REVIEWING THE MATTER.
“That alters the case,” Mrs. Dainty spoke suggestively, raising her
eyes from the floor, and looking at her husband. It was nearly five
minutes after Uncle John had left the library.
“Yes, that alters the case,” was the half-dreamy response of Mr.
Dainty. “That alters the case,” he repeated, and then relapsed into
silence.
So far they were agreed.
“That artful girl——”
Mrs. Dainty paused, for she was not entirely certain in regard to her
husband’s present estimate of Miss Harper.
“Do you think her artful?” inquired Mr. Dainty looking at his wife.
“See what influence she has gained over Uncle John.”
“That may be explained on other grounds,” said Mr. Dainty.
“What are they?”
“He has himself referred to them.”
“I thought he had forgotten Florence Williams years ago, or that, if he
remembered her at all, it was with indifference or dislike. She jilted
him meanly. But I was always glad of it.”
“Madeline,” said Mr. Dainty, speaking in a decided way, “we cannot
change the present condition of things: that each of us may see at a
glance. And the question for us to ponder is, can we afford to let our
feelings rule, and so break with Uncle John? There is no use in beating
around the bush. No use in fretting ourselves. The horns of our dilemma
are visible as the sun at noonday, and we must make our election. Uncle
John has made his: that is certain.”
“And do you really think he will give us and our children up for that
girl?” said Mrs. Dainty.
“I am sure of it. Did you not see how he was moved when he said that
he loved her as if she were his own child? I marked it well. I have
seen him disturbed a hundred times in my life, but never as he was this
evening.”
Mrs. Dainty sighed deeply.
“We shall have to humor him,” said Mr. Dainty.
“And let that upstart triumph over me!” Mrs. Dainty burst into tears.
Pride could not endure the thought.
“Are you not prejudiced against her, Madeline? She has never seemed to
me presuming.”
Before Mrs. Dainty could reply, the library-door was pushed open, and
Madeline came gliding in. From her manner it was plain that she had
come to make a request, and also plain that she was in doubt as to its
reception.
“Mother,” she said, as she paused a few steps from Mrs. Dainty.
“Well, dear?”
“Can’t I——” The child hesitated, and her face colored.
“Say on, dear.”
“Can’t I sleep with Miss Harper?”
A strongly-uttered negative was on the lip of Mrs. Dainty, when a
warning look and gesture from her husband forced her to keep silence.
“Can’t I, mother?” urged the child. “Say yes. Do, mother!”
Madeline was unusually earnest.
“Why do you wish to sleep with Miss Harper?” asked her father.
“Oh, because she is good, and I love her.”
“Don’t you love sister Agnes?”
“Yes, I love her.” The tone of Madeline’s voice fell.
“Isn’t she good?”
“Not like Miss Harper.”
“Not like Miss Harper?”
“No.”
“What is the difference, darling?” And Mr. Dainty, interested in spite
of himself, drew an arm around Madeline and pressed her to his side.
“God has made her good,” said the child, speaking low and reverently.
This answer sent a strange thrill through the heart of Mrs. Dainty. The
father asked no other question.
“Can’t I sleep with her to-night, mother? Say yes, just for to-night.”
“Yes, for to-night,” answered Mrs. Dainty, speaking as one constrained.
Madeline threw her arms around her mother’s neck, and, kissing her,
said, in a light, fluttering voice,—
“Oh, I’m so glad!” Then she flew away, like a happy bird in the warm
spring sunshine.
“There is one thing very certain, Madeline,” said Mr. Dainty, as
the child vanished from the room: “Miss Harper’s influence upon the
children is good, and for their sakes, if no other considerations were
urged, we had better let Uncle John have his way. We can tolerate her.”
Mrs. Dainty shook her head.
“Toleration is not going to do,” she answered. “Entire social equality
is demanded; and nothing less will satisfy either of them.”
“I am not sure that Miss Harper has demanded any thing. Uncle John said
she had not, and that she was here only upon his strong solicitation.
It is barely possible, Madeline, that you have misunderstood her from
the beginning. At least, one thing is now certain. Her social position
will be changed by Uncle John’s formal adoption. She will be lifted to
our level, and society will recognise her. So far we will be all right
with the world.”
“There is something in that,” said Mrs. Dainty, a trifle softened. “But
will she remain as governess to the children?”
“We can sink the word ‘governess.’ Let her be their companion and
instructor.”
“Only another name for the same thing,” remarked Mrs. Dainty. “The
position is menial.”
“I have thought differently, since Uncle John’s remarks a little while
ago,” said Mr. Dainty. “They struck me as having great force.”
“What did he say? I was so excited and outraged that I scarcely
comprehended him.”
“He said that the teacher, guide, and companion of our children must be
socially equal, or she cannot lift them up to our level. And he asked,
with to me startling emphasis, ‘Can the coarse, unskilled hands of an
inferior mould into forms of spiritual beauty the ductile elements of
a child’s mind,—that sublime creation over which angels bend in silent
wonder?’ ‘Choose,’ he added, ‘the wisest and the best; and give her
the place of honor in your household.’ There is force in that view of
the question, Madeline,—great force; and our sad experience with Mrs.
Jeckyl should be felt as a solemn warning. If menials and inferiors are
to be instructors of our children, will they not deprave their tastes
instead of elevating them? Can an impure fountain send forth sweet
waters? We cannot gather grapes of thorns, nor figs of thistles.”
