Mrs. Dorriman Volume I Part 13

"He is a fine strong well-built fellow, and has seen a great deal of the world, and he is a successful man, which is more than being good-looking or amusing, let me tell you."

"If he has seen the world he will be at any rate interesting," said Mrs.

Dorriman, rising; but when they had reached the door he called her back, and said in a tone of mystery:

"You spoke of society and giving the girls a chance. I don't wish Margaret away, but if George Drayton takes a fancy to Grace she will have to take him."

Mrs. Dorriman shivered: this speech recalled her own youth, when she had to "take" the husband he had chosen for her.

Instinct often gives a woman the right weapon to use, and she said now hurriedly:

"If you let her know this, if you tell her this, she will set herself against him."

He looked at her with that sort of surprise which always came to him when she showed anything of the wisdom of the serpent he considered her so completely without.

"I think you are right," he said, slowly; "but I mean this marriage to be, and you understand if you see a way of helping it I expect you to help it on."

"If I like the man--if I approve," she said, in a low voice, but with a firmness unusual to her. "And if she likes him."

Mr. Sandford laughed his usual sarcastic laugh.

"_If! if! if!_" he exclaimed. He was going to say something, but there was a look in her face that warned him he had better not. He turned sharply round and went off to his own room.

"Grace, my darling!" whispered Margaret to her sister as they stood in the window that night with the grimy world before them hushed into silence, and the stars shining down upon them, "perhaps this will be the Prince."

"It does not sound like it, Margaret," she answered, scornfully. "A manufacturer, and a man no longer young."

"We cannot tell," said Margaret. "But it may be, oh, I hope, I hope it may be your prince, and that he may be charming and everything your prince ought to be."

"I hope so," said Grace, whispering also, and in a voice trembling with some suppressed feeling. "For, Margaret, I am very, very wretched here, and I sometimes think if I see no escape for myself, if no change comes, I shall die. Oh!" she exclaimed, breaking into the silence of the night with a pa.s.sionate cry she could not repress, "if life holds nothing more for me than this, then give me death!"

CHAPTER VII.

That finality of all things, whether of happiness or of misery, brought Jean's long illness to a close--and the pleasure Mrs. Dorriman had in seeing her recover was often now tinged with sorrow when she thought of the separation that must follow.

Her brother had been forbearing, but his patience must not be overtaxed.

Mrs. Dorriman knew nothing of those changes of feeling which softened Mr. Sandford towards her and any one she loved. She stood no longer to him in the antagonism he himself had placed her in. If she was acting against him in any way, if she knew what he dreaded, she might know he was satisfied that the knowledge had come without understanding. Her great sweetness of temper was something soothing to him, her kindness to her old servant, the unfailing cheerfulness towards her, was a sort of surprise to him. He found her no longer, in his eyes, a weak woman, whom he could keep by him, and under his authority, but a woman full of unexpected tenderness. Towards himself the habit of years gave her a certain submissiveness; he began to wish, as he lay, often wakeful, that this could be changed. But affection! He had no hope, no belief, in this as possible from her to him. He had blighted her life; her crushed spirits were a standing proof of this; and then he would laugh himself to scorn.

His illness must have left some weakness--why was he now beginning to think in this way? All his life, since his wife's death, he had given no love anywhere, and expected none. Then an uncomfortable remembrance of the doctor's speech about recurring illness made him shiver. If he were to be ill how could he carry out his plans, how could he rise to the position he intended to rise to?

He was a far richer man than any one thought, and he was acc.u.mulating money. When he had made what he intended to make safe out of all the risks of trade which he liked so little, he would buy the place where his wife's people once had lived. They had scorned him till they found he was rich, and he chiefly wished to sit in their "high places" for this reason. He intended winning an election, being returned for the county, and then--he could not think of marriage. The one pure unselfish feeling he had was the love for his wife, and his devotion to her memory. He could never think of placing another beside him.

His sister would be there, and then he would go off into long reflections about the girls: Grace who was beginning to be so oppressive to him, and Margaret who was a little like _her_.

All unconscious of his softened feelings towards her, poor Mrs.

