Jemima Refuses to Be Managed
It was no wonder that the lookers-on were perplexed as to the state
of affairs between Jemima and Mr Farquhar, for they too were sorely
puzzled themselves at the sort of relationship between them. Was it
love, or was it not? that was the question in Mr Farquhar's mind. He
hoped it was not; he believed it was not; and yet he felt as if it
were. There was something preposterous, he thought, in a man nearly
forty years of age being in love with a girl of twenty. He had gone
on reasoning through all the days of his manhood on the idea of a
staid, noble-minded wife, grave and sedate, the fit companion in
experience of her husband. He had spoken with admiration of reticent
characters, full of self-control and dignity; and he hoped--he
trusted, that all this time he had not been allowing himself
unconsciously to fall in love with a wild-hearted, impetuous girl,
who knew nothing of life beyond her father's house, and who chafed
under the strict discipline enforced there. For it was rather a
suspicious symptom of the state of Mr Farquhar's affections, that
he had discovered the silent rebellion which continued in Jemima's
heart, unperceived by any of her own family, against the severe laws
and opinions of her father. Mr Farquhar shared in these opinions; but
in him they were modified, and took a milder form. Still, he approved
of much that Mr Bradshaw did and said; and this made it all the more
strange that he should wince so for Jemima, whenever anything took
place which he instinctively knew that she would dislike. After an
evening at Mr Bradshaw's, when Jemima had gone to the very verge
of questioning or disputing some of her father's severe judgments,
Mr Farquhar went home in a dissatisfied, restless state of mind,
which he was almost afraid to analyse. He admired the inflexible
integrity--and almost the pomp of principle--evinced by Mr Bradshaw
on every occasion; he wondered how it was that Jemima could not see
how grand a life might be, whose every action was shaped in obedience
to some eternal law; instead of which, he was afraid she rebelled
against every law, and was only guided by impulse. Mr Farquhar had
been taught to dread impulses as promptings of the devil. Sometimes,
if he tried to present her father's opinions before her in another
form, so as to bring himself and her rather more into that state
of agreement he longed for, she flashed out upon him with the
indignation of difference that she dared not show to, or before,
her father, as if she had some diviner instinct which taught her
more truly than they knew, with all their experience; at least, in
her first expressions there seemed something good and fine; but
opposition made her angry and irritable, and the arguments which he
was constantly provoking (whenever he was with her in her father's
absence) frequently ended in some vehemence of expression on her part
that offended Mr Farquhar, who did not see how she expiated her anger
in tears and self-reproaches when alone in her chamber. Then he would
lecture himself severely on the interest he could not help feeling in
a wilful girl; he would determine not to interfere with her opinions
in future, and yet, the very next time they differed, he strove to
argue her into harmony with himself, in spite of all resolutions to
the contrary.
Mr Bradshaw saw just enough of this interest which Jemima had excited
in his partner's mind, to determine him in considering their future
marriage as a settled affair. The fitness of the thing had long ago
struck him; her father's partner--so the fortune he meant to give
her might continue in the business; a man of such steadiness of
character, and such a capital eye for a desirable speculation as
Mr Farquhar--just the right age to unite the paternal with the
conjugal affection, and consequently the very man for Jemima, who
had something unruly in her, which might break out under a _régime_
less wisely adjusted to the circumstances than was Mr Bradshaw's (in
his own opinion)--a house ready-furnished, at a convenient distance
from her home--no near relations on Mr Farquhar's side, who might be
inclined to consider his residence as their own for an indefinite
time, and so add to the household expenses--in short, what could
be more suitable in every way? Mr Bradshaw respected the very
self-restraint he thought he saw in Mr Farquhar's demeanour,
attributing it to a wise desire to wait until trade should be rather
more slack, and the man of business more at leisure to become the
lover.
As for Jemima, at times she thought she almost hated Mr Farquhar.
"What business has he," she would think, "to lecture me? Often I can
hardly bear it from papa, and I will not bear it from him. He treats
me just like a child, and as if I should lose all my present opinions
when I know more of the world. I am sure I should like never to know
the world, if it was to make me think as he does, hard man that he
is! I wonder what made him take Jem Brown on as gardener again, if he
does not believe that above one criminal in a thousand is restored to
goodness. I'll ask him, some day, if that was not acting on impulse
rather than principle. Poor impulse! how you do get abused. But I
will tell Mr Farquhar I will not let him interfere with me. If I
do what papa bids me, no one has a right to notice whether I do it
willingly or not."
