Reproof falleth on the saucy as water.--FEEJEE PROVERB
Considerate of the slender purses of her children, Honora had devoted her
carriage to fetch them to St. Wulstan's on the Sunday morning, but her
offer had been declined, on the ground that the Charteris conveyances
were free to them, and that it was better to make use of an establishment
to which Sunday was no object, than to cloud the honest face of the
Hiltonbury coachman by depriving his horses of their day of rest. Owen
would far rather take a cab than so affront Grey! Pleased with his
bright manner, Honora had yet reason to fear that expense was too
indifferent to both brother and sister, and that the Charteris household
only encouraged recklessness. Wherever she went she heard of the
extravagance of the family, and in the shops the most costly wares were
recommended as the choice of Mrs. Charteris. Formerly, though Honor had
equipped Lucilla handsomely for visits to Castle Blanch, she had always
found her wardrobe increased by the gifts of her uncle and aunt. The
girl had been of age more than a year, and in the present state of the
family, it was impossible that her dress could be still provided at their
expense, yet it was manifestly far beyond her means; and what could be
the result? She would certainly brook no interference, and would cast
advice to the winds. Poor Honor could only hope for a crash that would
bring her to reason, and devise schemes for forcing her from the effects
of her own imprudence without breaking into her small portion. The great
fear was lost false pride, and Charteris influence, should lead her to
pay her debts at the cost of a marriage with the millionaire; and Honor
could take little comfort in Owen's assurance that the Calthorp had too
much sense to think of Cilly Sandbrook, and only promoted and watched her
vagaries for the sake of amusement and curiosity. There was small
satisfaction to her well-wishers in hearing that no sensible man could
think seriously of her.
Anxiously was that Sunday awaited in Woolstone-lane, the whole party
feeling that this was the best chance of seeing Lucilla in a reasonable
light, and coming to an understanding with her. Owen was often enough
visible in the interim, and always extremely agreeable; but Lucilla
never, and he only brought an account of her gaieties, shrugging his
shoulders over them.
The day came; the bells began, they chimed, they changed, but still no
Sandbrooks appeared. Mr. Parsons set off, and Robert made an excursion
to the corner of the street. In vain Miss Charlecote still lingered;
Mrs. Parsons, in despair, called Phoebe on with her as the single bell
rang, and Honor and Robert presently started with heads turned over their
shoulders, and lips laying all blame on Charteris' delays of breakfast.
A last wistful look, and the church porch engulfed them; but even when
enclosed in the polished square pew, they could not resign hope at every
tread on the matted floor, and finally subsided into a trust that the
truants might after service emerge from a seat near the door. There were
only too many to choose from.
That hope baffled, Honora still manufactured excuses which Phoebe
greedily seized and offered to her brother, but she read his rejection of
them in his face, and to her conviction that it was all accident, he
answered, as she took his arm, 'A small accident would suffice for
Sandbrook.'
'You don't think he is hindering his sister!'
'I can't tell. I only know that he is one of the many stumbling-blocks
in her way. He can do no good to any one with whom he associates
intimately. I hate to see him reading poetry with you.'
'Why did you never tell me so?' asked the startled Phoebe.
'You are so much taken up with him that I can never get at you, when I am
not devoured by that office.'
'I am sure I did not know it,' humbly answered Phoebe. 'He is very kind
and amusing, and Miss Charlecote is so fond of him that, of course, we
must be together; but I never meant to neglect you, Robin, dear.'
'No, no, nonsense, it is no paltry jealousy; only now I can speak to you,
I must,' said Robert, who had been in vain craving for this opportunity
of getting his sister alone, ever since the alarm excited by Lucilla's
words.
'What is this harm, Robin?'
'Say not a word of it. Miss Charlecote's heart must not be broken before
its time, and at any rate it shall not come through me.'
'What, Robert?'
