A Letter of Credit Part 105

Southwode, do you know, many people criticise her for the use she makes of her money; they call her extravagant, and indiscreet, and all that.

They say she ought to lay up her money."

"Quite natural."

"But it hurt me sometimes."

"It need not hurt you. There is another judgment, which is of more importance. 'There is, that maketh himself poor, yet hath great riches.'

And there is, 'that layeth up treasure for himself, and is not rich towards G.o.d.' But the world must weigh according to its balances, and they are too small to take heaven in."

A pause followed. With the going back to Mrs. Mowbray and all the memories connected with her, a sort of mist of a.s.sociation began to rise in Rotha's mind, to dim the new brightness of the present time. Uneasy half recollections of words or manner, or perhaps rather of the impression that words and manner had left behind them, began to come floating in upon her joyousness. The silence lasted.

"What did you learn with Mrs. Mowbray?" Mr. Southwode asked at length.

"Beginnings of things," said Rotha regretfully; "only beginnings. I had not time fairly to learn anything."

"Beginnings of what?"

"French, Latin, geometry and algebra, history of course, philosophy, chemistry,--those were the princ.i.p.al things. I was going into geology, and I wanted to learn German; but Mrs. Mowbray thought I was doing enough already."

"Enough, I should think. Music?"

"O no!" said Rotha smiling.

"Drawing?"

"No," said the girl with a sigh this time. "Mrs. Mowbray could not give me everything you know, for she has others to help. And aunt Serena would not have heard of such a thing."

"What would you like to do now, Rotha?"

"Do? About what, Mr. Digby?"

"Learning. I suppose you would like to go on in all these paths of knowledge you have entered?"

Rotha looked towards him a little doubtfully. How did he mean? Himself to be her teacher again? But his next words explained.

"You would like to go to school again?"

"Yes, of course. I should like it very much."

"Then that is one thing decided."

"Shall I go back to Mrs. Mowbray?" she asked eagerly.

Mr. Southwode hesitated, and delayed his answer.

"I would rather be at a greater distance from Mrs. Busby," he confessed then.

And Rotha made no answer. Those old impressions and a.s.sociations were trooping in. She remembered that Mrs. Mowbray had never favoured the introduction of Mr. Southwode's name into their conversations; she had a dim apprehension that her influence would be thrown into Mrs. Busby's scale, and that possibly both ladies would join to prevent her, Rotha's, being under Mr. Southwode's protection and management. While not in the least suspicious, Rotha was too fine strung not to be an acute discerner.

So far her thoughts went distinctly, and it was enough to tie her tongue.

But beyond this, there were lights and shadows hovering on the horizon, which followed no traceable lines and revealed no recognizable forms, and yet made her feel that the social atmosphere held or might develope elements not altogether benign and peaceful. There had been words said or half said formerly, on one or two occasions, which had given her a clue she did not now like to follow out; words it would have been comfortable to forget, only Rotha did not forget. She _had_ forgotten or dismissed them, but as I said they began to come back. Besides, she was older. She could see now, simple as she was still, that in the relations between her and her guardian there was something anomalous; that for a young girl like her to be under care of a man no older than he, who was neither brother nor uncle nor any relation at all, and for her to be eating her bread at his expense, was a state of things which must be regarded as unusual, and to say the least, questionable. Poor Rotha sat thinking of this while she went on with her luncheon, and growing alternately hot and cold as she thought of it; everything being aggravated by an occasional glance at the friend opposite her, whose neighbourhood was so sweet, and every line of his face and figure so inexpressibly precious to her. For it began to dawn upon Rotha the woman, what had been utterly spurned in idea by Rotha the child, that this anomalous relation could not subsist always. She must, or he must, find a way out of it; and she preferred that it should be herself and not he. And the only way out of it that Rotha could see, was, that she should train herself to become a teacher; and so, in a very few years, a very few, come to be self-supported. It struck her heart like a bolt of ice, the thought; for the pa.s.sionate delight of Rotha's heart was this very friend, from whom she began to see that she must separate herself. The greatest comfort at this moment was, that Mr. Southwode himself looked so composed and untroubled by doubts or whatever else. Yet Mr. Southwode had his own thoughts the while; and to conclude from the calmness of his face that his mind was equally uncrossed by a question, would have been to make a mistake.

"Where then, if not to Mrs. Mowbray's?" Rotha inquired at last, breaking a long silence.

"Perhaps Boston. How would you like that? Or would you be very sorry not to return to New York?"

"Yes, sorry," said Rotha, "but I think it may be best. O Boston, or anywhere, Mr. Southwode! Just what you think wisest. But--I was thinking--"

Rotha laid down her knife and fork and pushed away her plate. Her heart began to beat at an uneasy rate, and her voice grew anxious.

"May I give you some fruit?"

"No--I do not care for it--thank you."

"This looks like a good pear. Try."

It was on the whole easier to be doing something with her fingers. Rotha began to peal the pear.

"You were thinking--?" Mr. Southwode then resumed.

"I?--O yes! I was thinking--" And Rotha's pear and peel went down. "I was thinking--Mr. Digby, if I knew just what I was going to do, or be afterwards,--wouldn't it help us to know what I had better study? what preparation I ought to have?"

"Afterwards? After what?" said Mr. Southwode, without laying down his pear.

"After I have done with school."

"When do you suppose that will be?"

"I do not know. That of course would depend upon the other question."

"Not necessarily. My wish is that you should be fitted for any situation in life. A one-sided education is never to be chosen, if one can help it; and one generally can help it. We can, at any rate. What are you thinking of doing, Rotha? in that 'afterwards' to which you refer?"

"I have not thought very much about it. But you know I must do _something_. I suppose teaching would be the best. I dare say Mrs.

Mowbray would take me for one of her helpers, if I were once fitted to fill the place."

"What put this in your head?"

"I suppose, _first_, some words of aunt Serena. That was her plan for me."

"I thought it was arranged that I was to take care of you."

"You are doing it," said Rotha gratefully. "But of course you could not do it always."

"Why not?"

"Why--because--" said Rotha faltering and flushing a little,--"I do not belong to you in any way. It would not be right."

"My memory is better, it seems, than yours. If I recollect right, you were given to me by your mother."

"O yes," said Rotha, flushing deeper,--"she did. But I am sure she did not mean that I should be a charge upon you, after I was able to help myself."