Читать книгу: «Scenes and Characters, or, Eighteen Months at Beechcroft», страница 5
‘Nonsense; get out of the way,’ said Maurice, turning away.
‘Now, Maurice, this is most horrid cruelty,’ said Lily; ‘what right have you to shorten the brief, happy life which—’
‘Well,’ interrupted Maurice, ‘if you make such a fuss about killing it, I will stick a pin through it into a cork, and let it shift for itself.’
Poor Phyllis ran away to the other end of the garden, sat down and sobbed, Ada screamed and argued, Emily complained, Lily exhorted Claude to interfere, while Reginald stood laughing.
‘Such useless cruelty,’ said Emily.
‘Useless!’ said Maurice. ‘Pray how is any one to make a collection of natural objects without killing things?’
‘I do not see the use of a collection,’ said Lily; ‘you can examine the creatures and let them go.’
‘Such a young lady’s tender-hearted notion,’ said Reginald.
‘Who ever heard of a man of science managing in such a ridiculous way?’
‘Man of science!’ exclaimed Lily, ‘when he will have forgotten by next Christmas that insects ever existed.’
It was not convenient to hear this speech, so Maurice turned an empty flower-pot over his prisoner, and left it in Jane’s care while he went to fetch the means of destruction, probably choosing the lawn for the place of execution, in order to show his contempt for his sisters.
‘Fair damsel in boddice blue,’ said Lily, peeping in at the hole at the top of the flower-pot, ‘I wish I could avert your melancholy fate. I am very sorry for you, but I cannot help it.’
‘You might help it now, at any rate,’ muttered Claude.
‘No,’ said Lily, ‘I know Monsieur Maurice too well to arouse his wrath so justly. If you choose to release the pretty creature, I shall be charmed.’
‘You forget that I am in charge,’ said Jane.
‘There is a carriage coming to the front gate,’ cried Ada. ‘Emily, may I go into the drawing-room? Oh, Jenny, will you undo my brown holland apron?’
‘That is right, little mincing Miss,’ said Reginald, with a low bow; ‘how fine we are to-day.’
‘How visitors break into the afternoon,’ said Emily, with a languid turn of her head.
‘Jenny, brownie,’ called Maurice from his bedroom window, ‘I want the sulphuric acid.’
Jane sprang up and ran into the house, though her sisters called after her, that she would come full upon the company in the hall.
‘They shall not catch me here,’ cried Reginald, rushing off into the shrubbery.
‘Are you coming in, Claude?’ said Emily.
‘Send Ada to call me, if there is any one worth seeing,’ said Claude
‘They will see you from the window,’ said Emily.
‘No,’ said Claude, ‘no one ever found me out last summer, under these friendly branches.’
The old butler, Joseph, now showed himself on the terrace; and the young ladies, knowing that he had no intention of crossing the lawn, hastened to learn from him who their visitors were, and entered the house. Just then Phyllis came running back from the kitchen garden, and without looking round, or perceiving Claude, she took up the flower-pot and released the captive, which, unconscious of its peril, rested on a blade of grass, vibrating its gauzy wings and rejoicing in the restored sunbeams.
‘Fly away, fly away, you pretty creature,’ said Phyllis; ‘make haste, or Maurice will come and catch you again. I wish I had not given you such a fright. I thought you would have been killed, and a pin stuck all through that pretty blue and black body of yours. Oh! that would be dreadful. Make haste and go away! I would not have caught you, you beautiful thing, if I had known what he wanted to do. I thought he only wanted to look at your beautiful body, like a little bit of the sky come down to look at the flowers, and your delicate wings, and great shining eyes. Oh! I am very glad God made you so beautiful. Oh! there is Maurice coming. I must blow upon you to make you go. Oh, that is right—up quite high in the air—quite safe,’ and she clapped her hands as the dragon-fly rose in the air, and disappeared behind the laurels, just as Maurice and Reginald emerged from the shrubbery, the former with a bottle in his hand.
‘Well, where is the Libellulla?’ said he.
‘The dragon-fly?’ said Phyllis. ‘I let it out.’
