JULY 24.--I threw the handkerchief by asking Martyn and Mary to
spare their daughter. Tears came into Mary's eyes, the first I ever
saw there, and she tried in vain to say something ridiculous.
Martyn walked to the window and said huskily, "Dr. A--- said it
would confirm her health to spend a few winters in the South. Thank
you, Charlotte!" They did not doubt a moment, but Martyn feels the
parting more than I ever thought he would, and Pica and Uchtred go
about howling and bewailing, and declaring that they never shall
know where to find anything again.
Avice herself is much more sorrowful than glad, though she is too
courteous and grateful not to show herself gracious to me. She did
entreat me to take Isa instead, so earnestly that I was obliged to
read her your decided objections. It was a blow to her at first,
but she is rapidly consoling herself over the wonderful commissions
she accepts. She is to observe Mediterranean zoophytes, and send
them home on glass slides for the family benefit. She is to send
her father photographs and drawings to illustrate his lectures, and
Jane has begged for a pebble or rock from S. Paul's Bay, to show to
her class at school. Indeed, I believe Avice is to write a special
journal, to be published in the BOURNE PARVA PARISH MAGAZINE;
Charley begs for a sea-horse, and Freddy has been instructed by one
of the pupils to bargain for nothing less than the Colossus of
Rhodes; Metelill is quite as cordial in her rejoicing, and Edith
owns that, now it has come to the point, she is very glad to keep
her daughter.
And Isa? Well, she is mortified, poor child. I think she must have
cried bitterly over the disappointment, for she looked very wretched
when we met at dinner.
Meanwhile, Martyn had a walk with Emily, who found that he was very
sorry not to be relieved from Isabel, though he knew you were quite
right not to take her. He thought Oxford not a good place for such
a girl, and the absence of the trustworthy Avice would make things
worse. Then Emily proposed to take Isabel back to the Birchwood
with her. Grandmamma really likes the girl, who is kind and
attentive. There are no young people to whom she could do harm,
Emily can look after her, and will be glad of help and
companionship. The whole family council agreed that it will be a
really charitable work, and that if any one can do her good, it will
be the mother and Aunt Emily.
Isa has acquiesced with an overflow of gratitude and affection to
them for taking pity on her. It sounds a little fulsome, but I
believe some of it is genuine. She is really glad that some one
wishes for her, and I can quite believe that she will lose in Avice
all that made life congenial to her under Mary's brisk
uncompromising rule. If she can only learn to be true--true to
herself and to others--she will yet be a woman to love and esteem,
and at Birchwood they will do their best to show that religious
sentiment must be connected with Truth.
And so ends my study of the manners of my nieces, convincing me the
more that as the manners are, so is the man or woman. The heart, or
rather the soul, forms the manners, and they _ARE_ the man.