Nobody Part 50

"She mightn't marry you, still," said Mrs. Armadale, with a fine smile.

"No, certainly," said Mrs. Barclay, returning the smile; "but--you know, girls' hearts are not to be depended on. They do run away with them, when the right person comes."

"My Lois will wait till he comes," said the old lady, with a sort of tender confidence that was impressive and almost solemn. Mrs. Barclay's thoughts made a few quick gyrations; and then the door opened, and Lois, who had left the room, came in again, followed by one of her sisters bearing a plate of b.u.t.ter.

"Another beauty!" thought Mrs. Barclay, as Madge was presented to her.

"Which is which, I wonder?" This was a beauty of quite another sort.

Regular features, black hair, eyes dark and soft under long lashes, a white brow and a very handsome mouth. But Madge had a bow of ribband in her black hair, while Lois's red-brown ma.s.ses were soft, and fluffy, and unadorned. Madge's face lacked the loftiness, if it had the quietness, of the other; and it had not that innocent dignity which seemed--to Mrs. Barclay's fancy--to set Lois apart from the rest of young women. Yet most men would admire Madge most, she thought. O Philip, Philip! she said to herself, what sort of a mess have you brought me into! This is no common romance you have induced me to put my fingers in. These girls!--

But then entered a third, of a different type, and Mrs. Barclay felt some amus.e.m.e.nt at the variety surrounding her. Miss Charity was plain, like her grandmother; and Mrs. Armadale was not, as I have said, a handsome old woman. She had never been a handsome young one; bony, angular, strong, _not_ gracious; although the expression of calm sense, and character, and the handwriting of life-work, and the dignity of mental calm, were unmistakeable now, and made her a person worth looking at. Charity was much younger, of course; but she had the plainness without the dignity; sense, I am bound to say, was not wanting.

The supper was ready, and they all sat down. The meal was excellent; but at first very silently enjoyed. Save the words of anxious hospitality, there were none spoken. The quicker I get acquain'ted, the better, thought Mrs. Barclay. So she began.

"Your village looks to me like a quiet place."

"That is its character," said Mrs. Armadale.

"Especially in winter, I suppose?"

"Well, it allays was quiet, since I've known it," the old lady went on.

"They've got a hotel now for strangers, down at the Point--but that ain't the village."

"And the hotel is empty now," added Lois.

"What does the village do, to amuse itself, in these quiet winter days and nights?"

"Nothing," said Charity.

"Really? Are there _no_ amus.e.m.e.nts? I never heard of such a place."

"I don't know what you mean by amus.e.m.e.nts," Mrs. Armadale took up the subject. "I think, doin' one's work is the best amus.e.m.e.nt there is. I never wanted no other."

"Does the old proverb not hold good then in Shampuashuh, of 'All work and no play'--you know? The consequences are said to be disastrous."

"No," said Lois, laughing, "it does not hold good. People are not dull here. I don't mean that they are very lively; but they are not dull."

"Is there a library here?"

"A sort of one; not large. Books that some of the people subscribe for, and pa.s.s round to each other's houses."

"Then it is not much of a reading community?"

"Well, it is, considerable," said Mrs. Armadale. "There's a good many books in the village, take 'em all together. I guess the folks have as much as they can do to read what they've got, and don't stand in need of no more."

"Well, are people any happier for living in such a quiet way? Are they sheltered in any degree from the storms that come upon the rest of the world? How is it? As I drove along from the station to-night, I thought it looked like a haven of peace, where people could not have heartbreaks."

"I hope the Lord will make it such to you, ma'am," the old lady said solemnly.

The turn was so sudden and so earnest, that it in a sort took Mrs.

Barclay's breath away. She merely said, "Thank you!" and let the talk drop.

CHAPTER XXI.

GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS.

Mrs. Barclay found her room pleasant, her bed excellent, and all the arrangements and appointments simple, indeed, but quite sufficient. The next morning brought brilliant sunlight, glittering in the elm trees, and on the green sward which filled large s.p.a.ces in the street, and on chimneys and housetops, and on the bit of the Connecticut river which was visible in the distance. Quiet it was certainly, and peaceful, and at the same time the sight was inspiriting. Mrs. Barclay dressed and went down; and there she found her parlour in order, the sunlight streaming in, and a beautiful fire blazing to welcome her.

"This is luxury!" thought she, as she took her place in a comfortable rocking-chair before the fire. "But how am I to get at my work!"--Presently Lois came in, looking like a young rose.

"I beg pardon!" she said, greeting Mrs. Barclay, "but I left my duster--"

Has _she_ been putting my room in order! thought the lady. This elegant creature? But she showed nothing of her feeling; only asked Lois if she were busy.

"No," said Lois, with a smile; "I have done. Do you want something of me?"

"Yes, in that case. Sit down, and let us get acquain'ted."

Lois sat down, duster in hand, and looked pleasantly ready.

"I am afraid I am giving you a great deal of trouble! If you get tired of me, you must just let me know. Will you?"

"There is no fear," Lois a.s.sured her. "We are very glad to have you. If only you do not get tired of our quiet. It is very quiet, after what you have been accustomed to."

"Just what I want! I have been longing for the country; and the air here is delicious. I cannot get enough of it. I keep sniffing up the salt smell. And you have made me so comfortable! How lovely those old elms are over the way! I could hardly get dressed, for looking at them.

Do you draw?"

"I? O no!" cried Lois. "I have been to school, of course, but I have learned only common things. I do not know anything about drawing."

"Perhaps you will let me teach you?"

The colour flashed into the girl's cheeks; she made no answer at first, and then murmured, "You are very kind!"

"One must do something, you know," Mrs. Bar clay said. "I cannot let all your goodness make me idle. I am very fond of drawing, myself; it has whiled away many an hour for me. Besides, it enables one to keep a record of pretty and pleasant things, wherever one goes."

"We live among our pleasant things," said Lois; "but I should think that would be delightful for the people who travel."

"You will travel some day."

"No, there is no hope of that."

"You would like it, then?"