‘Sold, Maurice!’ cried Reginald, laughing at his brother’s disaster.
‘Upon my word, Phyl, you are very kind!’ said Maurice, angrily. ‘If I had known you were such an ill-natured crab—’
‘Oh! Maurice dear, don’t say so,’ exclaimed Phyllis. ‘I thought I might let it out because I caught it myself; and I told you I did not catch it for you to kill; Maurice, indeed, I am sorry I vexed you.’
‘What else did you do it for?’ said Maurice. ‘It is horrid not to be able to leave one’s things a minute—’
‘But I did not know the dragon-fly belonged to you, Maurice,’ said Phyllis.
‘That is a puzzler, Mohun senior,’ said Reginald.
‘Now, Redgie, do get Maurice to leave off being angry with me,’ implored his sister.
‘I will leave off being angry,’ said Maurice, seeing his advantage, ‘if you will promise never to let out my things again.’
‘I do not think I can promise,’ said Phyllis.
‘O yes, you can,’ said Reginald, ‘you know they are not his.’
‘Promise you will not let out any insects I may get,’ said Maurice, ‘or I shall say you are as cross as two sticks.’
‘I’ll tell you what, Maurice,’ said Phyllis, ‘I do wish you would not make me promise, for I do not think I can keep it, for I cannot bear to see the beautiful live things killed.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Maurice, fiercely, ‘I am very angry indeed, you naughty child; promise—’
‘I cannot,’ said Phyllis, beginning to cry.
‘Then,’ said Maurice, ‘I will not speak to you all day.’
‘No, no,’ shouted Reginald, ‘we will only treat her like the horse-stinger; you wanted a puella, Maurice—here is one for you, here, give her a dose of the turpentine.’
‘Yes,’ said Maurice, advancing with his bottle; ‘and do you take the poker down to Naylor’s to be sharpened, it will just do to stick through her back. Oh! no, not Naylor’s—the girls have made a hash there, as they do everything else; but we will settle her before they come out again.’
Phyllis screamed and begged for mercy—her last ally had deserted her.
‘Promise!’ cried the boys.
‘Oh, don’t!’ was all her answer.
Reginald caught her and held her fast, Maurice advanced upon her, she struggled, and gave a scream of real terror. The matter was no joke to any one but Reginald, for Maurice was very angry and really meant to frighten her.
‘Hands off, boys, I will not have her bullied,’ said Claude, half rising.
Maurice gave a violent start, Reginald looked round laughing, and exclaimed, ‘Who would have thought of Claude sneaking there?’ and Phyllis ran to the protecting arm, which he stretched out. To her great surprise, he drew her to him, and kissed her forehead, saying, ‘Well done, Phyl!’
‘Oh, I knew he was not going to hurt me,’ said Phyllis, still panting from the struggle.
‘To be sure not,’ said Maurice, ‘I only meant to have a little fun.’
Claude, with his arm still round his sister’s waist, gave Maurice a look, expressing, ‘Is that the truth?’ and Reginald tumbled head over heels, exclaiming, ‘I would not have been Phyl just them.’
Ada now came running up to them, saying, ‘Maurice and Redgie, you are to come in; Mr. and Mrs. Burnet heard your voices, and begged to see you, because they never saw you last holidays.’
‘More’s the pity they should see us now,’ said Maurice.
‘I shall not go,’ said Reginald.
‘Papa is there, and he sent for you,’ said Ada.
‘Plague,’ was the answer.
‘See what you get by making such a row,’ said Claude. ‘If you had been as orderly members of society as I am—’
‘Oh, but Claude,’ said Ada, ‘papa told me to see if I could find you. Dear Claude, I wish,’ she proceeded, taking his hand, and looking engaging, ‘I wish you would put your arm round me as you do round Phyl.’
‘You are not worth it, Ada,’ said Reginald, and Claude did not contradict him.
CHAPTER VIII
THE BROTHERS
‘But smiled to hear the creatures he had known
So long were now in class and order shown—
Genus and species. “Is it meet,” said he,
“This creature’s name should one so sounding be—
’Tis but a fly, though first-born of the spring,
Bombylius Majus, dost thou call the thing?”
