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"He was there; I didn't tell you. He came a little late. He said he hadbeen here, and as he didn't find us he came on to his sister's."
"He was here a little while."
"So he said. But he was so good, Lois! He was very good. He talked tome, and told me about things, and took care of me, and gave me supper.I tell you, I thought madam his sister looked a little askance at himonce or twice. I know she tried to get him away."
Lois again made no answer.
"Why should she, Lois?"
"Maybe you were mistaken."
"I don't think I was mistaken. But why should she, Lois?"
"Madge, dear, you know what I told you."
"About what?"
"About that; people's feelings. You and I do not belong to this gay, rich world; we are not rich, and we are not fashionable, and we do notlive as they live, in any way; and they do not want us; why shouldthey?"
"We should not hurt them!" said Madge indignantly.
"Nor be of any use or pleasure to them."
"There isn't a girl among them all to compare with you, as far as looksgo."
"I am afraid that will not help the matter," said Lois, smiling; butthen she added with earnest and almost anxious eagerness,
"Madge, dear, don't think about it! Happiness is not there; and whatGod gives us is best. Best for you and best for me. Don't you wish forriches! – or for anything we haven't got. What we have to do, is to liveso as to show forth Christ and his truth before men."
"Very few do that," said Madge shortly.
"Let us be some of the few."
"I'd like to do it in high places, then," said Madge. "O, you needn'ttalk, Lois! It's a great deal nicer to have a leopard skin under yourfeet than a rag-carpet."
Lois could not help smiling, though something like tears was gathering.
"And I'd rather have Mr. Dillwyn take care of me than uncle Tim
Hotchkiss."
The laughter and the tears came both more unmistakeably. Lois felt alittle hysterical. She finished dressing hurriedly, and heard as littleas possible of Madge's further communications.
It was a few hours later, that same morning, that Philip Dillwynstrolled into his sister's breakfast-room. It was a room at the back ofthe house, the end of a suite; and from it the eye roved throughhalf-drawn portières and between rows of pillars, along a vista ofthe parquetted floors Madge had described to her sister; catching herethe glitter of gold from a picture frame, and there a gleam of whitefrom a marble figure, through the half light which reigned there. Inthe breakfast-room it was bright day; and Mrs. Burrage was finishingher chocolate and playing with bits of dry toast, when her brother camein. Philip had hardly exchanged greetings and taken his seat, when hisattention was claimed by Mrs. Burrage's young son and heir, whoforthwith thrust himself between his uncle's knees, a bat in one hand,a worsted ball in the other.
"Uncle Phil, mamma says her name usen't to be Burrage – it was yourname?"
"That is correct."
"If it was your name once, why isn't it your name now?"
"Because she changed it and became Burrage."
"What made her be Burrage?"
"That is a deep question in mental philosophy, which I am unable toanswer, Chauncey."
"She says, it's because she married papa."
"Does not your mother generally speak truth?"
Young Philip Chauncey seemed to consider this question; and finallywaiving it, went on pulling at a button of his uncle's coat in theenergy of his inquiries.
"Uncle Phil, you haven't got a wife?"
"No."
"Why haven't you?"
"An old cookery book says, 'First catch your hare.'"
"Must you catch your wife?"
"I suppose so."
"How do you catch her?"
But the answer to this most serious inquiry was met by such a burst oflaughter on the part of both the older persons in the room, that Philhad to wait; nothing daunted, however, returned to the charge.
"Uncle Phil, if you had a wife, what would her name be?"
"If ever I have one, Chauncey, her name will be – "
But here the speaker had very nearly, in his abstraction, brought out aname that would, to say the least, have astonished his sister. Hecaught himself up just in time, and laughed.
"If ever I have one, her name will be mine."
"I did not know, last night, but you had chosen the lady to whom youintended to do so much honour," his sister observed coolly, looking athim across her chocolate cup.
"Or who I hoped would do me so much honour. What did you think of mysupposed choice?" he asked with equal coolness.
"What could I think, except that you were like all othermen – distraught for a pretty face."
"One might do worse," observed Philip, in the same tone, while that ofhis sister grew warmer.
"Some men, – but not you, Philip?"
