SIR PHILIP'S OPINION.
"Is anything the matter?" said Lady Caroline, suavely.
She had been undecided for a minute as to whether she had not better
withdraw unseen, but the distressed expression on her-daughter's face
decided her to speak. She might at least prevent Margaret from saying
anything foolish.
Sir Philip drew back a little. Margaret went--almost hurriedly--up to
her mother, and put her hand into Lady Caroline's.
"Will you tell him? will you explain to him, please?" she said. "I do
not want to hear any more: I would rather not. We could never understand
each other, and I should be very unhappy."
Sir Philip made an eager gesture, but Lady Caroline silenced him by an
entreating glance and then looked straight into her daughter's eyes.
Their limpid hazel depths were troubled now: tears were evidently very
near, and Lady Caroline detested tears.
"My darling child," she said, "you must not agitate yourself. You shall
hear nothing that you do not want to hear. Sir Philip would never say
anything that would pain you."
"I have asked her to be my wife," said Sir Philip, very quietly, "and I
hope that she will not refuse to hear me say that, at least."
"But that was not all," said Margaret, suddenly turning on him her
grieving eyes--eyes that always looked so much more grieved than their
owner felt--and her flushing, quivering face: "You told me first that I
was wrong--selfish and unjust; and you want me to humiliate myself--to
say that it was my fault----"
"My dearest Margaret!" exclaimed Lady Caroline, in amaze, "what can you
mean? Philip, are we dreaming?--Darling child, come with me to your
room: you had better lie down for a little time while I talk to Sir
Philip. Excuse me a moment, Sir Philip--I will come back."
Margaret allowed herself to be led from the room. This outbreak of
emotion was almost unprecedented in her history; but then Sir Philip had
attacked her on her tenderest side--that of her personal dignity.
Margaret Adair found it very hard to believe that she was as others are,
and not made of a different clay from them.
Some little time elapsed before Lady Caroline's return. She had made
Margaret lie down, administered sal volatile, covered her with an
eiderdown quilt, and seen her maid bathing the girl's forehead with eau
de Cologne and water before she came back again. And all this took time.
She apologized very prettily for her delay, but Sir Philip did not seem
to heed her excuses: he was standing beside the fire, meditatively
tugging at his black beard, and Lady Caroline had some difficulty in
thinking that she could read the expression of his face.
"I do not quite understand all this," she said, with her most amiable
expression of countenance, as she seated herself on the other side of
the soft white hearthrug. "Margaret mentioned Miss Colwyn's name: I am
quite at a loss to imagine how Miss Colwyn comes to be mixed up in the
matter."
"I am very sorry," said Sir Philip, ruefully. "I never thought that
there would be any difficulty. I seem to have offended Margaret most
thoroughly."
Lady Caroline smiled. "Girls soon forget a man's offences," she said,
consolingly. "What did you say?"
And then Sir Philip, with some hesitation, told the story of his plea
for Janetta Colwyn.
The smile was frozen on Lady Caroline's lips. She sat up straight, and
stared at her visitor. When he had quite ended his explanation, she
said, as icily as she knew how to speak--
"And you asked my daughter to justify Miss Colwyn at the cost of her own
feelings--I might almost say, of her own social standing in the
neighborhood!----"
"Isn't that a little too strong, Lady Caroline? Your daughter's social
standing would not be touched in the least by an act of common justice.
No one who heard of it but would honor her for exculpating her friend!"
"Exculpating! My dear Philip, you are too Quixotic! Nobody accuses
either of the girls of anything but a little thoughtlessness and
defiance of authority----"
"Exactly," said Philip, with some heat, "and therefore while the report
of it will not injure your daughter, it may do irreparable harm to a
girl who has her own way to make in the world. The gossip of Beaminster
tea-tables is not to be despised. The old ladies of Beaminster are all
turning their backs on Miss Colwyn, because common report declares her
to have been expelled--or dismissed--in disgrace from Miss Polehampton's
school. The fact that nobody knows exactly _why_ she was dismissed adds
weight to the injury. It is so easy to say, 'They don't tell why she was
sent away--something too dreadful to be talked about,' and so on. My
mother tells me that there is a general feeling abroad that Miss Colwyn
is not a person to be trusted with young girls. Now that is a terrible
slur upon an innocent woman who has to earn her own living, Lady
Caroline; and I really must beg that you and Margaret will set
yourselves to remove it."