It was not till Sunday, that Lily’s eager wish was fulfilled, of introducing her friend and her brothers; but, as she might have foreseen, their first meeting did not make the perfections of either party very clear to the other. Claude never spoke to strangers more than he could help, Maurice and Reginald were in the room only a short time; so that the result of Miss Weston’s observations, when communicated in reply to Lily’s eager inquiries, was only that Claude was very like his father and eldest brother, Reginald very handsome, and Maurice looked like a very funny fellow.
On Monday, Reginald and Maurice were required to learn what they had always refused to acknowledge, that the holidays were not intended to be spent in idleness. A portion of each morning was to be devoted to study, Claude having undertaken the task of tutor—and hard work he found it; and much did Lily pity him, when, as not unfrequently happened, the summons to the children’s dinner would bring him from the study, looking thoroughly fagged—Maurice in so sulky a mood that he would hardly deign to open his lips—Reginald talking fast enough, indeed, but only to murmur at his duties in terms, which, though they made every one laugh, were painful to hear. Then Claude would take his brothers back to the study, and not appear for an hour or more, and when he did come forth, it was with a bad headache. Sometimes, as if to show that it was only through their own fault that their tasks were wearisome, one or both boys would finish quite early, when Reginald would betake himself to the schoolroom and employ his idle time in making it nearly impossible for Ada and Phyllis to learn, by talking, laughing, teasing the canary, overturning everything in pursuing wasps, making Emily fretful by his disobedience, and then laughing at her, and, in short, proving his right to the title he had given himself at the end of the only letter he had written since he first went to school, and which he had subscribed, ‘Your affectionate bother, R. Mohun.’ So that, for their own sake, all would have preferred the inattentive mornings.
Lily often tried to persuade Claude to allow her to tell her father how troublesome the boys were, but never with any effect. He once took up a book he had been using with them, and pointing to the name in the first page, in writing, which Lily knew full well, ‘Henry Mohun,’ she perceived that he meant to convince her that it was useless to try to dissuade him, as he thought the patience and forbearance his brother had shown to him must be repaid by his not shrinking from the task he had imposed upon himself with his young brothers, though he was often obliged to sit up part of the night to pursue his own studies.
If Claude had rather injudiciously talked too much to Lilias of ‘her principle,’ and thus kept it alive in her mind, yet his example might have made its fallacy evident. She believed that what she called love had been the turning point in his character, that it had been his earnest desire to follow in Henry’s steps, and so try to comfort his father for his loss, that had roused him from his indolence; but she was beginning to see that nothing but a sense of duty could have kept up the power of that first impulse for six years. Lily began to enter a little into his principle, and many things that occurred during these holidays made her mistrust her former judgment. She saw that without the unvarying principle of right and wrong, fraternal love itself would fail in outward acts and words. Forbearance, though undeniably a branch of love, could not exist without constant remembrance of duty; and which of them did not sometimes fail in kindness, meekness, and patience? Did Emily show that softness, which was her most agreeable characteristic, in her whining reproofs—in her complaints that ‘no one listened to a word she said’—in her refusal to do justice even to those who had vainly been seeking for peace? Did Lily herself show any of her much valued love, by the sharp manner in which she scolded the boys for roughness towards herself? or for language often used by them on purpose to make her displeasure a matter of amusement? She saw that her want of command of temper was a failure both in love and duty, and when irritated, the thought of duty came sooner to her aid than the feeling of love.
And Maurice and Reginald were really very provoking. Maurice loved no amusement better than teasing his sisters, and this was almost the only thing in which Reginald agreed with him. Reginald was affectionate, but too reckless and violent not to be very troublesome, and he too often flew into a passion if Maurice attempted to laugh at him; the little girls were often frightened and made unhappy; Phyllis would scream and roar, and Ada would come sobbing to Emily, to be comforted after some rudeness of Reginald’s. It was not very often that quarrels went so far, but many a time in thought, word, and deed was the rule of love transgressed, and more than once did Emily feel ready to give up all her dignity, to have Eleanor’s hand over the boys once more. Claude, finding that he could do much to prevent mischief, took care not to leave the two boys long together with the elder girls. They were far more inoffensive when separate, as Maurice never practised his tormenting tricks when no one was present to laugh with him, and Reginald was very kind to Phyllis and Ada, although somewhat rude.