'The knowledge of what he is. Don't say it is prejudice. I know I never
liked him, but you shall hear why. You ought now--'
Robert's mind had often of late glanced back to the childish days when,
with their present opinions reversed, he thought Owen a muff, and Owen
thought him a reprobate. To his own blunt and reserved nature, the
expressions, so charming to poor Miss Charlecote, had been painfully
distasteful. Sentiment, profession, obtrusive reverence, and
fault-finding scruples had revolted him, even when he thought it a proof
of his own irreligion to be provoked. Afterwards, when both were
schoolboys, Robert had yearly increased in conscientiousness under good
discipline and training, but, in their holiday meetings, had found Owen's
standard receding as his own advanced, and heard the once-deficient manly
spirit asserted by boasts of exploits and deceptions repugnant to a
well-conditioned lad. He saw Miss Charlecote's perfect confidence abused
and trifled with, and the more he grew in a sense of honour, the more he
disliked Owen Sandbrook.
At the University, where Robert's career had been respectable and
commonplace, Owen was at once a man of mark. Mental and physical powers
alike rendered him foremost among his compeers; he could compete with the
fast, and surpass the slow on their own ground; and his talents, ready
celerity, good-humoured audacity, and quick resource, had always borne
him through with the authorities, though there was scarcely an excess or
irregularity in which he was not a partaker; and stories of Sandbrook's
daring were always circulating among the undergraduates. But though
Robert could have scared Phoebe with many a history of lawless pranks,
yet these were not his chief cause for dreading Owen's intimacy with her.
It was that he was one of the youths on whom the spirit of the day had
most influence, one of the most adventurous thinkers and boldest talkers:
wild in habits, not merely from ebullition of spirits, but from want of
faith in the restraining power.
All this Robert briefly expressed in the words, 'Phoebe, it is not that
his habits are irregular and unsteady; many are so whose hearts are
sound. But he is not sound--his opinions are loose, and he only respects
and patronizes Divine Truth as what has approved itself to so many good,
great, and beloved human creatures. It is not denial--it is patronage.
It is the commonsense heresy--'
'I thought we all ought to learn common sense.'
'Yes, in things human, but in things Divine it is the subtle English form
of rationalism. This is no time to explain, Phoebe; but human sense and
intellect are made the test, and what surpasses them is only admired as
long as its stringent rules do not fetter the practice.'
'I am sorry you told me,' said Phoebe, thoughtfully, 'for I always liked
him; he is so kind to me.'
Had not Robert been full of his own troubles he would have been
reassured, but he only gave a contemptuous groan.
'Does Lucy know this?' she asked.
'She told me herself what I well knew before. She does not reflect
enough to take it seriously, and contrives to lay the blame upon the
narrowness of Miss Charlecote's training.'
'Oh, Robin! When all our best knowledge came from the Holt!'
'She says, perhaps not unjustly, that Miss Charlecote overdid things with
him, and that this is reaction. She observes keenly. If she would only
_think_! She would have been perfect had her father lived, to work on
her by affection.'
'The time for that is coming--'
Robert checked her, saying, 'Stay, Phoebe. The other night I was fooled
by her engaging ways, but each day since I have become more convinced
that I must learn whether she be only using me like the rest. I want you
to be a witness of my resolution, lest I should be tempted to fail. I
came to town, hesitating whether to enter the business for her sake. I
found that this could not be done without a great sin. I look on myself
as dedicated to the ministry, and thus bound to have a household suited
to my vocation. All must turn on her willingness to conform to this
standard. I shall lay it before her. I can bear the suspense no longer.
My temper and resolution are going, and I am good for nothing. Let the
touchstone be, whether she will resign her expedition to Ireland, and go
quietly home with Miss Charlecote. If she will so do, there is surely
that within her that will shine out brighter when removed from irritation
on the one side, or folly on the other. If she will not, I have no
weight with her; and it is due to the service I am to undertake, to force
myself away from a pursuit that could only distract me. I have no right
to be a clergyman and choose a hindrance not a help--one whose tastes
would lead back to the world, instead of to my work!'
As he spoke, in stern, rigid resolution--only allowing himself one long,
deep, heavy sigh at the end--he stood still at the gates of the court,
which were opened as the rest of the party came up; and, as they crossed
and entered the hall, they beheld, through the open door of the
drawing-room, two figures in the window--one, a dark torso, perched
outside on the sill; the other, in blue skirt and boy-like bodice,
negligently reposing on one side of the window-seat, her dainty little
boots on the other; her coarse straw bonnet, crossed with white, upon the
floor; the wind playing tricks with the silky glory of her flaxen
ringlets; her cheek flushed with lovely carnation, declining on her
shoulder; her eyes veiled by their fair fringes.
