CHAPTER TEN.
MR. WELLES DOES IT BEAUTIFULLY.
"Thy virtues lost, thou would'st not look Me in thy chains to hold? Know, friend, thou verily hast lost Thy chiefest virtue--gold."
Nine o'clock on the Monday morning was the hour appointed for readingMadam's will. When Rhoda and Phoebe, in their deep mourning, enteredthe parlour, they were startled to find the number of persons alreadyassembled. Not only all the household and outdoor servants, but all theinmates of the Maidens' Lodge, excepting Mrs Marcella, and severalothers, stood up to receive the young ladies as they passed on to theplace reserved for them.
Mr Dawson handed the girls to their places, and then seated himself atthe table, and proceeded to unfold a large parchment.
"It will be well that I should remark," said he, looking up over hisspectacles, "that the late Madam Furnival had intended, at the time ofher death, to execute a fresh will. I am sorry to say it was notsigned. This, therefore, is her last will, as duly executed. It bearsdate the fourteenth of November, in the year 1691--"
An ejaculation of dismay, though under her breath, came from Rhoda, thelawyer went on:--
"--When Mrs Catherine Peveril, mother of Mrs Rhoda here, was justmarried, and before the marriage of Mrs Anne Furnival, mother to MrsPhoebe Latrobe, who is also present. The intended will would have madeprovision for both of these young gentlewomen, grand-daughters to MadamFurnival. By the provisions of the present one, one of them isworsened, and the other bettered."
Rhoda's alarm was over. The last sentence reassured her.
Mr Dawson cleared his voice, and began to read. The will commencedwith the preamble then usual, in which the testatrix declared herreligious views as a member of the Church of England; and went on tostate that she wished to be buried with her ancestors, in the familyvault, in the nave of Tewkesbury Abbey. One hundred pounds wasbequeathed to the Vicar of Tewkesbury, for the time being; twenty poundsand a suit of mourning to every servant who should have been in heremploy for five years at the date of her death; six months' wages tothose who should have been with her for a shorter time; a piece of blacksatin sufficient to make a gown, mantua, and hood, and forty pounds inmoney, to each inmate of the Maidens' Lodge. Mourning rings were leftto the Maidens, the Vicar. Dr Saunders, Mr Dawson, and severalfriends mentioned by name, of whom Sir Richard Delawarr was one. Thenthe testatrix gave, devised, and bequeathed to her "dear daughterCatherine, wife of Francis Peveril, Esquire, with remainder to the heirsof her body, the sum of two thousand pounds of lawful money."
Rhoda's face grew eager, as she listened for the next sentence.
"Lastly, I give, devise, and bequeath the Abbey of Cressingham, commonlycalled White-Ladies, and all other my real and personal estatewhatsoever, not hereinbefore excepted, to my dear daughter AnneFurnival, her heirs, assigns, administrators, and executors for ever."
The effect was crushing. That one sentence had changed everything. NotRhoda, but Phoebe, was the heiress of White-Ladies.
Mr Dawson calmly finished reading the signatures and attestationclause, and then folded up the will, and once more looked over hisspectacles.
"Mrs Phoebe, as your mother's representative, give me leave to wish youjoy. Shall you wish to write to her? I must, of course. The letterscould go together."
Phoebe looked up, half-bewildered.
"I scarcely understand," she said. "There is something left to Mother,is there not?"
"My dear young gentlewoman, there is everything left to her. She is thelady of the manor."
"Just what is there for Rhoda?" gasped Phoebe, apparently not at allelated by her change of position.
"A poor, beggarly two thousand pounds!" burst out Rhoda. "'Tis a shame!And I always thought I was to have White-Ladies! I shall just benobody now! Nobody will respect me, and I can never cut any figure.Well! I'm glad I am engaged to be married. That's safe, at any rate."
The elevation of Mr Dawson's eyebrows, and the pursing of his lips,might have implied a query on that score.