So then she tried to defy Mr Farquhar, by doing and saying things
that she knew he would disapprove. She went so far that he was
seriously grieved, and did not even remonstrate and "lecture," and
then she was disappointed and irritated; for, somehow, with all her
indignation at interference, she liked to be lectured by him; not
that she was aware of this liking of hers, but still it would have
been more pleasant to be scolded than so quietly passed over. Her two
little sisters, with their wide-awake eyes, had long ago put things
together, and conjectured. Every day they had some fresh mystery
together, to be imparted in garden walks and whispered talks.
"Lizzie, did you see how the tears came into Mimie's eyes when Mr
Farquhar looked so displeased when she said good people were always
dull? I think she's in love." Mary said the last words with grave
emphasis, and felt like an oracle of twelve years of age.
"I don't," said Lizzie. "I know I cry often enough when papa is
cross, and I'm not in love with him."
"Yes! but you don't look as Mimie did."
"Don't call her Mimie--you know papa does not like it."
"Yes; but there are so many things papa does not like I can never
remember them all. Never mind about that; but listen to something
I've got to tell you, if you'll never, never tell."
"No, indeed I won't, Mary. What is it?"
"Not to Mrs Denbigh?"
"No, not even to Mrs Denbigh."
"Well, then, the other day--last Friday, Mimie--"
"Jemima!" interrupted the more conscientious Elizabeth.
"Jemima, if it must be so," jerked out Mary, "sent me to her desk for
an envelope, and what do you think I saw?"
"What?" asked Elizabeth, expecting nothing less than a red-hot
Valentine, signed Walter Farquhar, _pro_ Bradshaw, Farquhar, and Co.,
in full.
"Why, a piece of paper, with dull-looking lines upon it, just like
the scientific dialogues; and I remembered all about it. It was once
when Mr Farquhar had been telling us that a bullet does not go in a
straight line, but in a something curve, and he drew some lines on a
piece of paper; and Mimie--"
"Jemima," put in Elizabeth.
"Well, well! she had treasured it up, and written in a corner, 'W.
F., April 3rd.' Now, that's rather like love, is not it? For Jemima
hates useful information just as much as I do, and that's saying a
great deal; and yet she had kept this paper, and dated it."
"If that's all, I know Dick keeps a paper with Miss Benson's name
written on it, and yet he's not in love with her; and perhaps Jemima
may like Mr Farquhar, and he may not like her. It seems such a little
while since her hair was turned up, and he has always been a grave
middle-aged man ever since I can recollect; and then, have you never
noticed how often he finds fault with her--almost lectures her?"
"To be sure," said Mary; "but he may be in love, for all that. Just
think how often papa lectures mamma; and yet, of course, they're in
love with each other."
"Well! we shall see," said Elizabeth.
Poor Jemima little thought of the four sharp eyes that watched her
daily course while she sat alone, as she fancied, with her secret in
her own room. For, in a passionate fit of grieving, at the impatient,
hasty temper which had made her so seriously displease Mr Farquhar
that he had gone away without remonstrance, without more leave-taking
than a distant bow, she had begun to suspect that rather than not be
noticed at all by him, rather than be an object of indifference to
him--oh! far rather would she be an object of anger and upbraiding;
and the thoughts that followed this confession to herself, stunned
and bewildered her; and for once that they made her dizzy with hope,
ten times they made her sick with fear. For an instant she planned
to become and to be all he could wish her; to change her very nature
for him. And then a great gush of pride came over her, and she set
her teeth tight together, and determined that he should either love
her as she was, or not at all. Unless he could take her with all
her faults, she would not care for his regard; "love" was too noble
a word to call such cold, calculating feeling as his must be, who
went about with a pattern idea in his mind, trying to find a wife to
match. Besides, there was something degrading, Jemima thought, in
trying to alter herself to gain the love of any human creature. And
yet, if he did not care for her, if this late indifference were to
last, what a great shroud was drawn over life! Could she bear it?
From the agony she dared not look at, but which she was going to risk
encountering, she was aroused by the presence of her mother.
"Jemima! your father wants to speak to you in the dining-room."
"What for?" asked the girl.
"Oh! he is fidgeted by something Mr Farquhar said to me, and which
I repeated. I am sure I thought there was no harm in it, and your
father always likes me to tell him what everybody says in his
absence."
Jemima went with a heavy heart into her father's presence.
He was walking up and down the room, and did not see her at first.
"Oh, Jemima! is that you? Has your mother told you what I want to
speak to you about?"
