"Ask Mrs Phoebe, if you please."
And Betty remembered that the cousins had changed places. It was a very
bitter pill to Rhoda; and it was not like Rhoda to say--yet she said it,
as soon as she had the opportunity--
"Phoebe, Aunt Anne means you to choose our room: please don't have a
little stuffy one."
"Dear Rhoda, which would you like?" responded Phoebe at once.
A little sob escaped Rhoda.
"Oh, Phoebe, you are going to be the only one who is good to me! I
should like that other long one in the north wing, that matches ours;
but don't choose it if you don't like it."
"We will have that," said Phoebe, reassuringly; "at least, if Mother
leaves it to me."
Thus early it was made evident that the old nature in Anne Latrobe was
scotched, not killed. Sorrow seemed to have laid merely a repressive
hand upon her bad qualities, and to have uprooted none but good ones.
The brilliance and playfulness of her early days were gone. The _coeur
leger_ had turned to careless self-love, the impetuosity had become
peevish obstinacy.
"Old Madam never spoke to me in that way!" said Betty. "She liked to
have her way, poor dear gentlewoman, as well as anybody; and she
wouldn't take a bit of impudence like so much barley-sugar, I'll not say
she would; but she was a gentlewoman, every inch of her, that she was.
And that's more than you can say for some folks!"
The next morning, all the Maidens--the invalid, as usual, excepted--came
trooping up one after another, to pay their respects to the new lady of
the manor.
Lady Betty came first; then Mrs Dorothy and Mrs Eleanor, together;
after a little while, Mrs Clarissa; and lastly, Mrs Jane.
"My dear Mrs Anne, I remember you well, though perhaps you can scarce
recollect me," said Mrs Dorothy, "for you were but nine years old the
last time that I saw you. May the Lord bless you, my dear, and make you
a blessing!"
"Oh, I don't doubt I shall do my duty," was the response of Mrs
Latrobe, which very much satisfied herself and greatly dissatisfied Mrs
Dorothy.
"'Tis delightful to see you back, dear Madam Latrobe!" said Mrs
Clarissa, gushingly. "How touching must it be to return to the home of
your youth, after so many years of banishment!"
Mrs Latrobe had not felt in the least touched, and hardly knew how to
reply. "Oh, to be sure!" she said. "Glad to see you," said Mrs Jane.
"Great loss we've had in Madam. Hope you'll be as good as she was. My
sister desired me to make her compliments. Can't stir off the sofa.
Fine morning!"
When the Maidens left the Abbey--which they did together--they compared
notes on the new reign.
Lady Betty's sense of decorum was very much shocked. Mrs Latrobe had
not spoken a word of her late mother, and had hinted at changes in
matters which had existed at White-Ladies from time immemorial.
Mrs Clarissa was charmed with the new lady's manners and mourning, both
which she thought faultless.
Mrs Eleanor thought "she was a bit shy, poor thing! We must make
allowances, my dear friends--we must make allowances!"
"Make fiddlestrings!" growled Mrs Jane. "She's Anne Furnival still,
and she'll be Anne Furnival to the end of the chapter. As if I didn't
know Nancy! Ever drive a jibbing horse?"
Mrs Clarissa, who was thus suddenly appealed to, declared in a shocked
tone that she never drove a horse of any description since she was born.
"Ah, well! I have," resumed Mrs Jane, ignoring the scandalised tone of
her sister Maiden: "and that's just Nancy Furnival. She's as sleek in
the coat as ever a Barbary mare. But you'll not get her along the road
to Tewkesbury, without you make her think you want to drive her to
Gloucester. I heard plenty of folks pitying Madam when she bolted. My
word!--but I pitied somebody else a vast deal more, and that was Charles
Latrobe. I wouldn't have married her, if she'd been stuck all over with
diamonds."
"I fancy she drove him," said Mrs Eleanor with a smile.
"Like enough, poor soul!" responded Mrs Jane. "Only chance he had of
any peace. He was a decent fellow enough, too,--if only he had kept
clear of Nancy."
"What made him marry her?" thoughtfully asked Mrs Eleanor.
"Deary me!" exclaimed Mrs Jane. "When did you ever see a man that
could fathom a woman? Good, simple soul that he was!--she made him
think black was white with holding up a finger. She glistened bravely,
and he thought she was gold. Well!--_we_ shan't have much peace now,--
take my word for it. Eh, this world!--'tis a queer place as ever I
saw."
"True, my dear," replied Mrs Dorothy: "let us therefore be thankful
there is a better."
But her opinion of Mrs Latrobe was not given.
The same evening, as Phoebe sat in the parlour with her mother, Betty
came in with a courtesy.
"Mr Marcus Welles, to speak with Madam."
"With Mrs Rhoda?" asked Phoebe, rising. "I will go seek her."
