"But we are women when boys are but boys;
Heav'n gives us grace to ripen and grow wise,
Some six years earlier. I thank heav'n for it:
We grow upon the sunny side of the wall."
TAYLOR.
It certainly was quite involuntary on Agnes Wortley's part, but when
the time came for returning to Oakworthy, Marian was conscious of more
kindly and affectionate feelings towards it and its inhabitants than she
had ever expected to entertain for them. She did not love Fern Torr or
the Wortleys less; she had resumed her confidence and sympathy with
Agnes, and felt the value of Mrs. Wortley more than ever; and it quite
made her heart ache to think how long it would be before she saw another
purple hill or dancing streamlet, and that she should not be there to
see her dear old myrtle's full pride of blossom. But, on the other hand,
her room at Oakworthy, with its treasures, was a sort of home; and she
looked forward to it gladly, when once she was out of sight of the
moors.
The train had stopped and gone on again from the last station before
that where they were to leave it for Oakworthy, when Gerald, coming
across to the seat by her side, said, "Marian, I say, can you lend me a
couple of pounds?"
"Why, Gerald, what can you want with them?"
"Never mind; only be a good girl, and let me have them."
"You had plenty of money when you came to Fern Torr. How could you have
got rid of it all?"
"Come, come, Marian, don't be tiresome. Haven't I had to give to all the
old women in the place?"
"But do you really mean that you have no money?"
"O yes, I have some, but not what I want. Come, I know you keep
California in your pocket. What harm can it do you?"
After all Marian's presents at Fern Torr, it was not quite as
convenient, as Gerald fancied, to part with two pounds; but that was not
the best motive to put forward, nor was it her reason for hesitating.
"I don't know whether it is right; that is the thing, Gerald."
"Right! why where is the right or wrong in it?"
"I am afraid it may do you harm," said she, in a trembling, doubtful
voice.
"Stuff! I'll take care of that!"
"If you would only tell me what you want it for?"
"I tell you, Marian, I can't do without it; I don't know what I shall
do, if you won't give it to me."
"Debts! O Gerald, you have not got into debt?"
"Well, and what do you look so scared about? Do you think they will kill
me?"
"O, Gerald, Gerald, this proves it all."
"It? what?" said Gerald. "Come, don't be so like a girl! I have not been
doing any thing wrong, I tell you, and it is all your fault if I can't
get clear."
"With such an allowance as you have, O Gerald, how could you? And how
could you throw about money at home, when you knew you were in debt?"
"You talk as if I had been ruining my wife and ten small children,"
cried Gerald, impatiently. "A fine fuss about making a few pounds stand
over till next half. But you women go headlong at it, never see the
rights of a thing. So, you won't? Well, it is your doing now!"
"I can't see any end to it," said Marian, reflectingly. "If I thought
you would make a resolution--but you will be without money at all, and
how are you to get through this half? O, Gerald! better write to Mr.
Lyddell at once, and he will set you straight, and you can begin fresh."
Gerald made a face of utter contempt. The steam whistle was heard; they
were stopping. "There is an end of it, then" said he, angrily. "I did
not think you had been so ill-natured; it is all your fault, I tell you.
I thought you cared for me."
This was dreadful; Marian's purse was in her hand, and she began "O
Gerald dear, anything but that!"--when they found themselves close in
front of the station, and Lionel pulling at the door of their carriage,
and calling fiercely to the porter to unlock them.
Caroline was standing on the platform, and there was a tumult of
greetings and inquiries for luggage to be taken out and put in. Gerald
ran to see that his goods were separated from his sister's; Lionel shook
hands with Marian, and scolded her for staying away all the holidays;
roared to the porter that his portmanteau was for Slough, then turned
again to say, "You've heard of poor unfortunate, Marian?"
The bell rang; Gerald ran back; Marian knew she was weak, but could
not help it,--she squeezed the two sovereigns into his hand, and was
comforted for the moment by his affectionate farewell. Lionel and he
threw themselves into their carriage, and were whisked off.
"There!" said Caroline. "Now come along. O, I am so glad you are come; I
have so much to say."
Marian could not dwell on Gerald; she put her arm within Caroline's,
looked back to see Fanny safe under the care of an Oakworthy footman,
and soon was in the carriage.
"Well, Caroline; and how is every one?"
"Pretty well, considering the revulsion of ideas we have all undergone.
Poor Miss Morley left plenty of farewells for you. You can't think haw
pleased she was with your message."