"I'm so sorry, dear!" said Phoebe, gently. "For you, of course, I mean.I could not be sorry that there was something for Mother, because sheis not well off; but I am very sorry you are disappointed."
"You can't help it!" was Rhoda's rather repelling answer. Still,through all her anger, she remembered to be just.
"Certainly not, my dear Mrs Phoebe," said the lawyer. "'Tis nobody'sfault--not even Madam Furnival's, for the new will would have givenWhite-Ladies to Mrs Rhoda, and five thousand pounds to Mrs AnneLatrobe. Undoubtedly she intended, Mrs Rhoda, you should have it."
"Then why can't I?" demanded Rhoda, fiercely.
Mr Dawson shook his head, with a pitying smile. "The law knows nothingof intentions," said he: "only of deeds fully performed. Still, it maybe a comfort in your disappointment, to remember that this was meant foryou."
"Thank you for your comfort!" said Rhoda, bitterly. "Why, it makes itall the worse."
"I wish--" but Phoebe stopped short.
"Oh, I don't blame you," said Rhoda, impetuously. "'Tis no fault ofyours. If she'd done it now, lately, I might have thought so. But awill that was made before either you or me was born--" Rhoda's grammaralways suffered from her excitement--"can't be your fault, nor anybodyelse's. But 'tis a shame, for all that. She'd no business to let me goon all these years, expecting to have everything, and knew all the whileher will wasn't right made. 'Tis too bad! My Lady Betty!--MrsDorothy!--don't you think so?"
"My dear," said Lady Betty, "I am indeed grieved for yourdisappointment. But there is decorum, my dear Mrs Rhoda--there isdecorum!"
"No, my dear," was Mrs Dorothy's answer. "I dare not call anything badthat the Lord doth. Had it been His will you should have White-Ladies,be sure you would have had it."
"Well, you know," said Rhoda, in a subdued tone, and folding one of herblack gauze ribbons into minute plaits, "of course, one can't complainof God."
"Ah, child!" sighed Mrs Dorothy, "I wish one could not!"
"O my dear Mrs Rhoda, I feel for you so dreadfully!" accompanied thetragically clasped hands of Mrs Clarissa. "My feelings are so keen,and run away with me so--"
"Then let 'em!" said Mrs Jane Talbot's voice behind. "Mine won't. Mydears, I'm sorry you've lost Madam. But as to the money and that, I'llwait ten years, and then I'll tell you which I'm sorry for."
"Well, I'm sorry for both of you," added Mrs Eleanor Darcy. "I don'tthink, Mrs Phoebe, my dear, you'll lie on roses."
No one was more certain of that than Phoebe herself.
She wrote a few lines to her mother, which went inside Mr Dawson'sletter. Mrs Latrobe was in service near Reading. Her daughter feltsure that she would lose no time in taking possession. The event provedthat she was right. The special messenger whom Mr Dawson sent with theletters returned with an answer to each. Phoebe's mother wrote to herthus:--
"Child,--Mr Dawson hath advertized me of the deth of Madam Furnivall, my mother. I would have you, on rect of this, to lett your cousen know that shee need not lieve the house afore I come, wich will be as soon as euer I can winde all upp and bee wth you. I would like to make aquaintance wth her ere anything be settled. I here from the layer [by which Mrs Latrobe meant _lawyer_] that she is to be maried, and it will be soe much ye better for you. I trust you may now make a good match yrself. But I shal see to all yt when I com.
"Yr mother, A. Latrobe."
Phoebe studied every word of this letter, and the more she studied it,the less she liked it. First, it looked as if Mrs Latrobe did meanRhoda to leave the house, though she graciously intimated her intentionof making acquaintance with her before she did so. Secondly, she wasevidently in a hurry to come. Thirdly, she congratulated herself onRhoda's approaching marriage, because it would get rid of her, and leavethe way open for Phoebe. And lastly, she threatened Phoebe with "a goodmatch." Phoebe thought, with a sigh, that "the time was out of joint,"and heartily wished that the stars would go back into the
ir courses.