"No!" said Jemima. "Not exactly."
"She has been telling me what proves to me how very seriously you
must have displeased and offended Mr Farquhar, before he could have
expressed himself to her as he did, when he left the house. You know
what he said?"
"No!" said Jemima, her heart swelling within her. "He has no right to
say anything about me." She was desperate, or she durst not have said
this before her father.
"No right!--what do you mean, Jemima?" said Mr Bradshaw, turning
sharp round. "Surely you must know that I hope he may one day be
your husband; that is to say, if you prove yourself worthy of the
excellent training I have given you. I cannot suppose Mr Farquhar
would take any undisciplined girl as a wife."
Jemima held tight by a chair near which she was standing. She did not
speak; her father was pleased by her silence--it was the way in which
he liked his projects to be received.
"But you cannot suppose," he continued, "that Mr Farquhar will
consent to marry you--"
"Consent to marry me!" repeated Jemima, in a low tone of brooding
indignation; were those the terms upon which her rich woman's heart
was to be given, with a calm consent of acquiescent acceptance, but a
little above resignation on the part of the receiver?
--"if you give way to a temper which, although you have never dared
to show it to me, I am well aware exists, although I hoped the
habits of self-examination I had instilled had done much to cure
you of manifesting it. At one time, Richard promised to be the more
headstrong of the two; now, I must desire you to take pattern by him.
Yes," he continued, falling into his old train of thought, "it would
be a most fortunate connexion for you in every way. I should have you
under my own eye, and could still assist you in the formation of your
character, and I should be at hand to strengthen and confirm your
principles. Mr Farquhar's connexion with the firm would be convenient
and agreeable to me in a pecuniary point of view. He--" Mr Bradshaw
was going on in his enumeration of the advantages which he in
particular, and Jemima in the second place, would derive from this
marriage, when his daughter spoke, at first so low that he could not
hear her, as he walked up and down the room with his creaking boots,
and he had to stop to listen.
"Has Mr Farquhar ever spoken to you about it?" Jemima's cheek was
flushed as she asked the question; she wished that she might have
been the person to whom he had first addressed himself.
Mr Bradshaw answered,
"No, not spoken. It has been implied between us for some time. At
least, I have been so aware of his intentions that I have made
several allusions, in the course of business, to it, as a thing that
might take place. He can hardly have misunderstood; he must have seen
that I perceived his design, and approved of it," said Mr Bradshaw,
rather doubtfully; as he remembered how very little, in fact, passed
between him and his partner which could have reference to the
subject, to any but a mind prepared to receive it. Perhaps Mr
Farquhar had not really thought of it; but then again, that would
imply that his own penetration had been mistaken, a thing not
impossible certainly, but quite beyond the range of probability. So
he reassured himself, and (as he thought) his daughter, by saying,
"The whole thing is so suitable--the advantages arising from the
connexion are so obvious; besides which, I am quite aware, from many
little speeches of Mr Farquhar's, that he contemplates marriage at
no very distant time; and he seldom leaves Eccleston, and visits
few families besides our own--certainly, none that can compare with
ours in the advantages you have all received in moral and religious
training." But then Mr Bradshaw was checked in his implied praises of
himself (and only himself could be his martingale when he once set
out on such a career) by a recollection that Jemima must not feel too
secure, as she might become if he dwelt too much on the advantages of
her being her father's daughter. Accordingly, he said: "But you must
be aware, Jemima, that you do very little credit to the education I
have given you, when you make such an impression as you must have
done to-day, before Mr Farquhar could have said what he did of you!"
"What did he say?" asked Jemima, still in the low, husky tone of
suppressed anger.
"Your mother says he remarked to her, 'What a pity it is, that Jemima
cannot maintain her opinions without going into a passion; and what
a pity it is, that her opinions are such as to sanction, rather than
curb, these fits of rudeness and anger!'"
"Did he say that?" said Jemima, in a still lower tone, not
questioning her father, but speaking rather to herself.
"I have no doubt he did," replied her father, gravely. "Your mother
is in the habit of repeating accurately to me what takes place in my
absence; besides which, the whole speech is not one of hers; she has
not altered a word in the repetition, I am convinced. I have trained
her to habits of accuracy very unusual in a woman."
At another time, Jemima might have been inclined to rebel against
this system of carrying constant intelligence to headquarters,
which she had long ago felt as an insurmountable obstacle to any
free communication with her mother; but now, her father's means of
acquiring knowledge faded into insignificance before the nature of
the information he imparted. She stood quite still, grasping the
chair-back, longing to be dismissed.