"Poor thing! Where is she?"
"At her aunt's; she went on Monday. Mamma was impatient to have it over.
You know her ways."
Marian knew that this intimated that Caroline thought her mother had
not been kind; and she doubted whether to continue her inquiries;
but Caroline was too eager to tell, to wait for questions, and
proceeded:--"There had been dissatisfaction for a long time, as I
believe you may have guessed; mamma thought Clara backward, and wanting
in what Miss Morley calls 'the solid;' and at last, coming suddenly into
the schoolroom at twelve o'clock one fine day, she found reason good,
for they were very comfortably reading M. Eugene Sue."
"O, Caroline, impossible!"
"Too possible," said Caroline, "though I would not believe it at first.
However, they did not know what it was when they began, and were
afterwards too much bewitched with the story to leave off; and as they
felt it was wrong, they read it the more constantly to get it over
faster."
"But how in the world could they get such a book?"
"From the circulating library. It appears that they found the evenings
rather dull in London this spring, when we were all out, and so began a
little secret hiring, which was continued at Oakworthy, and with a worse
choice of books."
"That she should be so little to be trusted!"
"Nay, Marian, who could live with her half-an-hour in the schoolroom,
and think she could?"
"Certainly, she often puzzled me when first I came."
"And you never saw the worst. You always kept order, after you came."
"O, Caroline, what nonsense!"
"Yes, indeed you did. I do assure you that, scores of times, the
knowledge that your great eyes were wondering at me has kept me from
bullying Miss Morley into letting me do what I knew to be wrong. I could
persuade her and deceive myself, but I could not persuade you; and then
all the rest went for nothing, because you were sure to be right."
"It is very easy to see the right for other people," said Marian, with
rather a sad smile.
"Yes, only other people don't mind that, unless you do the right
for yourself; and that is the thing in you, Marian. If you had said
anything, I should not have minded it half so much; but your 'I don't
know,' cut me home."
"I am sorry--"
"No, don't be sorry, for I am glad. If you had not come before all the
good of Miss Cameron had gone off from me, what should I have been? O,
Marian, I am very glad you are come back; I did not know I liked you
half so well till you were gone."
"I am sure I might say the same" almost whispered Marian, in a choked
tone, under her bonnet. Caroline caught it up eagerly, and seizing her
by both hands, exclaimed, stooping forward to peep at her face, "Marian,
Marian, do you say so? And are you really not so very miserable at
coming back to us?"
A tear, one of Marian's very reluctant tears, actually rushed from her
eye, and with a hard struggle to speak, she said, "Miserable! how can
you say so? You are so very kind to me."
"And do you not hate us?" said Caroline, with, an arch look of delight,
then softened into something of mournfulness. "Nay, I did not mean that;
but you can bear to be with us after your own Agnes,--after those good
people,--after such a home as Fern Torr?"
"O, Caroline, this is very unlike my first coming to you!"
"Yes, I know we were not kind; we were not as we ought to have been to
you."
"No, no, no; I was stiff and disagreeable; I would not be pleased," said
Marian, forgetting all coldness but her own.
"No wonder. O, Marian," and Caroline's voice trembled, "no one knows
better than I do how much there is to be lamented in our ways of going
on,--how different our house is from Fern Torr." Marian could not say
no. "You were too good for us; you are still, I would not see you like
us; but if we could make you comfortable enough to think Oakworthy not
an exile, but something like a home, how glad I should be!"
Marian laid her hand on Caroline's arm; and, with an effort that cost
her a spasm in her throat, she said, "You have!" Not another word could
she get out; but this was enough. Caroline kissed her for the first time
in her life, except at the formal partings at bed-time, and there were
tears on both their faces. After a time, Caroline broke into the flood
of thoughts in her cousin's mind, by saying, playfully, "When folks are
missed, then they are mourned, people say; and I am sure you deserve the
compliment, for till you were gone, I never knew your value. How many
silly fancies of Clara's have flourished, for want of your indifference
to put them down! How stupid it has been not to have you to read with,
or talk to! How lonely the drawing-room has been, and nothing but
nonsense if I went to the schoolroom. And then the boys,--Lionel has
been so unruly there was no bearing it, and grumbling for you every day;
and Johnny,--O, Marian, do you know it is settled that Johnny goes to
sea, after all?"
"Johnny! I know he wished it, but I thought Mrs. Lyddell never would
make up her mind to it."