It was a day or two after they returned that Phyllis was leaning on the window-sill in the drawing-room, watching a passing shower, and admiring the soft bright tints of a rainbow upon the dark gray mass of cloud. ‘I do set my bow in the cloud,’ repeated she to herself over and over again, until Adeline entering the room, she eagerly exclaimed, ‘Oh Ada, come and look at this beautiful rainbow, green, and pink, and purple. A double one, with so many stripes, Ada. See, there is a little bit more green.’
‘There is no green in a rainbow,’ said Ada.
‘But look, Ada, that is green.’
‘It is not real green. Blue, red, and yellow are the pragmatic colours,’ said Ada, with a most triumphant air. ‘Now are not they, Maurice?’ said she, turning to her brother, who was, as usual, deep in entomology.
‘Pragmatic, you foolish child,’ said he. ‘Prismatic you mean. I am glad you remember what I tell you, however; I think I might teach you some science in time. You are right in saying that blue, red, and yellow are the prismatic colours. Now do you know what causes a rainbow?’
‘It is to show there is never to be another flood,’ said Phyllis, gravely.
‘Oh, I did not mean that,’ said Maurice, addressing himself to Ada, whose love of hard words made him deem her a promising pupil, and whom he could lecture without interruption. ‘The rainbow is caused by—’
‘But, Maurice!’ exclaimed Phyllis, remaining with mouth wide open.
‘The rainbow is occasioned by the refraction of the rays of the sun in the drops of water of which a cloud is composed.’
‘But, Maurice!’ again said Phyllis.
‘Well, what do you keep on “but, Mauricing,” about?’
‘But, Maurice, I thought it said, “I do set my bow in the cloud.” Is not that right? I will look.’
‘I know that, but I know the iris, or rainbow, is a natural phenomenon occasioned by the refraction.’
‘But, Maurice, I can’t bear you to say that;’ and poor Phyllis sat down and began to cry.
Ada interfered. ‘Why, Maurice, you believe the Bible, don’t you?’
This last speech was heard by Lilias, who just now entered the room, and greatly surprised her. ‘What can you be talking of?’ said she.
‘Only some nonsense of the children’s,’ said Maurice, shortly.
‘But only hear what he says,’ cried Ada. ‘He says the rainbow was not put there to show there is never to be another flood!’
‘Now, Lily,’ said Maurice, ‘I do not think there is much use in talking to you, but I wish you to understand that all I said was, that the rainbow, or iris, is a natural phenomenon occasioned by the refraction of the solar—’
‘You will certainly bewilder yourself into something dreadful with that horrid science,’ said Lily. ‘What is the matter with Phyl?’
‘Only crying because of what I said,’ answered Maurice. ‘So childish, and you are just as bad.’
‘But do you mean to say,’ exclaimed Lily, ‘that you set this human theory above the authority of the Bible?’
‘It is common sense,’ said Maurice; ‘I could make a rainbow any day.’
Whereupon Phyllis cried the more, and Lily looked infinitely shocked. ‘This is philosophy and vain deceit,’ said she; ‘the very thing that tends to infidelity.’
‘I can’t help it—it is universally allowed,’ said the boy doggedly.
It was fortunate that the next person who entered the room was Claude, and all at once he was appealed to by the four disputants, Lily the loudest and most vehement. ‘Claude, listen to him, and tell him to throw away these hateful new lights, which lead to everything that is shocking!’
‘Listen to him, with three ladies talking at once?’ said Claude. ‘No, not Phyl—her tears only are eloquent; but it is a mighty war about the token of peace and love, Lily.’
‘The love would be in driving these horrible philosophical speculations out of Maurice’s mind,’ said Lily.
