AUNT JELLY DISCUSSES FAMILY AFFAIRS.
"You know the marriage service where it says--
'Whom God hath joined let no man put asunder,'
That answers for an interfering third,
Who sows dissension in a happy home;
But wife and husband can do just the same,
Unless there's give and take betwixt the pair,
Black looks, neglect, hard words, and other ills,
Will put asunder A and B new wed,
As surely as if C had played the rogue."
Aunt Jelly was a lady whom everyone judged best to leave alone, as
she, being of a tart and aggressive nature, was disposed to be
exceedingly disagreeable when meddled with. Old Father Time appeared
to be of the same opinion, for he never seemed to come near her in any
way, and though year after year went by, changing youth to age,
dimming bright eyes, whitening heads brown and golden, and turning
mellow voices to shrill trebles, Miss Corbin still preserved the same
grim appearance, as if she was indeed the granite figure to which so
many of her friends likened her. If Time did add another wrinkle in a
stealthy way, or make her blood course more slowly through her
withered frame, he did it in such a manner that no one, not even the
closest observer, could notice it; and Aunt Jelly, straight and
defiant as ever, sat grimly silent in her chair, knitting, knitting,
knitting, as though she were some immortal hag weaving the destinies
of short-lived humanity.
The old lady had heard of Eustace's return from abroad, and was in a
high state of indignation that he had not called to see her as soon as
he arrived in Town, but having received a note from him saying he
would pay her a visit that afternoon, she was now waiting with the
firm determination to give him an unpleasant reception.
Victoria had already gone out in the carriage to do some shopping for
the old dame, and no one was with Miss Corbin except Minnie Pelch,
who, more tearful than ever, was seated at the window, like Sister
Anne, watching for the approach of Mr. Gartney.
The room had the same old-fashioned look about it, save that here and
there a bunch of flowers or some dainty feminine adornment showed that
Victoria Sheldon had striven to make things somewhat more home-like.
Aunt Jelly sat in her chair with woolly-haired Coriolanus at her feet,
and knitted on in severe silence, only opening her mouth every now and
then to speak to the tearful Miss Pelch.
That young-old lady was in a state of suppressed excitement at the
prospect of seeing Eustace again, as she contemplated making a final
assault on him regarding the publication of her poems, but Aunt Jelly
had so harassed and worried her, that she was reduced to a state of
extreme limpness, and wept in a stealthy manner, making her eyes red,
which by no means added to the beauty of her appearance.
The port and sherry decanters were on the table with the usual plate
of cake, for though Miss Corbin intended to give Eustace a
disagreeable reception she did not think of neglecting the duties of
hospitality; fulfilled in her eyes by the production of cake and wine.
"Well," said Miss Corbin sharply, for the seventh time, "is he
coming?"
"Not yet," replied Minnie meekly, after the fashion of Sister Anne.
Miss Corbin snorted like an old war-horse, tossed her head in an
indignant manner, and resumed her work.
"In my young days," she observed at length in her usual harsh fashion,
"the juniors were always civil to the seniors. Civility cost nothing
then--now it appears to be unpurchasable. Eh! what do you say, Minnie?
Nothing!--it's your sniffling then! how often have I told you to
correct that habit. Look again--is he coming?"
"Not yet," answered Miss Pelch once more, "it's only three o'clock."
"I didn't ask you the time," rejoined Aunt Jelly tartly. "I suppose
you're going to worry him about that poetry of yours?"
"I'm going to ask him to get it published," said Minnie with tearful
dignity, "bound in blue and gold with my portrait at the beginning."
"Poor child," said Aunt Jelly, pausing a moment, "how you do build
castles in the air. Well, I hope my nephew will help you to do what
you wish. Nobody will read the book except the critics, and they'll
abuse you. If they do," continued Miss Corbin, shaking her finger,
"don't come to me for sympathy, for I've warned you. Is he coming?"
"Yes!" cried Minnie, in a state of excitement, seeing a hansom rattle
round the corner and pull up before the door, "he's in a cab."
"Oh, indeed, couldn't walk I suppose," grumbled Miss Corbin grimly,
"better for his pocket and his liver if he did. Hand me that last
volume of his rubbish, Minnie, I've got a few words to say about it."
Minnie obediently did as she was told and Aunt Jelly took the heavy
book on her knee, while the door was flung open by the butler, who
announced in his usual pompous voice:
"Mr. Eustace Gartney."
"How do you do, Aunt Jelly?" said Eustace, walking across to the old
lady as if he had only parted with her the day before, "you don't look
a day older."
"Humph! I'm sorry I can't return the compliment" replied Miss Corbin,
presenting her withered cheek to be saluted. "Arabia hasn't done you
much good, at all events."
"You're as candid as ever, I see," said Gartney carelessly, turning to
Minnie. "I hope you are well, Miss Pelch."