"I have said enough now, I hope, to make you behave in a becoming
manner to Mr Farquhar; if your temper is too unruly to be always
under your own control, at least have respect to my injunctions, and
take some pains to curb it before him."
"May I go?" asked Jemima, chafing more and more.
"You may," said her father. When she left the room he gently rubbed
his hands together, satisfied with the effect he had produced, and
wondering how it was, that one so well brought up as his daughter
could ever say or do anything to provoke such a remark from Mr
Farquhar as that which he had heard repeated.
"Nothing can be more gentle and docile than she is when spoken to in
the proper manner. I must give Farquhar a hint," said Mr Bradshaw to
himself.
Jemima rushed upstairs, and locked herself into her room. She began
pacing up and down at first, without shedding a tear; but then she
suddenly stopped, and burst out crying with passionate indignation.
"So! I am to behave well, not because it is right--not because it is
right--but to show off before Mr Farquhar. Oh, Mr Farquhar!" said
she, suddenly changing to a sort of upbraiding tone of voice, "I did
not think so of you an hour ago. I did not think you could choose a
wife in that cold-hearted way, though you did profess to act by rule
and line; but you think to have me, do you? because it is fitting
and suitable, and you want to be married, and can't spare time for
wooing" (she was lashing herself up by an exaggeration of all her
father had said). "And how often I have thought you were too grand
for me! but now I know better. Now I can believe that all you do is
done from calculation; you are good because it adds to your business
credit--you talk in that high strain about principle because it
sounds well, and is respectable--and even these things are better
than your cold way of looking out for a wife, just as you would do
for a carpet, to add to your comforts, and settle you respectably.
But I won't be that wife. You shall see something of me which shall
make you not acquiesce so quietly in the arrangements of the firm."
She cried too vehemently to go on thinking or speaking. Then she
stopped, and said:
"Only an hour ago I was hoping--I don't know what I was hoping--but
I thought--oh! how I was deceived!--I thought he had a true, deep,
loving, manly heart, which God might let me win; but now I know he
has only a calm, calculating head--"
If Jemima had been vehement and passionate before this conversation
with her father, it was better than the sullen reserve she assumed
now whenever Mr Farquhar came to the house. He felt it deeply; no
reasoning with himself took off the pain he experienced. He tried to
speak on the subjects she liked, in the manner she liked, until he
despised himself for the unsuccessful efforts.
He stood between her and her father once or twice, in obvious
inconsistency with his own previously expressed opinions; and Mr
Bradshaw piqued himself upon his admirable management, in making
Jemima feel that she owed his indulgence or forbearance to
Mr Farquhar's interference; but Jemima--perverse, miserable
Jemima--thought that she hated Mr Farquhar all the more. She
respected her father inflexible, much more than her father pompously
giving up to Mr Farquhar's subdued remonstrances on her behalf.
Even Mr Bradshaw was perplexed, and shut himself up to consider how
Jemima was to be made more fully to understand his wishes and her own
interests. But there was nothing to take hold of as a ground for any
further conversation with her. Her actions were so submissive that
they were spiritless; she did all her father desired; she did it
with a nervous quickness and haste, if she thought that otherwise
Mr Farquhar would interfere in any way. She wished evidently to
owe nothing to him. She had begun by leaving the room when he came
in, after the conversation she had had with her father; but at Mr
Bradshaw's first expression of his wish that she should remain, she
remained--silent, indifferent, inattentive to all that was going on;
at least there was this appearance of inattention. She would work
away at her sewing as if she were to earn her livelihood by it; the
light was gone out of her eyes as she lifted them up heavily before
replying to any question, and the eyelids were often swollen with
crying.
But in all this there was no positive fault. Mr Bradshaw could not
have told her not to do this, or to do that, without her doing it;
for she had become much more docile of late.
It was a wonderful proof of the influence Ruth had gained in the
family, that Mr Bradshaw, after much deliberation, congratulated
himself on the wise determination he had made of requesting her to
speak to Jemima, and find out what feeling was at the bottom of all
this change in her ways of going on.
He rang the bell.
"Is Mrs Denbigh here?" he inquired of the servant who answered it.
"Yes, sir; she is just come."
"Beg her to come to me in this room as soon as she can leave the
young ladies."
Ruth came.