Mrs Latrobe managed to wind all up in a surprisingly short time. Shereached her early home in the cool of a summer evening, Rhoda havingsent the family coach to meet her at Tewkesbury. Phoebe had saidnothing to her cousin of any approaching change, which she thought itbest to leave to her mother; so she contented herself by saying thatMrs Latrobe wished to make the acquaintance of her niece. Lady Bettykindly came up to help the inexperienced girls in making due preparationfor the arrival of the lady of the manor. When the coach rolled up tothe front door, Phoebe was standing on the steps, Lady Betty and Rhodafurther back in the hall.
Mrs Latrobe was attired in new and stylish mourning.
"Ah, child, here you are!" was her first greeting to Phoebe. "The oldplace is grown greyer. Those trees come too near the windows; I shallcut some of them down. Where is your cousin?"
Rhoda heard the inquiry, and she stepped forward.
"Let us look at you, child," said Mrs Latrobe, turning to her. "Ah,you are like Kitty--not so good-looking, though."
"Mother," said Phoebe, gently, "this is my Lady Betty Morehurst. Shewas so kind as to help us in getting ready for you."
Mrs Latrobe appraised Lady Betty by means of one rapid glance. Thenshe thanked her with an amount of effulgence which betrayed eithersubservience or contempt. Lady Betty received her thanks with a quietdignity which refused to be ruffled, kissed Rhoda and Phoebe, and tookher leave, declining to remain even for the customary dish of tea. MrsLatrobe drew off her gloves, sat down in Madam's cushioned chair, anddesired Phoebe to give her some tea.
"Let me see, child!" she said, looking at Rhoda. "You are nearone-and-twenty, I suppose?"
Rhoda admitted the fact.
"And what do you think of doing?"
Rhoda looked blankly first at her aunt, then at her cousin. Phoebe camehastily to the rescue.
"She is shortly to be married, Mother; did you forget?"
"Ah!" said Mrs Latrobe, still contemplating Rhoda. "Well--if it hold--you may as well be married from hence, I suppose. Is the day fixed?"
"No, Aunt Anne."
"I think, my dear," remarked Mrs Latrobe, sipping her tea, "'twould bebetter if you said Madam.--Why, Phoebe, what old-fashioned china! Sureit cannot have been new these forty years. I shall sweep away all thatrubbish.--Whom are you going to marry? Is he well off?--Phoebe, thoseshoe-buckles of yours are quite shabby. I cannot have you wear suchtrumpery. You must remember what is due to you.--Well, my dear?"
Rhoda had much less practice in the school of patience than Phoebe, andshe found the virtue difficult just then. But she restrained herself aswell as she could.
"I am engaged in marriage with Mr Marcus Welles; and he has an estate,and spends three thousand pounds by the year."
"Welles! A Welles of Buckinghamshire?"
"His estate is in this shire," said Rhoda.
"Three thousand! That's not much. Could you have done no better? Heexpected you would have White-Ladies, I suppose?"
"I suppose so. I did," said Rhoda, shortly.
"My dear, you have some bad habits," said Mrs Latrobe, "which Phoebeshould have broken you of before I came. 'Tis very rude to answerwithout giving a name."
"You told me not to give you one, Aunt Anne."
"You are slow at catching meanings, my dear," replied Mrs Latrobe, withthat calm nonchalance so provoking to an angry person. "I desired youto call me Madam, as 'tis proper you should."
"Phoebe doesn't," burst from Rhoda.
"Then she ought," answered Mrs Latrobe, coolly examining the crest on atea-spoon.
"Oh, I will, Rhoda, if Mother wishes it," put in Phoebe, anxious aboveall things to keep the peace.
Rhoda vouchsafed no reply to either.
"Well!" said the lady of the manor, rising, "you will carry me to mychamber, child," addressing Rhoda. "You can stay here, Phoebe. Yourcousin will wait on me."
It was something new for Rhoda to wait on anyone. She swallowed herpride with the best grace she could, and turned to open the door.