"Oh quite, thank you, dear Mr. Gartney," answered Minnie, in a state
of fluttering excitement. "I'm so delighted to see you back."
"So kind of you," murmured Eustace, taking a seat in the chair Minnie
pushed forward for him. "Well, Aunt Jelly, and how has the world been
using you?"
"The same as I've been using it," retorted Miss Jelly
epigrammatically. "I keep the world at its distance."
"Like oil paintings. They always look best at a distance, you know."
"Don't talk books to me," said the old lady, "I've had quite enough of
your smart sayings in this," touching the volume on her lap.
"So I see! I told my publishers to send you a copy. I hope you like
it."
"I do very, very much," cried Minnie clasping her hands, "it's simply
too lovely for anything."
"The critics don't think so," said Aunt Jelly spitefully.
"And I suppose you agree with the critics," replied Eustace.
"Did you hear me say so?" demanded his aunt fiercely.
"No but----"
"Then don't cry out till you are hurt. Take a glass of wine--Minnie,
the wine."
Miss Pelch poured out the wine with trembling hand, so excited she was
at the presence of the great author, and Eustace, knowing his aunt's
determination on the subject of port, drank it meekly although it was
a wine he hated.
"The book," said Miss Corbin, after a pause, "is not at all bad. I
daresay there are a good many lies in it, still they're decently told
lies. You've improved this time, Eustace."
"Thank you, my dear aunt, I'm glad to have your good opinion, but the
critics----"
"Critics," snorted Aunt Jelly scornfully, "do you mean those idiots
that scribble for the papers and who would abuse their parents for two
pence three farthings? Pooh! I don't call those critics. In the palmy
days of the _Quarterly Review_ there were decent reviewers, but
now--rubbish! they write nothing but drivel, though to be sure it's
drivel they criticise. I'm not talking about your book, Eustace, my
dear. It's good!--very good, and I wouldn't say so if I didn't think
so."
"No, I'm sure you wouldn't," replied Eustace meekly. "And how are
things, aunt?"
"What kind of things, child? Be more explicit."
"Well, my cousin Errington, is he all right?"
"Humph! right enough."
"And his wife?"
"She's a fool," remarked Aunt Jelly politely, at which Eustace felt
quite indignant.
"I don't think so."
"What do you know about it?" retorted the old lady sharply. "I tell
you she is a fool. Guy was up to see me the other day."
"Well, you can hardly expect me to believe that Guy spoke like that to
you about his wife.
"Who said he did, you blind bat? Don't jump to conclusions, Eustace,
for you're not clever enough to land at them."
"Well, tell me why you speak of Lady Errington like this"
"I take my own time and own way of telling things," replied Miss Jelly
deliberately. "Minnie, my dear, go upstairs and look for your poetry,
I daresay Mr. Gartney will glance at it before he goes."
Minnie had her precious manuscript in her pocket, but knowing from
Miss Corbin's hint that she wanted to discuss private affairs with her
nephew, meekly retreated from the room, closing the door quietly after
her.
"I don't know what I've done that you should inflict Minnie's poetry
on me," said Eustace in an injured tone.
"Pooh, nonsense! don't be selfish. It gives the poor child pleasure to
have her milk-and-water rubbish looked at by you. Do a kind action for
once in your life, Eustace. I'm sure it's little enough you do for
your fellow-creatures."
"They aren't worth it."
"I daresay, but no doubt they make the same remark about you."
"Well, don't bother about my failings, Aunt Jelly," said Eustace
impatiently, "tell me about the Erringtons."
"It's just this," observed Miss Jelly, letting her knitting fall on
her lap, "you know how fond Guy is of that wife of his, a piece of ice
with no more feeling in her than that pair of tongs. Well, since this
child was born, she has changed altogether, nothing but love and
affection, and the Lord knows what!"
"All the better for Guy, I should say," said Eustace, who knew what
was coming.
"All the worse you mean," retorted his aunt. "Bless my soul, I don't
mind the woman melting, no one could go on loving such an icicle, but
she's melted the wrong way, and every particle of affection she has is
given to the child."
"Well that's only natural."
"It's nothing of the sort, sir," objected Aunt Jelly energetically.
"Why should a woman love nothing but her child, and take no more
notice of her husband than if he was a sign-post? Every woman ought to
love her children, certainly, but they owe something to the father of
the children as well."
"No doubt! but perhaps Guy exaggerates his wife's neglect."
Aunt Jelly shook her head in a doubtful manner.
"I don't think so," she replied, deliberately, "Guy isn't the man to
cry out, unless he's hurt. From what he says, it appears Alizon is
always with the child, and the poor lad is left to wander about by
himself. Sometimes, she won't even come to meals. Now, that can't
possibly be right, can it?"