‘No one can ever drive out the truth,’ said Maurice, with provoking coolness. ‘Don’t let her scratch out my eyes, Claude.’
‘I am not so sure of that maxim,’ said Claude. ‘Truth is chiefly injured—I mean, her force weakened, by her own supporters.’
‘Then you agree with me,’ said Maurice, ‘as, in fact, every rational person must.’
‘Then you are with me,’ said Lily, in the same breath; ‘and you will convince Maurice of the danger of this nonsense.’
‘Umph,’ sighed Claude, throwing himself into his father’s arm-chair, ‘’tis a Herculean labour! It seems I agree with you both.’
‘Why, every Christian must be with me, who has not lost his way in a mist of his own raising,’ said Lilias.
‘Do you mean to say,’ said Maurice, ‘that these colours are not produced by refraction? Look at them on those prisms;’ and he pointed to an old-fashioned lustre on the chimney-piece. ‘I hope this is not a part of the Christian faith.’
‘Take care, Maurice,’ and Claude’s eyes were bent upon him in a manner that made him shrink. And he added, ‘Of course I do believe that chapter about Noah. I only meant that the immediate cause of the rainbow is the refraction of light. I did not mean to be irreverent, only the girls took me up in such a way.’
‘And I know well enough that you can make those colours by light on drops of water,’ said Lily.
‘So you agreed all the time,’ said Claude.
‘But,’ added Lily, ‘I never liked to know it; for it always seemed to be explaining away the Bible, and I cannot bear not to regard that lovely bow as a constant miracle.’
‘You will remember,’ said Claude, ‘that some commentators say it should be, “I have set my bow in the cloud,” which would make what already existed become a token for the future.
‘I don’t like that explanation,’ said Lily.
‘Others say,’ added Claude, ‘that there might have been no rain at all till the windows of heaven were opened at the flood, and, in that case, the first recurrence of rain must have greatly alarmed Noah’s family, if they had not been supported and cheered by the sight of the rainbow.’
‘That is reasonable,’ said Maurice.
‘I hate reason applied to revelation,’ said Lily.
‘It is a happier state of mind which does not seek to apply it,’ said Claude, looking at Phyllis, who had dried her tears, and stood in the window gazing at him, in the happy certainty that he was setting all right. Maurice respected Claude for his science as much as his character, and did not make game of this observation as he would if it had been made by one of his sisters, but he looked at him with an odd expression of perplexity. ‘You do not think ignorant credulity better than reasonable belief?’ said he at length.
‘It is not I only who think most highly of child-like unquestioning faith, Maurice,’ said Claude—‘faith, that is based upon love and reverence,’ added he to Lily. ‘But come, the shower is over, and philosophers, or no philosophers, I invite you to walk in the wood.’
‘Aye,’ said Maurice, ‘I daresay I can find some of the Arachne species there. By the bye, Claude, do you think papa would let me have a piece of plate-glass, eighteen by twenty, to cover my case of insects?’
‘Ask, and you will discover,’ said Claude.
Accordingly, Maurice began the next morning at breakfast, ‘Papa, may I have a piece of plate-glass, eighteen by—?’
But no one heard, for Emily was at the moment saying, ‘The Westons are to dine here to-day.’
Claude and Maurice both looked blank.
‘I persuaded papa to ask the Westons,’ said Lily, ‘because I am determined that Claude shall like Alethea.’
‘You must expect that I shall not, you have given me so many orders on the subject,’ said Claude.
‘Take care it has not the same effect as to tell Maurice to like a book,’ said Emily; ‘nothing makes his aversion so certain.’
‘Except when he takes it up by mistake, and forgets that it has been recommended to him,’ said Claude.
‘Take care, Redgie, with your knife; don’t put out my eyes in your ardour against that wretched wasp. Wat Greenwood may well say “there is a terrible sight of waspses this year.”’
‘I killed twenty-nine yesterday,’ said Reginald.
‘And I will tell you what I saw,’ said Phyllis; ‘I was picking up apples, and the wasps were flying all round, and there came a hornet.’
‘Vespa Crabro!’ cried Maurice; ‘oh, I must have one!’