"What distinguishes me from the mass?"
"He was here a little while."
"So he said. But he was so good, Lois! He was very good. He talked tome, and told me about things, and took care of me, and gave me supper.I tell you, I thought madam his sister looked a little askance at himonce or twice. I know she tried to get him away."
Lois again made no answer.
"Why should she, Lois?"
"Maybe you were mistaken."
"I don't think I was mistaken. But why should she, Lois?"
"Madge, dear, you know what I told you."
"About what?"
"About that; people's feelings. You and I do not belong to this gay, rich world; we are not rich, and we are not fashionable, and we do notlive as they live, in any way; and they do not want us; why shouldthey?"
"We should not hurt them!" said Madge indignantly.
"Nor be of any use or pleasure to them."
"There isn't a girl among them all to compare with you, as far as looksgo."
"I am afraid that will not help the matter," said Lois, smiling; butthen she added with earnest and almost anxious eagerness,
"Madge, dear, don't think about it! Happiness is not there; and whatGod gives us is best. Best for you and best for me. Don't you wish forriches! – or for anything we haven't got. What we have to do, is to liveso as to show forth Christ and his truth before men."
"Very few do that," said Madge shortly.
"Let us be some of the few."
"I'd like to do it in high places, then," said Madge. "O, you needn'ttalk, Lois! It's a great deal nicer to have a leopard skin under yourfeet than a rag-carpet."
Lois could not help smiling, though something like tears was gathering.
"And I'd rather have Mr. Dillwyn take care of me than uncle Tim
Hotchkiss."
The laughter and the tears came both more unmistakeably. Lois felt alittle hysterical. She finished dressing hurriedly, and heard as littleas possible of Madge's further communications.
It was a few hours later, that same morning, that Philip Dillwynstrolled into his sister's breakfast-room. It was a room at the back ofthe house, the end of a suite; and from it the eye roved throughhalf-drawn portières and between rows of pillars, along a vista ofthe parquetted floors Madge had described to her sister; catching herethe glitter of gold from a picture frame, and there a gleam of whitefrom a marble figure, through the half light which reigned there. Inthe breakfast-room it was bright day; and Mrs. Burrage was finishingher chocolate and playing with bits of dry toast, when her brother camein. Philip had hardly exchanged greetings and taken his seat, when hisattention was claimed by Mrs. Burrage's young son and heir, whoforthwith thrust himself between his uncle's knees, a bat in one hand,a worsted ball in the other.
"Uncle Phil, mamma says her name usen't to be Burrage – it was yourname?"
"That is correct."
"If it was your name once, why isn't it your name now?"
"Because she changed it and became Burrage."
"What made her be Burrage?"
"That is a deep question in mental philosophy, which I am unable toanswer, Chauncey."
"She says, it's because she married papa."
"Does not your mother generally speak truth?"
Young Philip Chauncey seemed to consider this question; and finallywaiving it, went on pulling at a button of his uncle's coat in theenergy of his inquiries.
"Uncle Phil, you haven't got a wife?"
"No."
"Why haven't you?"
"An old cookery book says, 'First catch your hare.'"
"Must you catch your wife?"
"I suppose so."
"How do you catch her?"
But the answer to this most serious inquiry was met by such a burst oflaughter on the part of both the older persons in the room, that Philhad to wait; nothing daunted, however, returned to the charge.
"Uncle Phil, if you had a wife, what would her name be?"
"If ever I have one, Chauncey, her name will be – "
But here the speaker had very nearly, in his abstraction, brought out aname that would, to say the least, have astonished his sister. Hecaught himself up just in time, and laughed.
"If ever I have one, her name will be mine."
"I did not know, last night, but you had chosen the lady to whom youintended to do so much honour," his sister observed coolly, looking athim across her chocolate cup.
"Or who I hoped would do me so much honour. What did you think of mysupposed choice?" he asked with equal coolness.
"What could I think, except that you were like all othermen – distraught for a pretty face."
"One might do worse," observed Philip, in the same tone, while that ofhis sister grew warmer.
"Some men, – but not you, Philip?"
"What distinguishes me from the mass?"
Другие электронные книги автора Susan Warner
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