The Maidens' Lodge Part 36

Thus early it was made evident that the old nature in Anne Latrobe was scotched, not killed. Sorrow seemed to have laid merely a repressive hand upon her bad qualities, and to have uprooted none but good ones.

The brilliance and playfulness of her early days were gone. The _coeur leger_ had turned to careless self-love, the impetuosity had become peevish obstinacy.

"Old Madam never spoke to me in that way!" said Betty. "She liked to have her way, poor dear gentlewoman, as well as anybody; and she wouldn't take a bit of impudence like so much barley-sugar, I'll not say she would; but she was a gentlewoman, every inch of her, that she was.

And that's more than you can say for some folks!"

The next morning, all the Maidens--the invalid, as usual, excepted--came trooping up one after another, to pay their respects to the new lady of the manor.

Lady Betty came first; then Mrs Dorothy and Mrs Eleanor, together; after a little while, Mrs Clarissa; and lastly, Mrs Jane.

"My dear Mrs Anne, I remember you well, though perhaps you can scarce recollect me," said Mrs Dorothy, "for you were but nine years old the last time that I saw you. May the Lord bless you, my dear, and make you a blessing!"

"Oh, I don't doubt I shall do my duty," was the response of Mrs Latrobe, which very much satisfied herself and greatly dissatisfied Mrs Dorothy.

"'Tis delightful to see you back, dear Madam Latrobe!" said Mrs Clarissa, gushingly. "How touching must it be to return to the home of your youth, after so many years of banishment!"

Mrs Latrobe had not felt in the least touched, and hardly knew how to reply. "Oh, to be sure!" she said. "Glad to see you," said Mrs Jane.

"Great loss we've had in Madam. Hope you'll be as good as she was. My sister desired me to make her compliments. Can't stir off the sofa.

Fine morning!"

When the Maidens left the Abbey--which they did together--they compared notes on the new reign.

Lady Betty's sense of decorum was very much shocked. Mrs Latrobe had not spoken a word of her late mother, and had hinted at changes in matters which had existed at White-Ladies from time immemorial.

Mrs Clarissa was charmed with the new lady's manners and mourning, both which she thought faultless.

Mrs Eleanor thought "she was a bit shy, poor thing! We must make allowances, my dear friends--we must make allowances!"

"Make fiddlestrings!" growled Mrs Jane. "She's Anne Furnival still, and she'll be Anne Furnival to the end of the chapter. As if I didn't know Nancy! Ever drive a jibbing horse?"

Mrs Clarissa, who was thus suddenly appealed to, declared in a shocked tone that she never drove a horse of any description since she was born.

"Ah, well! I have," resumed Mrs Jane, ignoring the scandalised tone of her sister Maiden: "and that's just Nancy Furnival. She's as sleek in the coat as ever a Barbary mare. But you'll not get her along the road to Tewkesbury, without you make her think you want to drive her to Gloucester. I heard plenty of folks pitying Madam when she bolted. My word!--but I pitied somebody else a vast deal more, and that was Charles Latrobe. I wouldn't have married her, if she'd been stuck all over with diamonds."

"I fancy she drove him," said Mrs Eleanor with a smile.

"Like enough, poor soul!" responded Mrs Jane. "Only chance he had of any peace. He was a decent fellow enough, too,--if only he had kept clear of Nancy."

"What made him marry her?" thoughtfully asked Mrs Eleanor.

"Deary me!" exclaimed Mrs Jane. "When did you ever see a man that could fathom a woman? Good, simple soul that he was!--she made him think black was white with holding up a finger. She glistened bravely, and he thought she was gold. Well!--_we_ shan't have much peace now,-- take my word for it. Eh, this world!--'tis a queer place as ever I saw."

"True, my dear," replied Mrs Dorothy: "let us therefore be thankful there is a better."

But her opinion of Mrs Latrobe was not given.

The same evening, as Phoebe sat in the parlour with her mother, Betty came in with a courtesy.

"Mr Marcus Welles, to speak with Madam."

"With Mrs Rhoda?" asked Phoebe, rising. "I will go seek her."

"No, if you please, Mrs Phoebe: Mr Welles said, Madam or yourself."

"Phoebe, my dear, do not be such a fid-fad!" entreated Mrs Latrobe.

"If Rhoda is wanted, she can be sought.--Good evening, Sir! I am truly delighted to have the pleasure of seeing you, and I trust we shall be better acquainted."

Mr Welles bowed low over Mrs Latrobe's extended hand.

"Madam, the delight is mine, and the honour. Mrs Phoebe, your servant,--your most humble servant."

It was the first time that Mr Welles had ever addressed Phoebe with more than a careless "good evening."

"Ready to serve you, Sir," said she, courtesying. "Shall I seek my cousin? She has wanted your company, I think."

This was a very audacious speech for Phoebe: but she thought it so extraordinary that Mr Welles had not paid one visit to his betrothed since the funeral, that she took the liberty of reminding him of it.

"Madam," said Mr Welles, with a complacent smile, toying with his gold chatelaine, "I really could not have visited you sooner, under the circ.u.mstances in which I found myself."

"Phoebe! have you lost your senses?" inquired Mrs Latrobe, sharply.

"I am sure," resumed Mr Marcus Welles, with an extremely graceful wave of his hand towards Mrs Latrobe, "that Madam will fully enter into my much lacerated feelings, and see how very distressing 'twould have been both to myself and her, had I forced my company on Mrs Rhoda, as matters stand at present."

Phoebe sat listening with a face of utter bewilderment. By what means had Mr Welles' feelings been lacerated?--and why should it be more distressing for him to meet Rhoda now than before?--But she kept silence, and Mrs Latrobe said,--

"I think, Sir, I have the honour to understand you."

"Madam!" replied Mr Marcus Welles, with his courtliest bow, "I am sure that a gentlewoman of your parts and discretion can do no less, I cannot but be infinitely sensible of the severe and cruel loss I am about to sustain: still, to my small estate, any other dealing would be of such mischievous consequence, that I think myself obliged to resign the views I proposed to myself."

Phoebe tried to understand him, and found it impossible.

"This being the case," continued he, "you will understand, dear Madam, that I thought myself engaged to wait until I might be honoured by some discourse with you: and meanwhile to abstain from any commerce of discourse in other quarters, till I had permission to acquaint you of the affair. I have indeed been in pain until I was able to wait upon you. I shall now be something eased. You, I am certain, dearest Madam, will contrive the business far better than my disordered mind would allow me; and I doubt not 'twould be more agreeable to all parties to communicate by that ca.n.a.l."

"If you wish it, Sir, it shall certainly be so," answered Mrs Latrobe, who seemed to be under no doubt concerning Mr Welles' meaning. "I am yours to serve you in the matter."

"Dearest Madam, you are an angel of mercy! The sooner I retire, then, the better."

He kissed Mrs Latrobe's hand, and came round to Phoebe.

"Mr Welles, you have not seen Rhoda yet. I do not understand!" said Phoebe blankly, as he bowed iver her hand.

"Madam, I have but just now engaged myself--"

"Phoebe, don't be a goose!" burst from her mother. "You must be a baby if you do not understand. Cannot you see that Mr Welles, in a most honourable manner, which does him infinite credit, withdraws all pretensions to your cousin's hand, leaving her free to engage herself elsewhere? Really, I should have thought you had sense enough for that."

For a moment Phoebe looked, with a bewildered air, from her mother to Mr Welles. Then shyness, fear and reserve gave way before indignation.

She did understand now.

"You mean to desert Rhoda, because she has lost the paltry money that you expected she would have?"