'Hallo!' she cried, springing up, 'almost caught asleep!' And Owen,
pocketing his pipe, spun his legs over the windowsill, while both began,
in rattling, playful vindication and recrimination--
(he wouldn't.'
'It wasn't my fault (
(she wouldn't.'
'Indeed, I wasn't a wilful heathen; Mr. Parsons, it was he--'
'It was she who chose to take the by-ways, and make us late. Rush into
church before a whole congregation, reeking from a six-miles walk! I've
more respect for the Establishment.'
'You walked!' cried five voices.
'See her Sabbatarianism!'
'Nonsense! I should have driven Charlie's cab.'
'Charlie has some common sense where his horse is concerned.'
'He wanted it himself, you _know_.'
'She grew sulky, and victimized me to a walk.'
'I'm sure it was excellent fun.'
'Ay, and because poor Calthorp had proffered his cab for her to drive to
Jericho, and welcome, she drags me into all sorts of streets of
villainous savours, that he might not catch us up.'
'Horrid hard mouth that horse of his,' said Lucilla, by way of dashing
the satisfaction on Miss Charlecote's face.
'I do not wonder you were late.'
'Oh! that was all Owen's doing. He vowed that he had not nerve to face
the pew-opener!'
'The grim female in weeds--no, indeed!' said Owen. 'Indeed, I objected
to entering in the guise of flaming meteors both on reverential and
sanatory grounds.'
'Insanatory, methinks,' said Miss Charlecote; 'how could you let her
sleep, so much heated, in this thorough draught!'
'Don't flatter yourself,' said Cilly, quaintly shaking her head; 'I'm not
such a goose as to go and catch cold! Oh! Phoebe, my salmon-flies are
loveliness itself; and I hereby give notice, that a fine of three pairs
of thick boots has been proclaimed for every pun upon sisters of the
angle and sisters of the angels! So beware, Robin!'--and the comical
audacity with which she turned on him, won a smile from the grave lips
that had lately seemed so remote from all peril of complimenting her
whimsies. Even Mr. Parsons said 'the fun was tempting.'
'Come and get ready for luncheon,' said the less fascinated Honora,
moving away.
'Come and catch it!' cried the elf, skipping up-stairs before her and
facing round her 'Dear old Honeyseed.' 'I honour your motives; but
wouldn't it be for the convenience of all parties, if you took _Punch's_
celebrated advice--"don't"?'
'How am I to speak, Lucy,' said Honora, 'if you come with the avowed
intention of disregarding what I say?'
'Then hadn't you better not?' murmured the girl, in the lowest tone,
drooping her head, and peeping under her eyelashes, as she sat with a
hand on each elbow of her arm-chair, as though in the stocks.
'I would not, my child,' was the mournful answer, 'if I could help caring
for you.'
Lucilla sprang up and kissed her. 'Don't, then; I don't like anybody to
be sorry,' she said. 'I'm sure I'm not worth it.'
'How can I help it, when I see you throwing away happiness--welfare--the
good opinion of all your friends?'
'My dear Honora, you taught me yourself not to mind Mrs. Grundy! Come,
never mind, the reasonable world has found out that women are less
dependent than they used to be.'
'It is not what the world thinks, but what is really decorous.'
Lucilla laughed--though with some temper--'I wonder what we are going to
do otherwise!'
'You are going beyond the ordinary restraints of women in your station;
and a person who does so, can never tell to what she may expose herself.
Liberties are taken when people come out to meet them.'
'That's as they choose!' cried Lucilla, with such a gesture of her hand,
such a flash of her blue eyes, that she seemed trebly the woman, and it
would have been boldness indeed to presume with her.
'Yes; but a person who has even had to protect herself from incivility,
to which she has wilfully exposed herself, does not remain what she might
be behind her screen.'