"No, if you please, Mrs Phoebe: Mr Welles said, Madam or yourself."
"Phoebe, my dear, do not be such a fid-fad!" entreated Mrs Latrobe.
"If Rhoda is wanted, she can be sought.--Good evening, Sir! I am truly
delighted to have the pleasure of seeing you, and I trust we shall be
better acquainted."
Mr Welles bowed low over Mrs Latrobe's extended hand.
"Madam, the delight is mine, and the honour. Mrs Phoebe, your
servant,--your most humble servant."
It was the first time that Mr Welles had ever addressed Phoebe with
more than a careless "good evening."
"Ready to serve you, Sir," said she, courtesying. "Shall I seek my
cousin? She has wanted your company, I think."
This was a very audacious speech for Phoebe: but she thought it so
extraordinary that Mr Welles had not paid one visit to his betrothed
since the funeral, that she took the liberty of reminding him of it.
"Madam," said Mr Welles, with a complacent smile, toying with his gold
chatelaine, "I really could not have visited you sooner, under the
circumstances in which I found myself."
"Phoebe! have you lost your senses?" inquired Mrs Latrobe, sharply.
"I am sure," resumed Mr Marcus Welles, with an extremely graceful wave
of his hand towards Mrs Latrobe, "that Madam will fully enter into my
much lacerated feelings, and see how very distressing 'twould have been
both to myself and her, had I forced my company on Mrs Rhoda, as
matters stand at present."
Phoebe sat listening with a face of utter bewilderment. By what means
had Mr Welles' feelings been lacerated?--and why should it be more
distressing for him to meet Rhoda now than before?--But she kept
silence, and Mrs Latrobe said,--
"I think, Sir, I have the honour to understand you."
"Madam!" replied Mr Marcus Welles, with his courtliest bow, "I am sure
that a gentlewoman of your parts and discretion can do no less, I cannot
but be infinitely sensible of the severe and cruel loss I am about to
sustain: still, to my small estate, any other dealing would be of such
mischievous consequence, that I think myself obliged to resign the views
I proposed to myself."
Phoebe tried to understand him, and found it impossible.
"This being the case," continued he, "you will understand, dear Madam,
that I thought myself engaged to wait until I might be honoured by some
discourse with you: and meanwhile to abstain from any commerce of
discourse in other quarters, till I had permission to acquaint you of
the affair. I have indeed been in pain until I was able to wait upon
you. I shall now be something eased. You, I am certain, dearest Madam,
will contrive the business far better than my disordered mind would
allow me; and I doubt not 'twould be more agreeable to all parties to
communicate by that canal."
"If you wish it, Sir, it shall certainly be so," answered Mrs Latrobe,
who seemed to be under no doubt concerning Mr Welles' meaning. "I am
yours to serve you in the matter."
"Dearest Madam, you are an angel of mercy! The sooner I retire, then,
the better."
He kissed Mrs Latrobe's hand, and came round to Phoebe.
"Mr Welles, you have not seen Rhoda yet. I do not understand!" said
Phoebe blankly, as he bowed iver her hand.
"Madam, I have but just now engaged myself--"
"Phoebe, don't be a goose!" burst from her mother. "You must be a baby
if you do not understand. Cannot you see that Mr Welles, in a most
honourable manner, which does him infinite credit, withdraws all
pretensions to your cousin's hand, leaving her free to engage herself
elsewhere? Really, I should have thought you had sense enough for
that."
For a moment Phoebe looked, with a bewildered air, from her mother to
Mr Welles. Then shyness, fear and reserve gave way before indignation.
She did understand now.
"You mean to desert Rhoda, because she has lost the paltry money that
you expected she would have?"
For once in his life, Mr Marcus Welles seemed startled and taken at a
disadvantage.
"I was afraid you wanted her chiefly for her money, but I did not
believe you capable of this! So you do not care for her at all? And
you run away, afraid to face the pangs you have created, and to meet the
eyes of the maid you have so foully wronged. Shame on you!"
"Phoebe, you must be mad!" exclaimed Mrs Latrobe, rising. "Don't
listen to her, dear Mr Welles; 'tis a most distressing scene for you to
bear. I am infinitely concerned my daughter should have so far
forgotten herself as to address you with such vulgar abuse. I can only
excuse her on the ground--"
"Dearest Madam, there is every excuse," said Mr Welles, with the
sweetest magnanimity. "Sweet Mrs Phoebe is a woodland bird,
untrammelled as yet by those fetters which we men and women of the world
must needs bear. 'Tis truly delightful to see the charming generosity
and the admirable fire with which she plays the knight-errant. Indeed,
Madam, such disinterested warmth and fervour of heart are seen but too
seldom in this worn old world. Suffer me to entreat you not to chide
Mrs Phoebe for her charming simplicity and high spirit."