"Ah! there have been storms in the higher quarters," said Caroline, with
would-be gaiety. "You are very lucky to have been away all this time,
for it has been by no means a serene sky. You know," she proceeded with
gravity, "they say the times are bad; well, in the midst of papa's
vexation at the tenants asking for a reduction of rent, in came a whole
lot of Elliot's long bills, which made papa lecture Walter and me one
whole evening on economy, and caused him to be extremely annoyed with
everything and everybody, and to say mamma must give up her opposition
to Johnny's being a sailor; and I never saw mamma take anything so
really to heart. It has been very uncomfortable; and in the midst came
this business of poor Miss Morley, who had rather harder measure in
consequence."
"Poor little woman! Well, she was very good-natured," said Marian, glad
to turn the conversation from this account of family matters, not given
in the pleasantest style, but rather as if Caroline was trying to
conceal her real feelings by an air of satire.
"She was like a child in authority. You see, we, who know her well,
never think of blaming her as if she had originated the mischief; while
mamma, who never did know her, cannot be persuaded that she simply
yielded to Clara."
"That is not exactly the object one desires in a governess," said
Marian. "Well, poor thing! and how is Clara? is she very sorry?"
"I really can hardly tell. I have been vexed with Clara myself, to tell
you the truth; for I thought she acted shabbily. The blame passed over
her, and lighted on Miss Morley; and she did not stretch out a hand to
help her. Now Clara knew that it was wrong to read those books, just as
well as you or I; indeed, it was all her doing; and I could not bear
to see, her thinking herself innocent, and led into the scrape by Miss
Morley. She did cry excessively, and was very unhappy when she found
Miss Morley was really going, and the parting was heart-rending; but
then the very next day, in spite of their confidential friendship, she
began to disclose the poor woman's follies one after another, till I am
quite tired of hearing of them. They must have grown much worse than
they were in our time. I never knew then that she was always fancying
people were in love with her."
"T wonder what she will do!"
"She would not be a bad governess where the mother looked after the
children. Well, I hope she will soon get another situation, poor thing!"
"Yes, indeed, for I am afraid she never saved anything."
"O, no, she frittered all her money away, and always was poor at
quarter-day; and she has only that old aunt to take care of her."
"Poor thing, poor thing! If she would but have been firmer. And is Clara
to have another governess?"
"No, mamma thinks her too old; but I am sure I hope she is to develope
more. I do not think you or I were like her at fifteen."
"I think," said Marian, meditatively, "that Miss Morley and Clara helped
what--was not wise in each other."
"Yes, that is my hope,--that when Clara is out of her influence, she may
grow wiser. People's minds do grow at different times, you know. Poor
little Clara! I want Walter to talk to her, but it is hard to bring
about; for they seem to have no common subject. Ours is a very odd
household; we all go our own ways in our own worlds. Papa and mamma each
have their way; and Elliot his way. Walter stands alone too; then I am a
sort of connecting-link between the schoolroom set and mamma,--yes, and
with Walter too: while the three boys are a party by themselves. O,
Marian, no wonder you did not like us."
"Say no more of that, pray, Caroline."
She made no answer, but after a pause, suddenly exclaimed, "Nothing
would matter, if it was not for Elliot. He is the root of all that has
gone wrong."
"Is he at home?"
"No; he went last week, and the storm lulled then. O, Marian, I am weary
of it all! But it is one comfort that you are come."
Caroline certainly looked very much harassed, and her words showed that
every one had been out of temper, and she had been obliged to bear it
all. Marian was very sorry, and felt quite fond of her, as she answered,
with a kind tone, "Thank you."
"Walter has been the only comfort; but then he has been very unhappy
too. I am afraid he knows more and worse of Elliot than he chooses to
tell me. And then he is so busy,--going up for his degree, you know,
after the vacation, and so nervous about it, that I have not liked to
talk to him about anything tiresome, because, poor fellow, he is
quite worried enough already. Well, but now tell me about pleasanter
things--your pretty Agnes, how is she? and Gerald?--I wanted to have
seen more of him. Was not he in glory?"
"O, yes," said Marian, as a pang shot through her at this recall of her
anxieties.
"And tell me the whole story of Saunders' wedding."
The two cousins had so much to say, that the long reaches of white chalk
road and the bare downs had hardly time to pain Marian's eye; and she
was surprised so soon to find herself in the well-known street of
Oakworthy.