'_Omne ignotum pro terribili_,' laughed Lucilla, still not to be made
serious. 'Now, I don't believe that the world is so flagrantly bent on
annoying every pretty girl. People call me vain, but I never was so vain
as that. I've always found them very civil; and Ireland is the land of
civility. Now, seriously, my good cousin Honor, do you candidly expect
any harm to befall us?'
'I do not think you likely to meet with absolute injury.' Lucilla
clapped her hands, and cried, 'An admission, an admission! I told Rashe
you were a sincere woman.' But Miss Charlecote went on, 'But there is
harm to yourself in the affectation of masculine habits; it is a blunting
of the delicacy suited to a Christian maiden, and not like the women whom
St. Paul and St. Peter describe. You would find that you had forfeited
the esteem, not only of ordinary society, but of persons whose opinions
you do value; and in both these respects you would suffer harm. You, my
poor child, who have no one to control you, or claim your obedience as a
right, are doubly bound to be circumspect. I have no power over you; but
if you have any regard for her to whom your father confided you--nay, if
you consult what you know would have been his wishes--you will give up
this project.'
The luncheon-bell had already rung, and consideration for the busy
clergyman compelled her to go down with these last words, feeling as if
there were a leaden weight at her heart.
Lucilla remained standing before the glass, arranging her wind-tossed
hair; and, in her vehemence, tearing out combfuls, as she pulled
petulantly against the tangled curls. 'Her old way--to come over me with
my father! Ha!--I love him too well to let him be Miss Charlecote's
engine for managing me!--her _dernier ressort_ to play on my feelings.
Nor will I have Robin set at me! Whether I go or not, shall be as I
please, not as any one else does; and if I stay at home, Rashe shall own
it is not for the sake of the conclave here. I told her she might trust
me.'
Down she went, and at luncheon devoted herself to the captivation of Mr.
Parsons; afterwards insisting on going to the schools--she, whose
aversion to them was Honora's vexation at home. Strangers to make a
sensation were contrary to the views of the Parsonses; but the wife found
her husband inconsistent--'one lady, more or less, could make no
difference on this first Sunday;' and, by and by, Mrs. Parsons found a
set of little formal white-capped faces, so beaming with entertainment,
at the young lady's stories, and the young lady herself looking so
charming, that she, too, fell under the enchantment.
After church, Miss Charlecote proposed a few turns in the garden; dingy
enough, but a marvel for the situation: and here the tacit object of
herself and Phoebe was to afford Robert an opportunity for the interview
on which so much depended. But it was like trying to catch a butterfly;
Lucilla was here, there, everywhere; and an excuse was hardly made for
leaving her beside the grave, silent young man, ere her merry tones were
heard chattering to some one else. Perhaps Robert, heart-sick and
oppressed with the importance of what trembled on his tongue, was not
ready in seizing the moment; perhaps she would not let him speak; at any
rate, she was aware of some design; since, baffling Phoebe's last
attempt, she danced up to her bedroom after her, and throwing herself
into a chair, in a paroxysm of laughter, cried, 'You abominable little
pussycat of a manoeuvrer; I thought you were in a better school for the
proprieties! No, don't make your round eyes, and look so dismayed, or
you'll kill me with laughing! Cooking _tete-a-tetes_, Phoebe--I thought
better of you. Oh, fie!' and holding up her finger, as if in
displeasure, she hid her face in ecstasies of mirth at Phoebe's
bewildered simplicity.
'Robert wanted to speak to you,' she said, with puzzled gravity.
'And you would have set us together by the ears! No, no, thank you, I've
had enough of that sort of thing for one day. And what shallow excuses.
Oh! what fun to hear your pretexts. Wanting to see what Mrs. Parsons was
doing, when you knew perfectly well she was deep in a sermon, and wished
you at the antipodes. And blushing all the time, like a full-blown
poppy,' and off she went on a fresh score--but Phoebe, though
disconcerted for a moment, was not to be put out of countenance when she
understood her ground, and she continued with earnestness, undesired by
her companion--'Very likely I managed badly, but I know you do not really
think it improper to see Robert alone, and it is very important that you
should do so. Indeed it is, Lucy,' she added--the youthful candour and
seriousness of her pleading, in strong contrast to the flighty, mocking
carelessness of Lucilla's manners; 'do pray see him; I know he would make
you listen. Will you be so very kind? If you would go into the little
cedar room, I could call him at once.'