"Sit down, Mrs Denbigh; sit down. I want to have a little
conversation with you; not about your pupils, they are going on well
under your care, I am sure; and I often congratulate myself on the
choice I made--I assure you I do. But now I want to speak to you
about Jemima. She is very fond of you, and perhaps you could take
some opportunity of observing to her--in short, of saying to her,
that she is behaving very foolishly--in fact, disgusting Mr Farquhar
(who was, I know, inclined to like her) by the sullen, sulky way she
behaves in, when he is by."
He paused for the ready acquiescence he expected. But Ruth did not
quite comprehend what was required of her, and disliked the glimpse
she had gained of the task very much.
"I hardly understand, sir. You are displeased with Miss Bradshaw's
manners to Mr Farquhar."
"Well, well! not quite that; I am displeased with her manners--they
are sulky and abrupt, particularly when he is by--and I want you (of
whom she is so fond) to speak to her about it."
"But I have never had the opportunity of noticing them. Whenever I
have seen her, she has been most gentle and affectionate."
"But I think you do not hesitate to believe me, when I say that I
have noticed the reverse," said Mr Bradshaw, drawing himself up.
"No, sir. I beg your pardon if I have expressed myself so badly as to
seem to doubt. But am I to tell Miss Bradshaw that you have spoken
of her faults to me?" asked Ruth, a little astonished, and shrinking
more than ever from the proposed task.
"If you would allow me to finish what I have got to say, without
interruption, I could then tell you what I do wish."
"I beg your pardon, sir," said Ruth, gently.
"I wish you to join our circle occasionally in an evening; Mrs
Bradshaw shall send you an invitation when Mr Farquhar is likely
to be here. Warned by me, and, consequently, with your observation
quickened, you can hardly fail to notice instances of what I have
pointed out; and then I will trust to your own good sense" (Mr
Bradshaw bowed to her at this part of his sentence) "to find an
opportunity to remonstrate with her."
Ruth was beginning to speak, but he waved his hand for another minute
of silence.
"Only a minute, Mrs Denbigh. I am quite aware that, in requesting
your presence occasionally in the evening, I shall be trespassing
upon the time which is, in fact, your money; you may be assured that
I shall not forget this little circumstance, and you can explain what
I have said on this head to Benson and his sister."
"I am afraid I cannot do it," Ruth began; but while she was choosing
words delicate enough to express her reluctance to act as he wished,
he had almost bowed her out of the room; and thinking that she was
modest in her estimate of her qualifications for remonstrating with
his daughter, he added, blandly,
"No one so able, Mrs Denbigh. I have observed many qualities in
you--observed when, perhaps, you have little thought it."
If he had observed Ruth that morning, he would have seen an absence
of mind, and depression of spirits, not much to her credit as a
teacher; for she could not bring herself to feel that she had any
right to go into the family purposely to watch over and find fault
with any one member of it. If she had seen anything wrong in Jemima,
Ruth loved her so much that she would have told her of it in private;
and with many doubts, how far she was the one to pull out the mote
from any one's eye, even in the most tender manner;--she would have
had to conquer reluctance before she could have done even this;
but there was something undefinably repugnant to her in the manner
of acting which Mr Bradshaw had proposed, and she determined not
to accept the invitations which were to place her in so false a
position.
But as she was leaving the house, after the end of the lessons, while
she stood in the hall tying on her bonnet, and listening to the last
small confidences of her two pupils, she saw Jemima coming in through
the garden-door, and was struck by the change in her looks. The large
eyes, so brilliant once, were dim and clouded; the complexion sallow
and colourless; a lowering expression was on the dark brow, and the
corners of her mouth drooped as with sorrowful thoughts. She looked
up, and her eyes met Ruth's.
"Oh! you beautiful creature!" thought Jemima, "with your still, calm,
heavenly face, what are you to know of earth's trials! You have lost
your beloved by death--but that is a blessed sorrow; the sorrow I
have pulls me down and down, and makes me despise and hate every
one--not you, though." And, her face changing to a soft, tender look,
she went up to Ruth, and kissed her fondly; as if it were a relief to
be near some one on whose true, pure heart she relied. Ruth returned
the caress; and even while she did so, she suddenly rescinded her
resolution to keep clear of what Mr Bradshaw had desired her to do.