‘Well, what of the hornet?’ said Mr. Mohun.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ resumed Phyllis, ‘he saw a wasp flying, and so he went up in the air, and pounced on the poor wasp as the hawk did on Jane’s bantam. So then he hung himself up to the branch of a tree by one of his legs, and held the wasp with the other five, and began to pack it up. First he bit off the yellow tail, then the legs, and threw them away, and then there was nothing left but the head, and so he flew away with it to his nest.’
‘Which way did he go?’ said Maurice.
‘To the Old Court,’ answered Phyllis; ‘I think the nest is in the roof of the old cow-house, for they were flying in and out there yesterday, and one was eating out the wood from the old rails.’
‘Well,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘you must show me a hornet hawking for wasps before the nest is taken, Phyllis; I suppose you have seen the wasps catching flies?’
‘Oh yes, papa! but they pack them up quite differently. They do not hang by one leg, but they sit down quite comfortably on a branch while they bite off the wings and legs.’
‘There, Maurice,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘I had rather hear of one such well-observed fact than of a dozen of your hard names and impaled insects.’
Phyllis looked quite radiant with delight at his approbation.
‘But, papa,’ said Maurice, ‘may I have a piece of plate-glass, eighteen by twenty?’
‘When you observe facts in natural history, perhaps I may say something to your entomology,’ said Mr. Mohun.
‘But, papa, all my insects will be spoilt if I may not have a piece of glass, eighteen by—’
He was interrupted by the arrival of the post-bag, which Jane, as usual, opened. ‘A letter from Rotherwood,’ said she; ‘I hope he is coming at last.’
‘He is,’ said Claude, reading the letter, ‘but only from Saturday till Wednesday.’
‘He never gave us so little of his good company as he has this summer,’ said Emily.
‘You will have them all in the autumn, to comfort you,’ said Claude, ‘for he hereby announces the marvellous fact, that the Marchioness sends him to see if the castle is fit to receive her.’
‘Are you sure he is not only believing what he wishes?’ said Mr. Mohun.
‘I think he will gain his point at last,’ said Claude.
‘How stupid of him to stay no longer!’ said Reginald.
‘I think he has some scheme for this vacation,’ said Claude, ‘and I suppose he means to crowd all the Beechcroft diversions of a whole summer into those few days.’
‘Emily,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘I wish him to know the Carringtons; invite them and the Westons to dinner on Tuesday.’
‘Oh don’t!’ cried Reginald. ‘It will be so jolly to have him to take wasps’ nests; and may I go out rabbit-shooting with him?’
‘If he goes.’
‘And may I carry a gun?’
‘If it is not loaded,’ said his father.
‘Indeed, I would do no mischief,’ said Reginald.
‘Let me give you one piece of advice, Reginald,’ said Mr. Mohun, with a mysterious air—‘never make rash promises.’
Lilias was rather disappointed in her hopes that Miss Weston and Claude would become better acquainted. At dinner the conversation was almost entirely between the elder gentlemen; Claude scarcely spoke, except when referred to by his father or Mr. Devereux. Miss Weston never liked to incur the danger of having to repeat her insignificant speeches to a deaf ear, and being interested in the discussion that was going on, she by no means seconded Lily’s attempt to get up an under-current of talk. In general, Lily liked to listen to conversation in silence, but she was now in very high spirits, and could not be quiet; fortunately, she had no interest in the subject the gentlemen were discussing, so that she could not meddle with that, and finding Alethea silent and Claude out of reach, she turned to Reginald, and talked and tittered with him all dinner-time.
In the drawing-room she had it all her own way, and talked enough for all the sisters.
‘Have you heard that Cousin Rotherwood is coming?’
‘Yes, you said so before dinner.’
‘We hope,’ said Emily, ‘that you and Mr. Weston will dine here on Tuesday. The Carringtons are coming, and a few others.’
‘Thank you,’ said Alethea; ‘I daresay papa will be very glad to come.’
‘Have you ever seen Rotherwood?’ said Lilias.
‘Never,’ was the reply.