It was not a hopeful prospect with which to return, after so happy a
summer as she had spent; and yet a degree of trouble gave Marian a
kindlier feeling towards the Lyddells. If it had not been for Gerald,
she would have arrived at Oakworthy in a bright temper. Even now the
discontent had been expelled by the dispositions fostered by Mr.
Wortley; and if there was a weight on her, it was not a burthen of
selfish repining,--the worst burthen of all. That Caroline had really
missed her,--that Caroline loved her,--was a discovery that warmed
her heart, and inclined her more than all before to look kindly on
Oakworthy, when she drove up to the door, and met Clara in the hall.
Clara hung upon her, and overwhelmed her with kisses; Mrs. Lyddell
received her just as she had done before; and Walter shook hands
cordially, as if he was very glad to see her again. The talk went on
about visits and engagements, and each moment made Marian feel that her
Sunday world had passed from her, and her workday world begun again.
Clara came to her room with her, partly to see her new maid, and partly
to talk with her about Miss Morley; but Marian, not wishing to have
Fanny immediately astonished by her random way of talking, gave a sort
of stern look and sign, which silenced poor Clara on that subject. There
were plenty more, however, and she talked on fast; indeed, Marian had
not two minutes alone that whole evening, till, somewhere towards
half-past eleven, her cousins bade her a final good-night.
She had time at last to think over that parting with Gerald, which had
hung heavily on her all this time, without her being able to enter upon
the subject with herself. What did it mean? Was it so very bad a sign?
Did it really confirm all her fears? or was it not possible that he
might have got into some chance difficulty? Might he not be careless and
extravagant, without being seriously in fault? Yes; but this was but of
a piece with other things which she had observed. Alone, it might not
have been so alarming; but even apart from this, she could not be quite
happy about him, after all she had observed. And had she been weak? had
she done what was bad for him? O, for some one to consult!--some one
under whose charge to put him! Was it her own fault that she had missed
the opportunity with Mr. Wortley!
To pray for him was all that could be done, and it in some degree
stilled that aching feeling in her heart. Yet, whenever she woke in the
night, she seemed to hear Caroline saying, "If it was not for Elliot!"
with a foreboding that "If it was not for Gerald!" might be on her
tongue in the same manner, for the rest of her life.
Every time Gerald's name was mentioned, there was a pang; every time
she thought of him in solitude, the fear and anxiety gained strength.
Consciousness of ignorance added to its poignancy; and young as she was,
it would be hard to describe how much suffering she underwent in secret,
night after night, as she lay awake, in her perplexed musings on that
one absorbing thought. Yet they were like those vague nightly terrors
of wolves, darkness, or mysterious horrors, from which little children
often suffer so much, without revealing them, and entirely shake off by
day; for Marian awoke in the morning to cheerfulness and activity, with
spirits undepressed, full of interest in things around; and only when
reminded of her fears, secretly wincing at the sudden throb of pain.
Marian's days were more at her own disposal than formerly. She might do
as she pleased all the morning,--sit in her own room, and choose her own
occupation; and she was just beginning to think over two or three bright
plans of usefulness. She would make a series of copies, from prints, of
Scripture subjects, for the Fern Torr children; she would translate some
stories for them, and she had devised many other things to be done; when
Caroline one day said to her, "Marian, I don't know if it is asking a
great deal, but if you could sit with us sometimes in the morning, it
would be a great gain. Mamma wants me to read with Clara. Now, you know
I have no authority; and doing it for a lesson, as if it was for Clara's
good, will only make her hate it, and pay no attention at all. But if we
read together, as if it was for our own benefit, she will join in, and
think it a womanly thing."
Marian smiled at the ingenuity of the scheme, such as she would have
been a great deal too awkward, as well as too straightforward ever to
devise. It was a case where "no" could not have been said, but there
were many ways of acting a no; and Marian was so sorry to give up the
Scripture drawings, the idea of which had greatly delighted her when
proposed by Agnes, that she had it in her heart to have backed out of it
as often as she could. A little thought, however, convinced her, that to
help Caroline's plans for her sister's good was the foremost duty, that
to avoid it would be positive wrong and unkindness; so she resolved
to lend herself to it with all her might, even though Agnes might be
disappointed.