"I suppose you have had the best room made ready for me?" inquired MrsLatrobe, as she passed out.
"Madam's chamber," replied Rhoda.
"Oh, but--not the one in which she died?"
"Yes," answered Rhoda; adding, after a momentary struggle with herself,"Madam."
"Oh, but that will never do!" said Mrs Latrobe, hastily. "I couldn'tsleep there! A room in which someone died scarce a month ago! Where ismy woman? Call her. I must have that changed."
Rhoda summoned Betty, who came, courtesying. Her mistress was too muchpreoccupied in mind to notice the civility.
"Why, what could you all be thinking of, to put me in this chamber? Imust have another. This is the best, I know; but I cannot think ofsleeping here. Show me the next best--that long one in the south wing."
"That is the young gentlewomen's chamber, Madam," objected Betty.
"Well, what does that matter?" demanded Mrs Latrobe, sharply. "Can'tthey have another? I suppose I come first!"
"Yes, of course, Madam," said subdued Betty.
Rhoda looked dismayed, but kept silence. She was learning her lesson.Mrs Latrobe looked into the girls' room, rapidly decided on it, andordered it to be got ready for her.
"Then which must the young gentlewomen have, Madam?" inquired Betty.
"Oh, any," said Mrs Latrobe, carelessly. "There are enough."
"Which would you like, Mrs Rhoda?" incautiously asked Betty.
Before Rhoda could reply, her aunt said quickly,--
"Ask Mrs Phoebe, if you please."
And Betty remembered that the cousins had changed places. It was a verybitter pill to Rhoda; and it was not like Rhoda to say--yet she said it,as soon as she had the opportunity--
"Phoebe, Aunt Anne means you to choose our room: please don't have alittle stuffy one."
"Dear Rhoda, which would you like?" responded Phoebe at once.
A little sob escaped Rhoda.
"Oh, Phoebe, you are going to be the only one who is good to me! Ishould like that other long one in the north wing, that matches ours;but don't choose it if you don't like it."
"We will have that," said Phoebe, reassuringly; "at least, if Motherleaves it to me."
Thus early it was made evident that the old nature in Anne Latrobe wasscotched, not killed. Sorrow seemed to have laid merely a repressivehand upon her bad qualities, and to have uprooted none but good ones.The brilliance and playfulness of her early days were gone. The _coeurleger_ had turned to careless self-love, the impetuosity had becomepeevish obstinacy.
"Old Madam never spoke to me in that way!" said Betty. "She liked tohave her way, poor dear gentlewoman, as well as anybody; and shewouldn't take a bit of impudence like so much barley-sugar, I'll not sayshe would; but she was a gentlewoman, every inch of her, that she was.And that's more than you can say for some folks!"
The next morning, all the Maidens--the invalid, as usual, excepted--cametrooping up one after another, to pay their respects to the new lady ofthe manor.
Lady Betty came first; then Mrs Dorothy and Mrs Eleanor, together;after a little while, Mrs Clarissa; and lastly, Mrs Jane.
"My dear Mrs Anne, I remember you well, though perhaps you can scarcerecollect me," said Mrs Dorothy, "for you were but nine years old thelast time that I saw you. May the Lord bless you, my dear, and make youa blessing!"
"Oh, I don't doubt I shall do my duty," was the response of MrsLatrobe, which very much satisfied herself and greatly dissatisfied MrsDorothy.
"'Tis delightful to see you back, dear Madam Latrobe!" said MrsClarissa, gushingly. "How touching must it be to return to the home ofyour youth, after so many years of banishment!"
Mrs Latrobe had not felt in the least touched, and hardly knew how toreply. "Oh, to be sure!" she said. "Glad to see you," said Mrs Jane."Great loss we've had in Madam. Hope you'll be as good as she was. Mysister desired me to make her compliments. Can't stir off the sofa.Fine morning!"
When the Maidens left the Abbey--which they did together--they comparednotes on the new reign.
