More Bywords

Bessie Merrifield had, like her family, been inclined to conclude that all was the fault of High Schools.  She did not see Miss Elmore at first, thinking the Arthurets not likely to wish to be intruded upon, and having besides a good deal to think over.  For she and her father had talked over the proposal, which pecuniarily was so tempting, and he, without prejudice, but on principle, had concurred with her in deciding that it was her duty not to add one touch of attractiveness to aught which supported a cause contrary to their strongest convictions.  Her father’s approbation was the crowning pleasure, though she felt the external testimony to her abilities, quite enough to sympathise with such intoxication of success as to make any compliment seem possible.  Miss Elmore had one long talk with her, beginning by saying—

‘I wish to consult you about my poor, foolish child.’

‘Ah!  I am afraid we have not helped her enough!’ said Bessie.  ‘If we had been more sympathetic she might have trusted us more.’

‘Then you are good enough to believe that it was not all folly and presumption.’

‘I am sure it was not,’ said Bessie.  ‘None of us ever thought it more than inexperience and a little exaltation, with immense good intention at the bottom.  Of course, our dear old habits did look dull, coming from life and activity, and we rather resented her contempt for them; but I am quite sure that after a little while, every one will forget all about this, or only recollect it as one does a girlish scrape.’

‘Yes.  To suppose all the neighbourhood occupied in laughing at her is only another phase of self-importance.  You see, the poor child necessarily lived in a very narrow world, where examinations came, whatever I could do, to seem everything, and she only knew things beyond by books.  She had success enough there to turn her head, and not going to Cambridge, never had fair measure of her abilities.  Then came prosperity—’

‘Quite enough to upset any one’s balance,’ said Bessie.  ‘In fact, only a very sober, not to say stolid, nature would have stood it.’

‘Poor things!  They were so happy—so open-hearted.  I did long to caution them.  “Pull cup, steady hand.”’

‘It will all come right now,’ said Bessie.  ‘Mrs Arthuret spoke of their going away for the winter; I do not think it will be a bad plan, for then we can start quite fresh with them; and the intimacy with the Myttons will be broken, though I am sorry for the poor girls.  They have no harm in them, and Arthurine was doing them good.’

‘A whisper to you, Miss Merrifield—they are going back with me, to be prepared for governesses at Arthurine’s expense.  It is the only thing for them in the crash that young man has brought on the family.’

‘Dear, good Arthurine!  She only needed to learn how to carry her cup.’

MRS. BATSEYES

I. FATHER AND DAUGHTER

SCENE.—The drawing-room of Darkglade Vicarage.  Mr. Aveland, an elderly clergyman.  Mrs. Moldwarp, widow on the verge of middle age.

Mr. A.  So, my dear good child, you will come back to me, and do what you can for the lonely old man!

Mrs. M.  I know nothing can really make up—

Mr. A.  Ah! my dear, you know only too well by your own experience, but if any one could, it would be you.  And at least you will let nothing drop in the parish work.  You and Cicely together will be able to take that up when Euphrasia is gone too.

Mrs. M.  It will be delightful to me to come back to it!  You know I was to the manner born.  Nothing seems to be so natural!

Mr. A.  I am only afraid you are giving up a great deal.  I don’t know that I could accept it—except for the parish and these poor children.

Mrs. M.  Now, dear father, you are not to talk so!  Is not this my home, my first home, and though it has lost its very dearest centre, what can be so dear to me when my own has long been broken?

Mr. A.  But the young folks—young Londoners are apt to feel such a change a great sacrifice.

Mrs. M.  Lucius always longs to be here whenever he is on shore, and Cicely.  Oh! it will be so good for Cicely to be with you, dear father.  I know some day you will be able to enjoy her.  And I do look forward to having her to myself, as I have never had before since she was a little creature in the nursery.  It is so fortunate that I had not closed the treaty for the house at Brompton, so that I can come whenever Phrasie decides on leaving you.

Mr. A.  And she must not be long delayed.  She and Holland have waited for each other quite long enough.  Your dear mother begged that there should be no delay; and neither you nor I, Mary, could bear to shorten the time of happiness together that may be granted them.  She will have no scruple about leaving George’s children now you and Cicely will see to them—poor little things!

Mrs. M.  Cicely has always longed for a sphere, and between the children and the parish she will be quite happy.  You need have no fears for her, father!

II.  BROTHER AND SISTER

SCENE—The broad walk under the Vicarage garden wall, Lucius Moldwarp, a lieutenant in the Navy.  Cicely Moldwarp.

C.  Isn’t it disgusting, Lucius?

L.  What is?

C.  This proceeding of the mother’s.

L.  Do you mean coming down here to live?

C.  Of course I do!  Without so much as consulting me.

L.  The captain does not ordinarily consult the crew.

C.  Bosh, Lucius.  That habit of discipline makes you quite stupid.  Now, haven’t I the right to be consulted?

L.  (A whistle)

C.  (A stamp)

L.  Pray, what would your sagacity have proposed for grandpapa and the small children?

C.  (Hesitation.)

L.  (A slight laugh.)

C.  I do think it is quite shocking of Aunt Phrasie to be in such haste to marry!

L.  After eleven years—eh? or twelve, is it?

C.  I mean of course so soon after her mother’s death.

L.  You know dear granny herself begged that the wedding might not be put off on that account.

C.  Mr. Holland might come and live here.

L.  Perhaps he thinks he has a right to be consulted.

C.  Then she might take those children away with her.

L.  Leaving grandpapa alone.

C.  The Curate might live in the house.

L.  Lively and satisfactory to mother.  Come now, Cis, why are you so dead set against this plan?  It is only because your august consent has not been asked?

C.  I should have minded less if the pros and cons had been set before me, instead of being treated like a chattel; but I do not think my education should be sacrificed.

L.  Not educated!  At twenty!