'Point blank! Sitting in my cedar parlour! Phoebe, you'll be the death
of me,' cried Cilly, between peals of merriment. 'Do you think I have
nerves of brass?'
'You would not laugh, if you knew how much he feels.'
'A very good thing for people to feel! It saves them from torpor.'
'Lucy, it is not kind to laugh when I tell you he is miserable.'
'That's only proper, my dear,' said Lucilla, entertained by teasing.
'Not miserable from doubt,' answered Phoebe, disconcerting in her turn.
'We know you too well for that;' and as an expression, amused, indignant,
but far from favourable, came over the fair face she was watching, she
added in haste, 'It is this project, he thought you had said it was given
up.'
'I am much indebted,' said Lucilla, haughtily, but again relapsing into
laughter; 'but to find myself so easily disposed of . . . Oh! Phoebe,
there's no scolding such a baby as you; but if it were not so absurd--'
'Lucy, Lucy, I beg your pardon; is it all a mistake, or have I said what
was wrong? Poor Robin will be so unhappy.'
Phoebe's distress touched Lucilla.
'Nonsense, you little goose; aren't you woman enough yet to know that one
flashes out at finding oneself labelled, and made over before one's
time?'
'I'm glad if it was all my blundering,' said Phoebe. 'Dear Lucy, I was
very wrong, but you see I always was so happy in believing it was
understood!'
'How stupid,' cried Lucilla; 'one would never have any fun; no, you
haven't tasted the sweets yet, or you would know one has no notion of
being made sure of till one chooses! Yes, yes, I saw he was primed and
cocked, but I'm not going to let him go off.'
'Lucy, have you no pity?'
'Not a bit! Don't talk commonplaces, my dear.'
'If you knew how much depends upon it.'
'My dear, I know that,' with an arch smile.
'No, you do not,' said Phoebe, so stoutly that Lucilla looked at her in
some suspense.
'You think,' said honest Phoebe, in her extremity, 'that he only wants to
make--to propose to you! Now, it is not only that, Lucilla,' and her
voice sank, as she could hardly keep from crying; 'he will never do that
if you go on as you are doing now; he does not think it would be right
for a clergyman.'
'Oh! I dare say!' quoth Lucilla, and then a silence. 'Did Honor tell him
so, Phoebe?'
'Never, never!' cried Phoebe; 'no one has said a word against you! only
don't you know how quiet and good any one belonging to a clergyman should
be?'
'Well, I've heard a great deal of news to-day, and it is all my own
fault, for indulging in sentiment on Wednesday. I shall know better
another time.'
'Then you don't care!' cried Phoebe, turning round, with eyes flashing as
Lucilla did not know they could lighten. 'Very well! If you don't think
Robert worth it, I suppose I ought not to grieve, for you can't be what I
used to think you and it will be better for him when he once has settled
his mind--than if--if afterwards you disappointed him and were a fine
lady--but oh! he will be so unhappy,' her tears were coming fast; 'and,
Lucy, I did like you so much!'
'Well, this is the funniest thing of all,' cried Lucilla, by way of
braving her own emotion; 'little Miss Phoebe gone into the heroics!' and
she caught her two hands, and holding her fast, kissed her on both
cheeks; 'a gone coon, am I, Phoebe, no better than one of the wicked; and
Robin, he grew angry, hopped upon a twig, did he! I beg your pardon, my
dear, but it makes me laugh to think of his dignified settling of his
mind. Oh! how soon it could be unsettled again! Come, I won't have any
more of this; let it alone, Phoebe, and trust me that things will adjust
themselves all the better for letting them have their swing. Don't you
look prematurely uneasy, and don't go and make Robin think that I have
immolated him at the altar of the salmon. Say nothing of all this; you
will only make a mess in narrating it.'
'Very likely I may,' said Phoebe; 'but if you will not speak to him
yourself, I shall tell him how you feel.'
'If you can,' laughed Lucilla.