Lady Betty's sense of decorum was very much shocked. Mrs Latrobe hadnot spoken a word of her late mother, and had hinted at changes inmatters which had existed at White-Ladies from time immemorial.
Mrs Clarissa was charmed with the new lady's manners and mourning, bothwhich she thought faultless.
Mrs Eleanor thought "she was a bit shy, poor thing! We must makeallowances, my dear friends--we must make allowances!"
"Make fiddlestrings!" growled Mrs Jane. "She's Anne Furnival still,and she'll be Anne Furnival to the end of the chapter. As if I didn'tknow Nancy! Ever drive a jibbing horse?"
Mrs Clarissa, who was thus suddenly appealed to, declared in a shockedtone that she never drove a horse of any description since she was born.
"Ah, well! I have," resumed Mrs Jane, ignoring the scandalised tone ofher sister Maiden: "and that's just Nancy Furnival. She's as sleek inthe coat as ever a Barbary mare. But you'll not get her along the roadto Tewkesbury, without you make her think you want to drive her toGloucester. I heard plenty of folks pitying Madam when she bolted. Myword!--but I pitied somebody else a vast deal more, and that was CharlesLatrobe. I wouldn't have married her, if she'd been stuck all over withdiamonds."
"I fancy she drove him," said Mrs Eleanor with a smile.
"Like enough, poor soul!" responded Mrs Jane. "Only chance he had ofany peace. He was a decent fellow enough, too,--if only he had keptclear of Nancy."
"What made him marry her?" thoughtfully asked Mrs Eleanor.
"Deary me!" exclaimed Mrs Jane. "When did you ever see a man thatcould fathom a woman? Good, simple soul that he was!--she made himthink black was white with holding up a finger. She glistened bravely,and he thought she was gold. Well!--_we_ shan't have much peace now,--take my word for it. Eh, this world!--'tis a queer place as ever Isaw."
"True, my dear," replied Mrs Dorothy: "let us therefore be thankfulthere is a better."
But her opinion of Mrs Latrobe was not given.
The same evening, as Phoebe sat in the parlour with her mother, Bettycame in with a courtesy.
"Mr Marcus Welles, to speak with Madam."
"With Mrs Rhoda?" asked Phoebe, rising. "I will go seek her."
"No, if you please, Mrs Phoebe: Mr Welles said, Madam or yourself."
"Phoebe, my dear, do not be such a fid-fad!" entreated Mrs Latrobe."If Rhoda is wanted, she can be sought.--Good evening, Sir! I am trulydelighted to have the pleasure of seeing you, and I trust we shall bebetter acquainted."
Mr Welles bowed low over Mrs Latrobe's extended hand.
"Madam, the delight is mine, and the honour. Mrs Phoebe, yourservant,--your most humble servant."
It was the first time that Mr Welles had ever addressed Phoebe withmore than a careless "good evening."
"Ready to serve you, Sir," said she, courtesying. "Shall I seek mycousin? She has wanted your company, I think."
This was a very audacious speech for Phoebe: but she thought it soextraordinary that Mr Welles had not paid one visit to his betrothedsince the funeral, that she took the liberty of reminding him of it.
"Madam," said Mr Welles, with a complacent smile, toying with his goldchatelaine, "I really could not have visited you sooner, under thecircumstances in which I found myself."
"Phoebe! have you lost your senses?" inquired Mrs Latrobe, sharply.
"I am sure," resumed Mr Marcus Welles, with an extremely graceful waveof his hand towards Mrs Latrobe, "that Madam will fully enter into mymuch lacerated feelings, and see how very distressing 'twould have beenboth to myself and her, had I forced my company on Mrs Rhoda, asmatters stand at present."
Phoebe sat listening with a face of utter bewilderment. By what meanshad Mr Welles' feelings been lacerated?--and why should it be moredistressing for him to meet Rhoda now than before?--But she keptsilence, and Mrs Latrobe said,--
"I think, Sir, I have the honour to understand you."
