ENGAGED
MRS. GROATES went home, feeling very sorrowful; and that evening she
noted afresh Jack's troubled look, and knew with certainty that the
change in Jessie was weighing upon him. He sat and read quietly, hardly
opening his lips, and when some one happened to mention Jessie there
was no response from him. Later on, when Mr. Groates was gone out, and
the younger ones had disappeared, she found herself alone with Jack,
and took the opportunity to say,—
"I saw Jessie to-day."
"Did you, mother? Jessie hardly ever comes here now."
"No, I know she don't. I thought maybe you and she had had a bit of a
quarrel."
"Not that I know of. She was all right that day of the wreck, when I
saw her down on the beach. And the very next time, you know, when I
came downstairs, and she happened to walk in, she was different."
"I don't hold much with what Miss Sophy says. She's a mischief-maker,
and no mistake. But I do feel afraid that Miss Sophy has got hold of
the truth for once."
Mrs. Groates recounted particulars of her two short interviews that
day, and Jack listened with a sad face of acquiescence.
"That isn't the first I've heard of it," he said. "Some one told Mimy,
and Mimy told me. And I said I wouldn't have her tell you, because it
might be all a mistake; and I didn't want to talk about it then. But
I'm afraid it isn't a mistake."
"I'm afraid not, Jack."
"I'll never like any other girl so much as Jessie. She's so nice and
bright, and such a pretty way with her; at least, she was till lately.
And so fond of you, mother. I couldn't marry a girl that wouldn't be
good to you. And I did think she cared for me. She'd look so pleased,
and get such a colour in her cheeks, if I was to come near; and the way
she'd say 'Jack' under her breath made me feel sure. And now it's all
changed. I didn't think Jessie was the sort of girl to cast off old
friends, nor to go and put on airs. But I can't feel a scrap of hope
now."
"Miss Sophy wasn't fair on Miss Pattison, and I said what I could for
her, of course," remarked Mrs. Groates. "All the same, if Miss Pattison
has done harm to Jessie and set her against us, I do think it's too
bad, and I shan't like her any more. I'm sure Jessie hasn't got so much
to be proud of that she need put on airs to you, Jack."
Mrs. Groates was not quick to take offence for her own round
comfortable little self. An unintentional little slight would pass over
her head unnoticed; and even an intentional slight would be received
with a cheery, "Well, well, I dare say it wasn't meant." But she was
very quick to resent a slight to Jack, whether intended or no; and she
could not easily forgive Jessie for causing him pain.
So the next time she happened to encounter Jessie, Mrs. Groates held up
her head, and pursed her lips, and was as distant and disagreeable in
manner as Jessie could be to her.
Poor Jessie quite made up her mind that day that Jack did not wish to
have anything more to do with her. She ran home and cried bitterly, but
she entirely refused to tell Mildred the cause of her tears.
Thenceforward she avoided going to Groates' Store, for any kind of
reason, and if she saw Mrs. Groates or Jack coming, she would escape
down a side-road to avoid meeting them. All the while her heart was
longing for Jack; only, after what had gone forth about her, she could
not possibly take the first step towards bringing about a happier state
of things.
Had Jack believed in her still, the cloud would soon have passed off;
but for a while he was to ready to believe in the tale set going by
Miss Sophy Coxen, and too slow to understand its effects upon Jessie
herself.
Mildred meantime found herself to be fast gaining a position as the
best dressmaker in the neighbourhood. Miss Gilbert had taken care,
before going away, to mention in two or three directions the fact of a
capable hand within easy reach, and work began to flow in upon her with
speed.
Though she had never gone through a regular apprenticeship, she
possessed a remarkable aptitude for dressmaking, an aptitude so great
as almost to amount to a genius for it; and she had made the most of
her gift. She was a capital hand at cutting out, her fit was excellent,
her taste and skill were equal to those of a first-class dressmaker,
and her terms were moderate.