And pray, why should Agnes be disappointed? Why were the drawing and
reading incompatible? Marian had taught herself to think it impossible
to do anything for Fern Torr, in public, for fear of being laughed at,
or observed upon; and these drawings, which were of sacred subjects, and
further involved some alterations of her own, would, she thought, be
worse than any. She mused a long time whether this was right feeling or
foolish bashfulness, and decided at last that it was a little of the
former trying to justify a great deal of the latter, and that Caroline
and Clara were not the same thing as Miss Morley and all the boys; so
with an effort, which, considering the occasion, was almost absurd in
its magnitude, she brought her portfolio down, began to draw, and did
not experience anything unpleasant in consequence. It was one of her
first practical lessons in the fancifulness of her shyness. Her cousins
took interest in what she was about, admired, and helped her to hunt
up subjects to make her series complete; indeed the three girls were
exceedingly comfortable together, and a pleasant, mutual good-feeling
constantly grew between them. Clara was certainly becoming less childish
and silly when no longer nominally under the authority of Miss Morley,
and the confidante of all her follies, but the companion of two sensible
girls, young and bright enough to enter into all the liveliness about
her that was not silliness and a great deal that was, and to drive away
some of her nonsense by laughing at it.
The mornings were thus pleasant and satisfactory, the afternoons were
less certain to be agreeable. If there was a ride, it was delightful,
if a walk, it was all very well; but there was a third contingency, to
which Marian had become liable, of being carried forth with her green
card-case on a morning visiting expedition by Mrs. Lyddell, and this was
one which required all her powers of resignation, though the misfortune
was much more imaginary than real.
There were three chances of the way of spending the evening too. The
first, the family party alone, this was pretty well, and though not
charming, was by far the best; Mrs. Lyddell's talk was agreeable, and to
sit with Caroline, and perhaps with the addition of Walter, at the small
table, working, reading, and talking, was as quiet and comfortable a way
of passing the time as might be. A dinner party at home was next best,
for she had her own quiet corners of conversation, and Walter would
sometimes come and take shelter there too, and get into a talk, as well
as if the room were empty of company, sometimes better, because his
mother could not hear him, and he was never so backward in telling his
real mind, as in her hearing. Worst of all was a party from home, where
she knew few persons, and disliked all she knew.
Unhappily, this was generally her feeling towards all the neighbourhood;
and though it may seem to be a strong expression, it is scarcely too
much to say that in Marian's habitual frame she looked on every one that
could be considered as company in the light of natural enemies, leagued
to prevent her walks and rides, to tease her, and to spoil her evenings.
This was partly the result of her constitutional shyness, but it would
have gone off, by this time, if she had not fostered it by imbibing Lady
Marchmont's exclusiveness. Marian would have been shocked to realize how
she despised and scorned her acquaintance--why? the answer would have
been hard to find--because they were company--because they were the
world--because they were Mrs. Lyddell's society--because she was
superior? How or why? She disdained them all, without knowing it, and
far less knowing why. She complied scrupulously with every rule of
formal politeness, and had become a tolerable mistress, by rote, of such
common-place small talk as served to fulfil her part, and make her not
feel herself absurd, but this was all; she would not let herself be
pleased or amused, she would not open her eyes to anything good or
agreeable about the people, except a very few favoured ones, chiefly
clergymen or their wives.
It was very wrong, it was Marian's one great fault at this period of her
life, and it had the effect of making her almost disliked. Clara had
scarcely said too much in telling Agnes that her pride was often
remarked, for Mrs. Lyddell's neighbours were just the people to fancy
pride where it was not, especially where the rank was superior to their
own. Tall, handsome, and outwardly self-possessed, Miss Arundel did not
gain credit, from superficial observers, for shyness, and was looked
upon as a very haughty ungracious girl, while it was whispered that Mrs.
Lyddell had had a great deal of trouble with her.
The autumn passed on in this manner, and towards its close, Elliot
returned from shooting in Scotland, and announced that his friend, Mr.
Faulkner, was coming to Oakworthy, to look at an estate, which was for
sale in the neighbourhood.
Mrs. Lyddell was pleased, and questioned her son about Mr. Faulkner's
thousands a-year; then turning to Marian, said,
"Surely, Marian, you know him; I heard of your meeting him and Lady
Julia at Lady Marchmont's."
"Yes," said Marian, with her face of rigidity.
"Ah! yes, to be sure, he told me so," said Elliot.
"Any one but Marian would be impatient to know what he said of her,"
said Caroline.
"Do you want to know yourself, Caroline?" said Elliot; "shall I tell
you?"
"Yes, do," said Caroline, in her curiosity, forgetting that Marian might
be pained.