"Madam!" replied Mr Marcus Welles, with his courtliest bow, "I am surethat a gentlewoman of your parts and discretion can do no less, I cannotbut be infinitely sensible of the severe and cruel loss I am about tosustain: still, to my small estate, any other dealing would be of suchmischievous consequence, that I think myself obliged to resign the viewsI proposed to myself."
Phoebe tried to understand him, and found it impossible.
"This being the case," continued he, "you will understand, dear Madam,that I thought myself engaged to wait until I might be honoured by somediscourse with you: and meanwhile to abstain from any commerce ofdiscourse in other quarters, till I had permission to acquaint you ofthe affair. I have indeed been in pain until I was able to wait uponyou. I shall now be something eased. You, I am certain, dearest Madam,will contrive the business far better than my disordered mind wouldallow me; and I doubt not 'twould be more agreeable to all parties tocommunicate by that canal."
"If you wish it, Sir, it shall certainly be so," answered Mrs Latrobe,who seemed to be under no doubt concerning Mr Welles' meaning. "I amyours to serve you in the matter."
"Dearest Madam, you are an angel of mercy! The sooner I retire, then,the better."
He kissed Mrs Latrobe's hand, and came round to Phoebe.
"Mr Welles, you have not seen Rhoda yet. I do not understand!" saidPhoebe blankly, as he bowed iver her hand.
"Madam, I have but just now engaged myself--"
"Phoebe, don't be a goose!" burst from her mother. "You must be a babyif you do not understand. Cannot you see that Mr Welles, in a mosthonourable manner, which does him infinite credit, withdraws allpretensions to your cousin's hand, leaving her free to engage herselfelsewhere? Really, I should have thought you had sense enough forthat."
For a moment Phoebe looked, with a bewildered air, from her mother toMr Welles. Then shyness, fear and reserve gave way before indignation.She did understand now.
"You mean to desert Rhoda, because she has lost the paltry money thatyou expected she would have?"
For once in his life, Mr Marcus Welles seemed startled and taken at adisadvantage.
"I was afraid you wanted her chiefly for her money, but I did notbelieve you capable of this! So you do not care for her at all? Andyou run away, afraid to face the pangs you have created, and to meet theeyes of the maid you have so foully wronged. Shame on you!"
"Phoebe, you must be mad!" exclaimed Mrs Latrobe, rising. "Don'tlisten to her, dear Mr Welles; 'tis a most distressing scene for you tobear. I am infinitely concerned my daughter should have so farforgotten herself as to address you with such vulgar abuse. I can onlyexcuse her on the ground--"
"Dearest Madam, there is every excuse," said Mr Welles, with thesweetest magnanimity. "Sweet Mrs Phoebe is a woodland bird,untrammelled as yet by those fetters which we men and women of the worldmust needs bear. 'Tis truly delightful to see the charming generosityand the admirable fire with which she plays the knight-errant. Indeed,Madam, such disinterested warmth and fervour of heart are seen but tooseldom in this worn old world. Suffer me to entreat you not to chideMrs Phoebe for her charming simplicity and high spirit."
"Since Mr Welles condescends to intercede for you, Phoebe,notwithstanding your shocking behaviour, I am willing to overlook itthis time; but I warn you I shall not prove thus easy another time."
"I am sure I hope there will never be another time!" cried Phoebe, hereyes flashing.
"Phoebe, go to your chamber, and don't let me hear one word more," saidMrs Latrobe, severely.
And Phoebe obeyed, rushing upstairs with feet that seemed to keep pacewith the whirlwind in her heart.
"Phoebe, I wonder whether of these ribbons, the silk or the gauze, wouldgo best with-- Why, whatever in the world is the matter?" said Rhoda,breaking off.
"You may well ask, my dear," answered the voice of Mrs Latrobe, behindPhoebe. "Your cousin has been conducting herself in a most impropermanner--offering gross insults to my gu
ests in my house."
"Phoebe!" cried Rhoda, as if she could not believe her ears.