Moreover, she never undertook more than she had a good prospect of
being able to do. Far from being in danger of robbing the Misses Coxen
of their old customers, not many weeks went by before she was obliged
to decline more than one dress, from sheer lack of time to make all
that was offered to her; and she was also able now and then to pass on
a simple "job" to the sisters, when it was really simple enough. She
was too conscientious to give them work which she knew to lie beyond
their powers.
Life for Mildred was no longer empty, and her health improved under
the now state of things. She enjoyed her work, she liked to give
satisfaction, she was glad to make nice little sums of money, and
to lay by for the future, as well as to be able to do present small
kindnesses.
It had soon become needful that Mildred should have two rooms, and
Miss Perkins had made no difficulty about fitting up the back attic
bedroom, so that the good-sized front room might be entirely given to
needlework. In consideration of this, Mildred now paid double terms: so
Miss Perkins was no loser by her kind action towards the forlorn and
shipwrecked woman of the past.
Openings for usefulness appeared on one side and another, to be gladly
welcomed by Mildred. There were the two little dressmakers to be
helped, whenever an opportunity offered itself. There was Mrs. Stokes,
with her pretty wee "Pet," to be called upon. There was a Sunday School
class of big girls to be undertaken at the request of the Vicar.
Most of all, there was Jessie, her first Old Maxham friend—She was
plainly in some sort of trouble. At present, however, she shrank into
herself, refusing confidence, and Mildred could only wait, trying to
interest her in the now occupation of dressmaking, to which, indeed,
Jessie took with avidity, as a relief from her own thoughts.
"She may as well learn it, and by-and-by can decide whether or no she
shall become a dressmaker," Mildred had said, when first offering to
teach her.
Miss Perkins accepted the offer with unusual gratitude. It had often
been a trouble to her to think of Jessie's future, since the girl might
or might not marry, and her own little income would die with herself.
Here would be a means of self-support provided, if only Jessie would
take to it.
To Miss Perkins' surprise, Jessie did take to it. Though not fond of
strictly plain work, she loved pretty things; and she was soon found
to have good taste in this new direction. The scheme seemed to be a
hopeful one.
"Still, I should like to know what is wrong with Jessie," Mildred
sometimes said to herself. The gossip about Jack and Jessie had never
reached her ears.
So passed several weeks, and the time of blackberrying had come round.
Jack had been thinking much of Jessie, and a new idea had entered his
mind.
What if there should be some mistake as to her state of feeling towards
him? Was it wise of him, was it even right of him, to make up his mind,
without really knowing it, that she had turned against him? It did
not sound like the Jessie whom he knew. Could Miss Sophy Coxen be so
entirely relied upon, that all hope for him was at an end?
The wonder was that Jack had not taken this view of the question a
great deal sooner. He came to it now, gradually and with a good deal
of slow thinking, and at length he resolved that, on the very first
opportunity, he would put matters to the test. If she cared for him no
longer, if she had grown too grand to think of him, she should at least
say so plainly herself. Like a sensible man, Jack was no longer going
to be managed by other folks' chit-chat.
He went one day about this time for a ramble through some fields, as
he often liked to do. He was all right again now, able to enjoy rapid
walking without so much as a twinge in the leg which had been broken.
As he went along at a good pace, he thought continuously of Jessie,
debating how he should manage to get hold of her, so as to come to an
explanation.
For weeks the two had scarcely spoken, the one to the other; but an
interview now was necessary, if only to settle Jack's mind. It might
be that a mistake had divided them, and in that case the sooner it was
laid bare the better. If not, the sooner Jack knew what lay before him,
the better also.
He stopped to pick and eat some fine blackberries, and noting a small
branch, heavily laden with ripe fruit, he carefully severed it with
his penknife—the idea of somehow presenting it to Jessie having come
up. Then he shut his penknife, put it away, jumped the next stile, and
found himself face to face with Jessie herself.
One little "Oh!" escaped her lips, and her face flushed. Before she
could turn away, Jack was offering the blackberry branch.
"I got this for you, Jessie. Won't you have it?" he said beseechingly.
"Don't run away yet. I—I'd like some words with you,—if you don't mind."
