Miss Mackenzie Part 23

As Miss Mackenzie continued to stand, Mrs Stumfold was forced to stand also, and soon afterwards found herself compelled to go away.

She had, indeed, said all that she had come to say, and though she would willingly have repeated it again had Miss Mackenzie been submissive, she did not find herself encouraged to do so by the rebellious nature of the lady she was visiting.

"I have meant well, Miss Mackenzie," she said as she took her leave, "and I hope that I shall see you just the same as ever on my Thursdays."

To this Miss Mackenzie made answer only by a curtsey, and then Mrs Stumfold went her way.

Miss Mackenzie, as soon as she was left to herself, began to cry.

If Mrs Stumfold could have seen her, how it would have soothed and rejoiced that lady's ruffled spirit! Miss Mackenzie would sooner have died than have wept in Mrs Stumfold's presence, but no sooner was the front door closed than she began. To have been attacked at all in that way would have been too much for her, but to have been called old and unsuitable--for that was, in truth, the case; to hear herself accused of being courted solely for her money, and that when in truth she had not been courted at all; to have been informed that a lover for her must have been impossible in those days when she had no money! was not all this enough to make her cry? And then, was it the truth that Mr Maguire ought to marry some one else? If so, she was the last woman in Littlebath to interfere between him and that other one. But how was she to know that this was not some villainy on the part of Mrs Stumfold? She felt sure, after what she had now seen and heard, that nothing in that way would be too bad for Mrs Stumfold to say or do. She never would go to Mrs Stumfold's house again; that was a matter of course; but what should she do about Mr Maguire? Mr Maguire might never speak to her in the way of affection,--probably never would do so; that she could bear; but how was she to bear the fact that every Stumfoldian in Littlebath would know all about it?

On one thing she finally resolved, that if ever Mr Maguire spoke to her on the subject, she would tell him everything that had occurred.

After that she cried herself to sleep.

On that afternoon she felt herself to be very desolate and much in want of a friend. When Susanna came back from school in the evening she was almost more desolate than before. She could say nothing of her troubles to one so young, nor yet could she shake off the thought of them. She had been bold enough while Mrs Stumfold had been with her, but now that she was alone, or almost worse than alone, having Susanna with her,--now that the reaction had come, she began to tell herself that a continuation of this solitary life would be impossible to her. How was she to live if she was to be trampled upon in this way? Was it not almost necessary that she should leave Littlebath?

And yet if she were to leave Littlebath, whither should she go, and how should she muster courage to begin everything over again? If only it had been given her to have one friend,--one female friend to whom she could have told everything! She thought of Miss Baker, but Miss Baker was a staunch Stumfoldian; and what did she know of Miss Baker that gave her any right to trouble Miss Baker on such a subject? She would almost rather have gone to Miss Todd, if she had dared.

She laid awake crying half the night. Nothing of the kind had ever occurred to her before. No one had ever accused her of any impropriety; no one had ever thrown it in her teeth that she was longing after fruit that ought to be forbidden to her. In her former obscurity and dependence she had been safe. Now that she had begun to look about her and hope for joy in the world, she had fallen into this terrible misfortune! Would it not have been better for her to have married her cousin John Ball, and thus have had a clear course of duty marked out for her? Would it not have been better for her even to have married Harry Handc.o.c.k than to have come to this misery?

What good would her money do her, if the world was to treat her in this way?

And then, was it true? Was it the fact that Mr Maguire was ill-treating some other woman in order that he might get her money?

In all her misery she remembered that Mrs Stumfold would not commit herself to any such direct a.s.sertion, and she remembered also that Mrs Stumfold had especially insisted on her own part of the grievance,--on the fact that the suitable young lady had been met by Mr Maguire in her drawing-room. As to Mr Maguire himself, she could reconcile herself to the loss of him. Indeed she had never yet reconciled herself to the idea of taking him. But she could not endure to think that Mrs Stumfold's interference should prevail, or, worse still, that other people should have supposed it to prevail.

The next day was Thursday,--one of Mrs Stumfold's Thursdays,--and in the course of the morning Miss Baker came to her, supposing that, as a matter of course, she would go to the meeting.

"Not to-night, Miss Baker," said she.

"Not going! and why not?"

"I'd rather not go out to-night."

"Dear me, how odd. I thought you always went to Mrs Stumfold's.

There's nothing wrong, I hope?"

Then Miss Mackenzie could not restrain herself, and told Miss Baker everything. And she told her story, not with whines and lamentations, as she had thought of it herself while lying awake during the past night, but with spirited indignation. "What right had she to come to me and accuse me?"

"I suppose she meant it for the best," said Miss Baker.

"No, Miss Baker, she meant it for the worst. I am sorry to speak so of your friend, but I must speak as I find her. She intended to insult me. Why did she tell me of my age and my money? Have I made myself out to be young? or misbehaved myself with the means which Providence has given me? And as to the gentleman, have I ever conducted myself so as to merit reproach? I don't know that I was ever ten minutes in his company that you were not there also."