"No, I suppose not," answered Eustace, after a pause, wondering to
himself at finding his prophecy so literally fulfilled, "but, perhaps,
the child is ill, and needs care."
"The child is as well as you are," retorted Aunt jelly, snappishly,
"though that is not saying much, for you look as if you were sickening
for some disease, but in plain words Alizon is neglecting her husband
in the most silly manner for the child. If this is the case, how will
it end?"
"I'm sure I don't know!"
"You never know anything! Then I'll tell you, they'll learn to do
without one another, and that's a bad thing. She'll be all right,
because she's got the child, but Guy's got nothing, and he's not the
man to put-up with such treatment. If she neglects him, he'll find
consolation with some other woman."
"Oh, aunt!"
"I've shocked you, have I?" said the old lady grimly. "Get your nerves
better under control, then. I call a spade a spade, and am telling you
the truth. If Alizon Errington goes on like this, the first woman that
comes along will snap up her husband, and the consequence will be of
her own making."
"Well, what's to be done?" demanded Eustace, blankly.
"I'm sure I don't know," said Aunt Jelly, with an air of vexation,
resuming her knitting. "I don't want to see the affair end in the
Divorce Court, and that's the direction it's going in at present. Guy
was up the other day, and told me some long rigmarole about his
feelings, so the best thing you can do is to go down to the Hall, and
see what you can do."
"I!" cried Eustace, jumping to his feet in a state of agitation. "I
can do nothing."
"Take a glass of wine, my dear, take a glass of wine," said Aunt
Jelly, sharply. "Your nerves are all crooked. That comes of gadding
about the world."
Eustace made no reply to this onslaught, but walked to and fro in
silence. He was considerably puzzled how to act in this dilemma, as he
had made up his mind not to see Lady Errington, thinking his feelings
towards her were too strong for him to keep silence. Curiously enough
it never seemed to strike him that as Alizon was neglecting her own
husband for the child, it was unlikely she would respond to his
passion in any way, seeing that she had neither eyes nor ears for
anything save her first-born. Gartney's egotism blinded him on this
occasion, as it did on many others, but he felt that he was being
forced into a situation, towards the woman he loved, from whence there
was no escape. Looking at it in his narrow-minded fashion, it seemed a
struggle between love and honour, and he was undecided how to act. All
his life, however, he had been accustomed to deny himself nothing, and
in this case he carried out his ruling principle of selfishly
gratifying himself, so there and then made up his mind to accept Aunt
Jelly's mission and go down to Errington Hall.
"Well, Eustace," said Aunt Jelly sharply, quite unaware of the
struggle going on in her nephew's mind, "what do you say--will you do
a kind action for once in your life?"
Eustace having made up his mind, came slowly back to his elderly
relation and resumed his chair.
"I'm sorry you've got such a bad opinion of me, Aunt Jelly," he said
coolly, "and I'll have much pleasure in proving you're wrong for once
in your life, by going down to Ellington Hall, and having a talk with
Guy."
"That's right," replied Miss Corbin, much gratified. "And I suppose
you'll have a look at your own place."
"Of course!"
"I thought so, you never did a thing in your life without a double
motive," said Aunt Jelly, unjustly. "However, I don't care two straws
what you go down for, so long as you try and put things right between
those two idiots."
"Kindly opinion you've got of human nature, Aunt."
"No doubt, I have," retorted Miss Jelly, coolly, "but that's human
nature's own fault, not mine."
"Do you remember what wise La Rochefoucauld says?" observed Eustace,
thoughtfully. "'Many people judge the world as if they were its
judges, and not its denizens.' That is true, I think."
"I don't like your cut and dried wisdom, Mr. Quoter-of-old-saws,"
replied Aunt Jelly, "there's sure to be a flaw in it somewhere."
Eustace laughed and leaned back in his chair.
"You've got an answer for everything, Aunt Jelly! Well, I'll go down
to Errington, and do my best, but I'm doubtful of success. It's
foolish work meddling between man and wife."
Miss Corbin sniffed in a doubtful manner, and was about to make some
bitter reply, when the door opened and Victoria, bright and piquant as
ever, entered the room.
"Here I am, Aunt Jelly," she cried gaily, "with not one of your orders
forgotten--Mr. Gartney!"
"How do you do, Miss Sheldon?" said that gentleman rising from his
seat, "it's some time since we met."
The memory of their ill-concealed enmity at Como, and of the
circumstances under which, she had parted from Otterburn, all rushed
suddenly into Victoria's mind, and she blushed deeply, but with her
usual self-command she suppressed all other signs of emotion, as she
held out her hand frankly to Eustace.
"It's eighteen months since we last saw one another," she said,
equably, "and since then, judging from your book, you have been
leading a delightfully dangerous life."