Dorriman, in the meantime, was cruelly troubled and perplexed. What she was to do about poor Jean, she did not know. Inchbrae was not her home, she had followed her mistress from the old place thither; besides, what comfort could there be in seeing strange faces and strange people there?

It was Jean herself who cut the Gordian knot and brought things to a climax.

She was much too high-spirited a woman to remain one moment anywhere as an unwelcome guest, and she determined that she would herself seek Mr.

Sandford and say a word of grat.i.tude to him for the shelter he had given her, and, if she found him "quiet," she intended pleading her own cause; a cause which, if hers, was also Mrs. Dorriman's. Jean had that strong belief in herself which is the mainspring of many a brave action. She was, above and beyond this, a woman whose prayers went up with a faith which was beautiful and pure. Though religious phrases were more in her heart than on her lips, every action of her life was in a great degree guided by this great and secret strength. She was single-minded, full of prejudices, and had a keen sense of humour, seeing much to amuse her in ordinary things. She was pa.s.sionately devoted to Mrs. Dorriman, and though she was too proud of her, in a right way, to allow it to any one, she knew that she required some one near her to befriend her--that, to use her own expression about many another person, she "gave in" too easily.

It was the very day Mr. Drayton was expected. Mr. Sandford, who was ruffled about some trifle, made an unusual fuss about something at breakfast which was not well done, and sent it out with orders that it was to be made over again.

Mrs. Chalmers, already making much of that something extra which falls heavily where all is as a rule on a simple footing--lost her temper: and, with all the delight of being able to reach the man whose uncomplimentary remarks about her performances were so frequently gall and wormwood to her, declared she would go there and then and would do nothing more for the household. She arrayed herself in her bonnet and shawl, and sat firmly upon her box, hoping and indeed expecting that she would be asked to stay--at any rate for that day--in view of the expected visitor, and fully resolved upon obtaining concessions if she did remain.

But Mr. Sandford, with all the ignorance of a man who had never been obliged to think of details, never for one instant thought about the dinner, took her at her word, and insisted on her going there and then.

Mrs. Dorriman's dismay first taught him that he had acted hastily, and annoyed and worried by the whole affair he went off to his own room.

He was trying to forget it all, and was turning over some papers, when a loud knock, evidently given by a determined hand, came to disturb him.

In walked Jean, her bonnet on, her shawl over her arm, looking like going, in complete ignorance of any disturbance, as she never put her foot downstairs.

Mr. Sandford glared at her, he was not "quiet" she saw, so she intended to express her grat.i.tude, which was the right thing to do, and then depart and not say that word about remaining which she would fain have done.

She was a handsome and imposing figure, her kind and homely face, pale from the effects of her recent illness, was surrounded by a full-plaited border of lace, her print gown was a purpose-like gown, and she had a shawl folded neatly across her chest. She was the picture and type of the good, unspoiled, old-fashioned, country servant. Her manner was full of respect, and free from any servility.

"I am come to speak my thanks to you, sir, before I go;" she began, "I have been a great trouble. Now I am well, I will thank you and go my way."

"My sister, not I, looked after you," he said.

"She did that, but there's no one like her in the world."

The two looked at each other, her keen brave blue eyes saw the expression in his and could not understand it.

"You think much of my sister."

"I think all the world of her. She has need of love and care, and kindness--I will always give her what I can."

"What are you going to do when you leave this?" he asked abruptly.

"I am going to get a place somewhere near. Yes, maister Sandford, you will not like it, but it is my only pleasure to be near _her_, and she needs me."

"What place will you get in Renton itself? There are no gentlefolks there."

"I'll get some place; I can put my hand to anything, the Lord will provide for me," said Jean in a low voice.

"Why need you go? Since you and my sister cannot live apart, stay," he said; and, trying to hide the fact of his giving in from kindly motives, he continued sternly, "I do not choose my sister to be running through Renton streets at all hours--as you and she won't part, stay!"

"I am not sure, sir."

"What do you mean, you are not sure?"

"I must be guided by Mrs. Dorriman's wishes, and other things."

"Well," he said, roughly, "I have asked you to stay, and you can speak to Mrs. Dorriman and do as you like."