“You have been very generous to the chapel, and we thank you very much
for keeping up all Mr. Arkwright's subscriptions those three years.
The work of God would have been much crippled had it not been for your
liberality.”
“Do you know, Mr. Egerton, that when you talk in that grave, approving
fashion, as if I were one of your devout women like poor Mrs. Tootle,
who is really a good creature, although her husband is a sanctimonious
idiot, I feel a perfect hypocrite.”
“Why do you always depreciate yourself...”
“Do not interrupt me, for I am determined to settle this matter once for
all, and not walk about in a vain show, as if I were a saint You think
me good, and so do the chapel people, I suppose, because I give to
foreign missions and Bible-women, and go to the prayer-meeting, and
attend the special meetings. Do you know why I do those things?”
“Yes, I think so,” said the minister; “but I will hear your reason.”
“Because Mr. Arkwright believed in missions and evangelists, and he
was... a better husband to me than I was wife to him, and because
it would be dishonourable not to use his money for the objects he
approved.”
“And the services? Is that the reason you are always present, and set
such a good example?” And it was plain the minister did not take Mrs.
Arkwright at her value of herself.
“Oh, this is because... because...”
“Yes?” And Mr. Egerton smiled as one who is giving checkmate.
“Because you were Jacob's friend, and the only man he... loved, and
because, although we have quarrelled several times, and I have been very
rude to you once or twice, still”--and a smile brought Mrs. Arkwright's
face to perfection--“we are friends also.”
“You have been... angry with me,” said Egerton, “when I could not
understand the reason, but I never doubted your friendship. If I were in
serious trouble, I would come to you rather than to any man.”
“Would you really?” Then her tone changed.
“I don't believe you, for you would go to some snuffy, maundering old
minister.”
“And you are good,” he insisted, taking no notice of her petulance. “You
are honest, and brave, and high-minded, and loyal, and...”
“Pious, with a gift of prayer, you had better add. How blind you are,
for all your knowledge and... other qualities. You forgot to add
sweet-tempered; but perhaps you were coming to that.”
“No, I would not say that, and I am rather glad you are not
gentle,”--the minister was very bold,--“for you would not be...
yourself.”
“You had your suspicions, then, and are not sure that I am ready for
canonising? Do you know I feel immensely relieved; suppose we celebrate
this confession by tea? Would you ring the bell, Mr. Egerton?”
“There is something I want to talk about, and as it's rather important,
would you mind, Mrs. Arkwright, giving me a few minutes first? Tea is
rather distracting.”
“Composing, I find it--but as you please; is it the District Visitors,
or the Nurses' Home, or the Children's Holiday, and is it money?” Mrs.
Arkwright for some reason was very gracious.
“No, it has nothing to do with the chapel. I wish to speak about...
yourself.”
“Yes?” and she looked curiously at him.
“You remember that day when Mr. Arkwright committed you to my care, and
I gave my word to..
“Do your best to look after a very troublesome woman,” Mrs. Arkwright
interposed hurriedly; “it was a... risky task, and I thought you were
far too hasty, and just a little presumptuous, in undertaking it, but
you've been a very lenient guardian for your age. Have I done anything
wrong?”
“No, and you could not at any time in my eyes,”--Mrs. Arkwright made as
though she would curtsey,--“but others might do wrong to you, and I have
been anxious for some time.
“Mr. Arkwright was afraid lest some unworthy man should admire you or
desire your wealth, and... marry you, and your life be miserable. And he
wished me to save you from this, and I promised to do my best.”
“Well?” and her voice had begun to freeze. “I remember all that.”
“It is difficult to speak about such things, but you know that I...
would do anything to save you pain....”
“Go on,” and now her eyes were fixed on the minister.
“It came to my ears and I saw for myself that one whom I knew slightly
and did not like was paying you attentions, and it might be, as I also
heard, was favoured by you. So it seemed my duty to make enquiries about
Mr. Crashaw.”
“And?”
“There is nothing against his character, and I have heard much good of
him--that he has cultured tastes and is very well liked by those who
know him; personally we could never be friends, for various reasons, but
he... is not unworthy to be the husband of... a good woman. That is
all I have to say”; and the saying of it was plainly very hard to the
minister.
“You recommend me to marry Mr. Crashaw, if that gentleman should do me
the honour to ask my hand, or do you propose to suggest this step to
him, so as to complete your duty as guardian?” Mrs. Arkwright was now
standing and regarding Egerton with fierce scorn.
“My information seemed to me reliable”--he was also standing, white and
pained--“and I thought it would help you in that case to know what I
have told you, when you came to decide.”
“If I knew who told you such falsehoods, I would never speak to them
again, and I would make them suffer for their words. Mr. Crashaw! and
it was to that cynical, worldly, supercilious tailor's block you were to
marry me. What ill have I done you?”
“God knows I did not desire.... I mean... do you not see that I tried to
do what was right at a cost?... Why be so angry with me?”
“Because I do not really care what any person in this town or all
Yorkshire says about me, but I do care and cannot endure that you should
turn against me, and be content to see me Crashaw's wife or any other
man's.” And she drove the minister across the room in her wrath--he had
never seen her so beautiful--till he stood with his back to the door,
and she before him as a lioness robbed of her cubs.
“It has been my mistake, for I understand not women,” he said, with
proud humility. “I beg your pardon, and am more than ever... your
servant.”
She looked at him stormily for ten seconds; then she turned away. “If
that is all you have to say, you need not come again to this house.”