"Really, Philip! Quite a tirade!"
Lady Caroline laughed delicately as she spoke, and passed a lace
handkerchief across her lips as though to brush away a smile. She was a
little puzzled and rather vexed, but she did not wish to show her true
opinion of Sir Philip and his views.
"And so," she went on, "you said all this to my poor child; harrowed her
feelings and wounded her self-respect, and insisted on it that she
should go round Beaminster explaining that it was her fault and not
Janetta Colwyn's that Miss Polehampton acted in so absurdly arbitrary a
manner!"
"You choose to put it in that way," said Sir Philip, drawing down his
brows, "and I cannot very well contradict you; but I venture to think,
Lady Caroline, that you know quite well what I mean."
"I should be glad if you would put it into plain words. You wish
Margaret--to do--what?"
"I very much wish that she would go to Miss Morrison and explain to her
why Miss Colwyn left school. There is no need that she should take any
blame upon herself. You must confess that it was she who took the law
into her own hands, Lady Caroline; Miss Colwyn was perfectly ready to
submit. And I think that as this occurrence has been made the ground for
refusing to give Miss Colwyn the work that she urgently needs, it is
Miss Adair's plain duty to try at least to set the matter right. I do
not see why she should refuse."
"You have no pride yourself, I suppose? Do you suppose that Mr. Adair
would allow it?"
"Then you might do it for her, Lady Caroline," said Sir Philip, turning
round on her, with his winning, persuasive manner, of which even at that
moment she felt the charm. "It would be so easy for you to explain it
quietly to Miss Morrison, and ask her to give that poor girl a place in
her school! Who else could do it better? If Margaret is not--not quite
strong enough for the task, then will you not help us out of our
difficulty, and do it for her?"
"Certainly not, Sir Philip. Your request seems to me exceedingly
unreasonable. I do not in the least believe that Miss Morrison has
refused to take her for that reason only. There is some other, you may
depend upon it. I shall not interfere."
"You could at least give her a strong recommendation."
"I know nothing about the girl except that she sings fairly well," said
Lady Caroline, in a hard, determined voice. "I do not want to know
anything about her--she has done nothing but make mischief and cause
contention ever since I heard her name. I begin to agree with Miss
Polehampton--it was a most unsuitable friendship."
"It has been a disastrous friendship for Miss Colwyn, I fear. You must
excuse me if I say that it is hardly generous--after having been the
means of the loss of her first situation--to refuse to help her in
obtaining another."
"I think I am the best judge of that. If you mean to insinuate, Sir
Philip, that your proposal for Margaret's hand which we have talked over
before, hinges on her compliance with your wishes in this instance, you
had better withdraw it at once."
"You must be aware that I have no such meaning," said Sir Philip, in a
tone that showed him to be much wounded.
"I am glad--for your own sake--to hear it. Neither Mr. Adair nor myself
could permit Margaret to lower herself by going to explain her past
conduct to a second-rate Beaminster schoolmistress."
Sir Philip stood silent, downcast, his eyebrows contracting over his
eyes until--as Lady Caroline afterwards expressed it--he positively
scowled.
"You disagree with me, I presume?" she inquired, with some irony in her
tone.
"Yes, Lady Caroline, I do disagree with you. I thought that you--and
Margaret--would be more generous towards a fatherless girl."
"You must excuse me if I say that your interest in 'a fatherless girl'
is somewhat out of place, Sir Philip. You are a young man, and it is not
quite seemly for you to make such a point of befriending a little music
governess. I am sorry to have to speak so plainly, but I must say that I
do not think such interest befits a gentleman, and especially one who
has been asking us for our daughter."
"My love for Margaret," said Sir Philip, gravely, "cannot blind me to
other duties."
"There are duties in the world," rejoined Lady Caroline, "between which
we sometimes have to choose. It seems to me that you may have to choose
between your love for Margaret and your 'interest' in Janetta Colwyn."
"I hardly think," said her guest, "that I deserve this language, Lady
Caroline. However, since these are your opinions, I can but say that I
deeply regret them--and take my leave. If you or Miss Adair should wish
to recall me you have but to send me a word--a line: I shall be ready to
come. Your daughter knows my love for her. I am not yet disposed to give
up all hope of a recall."