"It was the last accusation I should have brought against you,"

whimpered Miss Baker.

"Then why has she treated me in this way? What right have I given her to be my advisor, because I go to her husband's church? Mr Maguire is my friend, and it might have come to that, that he should be my husband. Is there any sin in that, that I should be rebuked?"

"It was for the other lady's sake, perhaps."

"Then let her go to the other lady, or to him. She has forgotten herself in coming to me, and she shall know that I think so."

Miss Baker, when she left the Paragon, felt for Miss Mackenzie more of respect and more of esteem also than she had ever felt before. But Miss Mackenzie, when she was left alone, went upstairs, threw herself on her bed, and was again dissolved in tears.

CHAPTER XIII

Mr Maguire's Courtship

After the scene between Miss Mackenzie and Miss Baker more than a week pa.s.sed by before Miss Mackenzie saw any of her Littlebath friends; or, as she called them with much sadness when speaking of them to herself, her Littlebath acquaintances. Friends, or friend, she had none. It was a slow, heavy week with her, and it is hardly too much to say that every hour in it was spent in thinking of the attack which Mrs Stumfold had made upon her. When the first Sunday came, she went to church, and saw there Miss Baker, and Mrs Stumfold, and Mr Stumfold and Mr Maguire. She saw, indeed, many Stumfoldians, but it seemed that their eyes looked at her harshly, and she was quite sure that the coachmaker's wife treated her with marked incivility as they left the porch together. Miss Baker had frequently waited for her on Sunday mornings, and walked the length of two streets with her; but she encountered no Miss Baker near the church gate on this morning, and she was sure that Mrs Stumfold had prevailed against her. If it was to be thus with her, had she not better leave Littlebath as soon as possible? In the same solitude she lived the whole of the next week; with the same feelings did she go to church on the next Sunday; and then again was she maltreated by the upturned nose and half-averted eyes of the coachmaker's wife.

Life such as this would be impossible to her. Let any of my readers think of it, and then tell themselves whether it could be possible.

Mariana's solitude in the moated grange was as nothing to hers. In granges, and such like rural retreats, people expect solitude; but Miss Mackenzie had gone to Littlebath to find companionship. Had she been utterly disappointed, and found none, that would have been bad; but she had found it and then lost it. Mariana, in her desolateness, was still waiting for the coming of some one; and so was Miss Mackenzie waiting, though she hardly knew for whom. For me, if I am to live in a moated grange, let it be in the country. Moated granges in the midst of populous towns are very terrible.

But on the Monday morning,--the morning of the second Monday after the Stumfoldian attack,--Mr Maguire came, and Mariana's weariness was, for the time, at an end. Susanna had hardly gone, and the breakfast things were still on the table, when the maid brought her up word that Mr Maguire was below, and would see her if she would allow him to come up. She had heard no ring at the bell, and having settled herself with a novel in the arm-chair, had almost ceased for the moment to think of Mr Maguire or of Mrs Stumfold. There was something so sudden in the request now made to her, that it took away her breath.

"Mr Maguire, Miss, the clergyman from Mr Stumfold's church," said the girl again.

It was necessary that she should give an answer, though she was ever so breathless.

"Ask Mr Maguire to walk up," she said; and then she began to bethink herself how she would behave to him.

He was there, however, before her thoughts were of much service to her, and she began by apologising for the breakfast things.

"It is I that ought to beg your pardon for coming so early," said he; "but my time at present is so occupied that I hardly know how to find half an hour for myself; and I thought you would excuse me."

"Oh, certainly," said she; and then sitting down she waited for him to begin.

It would have been clear to any observer, had there been one present, that Mr Maguire had practised his lesson. He could not rid himself of those unmistakable signs of preparation which every speaker shows when he has been guilty of them. But this probably did not matter with Miss Mackenzie, who was too intent on the part she herself had to play to notice his imperfections.

"I saw that you observed, Miss Mackenzie," he said, "that I kept aloof from you on the two last evenings on which I met you at Mrs Stumfold's."

"That's a long time ago, Mr Maguire," she answered. "It's nearly a month since I went to Mrs Stumfold's house."

"I know that you were not there on the last Thursday. I noticed it.

I could not fail to notice it. Thinking so much of you as I do, of course I did notice it. Might I ask you why you did not go?"

"I'd rather not say anything about it," she replied, after a pause.

"Then there has been some reason? Dear Miss Mackenzie, I can a.s.sure you I do not ask you without a cause."

"If you please, I will not speak upon that subject. I had much rather not, indeed, Mr Maguire."

"And shall I not have the pleasure of seeing you there on next Thursday?"

"Certainly not."

"Then you have quarrelled with her, Miss Mackenzie?"

He said nothing now of the perfections of that excellent woman, of whom not long since he had spoken in terms almost too strong for any simple human virtues.

"I'd rather not speak of it. It can't do any good. I don't know why you should ask me whether I intend to go there any more, but as you have, I have answered you."