On her way home she resolved, if she could, to find out what were
Jemima's secret feelings; and if (as, from some previous knowledge,
she suspected) they were morbid and exaggerated in any way, to try
and help her right with all the wisdom which true love gives. It
was time that some one should come to still the storm in Jemima's
turbulent heart, which was daily and hourly knowing less and less of
peace. The irritating difficulty was to separate the two characters,
which at two different times she had attributed to Mr Farquhar--the
old one, which she had formerly believed to be true, that he was a
man acting up to a high standard of lofty principle, and acting up
without a struggle (and this last had been the circumstance which
had made her rebellious and irritable once); the new one, which
her father had excited in her suspicious mind, that Mr Farquhar
was cold and calculating in all he did, and that she was to be
transferred by the former, and accepted by the latter, as a sort of
stock-in-trade--these were the two Mr Farquhars who clashed together
in her mind. And in this state of irritation and prejudice, she could
not bear the way in which he gave up his opinions to please her;
that was not the way to win her; she liked him far better when he
inflexibly and rigidly adhered to his idea of right and wrong, not
even allowing any force to temptation, and hardly any grace to
repentance, compared with that beauty of holiness which had never
yielded to sin. He had been her idol in those days, as she found out
now, however much at the time she had opposed him with violence.
As for Mr Farquhar, he was almost weary of himself; no reasoning,
even no principle, seemed to have influence over him, for he saw
that Jemima was not at all what he approved of in woman. He saw her
uncurbed and passionate, affecting to despise the rules of life he
held most sacred, and indifferent to, if not positively disliking
him; and yet he loved her dearly. But he resolved to make a great
effort of will, and break loose from these trammels of sense. And
while he resolved, some old recollection would bring her up, hanging
on his arm, in all the confidence of early girlhood, looking up in
his face with her soft, dark eyes, and questioning him upon the
mysterious subjects which had so much interest for both of them at
that time, although they had become only matter for dissension in
these later days.
It was also true, as Mr Bradshaw had said, Mr Farquhar wished to
marry, and had not much choice in the small town of Eccleston. He
never put this so plainly before himself, as a reason for choosing
Jemima, as her father had done to her; but it was an unconscious
motive all the same. However, now he had lectured himself into the
resolution to make a pretty long absence from Eccleston, and see if,
amongst his distant friends, there was no woman more in accordance
with his ideal, who could put the naughty, wilful, plaguing Jemima
Bradshaw out of his head, if he did not soon perceive some change in
her for the better.
A few days after Ruth's conversation with Mr Bradshaw, the invitation
she had been expecting, yet dreading, came. It was to her alone. Mr
and Miss Benson were pleased at the compliment to her, and urged her
acceptance of it. She wished that they had been included; she had not
thought it right, or kind to Jemima, to tell them why she was going,
and she feared now lest they should feel a little hurt that they were
not asked too. But she need not have been afraid. They were glad and
proud of the attention to her, and never thought of themselves.
"Ruthie, what gown shall you wear to-night? your dark grey one, I
suppose?" asked Miss Benson.
"Yes, I suppose so. I never thought of it; but that is my best."
"Well; then, I shall quill up a ruff for you. You know I am a famous
quiller of net."
Ruth came downstairs with a little flush on her cheeks when she was
ready to go. She held her bonnet and shawl in her hand, for she knew
Miss Benson and Sally would want to see her dressed.
"Is not mamma pretty?" asked Leonard, with a child's pride.
"She looks very nice and tidy," said Miss Benson, who had an idea
that children should not talk or think about beauty.
"I think my ruff looks so nice," said Ruth, with gentle pleasure. And
indeed it did look nice, and set off the pretty round throat most
becomingly. Her hair, now grown long and thick, was smoothed as close
to her head as its waving nature would allow, and plaited up in a
great rich knot low down behind. The grey gown was as plain as plain
could be.
"You should have light gloves, Ruth," said Miss Benson. She went
upstairs, and brought down a delicate pair of Limerick ones, which
had been long treasured up in a walnut-shell.
"They say them gloves is made of chickens'-skins," said Sally,
examining them curiously. "I wonder how they set about skinning 'em."
"Here, Ruth," said Mr Benson, coming in from the garden, "here's a
rose or two for you. I am sorry there are no more; I hoped I should
have had my yellow rose out by this time, but the damask and the
white are in a warmer corner, and have got the start."
Miss Benson and Leonard stood at the door, and watched her down the
little passage-street till she was out of sight.
She had hardly touched the bell at Mr Bradshaw's door, when Mary and
Elizabeth opened it with boisterous glee.
"We saw you coming--we've been watching for you--we want you to come
round the garden before tea; papa is not come in yet. Do come!"