"Since Mr Welles condescends to intercede for you, Phoebe,
notwithstanding your shocking behaviour, I am willing to overlook it
this time; but I warn you I shall not prove thus easy another time."
"I am sure I hope there will never be another time!" cried Phoebe, her
eyes flashing.
"Phoebe, go to your chamber, and don't let me hear one word more," said
Mrs Latrobe, severely.
And Phoebe obeyed, rushing upstairs with feet that seemed to keep pace
with the whirlwind in her heart.
"Phoebe, I wonder whether of these ribbons, the silk or the gauze, would
go best with-- Why, whatever in the world is the matter?" said Rhoda,
breaking off.
"You may well ask, my dear," answered the voice of Mrs Latrobe, behind
Phoebe. "Your cousin has been conducting herself in a most improper
manner--offering gross insults to my guests in my house."
"Phoebe!" cried Rhoda, as if she could not believe her ears.
"Yes, Phoebe. She really has. I can only fear--indeed, I had almost
said hope--that her wits are something impaired. What think you of her
telling a gentleman who had acted in a most noble and honourable
manner--exactly as a gentleman should do--that she could not have
believed him capable of such baseness? and she cried shame on him!"
"Not Phoebe!" exclaimed Rhoda again, looking from one to the other very
much as Phoebe had done. "Why, Phoebe, what does all this mean?"
"Oh, Rhoda, I can't tell you!" said Phoebe, sobbing, for the reaction
had come. "Mother, you will have to tell her. I can't."
"Of course I shall tell her," calmly answered Mrs Latrobe. "I came for
that very thing. Rhoda, my dear, I am sure you are a maid of sense and
discretion."
"I hope so, Madam."
"So do I, child: and therefore you will hear me calmly, and not fly into
passions like that silly maid yonder. My dear, you must have
remembered, I am certain, that when you promised yourself to Mr Welles,
you were in a very different situation from now."
Rhoda only bowed. Perhaps, on that subject, she was afraid to trust her
voice.
"And, of course, it has also occurred to you, my dear, that this being
the case, you could not in honour hold Mr Welles bound to you any
longer, if he wished to be free?"
"But we don't wish to be free," said Rhoda, in a puzzled tone.
"You are mistaken, my dear, so far as one of you is concerned. Perhaps
it had been yet more graceful had you been the one to loose the bond:
yet Mr Welles has done it with so infinite a grace and spirit that I
can scarce regret your omission. My dear, you are now entirely free.
He sets you completely at liberty, and has retired from all pretension
to you."
"But what, Aunt Anne--I do not understand you!" exclaimed Rhoda, in
accents of bewildered amazement, which had a ring of agony beneath, as
though she was struggling against the comprehension of a grief she was
reluctant to face.
"Surely, my dear, you must have understood me," said Mrs Latrobe. "Mr
Welles resigns his suit to you."
"He has given me up?" bursts from Rhoda's lips.
"He has entirely given you up. You cannot have really expected anything
else?"
"I thought _he_ was true!" said Rhoda through her set teeth. "Are you
sure you understood him? Phoebe, you tell me,--did he mean that?"
"O Rhoda! poor Rhoda! I am afraid he did!" said Phoebe, as distinctly
as tears would let her.
"But, my dear," interposed Mrs Latrobe, remonstratingly, "surely you
cannot be surprised? When Mr Welles engaged himself to you, it was (as
he thought) to the heiress of a large estate. You could not expect him
to encumber himself with a wife who brought him less than one year's
income of his own. 'Tis not reasonable, child. No man in his senses
would do such a thing. We live in the world, my dear,--not in Utopia."
"We live in a hard, cold, wicked, miserable world, and the sooner we are
out of it the better!" came in a constrained voice from Rhoda.
"I beg, my dear," answered Mrs Latrobe, "you will not make extravagant
speeches. There might be not another man in the world, that you should
go into such a frenzy. We shall yet find you a husband, never fear."
"Not one like him, I hope!" murmured Phoebe. "And I don't think Rhoda
wants anybody else."
"Phoebe," said her mother, "I am extreme concerned at the coarseness of
your speeches. I had hoped you were a gentlewoman."
"Well, Mother," said Phoebe, firing up again, "if Mr Welles be a
gentleman, I almost hope not!"
"My dear," said Mrs Latrobe, "Mr Welles is a gentleman. The style in
which he announced his desire to withdraw from his suit to your cousin,
was perfect. A prince could not have done it better."
"I should hope a prince would not have done it at all!" was the blunt
response from Phoebe.
"You are not a woman of the world, my dear, but a very foolish, ignorant
child, that does not know properly what she is saying. 'Tis so near
bed-time you need not descend again. You will get over your
disappointment, Rhoda, when you have slept, and I shall talk with you
presently. Good-night, my dears."
And Mrs Latrobe closed the door, and left the cousins together.