Jessie received the bough, gazing on the ground, and twisted it shyly
in her fingers, murmuring a "Thank you."
After which followed a pause. They stood facing each other, neither
knowing what to say.
"You haven't been to see us for ever so long, Jessie," Jack observed at
length.
"Haven't I? I'm so busy—"
"I shouldn't think that was reason enough. It don't sound like you to
forsake old friends for new ones. It don't really."
Jessie glanced quickly up at this, and Jack was encouraged to proceed.
"I can't imagine whatever in the world it is that's come between us;
but I know there's something or other. And it isn't me. It isn't
anything that I've done. I did hope, one time, that you cared for
me—and lately I've pretty near given up hope. Since I've been up and
about again, I mean."
Jessie was surprised into a confession. "Why!—I thought it was you that
had grown different!"
"I! But how could you? I!—Why—why, Jessie, you know I'm not changed.
You must know it. You know it quite well. You've kept out of my way,
and wouldn't come near me; and if you saw me, you've just run off
as fast as you could. And I couldn't think whatever it's been for.
Somehow, it don't seem like you that you should think yourself too
grand now for me, if you ever did care the least bit,—and I can't half
believe it. And yet I don't know what to think—and they say you're
different."
"Who says it of me, I wonder?"
"Miss Sophy Coxen does."
"And you can believe that woman! Jack, you just deserve to be turned
off; that you do. If you're going to take for truth all the stories she
tells, I'll have nothing more to do with you."
"Then it wasn't true? And you haven't turned against me?"
Jessie was silent.
"You do care for me—just a very little? Eh, Jessie? Say you do."
Silence still, but a small smile curled the corners of Jessie's mouth.
"I've never cared for any girl, like I do for you, and I never shall
neither. I'd do my best to give you a good home—I would that—if only
you'd have me. Don't you think you might now? Don't you think you could
promise, Jessie?"
"Promise what?"
"Why—promise to marry me! That's the long and short of it. Won't you?"
"I'm not going to marry yet; not for ever so long. I'm going to learn
dressmaking."
"But you'll promise you won't marry anybody else? I'll wait, as long as
ever you wish, if only you'll be mine some day. Won't you? Nothing in
the world would make me so happy. And I know what mother would say too."
Once again he had to say, "Won't you?"
And then at length, Jessie answered with a "Yes." At the moment she
quite forgot a certain past declaration to the contrary. She only felt
strangely happy. Jack's heart was true, after all her fears, and she no
longer needed to hide her love for him.
But what would Miss Perkins say? That question came up, when a joyous
ten minutes had gone by. Jack was for taking the bull by the horns
at once. He was ready to do anything for anybody, if only he might
have Jessie. His honest face beamed with delight, and he insisted on
walking home there and then with Jessie, that he might at once ask Miss
Perkins' consent.
When the matter was laid before her, Jessie blushing and Jack glowing,
she made, wonderful to say, no objection. Miss Perkins had certainly
grown softer of late—perhaps under Mildred's influence; and she no
longer indulged her old dislike of the Groates family as a whole, while
she had been heard to speak approvingly of Jack.
"But I'm not going to have any 'marrying in haste and repenting at
leisure,'" she said with severity. "You're both of you full young; and
you've got to make your way, Jack; and Jessie has got to make hers.
She's taken to dressmaking, and I mean her to stick to it. By-and-by,
when she has laid by something, and when you've laid by something too,
and when you're both a few years older, it'll be time enough. I don't
mind her seeing you sometimes, of course—so long as Jessie's a dutiful
girl, and does what she's told. She's a deal improved lately, and I
don't mind saying it neither."
Jack was glad to hear anything said in praise of Jessie, though, under
the circumstances, he naturally did not imagine any improvement to be
possible. "She's all I want her to be," he said ardently. Other people,
perhaps, took a fairer view of the matter.
And so Jessie and Jack were engaged to be married.
"As I always said they would be, sister," declared Miss Sophy Coxen,
who never could allow that she had made a mistake.