She went round the garden with a little girl clinging to each arm. It
was full of sunshine and flowers, and this made the contrast between
it and the usual large family room (which fronted the north-east, and
therefore had no evening sun to light up its cold, drab furniture)
more striking than usual. It looked very gloomy. There was the great
dining-table, heavy and square; the range of chairs, straight and
square; the work-boxes, useful and square; the colouring of walls,
and carpet, and curtains, all of the coldest description; everything
was handsome, and everything was ugly. Mrs Bradshaw was asleep in her
easy-chair when they came in. Jemima had just put down her work, and,
lost in thought, she leant her cheek on her hand. When she saw Ruth
she brightened a little, and went to her and kissed her. Mrs Bradshaw
jumped up at the sound of their entrance, and was wide awake in a
moment.
"Oh! I thought your father was here," said she, evidently relieved to
find that he had not come in and caught her sleeping.
"Thank you, Mrs Denbigh, for coming to us to-night," said she, in
the quiet tone in which she generally spoke in her husband's absence.
When he was there, a sort of constant terror of displeasing him made
her voice sharp and nervous; the children knew that many a thing
passed over by their mother when their father was away, was sure
to be noticed by her when he was present; and noticed, too, in a
cross and querulous manner, for she was so much afraid of the blame
which on any occasion of their misbehaviour fell upon her. And yet
she looked up to her husband with a reverence and regard, and a
faithfulness of love, which his decision of character was likely to
produce on a weak and anxious mind. He was a rest and a support to
her, on whom she cast all her responsibilities; she was an obedient,
unremonstrating wife to him; no stronger affection had ever brought
her duty to him into conflict with any desire of her heart. She loved
her children dearly, though they all perplexed her very frequently.
Her son was her especial darling, because he very seldom brought her
into any scrapes with his father; he was so cautious and prudent,
and had the art of "keeping a calm sough" about any difficulty he
might be in. With all her dutiful sense of the obligation, which her
husband enforced upon her, to notice and tell him everything that was
going wrong in the household, and especially among his children, Mrs
Bradshaw, somehow, contrived to be honestly blind to a good deal that
was not praiseworthy in Master Richard.
Mr Bradshaw came in before long, bringing with him Mr Farquhar.
Jemima had been talking to Ruth with some interest before then; but,
on seeing Mr Farquhar, she bent her head down over her work, went a
little paler, and turned obstinately silent. Mr Bradshaw longed to
command her to speak; but even he had a suspicion that what she might
say, when so commanded, might be rather worse in its effect than
her gloomy silence; so he held his peace, and a discontented, angry
kind of peace it was. Mrs Bradshaw saw that something was wrong, but
could not tell what; only she became every moment more trembling, and
nervous, and irritable, and sent Mary and Elizabeth off on all sorts
of contradictory errands to the servants, and made the tea twice
as strong, and sweetened it twice as much as usual, in hopes of
pacifying her husband with good things.
Mr Farquhar had gone for the last time, or so he thought. He had
resolved (for the fifth time) that he would go and watch Jemima once
more, and if her temper got the better of her, and she showed the old
sullenness again, and gave the old proofs of indifference to his good
opinion, he would give her up altogether, and seek a wife elsewhere.
He sat watching her with folded arms, and in silence. Altogether they
were a pleasant family party!
Jemima wanted to wind a skein of wool. Mr Farquhar saw it, and came
to her, anxious to do her this little service. She turned away
pettishly, and asked Ruth to hold it for her.
Ruth was hurt for Mr Farquhar, and looked sorrowfully at Jemima; but
Jemima would not see her glance of upbraiding, as Ruth, hoping that
she would relent, delayed a little to comply with her request. Mr
Farquhar did; and went back to his seat to watch them both. He saw
Jemima turbulent and stormy in look; he saw Ruth, to all appearance
heavenly calm as the angels, or with only that little tinge of sorrow
which her friend's behaviour had called forth. He saw the unusual
beauty of her face and form, which he had never noticed before; and
he saw Jemima, with all the brilliancy she once possessed in eyes and
complexion, dimmed and faded. He watched Ruth, speaking low and soft
to the little girls, who seemed to come to her in every difficulty;
and he remarked her gentle firmness when their bedtime came, and
they pleaded to stay up longer (their father was absent in his
counting-house, or they would not have dared to do so). He liked
Ruth's soft, distinct, unwavering "No! you must go. You must keep to
what is right," far better than the good-natured yielding to entreaty
he had formerly admired in Jemima. He was wandering off into this
comparison, while Ruth, with delicate and unconscious tact, was
trying to lead Jemima into some subject which should take her away
from the thoughts, whatever they were, that made her so ungracious
and rude.