"Yes, Phoebe. She really has. I can only fear--indeed, I had almostsaid hope--that her wits are something impaired. What think you of hertelling a gentleman who had acted in a most noble and honourablemanner--exactly as a gentleman should do--that she could not havebelieved him capable of such baseness? and she cried shame on him!"
"Not Phoebe!" exclaimed Rhoda again, looking from one to the other verymuch as Phoebe had done. "Why, Phoebe, what does all this mean?"
"Oh, Rhoda, I can't tell you!" said Phoebe, sobbing, for the reactionhad come. "Mother, you will have to tell her. I can't."
"Of course I shall tell her," calmly answered Mrs Latrobe. "I came forthat very thing. Rhoda, my dear, I am sure you are a maid of sense anddiscretion."
"I hope so, Madam."
"So do I, child: and therefore you will hear me calmly, and not fly intopassions like that silly maid yonder. My dear, you must haveremembered, I am certain, that when you promised yourself to Mr Welles,you were in a very different situation from now."
Rhoda only bowed. Perhaps, on that subject, she was afraid to trust hervoice.
"And, of course, it has also occurred to you, my dear, that this beingthe case, you could not in honour hold Mr Welles bound to you anylonger, if he wished to be free?"
"But we don't wish to be free," said Rhoda, in a puzzled tone.
"You are mistaken, my dear, so far as one of you is concerned. Perhapsit had been yet more graceful had you been the one to loose the bond:yet Mr Welles has done it with so infinite a grace and spirit that Ican scarce regret your omission. My dear, you are now entirely free.He sets you completely at liberty, and has retired from all pretensionto you."
"But what, Aunt Anne--I do not understand you!" exclaimed Rhoda, inaccents of bewildered amazement, which had a ring of agony beneath, asthough she was struggling against the comprehension of a grief she wasreluctant to face.
"Surely, my dear, you must have understood me," said Mrs Latrobe. "MrWelles resigns his suit to you."
"He has given me up?" bursts from Rhoda's lips.
"He has entirely given you up. You cannot have really expected anythingelse?"
"I thought _he_ was true!" said Rhoda through her set teeth. "Are yousure you understood him? Phoebe, you tell me,--did he mean that?"
"O Rhoda! poor Rhoda! I am afraid he did!" said Phoebe, as distinctlyas tears would let her.
"But, my dear," interposed Mrs Latrobe, remonstratingly, "surely youcannot be surprised? When Mr Welles engaged himself to you, it was (ashe thought) to the heiress of a large estate. You could not expect himto encumber himself with a wife who brought him less than one year'sincome of his own. 'Tis not reasonable, child. No man in his senseswould do such a thing. We live in the world, my dear,--not in Utopia."
"We live in a hard, cold, wicked, miserable world, and the sooner we areout of it the better!" came in a constrained voice from Rhoda.
"I beg, my dear," answered Mrs Latrobe, "you will not make extravagantspeeches. There might be not another man in the world, that you shouldgo into such a frenzy. We shall yet find you a husband, never fear."
"Not one like him, I hope!" murmured Phoebe. "And I don't think Rhodawants anybody else."
"Phoebe," said her mother, "I am extreme concerned at the coarseness ofyour speeches. I had hoped you were a gentlewoman."
"Well, Mother," said Phoebe, firing up again, "if Mr Welles be agentleman, I almost hope not!"
"My dear," said Mrs Latrobe, "Mr Welles is a gentleman. The style inwhich he announced his desire to withdraw from his suit to your cousin,was perfect. A prince could not have done it better."
"I should hope a prince would not have done it at all!" was the bluntresponse from Phoebe.
"You are not a woman of the world, my dear, but a very foolish, ignorantchild, that does not know properly what she is saying. 'Tis so nearbed-time you need not descend again. You will get over yourdisappointment, Rhoda, when you have slept, and I shall talk with youpresently. Good-night, my dears."
And Mrs Latrobe closed the door, and left the cousins together.
The Maidens' Lodge; or, None of Self and All of Thee Page 10