And then he took his leave with a manner of punctilious politeness
which, oddly enough, made Lady Caroline feel herself in the wrong more
than anything that he had said. She was more ruffled than Margaret had
ever seen her when at last she sought the girl's room shortly before the
ringing of the dressing-bell.
She found Margaret looking pale and a little frightened, but perfectly
composed. She came up to Lady Caroline and put her arms round her
mother's neck with a caressing movement.
"Dear mamma," she said, "I am afraid I was not quite polite to Sir
Philip."
"I think, dear, that Sir Philip was scarcely polite to you. I am not at
all satisfied with his conduct. He is quite unreasonable."
Margaret slowly withdrew her arms from her mother's neck, looked at her
uneasily, and looked down again.
"He thinks that I ought to do something for Janetta--to make people
think well of her, I suppose."
"He is utterly preposterous," said Lady Caroline.
"Do you think I ought to go to Miss Morrison about Janetta, mamma?"
"No, indeed, my dearest. Your father would never hear of it."
"I should like to do all that I could for her. I am very fond of her,
indeed I am, although Sir Philip thinks me so selfish." And Margaret's
soft hazel eyes filled with tears, which fell gently over her delicate
cheeks without distorting her features in the least.
"Don't cry, my darling; please don't cry," said her mother, anxiously.
"Your eyelids will be red all the evening, and papa will ask what is the
matter. Have you any rose water?--Of course you will do all you can for
your poor little friend: you are only too fond of her--too
generous!--Sir Philip does not understand you as I do; he has
disappointed me very much this afternoon."
"He was very unkind," said Margaret, with the faintest possible touch of
resentment in her soft tones.
"Think no more of him for the present, dear. I dare say he will be here
to-morrow, penitent and abashed. There goes the dressing-bell. Are you
ready for Markham now? Put on your pink dress."
She spoke pleasantly, and even playfully, but she gave Margaret a
searching glance, as though she would have read the girl's heart if she
could. But she was reassured. Margaret was smiling now; she was as calm
as ever; she had brushed the tears from her eyes with a filmy
handkerchief and looked perfectly serene. "I am rather glad that you
have found Sir Philip unreasonable, mamma," she said, placidly; "I
always thought so, but you did not quite agree with me."
"The child's fancy is untouched," said Lady Caroline to herself as she
went back to her room, "and I am thankful for it. She is quite capable
of a little romantic folly if nobody is near to put some common-sense
into her sometimes. And Philip Ashley has no common-sense at all."
She was glad to see that at dinner Margaret's serenity was still
unruffled. When Mr. Adair grumbled at the absence of Sir Philip, whom he
had expected to see that evening, the girl only looked down at her plate
without a blush or a word of explanation. Lady Caroline drew her
daughter's arm through her own as they left the dining-room with a
feeling that she was worthy of the race to which she belonged.
But she was not in the least prepared for the first remark made by
Margaret when they reached the drawing-room.
"Mamma, I must go to see Janetta to-morrow."
"Indeed, dear? And why?"
"To find out whether the things that Sir Philip has been saying are
true."
"No, Margaret, dear, you really must not do that, darling. It would not
be wise. What Sir Philip says does not matter to us. I cannot have you
interfering with Miss Colwyn's concerns in that way."
Margaret was very docile. She only said, after a moment's pause--
"May I not ask her to give me the singing lessons we arranged for me to
take?"
Lady Caroline considered for a minute or two and then said--
"Yes, dear, you may ask her about the singing lessons. In doing that you
will be benefiting her, and giving her a practical recommendation that
ought to be very valuable to her."
"Shall I drive over to-morrow?"
"No, write and ask her to come here to lunch. Then we can arrange about
hours. I have not the least objection to your taking lessons from
her ... especially as they are so cheap," said Lady Caroline to herself,
"but I do not wish you to talk to her about Miss Polehampton's conduct.
There is no use in such discussions."
"No, mamma," said the dutiful Margaret.
"And Sir Philip will be pleased to hear that his favorite is being
benefited," said her mother, with a slightly sarcastic smile.
Margaret held up her stately head. "It matters very little to me whether
Sir Philip is pleased or not," she said with a somewhat lofty accent,
not often heard from the gentle lips of Margaret Adair.