‘Do not expect much,’ said Lily, laughing, though she knew not why; ‘he is a very little fellow; no one would suppose him to be twenty, he has such a boyish look. Then he never sits down—’
‘Literally?’ said Emily.
‘Literally,’ persisted Lily; ‘such a quick person you never did see.’
‘Is he at Oxford?’
‘Oh yes! it was all papa’s doing that he was sent to Eton. Papa is his guardian. Aunt Rotherwood never would have parted with him.’
‘He is the only son,’ interposed Emily.
‘Uncle Rotherwood put him quite in papa’s power; Aunt Rotherwood wanted to keep him at home with a tutor, and what she would have made of him I cannot think,’ said Lily; and regardless of Emily’s warning frowns, and Alethea’s attempt to change the subject, she went on: ‘When he was quite a child he used to seem a realisation of all the naughty Dicks and Toms in story-books. Miss Middleton had a perfect horror of his coming here, for he would mind no one, and played tricks and drew Claude into mischief; but he is quite altered since papa had the management of him—Oh! such talks as papa has had with Aunt Rotherwood—do you know, papa says no one knows what it is to lose a father but those who have the care of his children, and Aunt Rotherwood is so provoking.’
Here Alethea determined to put an end to this oration, and to Emily’s great relief, she cut short the detail of Lady Rotherwood’s offences by saying, ‘Do you think Faith Longley likely to suit us, if we took her to help the housemaid?’
‘Are you thinking of taking her?’ cried Lily. ‘Yes, for steady, stupid household work, Faith would do very well; she is just the stuff to make a servant of—“for dulness ever must be regular”—I mean for those who like mere steadiness better than anything more lovable.’
As Alethea said, laughing, ‘I must confess my respect for that quality,’ Mr. Devereux and Claude entered the room.
‘Oh, Robert!’ cried Lily, ‘Mrs. Weston is going to take Faith Longley to help the housemaid.’
‘You are travelling too fast, Lily,’ said Alethea, ‘she is only going to think about it.’
‘I should be very glad,’ said Mr. Devereux, ‘that Faith should have a good place; the Longleys are very respectable people, and they behaved particularly well in refusing to let this girl go and live with some dissenters at Stoney Bridge.’
‘I like what I have seen of the girl very much,’ said Miss Weston.
‘In spite of her sad want of feeling,’ said Robert, smiling, as he looked at Lily.
‘Oh! she is a good work-a-day sort of person,’ said Lily, ‘like all other poor people, hard and passive. Now, do not set up your eyebrows, Claude, I am quite serious, there is no warmth about any except—’
‘So this is what Lily is come to!’ cried Emily; ‘the grand supporter of the poor on poetical principles.’
‘The poor not affectionate!’ said Alethea.
‘Not, compared within people whose minds and affections have been cultivated,’ said Lily. ‘Now just hear what Mrs. Wall said to me only yesterday; she asked for a black stuff gown out of the clothing club, “for,” said she, “I had a misfortune, Miss;” I thought it would be, “and tore my gown,” but it was, “I had a misfortune, Miss, and lost my brother.”’
‘A very harsh conclusion on very slight grounds,’ said Mr. Devereux.
‘Prove the contrary,’ said Lily.
‘Facts would scarcely demonstrate it either way,’ said Mr. Devereux. ‘They would only prove what was the case with individuals who chanced to come in our way, and if we are seldom able to judge of the depth of feeling of those with whom we are familiar, how much less of those who feel our presence a restraint.’
‘Intense feeling mocks restraint,’ said Lily.
‘Violent, not intense,’ said Mr. Devereux. ‘Besides, you talk of cultivating the affections. Now what do you mean? Exercising them, or talking about them?’
‘Ah!’ said Emily, ‘the affection of a poor person is more tried; we blame a poor man for letting his old mother go to the workhouse, without considering how many of us would do the same, if we had as little to live upon.’
‘Still,’ said Alethea, ‘the same man who would refuse to maintain her if poor, would not bear with her infirmities if rich.’
‘Are the poor never infirm and peevish?’ said Mr. Devereux.