"More fool he!" muttered Aunt Jelly disdainfully.
"And you, Miss Sheldon," said Eustace, taking no notice of the old
lady's ill-nature, "what kind of a life have you been leading?"
Victoria slipped into a chair, and took off her gloves carelessly,
though, truth to tell, her heart was beating somewhat rapidly at this
meeting.
"Oh, the usual London life!" she replied nonchalantly. "Theatre, Park,
Ball, Church--Church, Ball, Park, Theatre. The only change you can get
is to reverse them."
"You young girls don't know how to enjoy yourselves in a rational
way," said Miss Corbin, politely; "you ought to marry and settle
down."
"That's your advice to everyone, Aunt Jelly," retorted Victoria, her
cheeks growing hot; "but you have not practised what you now preach."
"Circumstances alter cases, child," returned Aunt Jelly, composedly.
"I had my reasons--you, no doubt, would call them ridiculous
reasons--but they were good enough for me."
Victoria did not know of the old love romance between her father and
this faded beauty, or she would never have spoken as she did; but as
Miss Corbin, with a softened look in her eyes, bent over her work, she
felt vaguely that this sharp-tongued woman had suffered, and touched
the withered hand with a pretty gesture of penitence.
"I suppose you have quite forgotten Como, Miss Sheldon?" said Eustace,
remembering his promise to Otterburn, and artfully trying to find out
if she still remembered the boy.
"Oh, no! I liked Como very much! The scenery was delightful."
She spoke quietly enough, but Eustace was an acute observer of human
nature, and his keen ear caught an inflection of a tremor in her voice
which considerably guided him in framing his next remark.
"Yes, the scenery was charming, was it not?" he remarked
significantly; "and the friends we met there also. What a pleasant
party we were. The Erringtons, Mrs. Trubbles, yourself and--Macjean."
"And what has become of Mr. Macjean?" she asked in a low voice, taking
up Aunt Jelly's ball of wool.
"Oh, Otterburn is in London."
"In London!" she echoed, starting violently.
"Dear me, Victoria," said Aunt Jelly, snappishly, "how nervous you
are, child! You've upset my wool all over the place."
Victoria, glad of an excuse to hide her face, bent down to pick up the
ball, and Aunt Jelly, having caught Otterburn's name, went on talking.
"Otterburn, eh? I know that name. Wasn't that the young man you
flirted with at Como, Victoria?"
"I didn't flirt with him," cried Victoria, raising her head defiantly.
"At least," she added, catching sight of Gartney's keen eye fixed on
her, "at least, not much."
"That's so like you, child," observed Aunt Jelly, disentangling her
yarn, "you will play with fire--some day you'll burn your fingers."
"Perhaps that catastrophe has happened already," said Eustace quickly.
Miss Sheldon laughed in a somewhat artificial manner at this remark,
and promptly denied it.
"I'm sure it hasn't," she said, looking straight at Eustace with
crimson cheeks. "I take too good care of myself for that. But talking
about Mr. Macjean, how is it I have not seen him?"
"I don't know I'm sure," replied Gartney carelessly; "he's only been a
short time in Town, you know. I wanted him to come here to-day, but he
was engaged."
Victoria felt all her old hatred of Eustace revive as he spoke the
last words, as she felt sure he was talking sarcastically, and would
have liked to reply sharply, but she could hardly do so without
betraying an unwonted interest in Otterburn, which might have placed
lynx-eyed Aunt Jelly on the _qui vive_, so wisely held her tongue.
Eustace himself, being satisfied that Victoria still felt an interest
in his young friend, inwardly congratulated himself on the result of
his diplomacy, and arose to go.
"Goodbye, Aunt Jelly," he said, kissing his relative. "I'll go down
home to-morrow and tell you what I've done on my return."
"That's right, Eustace," said Aunt Jelly, much pleased; "have a glass
of wine before you go?"
"No, thank you," replied Gartney, walking to the door, "one glass is
enough for me."
"Weak head," muttered Aunt Jelly, "just like your father."
"Better than a weak character," retorted Eustace, gaily. "_Au revoir_,
Miss Sheldon. I'll tell Mr. Macjean I've seen you."
"No, don't," said Victoria hastily, then, feeling that she had
committed an error, strove to mend it. "I mean yes, of course I'll be
very pleased to see Mr. Macjean again."
"I've no doubt you will," muttered Eustace to himself, as he got into
his cab; "she's still in love with him, so Otterburn has only to ask
and to have."
Mr. Gartney would hardly have been so confident had he seen Victoria
at that moment, for she had ran hastily up to her room and was lying
on her bed in a passion of tears.
"He wouldn't come and see me, I suppose," she said viciously. "Oh,
very well, I'll punish him for this. He's forgotten all about me, but
I'll make him propose again if it's only for the pleasure of refusing
him."