’t it, dear sister? Will you
let me be your second sister? I do so love you, Euneece. Thank you!
thank you! But the gloomy side of the picture is to come next! The
minister--no! now I am your sister I must call him papa; it makes me
feel so young again! Well, then, papa has asked me to be your companion
whenever you go out. ‘Euneece is too young and too attractive to be
walking about this great town (in Helena’s absence) by herself.’ That
was how he put it. Slyly enough, if one may say so of so good a man. And
he used your sister (didn’t he?) as a kind of excuse. I wish your sister
was as nice as you are. However, the point is, why am I to be your
companion? Because, dear child, you and your young gentleman are not to
make appointments and to meet each other alone. Oh, yes--that’s it!
Your father is quite willing to return Philip’s call; he proposes (as a
matter of civility to Mrs. Staveley) to ask Philip to dinner; but, mark
my words, he doesn’t mean to let Philip have you for his wife.”
I jumped off her lap; it was horrible to hear her. “Oh,” I said, “_can_
you be right about it?” Miss Jillgall jumped up too. She has foreign
ways of shrugging her shoulders and making signs with her hands. On this
occasion she laid both hands on the upper part of her dress, just below
her throat, and mysteriously shook her head.
“When my views are directed by my affections,” she assured me, “I never
see wrong. My bosom is my strong point.”
She has no bosom, poor soul--but I understood what she meant. It failed
to have any soothing effect on my feelings. I felt grieved and angry and
puzzled, all in one. Miss Jillgall stood looking at me, with her hands
still on the place where her bosom was supposed to be. She made my
temper hotter than ever.
“I mean to marry Philip,” I said.
“Certainly, my dear Euneece. But please don’t be so fierce about it.”
“If my father does really object to my marriage,” I went on, “it must be
because he dislikes Philip. There can be no other reason.”
“Oh, yes, dear--there can.”
“What is the reason, then?”
“That, my sweet girl, is one of the things that we have got to find
out.”
.......
The post of this morning brought a letter from my sister. We were to
expect her return by the next day’s train. This was good news. Philip
and I might stand in need of clever Helena’s help, and we might be sure
of getting it now.
In writing to Philip, I had asked him to let me hear how papa and he had
got on at the hotel. I won’t say how often I consulted my watch, or how
often I looked out of the window for a man with a letter in his hand. It
will be better to get on at once to the discouraging end of it, when the
report of the interview reached me at last. Twice Philip had attempted
to ask for my hand in marriage--and twice my father had “deliberately,
obstinately” (Philip’s own words) changed the subject. Even this was not
all. As if he was determined to show that Miss Jillgall was perfectly
right, and I perfectly wrong, papa (civil to Philip as long as he did
not talk of Me) had asked him to dine with us, and Philip had accepted
the invitation!
What were we to think of it? What were we to do?
I wrote back to my dear love (so cruelly used) to tell him that Helena
was expected to return on the next day, and that her opinion would be of
the greatest value to both of us. In a postscript I mentioned the hour
at which we were going to the station to meet my sister. When I say
“we,” I mean Miss Jillgall as well as myself.
.......
We found him waiting for us at the railway. I am afraid he resented
papa’s incomprehensible resolution not to give him a hearing. He was
silent and sullen. I could not conceal that to see this state of feeling
distressed me. He showed how truly he deserved to be loved--he begged
my pardon, and he became his own sweet self again directly. I am more
determined to marry him than ever.
When the train entered the station, all the carriages were full. I went
one way, thinking I had seen Helena. Miss Jillgall went the other way,
under the same impression. Philip was a little way behind me.
Not seeing my sister, I had just turned back, when a young man jumped
out of a carriage, opposite Philip, and recognized and shook hands with
him. I was just near enough to hear the stranger say, “Look at the girl
in our carriage.” Philip looked. “What a charming creature!” he said,
and then checked himself for fear the young lady should hear him. She
had just handed her traveling bag and wraps to a porter, and was getting
out. Philip politely offered his hand to help her. She looked my way.
The charming creature of my sweetheart’s admiration was, to my infinite
amusement, Helena herself.