Hopes and Fears Part 78

She had dined late every day, she had ridden with Sir Bevil in the Park, her curly hair had been thought to be _crepe_, she had drunk champagne, she would have gone to the Opera, but the Actons were particular, and said it was too soon--so tiresome, one couldn't do anything for this mourning. Phoebe, in an admonitory tone, suggested that she had seen the British Museum.

'Oh yes, I have it all in my note-book. Only imagine, Phoebe, Sir Nicholas had been at Athens, and knew nothing about the Parthenon! And, gourmet as he is, and so long in the Mediterranean, he had no idea whether the Spartan black broth was made with sepia.'

'My dear,' began her mother, 'young ladies do not talk learning in society.'

'Such a simple thing as this, mamma, every one must know. But they are all so unintellectual! Not a book about the Bannermans' house except Soyer and the London Directory, and even Bevil had never read the _Old Red Sandstone_ nor Sir Charles Lyell. I have no opinion of the science of soldiers or sailors.'

'You have told us nothing of Juliana's baby,' interposed Phoebe.

'She's exactly like the G.o.ddess Pasht, in the Sydenham Palace! Juliana does not like her a bit, because she is only a girl, and Bevil quite worships her. Everything one of them likes, the other hates. They are a study of the science of antipathies.'

'You should not fancy things, Bertha.'

'It is no fancy; every one is observing it. Augusta says she has only twice found them together in their own house since Christmas, and Mervyn says it is a warning against virulent constancy.'

'Then you saw Mervyn?' anxiously asked Phoebe.

'Only twice. He is at deadly feud with the Actons, because Bevil takes Robert's part, and has been lecturing him about the withdrawing all the subscriptions!'

'What?' asked Phoebe again.

'Oh! I thought Robert told you all, but there has been such a row! I believe poor papa said something about letting Robert have an evening school for the boys and young men at the distillery, but when he claimed it, Mervyn said he knew nothing about it, and wouldn't hear of it, and got affronted, so he withdrew all the subscriptions from the charities and everything else, and the boys have been mobbing the clergy, and Juliana says it is all Robert's fault.'

'And did you see Robert?'

'Very little. No one would come to such an old fogy's as Sir Nicholas, that could help it.'

'Bertha, my dear, young ladies do not use such words,' observed her mother.

'Oh, mamma, you are quite behindhand. Slang is the thing. I see my line when I come out. It would not do for you, Phoebe--not your style--but I shall sport it when I come out and go to the Actons. I shall go out with them. Augusta is too slow, and lives with nothing but old admirals and _gourmands_; but I'll always go to Juliana for the season, Phoebe, wear my hair in the Eugenie style, and be piquante.'

'Perhaps things will be altered by that time.'

'Oh no. There will be no retrograde movement. Highly educated women have acquired such a footing that they may do what they please.'

'Are we highly educated women?' asked Maria.

'I am sure you ought to be, my dear. Nothing was grudged for your education,' said her mother.

'Well, then, I'll always play at bagatelle, and have a German band at the door,' quoth Maria, conclusively.

'Did you go to St. Matthew's?' again interrupted Phoebe.

'Yes, Bevil took me. It is the oddest place. A white brick wall with a red cross built into it over the gate, and the threshold is just a step back four or five hundred years. A court with buildings all round, church, schools, and the curates' rooms. Such a sitting-room; the floor matted, and a great oak table, with benches, where they all dine, schoolmaster, and orphan boys, and all, and the best boy out of each cla.s.s.'

'It is a common room, like one at a college,' explained Phoebe. 'Robert has his own rooms besides.'

'Such a hole!' continued Bertha. 'It is the worst of all the curates'

sitting-rooms, looking out into the nastiest little alley. It was a shame he did not have the first choice, when it is all his own.'

'Perhaps that is the reason he took the worst,' said Phoebe.

'A study in extremes,' said Bertha. 'Their dinner was our luncheon--the very plainest boiled beef, the liquor given away and at dinner, at the Bannermans', there were more fine things than Bevil said he could appreciate, and Augusta looking like a full-blown dahlia. I was always wanting to stick pins into her arms, to see how far in the bones are. I am sure I could bury the heads.'

Here, seeing her mother look exhausted, Phoebe thought it wise to clear the room; and after waiting a few minutes to soothe her, left her to her maid. Bertha had waited for her sister, and clinging round her, said, 'Well, Phoebe, aren't you glad of us? Have you seen a living creature?'

'Miss Charlecote twice, Mr. Henderson once, besides all the congregation on Sunday.'

'Matter-of-fact Phoebe! Perhaps you can bear it, but does not your mind ache, as if it had been held down all this time?'

'So that it can't expand to your grand intellect?' said Phoebe.

'It is no great self-conceit to hope one is better company than Maria!

But come, before we fall under the dominion of the Queen of the West Wing, I have a secret for you.' Then, after a longer stammer than usual, 'How should you like a French sister-in-law?'

'Nonsense, Bertha!'

'Ah! you've not had my opportunities. I've seen her--both of them.

Juliana says the mother is his object; Augusta, the daughter. The mother is much the most brilliant; but then she has a husband--a mere matter of faith, for no one ever sees him. Mervyn is going to follow them to Paris, that's certain, as soon as the Epsom day is over.'

'You saw them!'

'Only in the Park--oh, no! not in a room! Their ladyships would never call on Madame la Marquise; she is not received, you know. I heard the sisters talk it all over when they fancied me reading, and wonder what they should do if it should turn out to be the daughter. But then Juliana thinks Mervyn might never bring her home, for he is going on at such a tremendous rate, that it is the luckiest thing our fortunes do not depend on the business.'

Phoebe looked quite appalled as she entered the schoolroom, not only at Mervyn's fulfilment of his threat, but at Bertha's flippancy and shrewdness. Hitherto she had been kept ignorant of evil, save what history and her own heart could tell her. But these ten days had been spent in so eagerly studying the world, that her girlish chatter was fearfully precocious.

'A little edged tool,' said Miss Fennimore, when she talked her over afterwards with Phoebe. 'I wish I could have been with her at Lady Bannerman's. It is an unsafe age for a glimpse of the world.'

'I hope it may soon be forgotten.'

'It will never be forgotten' said Miss Fennimore. 'With so strong a relish for society, such keen satire, and reasoning power so much developed, I believe nothing but the devotional principle could subdue her enough to make her a well-balanced woman. How is that to be infused?--that is the question.'

'It is, indeed.'

'I believe,' pursued the governess, 'that devotional temper is in most cases dependent upon uncomprising, exclusive faith. I have sometimes wondered whether Bertha, coming into my hands so young as she did, can have imbibed my distaste to dogma; though, as you know, I have made a point of non-interference.'

'I should shudder to think of any doubts in poor little Bertha's mind,'

said Phoebe. 'I believe it is rather that she does not think about the matter.'

'I will read Butler's _a.n.a.logy_ with her,' exclaimed Miss Fennimore. 'I read it long ago, and shall be glad to satisfy my own mind by going over it again. It is full time to endeavour to form and deepen Bertha's convictions.'

'I suppose,' said Phoebe, almost to herself, 'that all naughtiness is the want of living faith--'

But Miss Fennimore, instead of answering, had gone to another subject.

'I have seen St. Matthew's, Phoebe.'

'And Robert?' cried Phoebe. 'Bertha did not say you were with her.'