'I mean, how you receive what I have told you of his views; I do not
think it would be fair or kind to keep him in ignorance.'
'Much good may it do him,' said Lucy; 'but I fancy you will tell him,
whether I give you leave or not, and it can't make much difference. I'll
tackle him, as the old women say, when I please, and the madder he may
choose to go, the better fun it will be.'
'I believe you are saying so to tease me' said Phoebe; 'but as I know you
don't mean it, I shall wait till after the party; and then, unless you
have had it out with him, I shall tell him what you have said.'
'Thank you,' said Lucilla, ironically conveying to Phoebe's mind the
conviction that she did not believe that Robert's attachment could suffer
from what had here passed. Either she meant to grant the decisive
interview, or else she was too confident in her own power to believe that
he could relinquish her; at all events, Phoebe had sagacity enough to
infer that she was not indifferent to him, though as the provoking damsel
ran down-stairs, Phoebe's loyal spirit first admitted a doubt whether the
tricksy sprite might not prove as great a torment as a delight to Robin.
'However,' reflected she, 'I shall make the less mischief if I set it
down while I remember it.'
Not much like romance, but practical sense was both native and cultivated
in Miss Fennimore's pupil. Yet as she recorded the sentences, and read
them over bereft of the speaker's caressing grace, she blamed herself as
unkind, and making the worst of gay retorts which had been provoked by
her own home thrusts. 'At least,' she thought, 'he will be glad to see
that it was partly my fault, and he need never see it at all if Lucy will
let him speak to her himself.'
Meantime, Honora had found from Owen that the young ladies had accepted
an invitation to a very gay house in Cheshire, so that their movements
would for a fortnight remain doubtful. She recurred to her view that the
only measure to be taken was for him to follow them, so as to be able to
interpose in any emergency, and she anxiously pressed on him the funds
required.
'Shouldn't I catch it if they found me out!' said Owen, shrugging his
shoulders. 'No, but indeed, Sweet Honey, I meant to have made up for
this naughty girl's desertion. You and I would have had such rides and
readings together: I want you to put me on good terms with myself.'
'My dear boy! But won't that best be done by minding your sister? She
does want it, Owen; the less she will be prudent for herself, the more we
must think for her!'
'She can do better for herself than you imagine,' said Owen. 'Men say,
with all her free ways, they could not go the least bit farther with her
than she pleases. You wouldn't suppose it, but she can keep out of
scrapes better than Rashe can--never has been in one yet, and Rashe in
twenty. Never mind, your Honor, there's sound stuff in the bonny
scapegrace; all the better for being free and unconventional. The world
owes a great deal to those who dare to act for themselves; though, I own,
it is a trial when one's own domestic womankind take thereto.'
'Or one's mankind to encouraging it,' said Honor, smiling, but showing
that she was hurt.
'I don't encourage it; I am only too wise to give it the zest of
opposition. Was Lucy ever bent upon a naughty trick without being doubly
incited by the pleasure of showing that she cared not for her younger
brother?'
'I believe you are only too lazy! But, will you go? I don't think it
can be a penance. You would see new country, and get plenty of sport.'
'Come with me, Honey,' said he with the most insinuating manner, which
almost moved her. 'How jolly it would be!'
'Nonsense! an elderly spinster,' she said, really pleased, though knowing
it impossible.
'Stuff!' he returned in the same tone. 'Make it as good as a honeymoon.
Think of Killarney, Honor!'
'You silly boy, I can't. There's harvest at home; besides, it would only
aggravate that mad girl doubly to have me coming after her.'
'Well, if you will not take care of me on a literal wild-goose chase,'
said Owen, with playful disconsolateness, 'I'll not answer for the
consequences.'
'But, you go?'
'Vacation rambles are too tempting to be resisted; but, mind, I don't
promise to act good genius save at the last extremity, or else shall
never get forgiven, and I shall keep some way in the rear.'
So closed the consultation; and after an evening which Lucilla perforce
rendered lively, she and her brother took their leave. The next day they
were to accompany the Charterises to Castle Blanch to prepare for the
festivities; Honor and her two young friends following on the Wednesday
afternoon.