Jemima was ashamed of herself before Ruth, in a way which she had
never been before any one else. She valued Ruth's good opinion so
highly, that she dreaded lest her friend should perceive her faults.
She put a check upon herself--a check at first; but after a little
time she had forgotten something of her trouble, and listened to
Ruth, and questioned her about Leonard, and smiled at his little
witticisms; and only the sighs, that would come up from the very
force of habit, brought back the consciousness of her unhappiness.
Before the end of the evening, Jemima had allowed herself to speak to
Mr Farquhar in the old way--questioning, differing, disputing. She
was recalled to the remembrance of that miserable conversation by the
entrance of her father. After that she was silent. But he had seen
her face more animated, and bright with a smile, as she spoke to Mr
Farquhar; and although he regretted the loss of her complexion (for
she was still very pale), he was highly pleased with the success of
his project. He never doubted but that Ruth had given her some sort
of private exhortation to behave better. He could not have understood
the pretty art with which, by simply banishing unpleasant subjects,
and throwing a wholesome natural sunlit tone over others, Ruth had
insensibly drawn Jemima out of her gloom. He resolved to buy Mrs
Denbigh a handsome silk gown the very next day. He did not believe
she had a silk gown, poor creature! He had noticed that dark grey
stuff, this long, long time, as her Sunday dress. He liked the
colour; the silk one should be just the same tinge. Then he thought
that it would, perhaps, be better to choose a lighter shade, one
which might be noticed as different to the old gown. For he had no
doubt she would like to have it remarked, and, perhaps, would not
object to tell people, that it was a present from Mr Bradshaw--a
token of his approbation. He smiled a little to himself as he thought
of this additional source of pleasure to Ruth. She, in the meantime,
was getting up to go home. While Jemima was lighting the bed-candle
at the lamp, Ruth came round to bid good night. Mr Bradshaw could
not allow her to remain till the morrow, uncertain whether he was
satisfied or not.
"Good night, Mrs Denbigh," said he. "Good night. Thank you. I am
obliged to you--I am exceedingly obliged to you."
He laid emphasis on these words, for he was pleased to see Mr
Farquhar step forward to help Jemima in her little office.
Mr Farquhar offered to accompany Ruth home; but the streets that
intervened between Mr Bradshaw's and the Chapel-house were so quiet
that he desisted, when he learnt from Ruth's manner how much she
disliked his proposal. Mr Bradshaw, too, instantly observed:
"Oh! Mrs Denbigh need not trouble you, Farquhar. I have servants at
liberty at any moment to attend on her, if she wishes it."
In fact, he wanted to make hay while the sun shone, and to detain Mr
Farquhar a little longer, now that Jemima was so gracious. She went
upstairs with Ruth to help her to put on her things.
"Dear Jemima!" said Ruth, "I am so glad to see you looking better
to-night! You quite frightened me this morning, you looked so ill."
"Did I?" replied Jemima. "Oh, Ruth! I have been so unhappy lately. I
want you to come and put me to rights," she continued, half smiling.
"You know I'm a sort of out-pupil of yours, though we are so nearly
of an age. You ought to lecture me, and make me good."
"Should I, dear?" said Ruth. "I don't think I'm the one to do it."
"Oh, yes! you are--you've done me good to-night."
"Well, if I can do anything for you, tell me what it is?" asked Ruth,
tenderly.
"Oh, not now--not now," replied Jemima. "I could not tell you here.
It's a long story, and I don't know that I can tell you at all. Mamma
might come up at any moment, and papa would be sure to ask what we
had been talking about so long."
"Take your own time, love," said Ruth; "only remember, as far as I
can, how glad I am to help you."
"You're too good, my darling!" said Jemima, fondly.
"Don't say so," replied Ruth, earnestly, almost as if she were
afraid. "God knows I am not."
"Well! we're none of us too good," answered Jemima; "I know that. But
you _are_ very good. Nay, I won't call you so, if it makes you look
so miserable. But come away downstairs."
With the fragrance of Ruth's sweetness lingering about her, Jemima
was her best self during the next half-hour. Mr Bradshaw was more and
more pleased, and raised the price of the silk, which he was going
to give Ruth, sixpence a yard during the time. Mr Farquhar went home
through the garden-way, happier than he had been this long time. He
even caught himself humming the old refrain:
On revient, on revient toujours,
A ses premiers amours.
But as soon as he was aware of what he was doing, he cleared away the
remnants of the song into a cough, which was sonorous, if not
perfectly real.