"Ah! you ought to be warned if you want to set your cap at him, for
she has forestalled you. Let me see, what was it he said? O, that Lady
Marchmont would scarcely be alone in her glory long, for, for such as
liked the style of thing, her cousin was as perfect a piece of carving
in white marble as he ever had seen."
White marble was certainly not the comparison for Marian's cheeks at
that moment; it was pain and horror to her even to hear that she had
been spoken of between Elliot and Mr. Faulkner, and to be told it in
this manner, in public, was perfectly dreadful. She could neither sink
under the table nor run away, so with crimson face and neck, she kept
her post on the sofa, and every one saw she was intensely annoyed.
Elliot, who had told it in a mischief-making spirit, fancying he should
make his sister jealous, walked away, amusing himself with the notion
that he had sown the dragon's teeth; Caroline was very sorry to have
caused such painful blushes, yet was proud to hear of Marian's being
admired; and Mrs. Lyddell said not a word, but worked on with a jerk at
her thread, trying to persuade herself that she was not vexed that, as
Elliot said, her daughter had been forestalled.
Marian did not recover herself sufficiently to say one word about Mr.
Faulkner till she was in her own room, and then when Caroline came, to
pity her for her blushes, and apologize for having occasioned them, she
said, "O! how I wish he was not coming!"
"Why, don't you like him in return for his admiration?"
"He is a horrible man!" said Marian.
"Horrible, and why? What has he done to you? I am sure you are very
ungrateful."
"Don't talk of it," said Marian, blushing furiously again, then
recollecting that she might give rise to a suspicion that he had already
said something to her, she added, "I don't--I don't mean anything about
that nonsense."
"Well, but what do you mean? Is it really anything more than his being
Elliot's friend, and having dared to--."
"No, but Caroline, don't say anything about it; it was what I heard
about him at the Marchmonts."
"O what?"
"It does not seem fair to tell how they talked over their guests, so
don't repeat it again, pray."
"You seem to find it like having a tooth drawn. Well! I am sworn to
secrecy. I won't tell a living creature."
"I am sure I know hardly anything, only that Lord Marchmont thinks very
badly of him, and was quite sorry he had been asked to dinner. And he
spoke of his having taken up Germanism, and oh! Caroline, for a man's
faith to be unsettled is the worst of all, for then there is nothing to
fall back upon."
Caroline stood by Marian's fire, looking thoughtful for some moments.
"Yes," she said, "you and Walter are in the same mind there, but it is
not like what I was brought up to think. Miss Cameron used to teach us
that the being in earnest in believing was the thing rather than the
form of faith."
"O, Caroline, that cannot be right. We have been commanded to hold one
form of faith, and it must be wrong to set up another and hold it."
"Yes, but if people are not clear that only one was given to every one,
and that just as we say it is?"
"Then it is very bad of them!" said Marian indignantly, "for I am sure
the Bible is quite clear--one faith--the form of sound words--the faith
once delivered to the saints."
"I am quite clear about it," said Caroline.
"O, of course," said Marian, looking at her with a sort of alarm at her
speaking of the possibility as regarded herself of not being clear.
"But if people are not clear, what are they to do?"
"I don't know," said Marian, quickly; "only I hope I shall never have
anything to do with such people; I can't judge for them; I had rather
not think about them; it is of no use."
"Of no use--what, not if you could do such a person good?"
"Only in this way," said Marian, taking up her Prayer Book, and turning
to the Collect for Good Friday.
"Yes, but trying to convince?"
"I should be afraid."
"Afraid! Marian, I am sure nothing could hurt your faith."
"I would not try," said Marian, shaking her head sadly.
"But at that rate no one ever would be converted?"
"You forget that there are clergymen."
"Yes, but other people have done good."
"O yes, but not women by arguing. O no, no, Caroline, we never ought to
put our weakness forward, as if it could guard the truth. You know the
wrong side may find stronger arguments than we are able to do--mind I
don't say than can be found--of course truth is the strongest of all,
but we may be overpowered, though the truth is not. We women should not
stand out to argue for the truth any more than we should stand out to
fight as champions in the right cause."
"And is this the reason you never would argue?"
"I don't know--I mean no, it was only because I had nothing to say; I
knew when a thing was right, but could not tell why, and the more you
asked, the more I did not know."
"And do you know now?"
"Sometimes," said Marian, "not often, but Mr. Wortley taught me some
things, and one grows up to others. But I could never explain even when
I know."
"For instance--" said Caroline, laughing.
"O that came, I don't know how. Have I said so much?"
"A great deal that is very nice. Good night, Marian."