Mrs. Dainty sat with her eyes cast down, and a thoughtful, sober
expression on her face.
“For the sake of our children,” she said, looking up, after the lapse
of some moments, “I ought to be willing to do almost any thing. But
this is a hard requirement.”
“I do not believe,” answered Mr. Dainty, “that Miss Harper will ever
intrude herself offensively upon us. In no instance since she has been
in our house have I observed the slightest tendency in that direction.”
“I have had better opportunities for observation,” was the reply, “and
read her deportment somewhat differently. Why, if she were to the very
manor born, she could not bear herself with greater ease nor show a
higher self-possession. There is the tone and carriage about her of one
who acknowledges no superior. It is this in the girl that has always
annoyed me.”
“You may have looked through a distorting medium,” said Mr. Dainty.
“It is possible,” was answered, in a subdued voice. And then another
long silence followed. It was broken in upon by the entrance of Agnes,
their oldest daughter. She pushed the door open quietly, and, seeing
her father and mother alone, was about retiring, when the former said,—
“Come in, daughter.”
“I only wanted a book,” remarked Agnes.
“Come and sit down here. I have something to say to you about Miss
Harper,” added Mr. Dainty.
Agnes looked curiously at her father.
“What about Miss Harper?” she asked, as she drew a chair to his side.
“You like her?” Mr. Dainty spoke in a tone of inquiry.
“Oh, yes, father.” The answer was warmly uttered.
“Why?”
“Because she is kind and good.”
“Do you wish her to remain here?”
“I wouldn’t have her go away for all the world!” said Agnes, speaking
with strong emphasis.
“Why not?”
“What would become of Madeline?” was the earnestly-spoken inquiry.
“Of Madeline?” Both Mr. and Mrs. Dainty looked with surprise at Agnes.
“Yes: that dreadful woman would get her again. Maddy would steal off,
as she did before. Oh, father, don’t let Miss Harper go away! she’s the
only one who can get along with sister now. She is so wise, so good, so
loving, and so patient. I looked at her a little while ago, as she sat
reading in the Bible to Madeline, and thought her face shone like that
of an angel. I wished then that she were my sister, instead of only our
governess. Dear father, I think Miss Harper must have been born a true
lady.”
“Agnes,” said Mr. Dainty, after musing for some moments, “Uncle John
knew her mother.”
“Did he?” The face of Agnes brightened.
“Yes: he knew her a great many years ago.”
“Then he had seen Miss Harper before she came here?”
“Yes; and it was because he had faith in her goodness and intelligence
that he was so desirous to have her remain as your governess. We had
no knowledge of all this when she came here, but he told us about it
this evening. And now she is going to be one of us; that is, she will
be as our daughter and your elder sister.”
“How glad I am! how glad I am!” exclaimed Agnes, striking her hands
together, while tears filled her eyes. “But, mother, you don’t say any
thing!” And she stood up and looked earnestly into her mother’s face.
“Can you accept her as an equal?” asked Mrs. Dainty, almost coldly.
“She is wiser and better than I am,” replied Agnes, humbly. “If she
will accept me as a sister, my heart will yield to her joyfully. Dear
mother, take her into favor and love, for she is worthy.”
“Leave us now, daughter,” said Mrs. Dainty, in a softened voice. “We
will talk about this another time.”
And Agnes, after kissing her mother affectionately, withdrew from the
library.
“The thing is inevitable.” Mrs. Dainty was not by any means reconciled,
as both tone and manner indicated.
“But easy.”
“Easy?”
“Yes, and may be accepted gracefully. Let us be thankful that Miss
Harper is not a proud, selfish, designing girl, whose first effort
would be to produce alienation between us and Mr. Fleetwood.”
The thoughts of Mrs. Dainty reverted at once to the insolent manner in
which she had conducted herself toward Miss Harper, and her efforts to
degrade her in the family; and a wave of apprehension swept across her
selfish heart.
“But,” continued Mr. Dainty, “of this I do not imagine there is any
thing to fear. Miss Harper I regard as above suspicion. There is no
doubt of her being able to influence your uncle against us if she
should be so inclined. Let us act wisely, and not produce in her that
inclination. Madeline, you see as clearly as I do the doubtful position
we now occupy. The tables are suddenly turned upon us, and we are
to-day in the power of an obscure young girl upon whom we have looked
down as the humble governess of our children. It is no use to strive
against the inevitable. We must either accept or reject her. If the
former, it will have to be done heartily. Neither coldness nor reserve
will answer. Miss Harper is clear-seeing, sensitive, and high-spirited.
Her relation to Mr. Fleetwood gives her a position of equality, and any
attempt on your part to degrade her, in even the slightest thing, will
be felt and resented by both.”
“I see; I see,” answered Mrs. Dainty, moodily. “But, when a thing
has to be done, only fools hesitate. I will discipline my feelings
to-night, and to-morrow put on toward this usurping girl a new
exterior. Don’t fear but that I shall play my part.”
“It may cost you a struggle,” said her husband, “but the strife will
soon be over. I hope much from her gentle nature, and much from her
clear perception of right. She will not, I am sure, take a mean
advantage of this great diversion in her favor.”
“Time will show,” was the almost sullen response.