The Maidens' Lodge Part 38

"I never did," responded Phoebe.

"Well!" sighed Rhoda again. "Let it pa.s.s. Perhaps Mrs Dorothy is right--'tis best to trust none of them."

"I don't think Mrs Dorothy said that," replied Phoebe, heaving a long sigh, as she sat up and pushed back her ruffled hair. "I do hope I wasn't rude to Mother."

"Nothing she'll care about," said Rhoda. "I wondered he did not come, Phoebe."

"So did I, and I told him as much. But--Rhoda, I think perhaps we shall forgive him sooner if we don't talk about it."

"Ah! I have not come to forgiving yet," was Rhoda's answer. "Perhaps I shall some time. Well! I shall be an old maid now, Phoebe, like Mrs Dorothy, I suppose you'll be the one to marry."

"Thank you, I'd rather not!" said Phoebe, quickly. "I am not sure I should like it at all; and I am quite sure I don't want to be married for my money, or for what people expect me to have."

"Oh, there's nothing else in this world!" answered Rhoda, with an air of immense experience. "Don't you expect it. Every man you come across is an avaricious, designing creature. Oh dear! 'tis a weary weary world, and 'tis no good living!"

"Yes, Rhoda dear, there is one good in living, and 'tis always left to us, whatever we may lose," said Phoebe, earnestly. "Don't you remember what the Lord Jesus said to His disciples--'My meat is to do the will of Him that sent Me?' There is always that, Rhoda."

"Ah, that is something I don't know anything about," said Rhoda, wearily. "And I always think 'tis right down shabby of people to turn religious, just because they have lost the world, and are disappointed and tired. And I was never cut out for a saint, Phoebe--'tis no use!"

"Rhoda, dear, when people give all their days to Satan, and then turn religious, as you say, just at last, when they are going to die, or think they are--don't you think that right down shabby? The longer you keep away from G.o.d, the less you have to give Him when you come. And as--"

"I thought you Puritans always said we hadn't anything to give to G.o.d, but He gave everything to us," objected Rhoda, pettishly.

Phoebe pa.s.sed the tone by, and answered the words, "I think there are two things we can give to G.o.d, Cousin: our sins, that He may cast them into the depths of the sea; and ourselves, that He may save and train us. And the longer you stay away, the more sin you will have to bring; and the less time there will be for loving and serving Him. You will be sorry, when you do come, that you were not sooner."

"How do you know I shall? I tell you, I wasn't cut out for a saint."

"I think you will, Cousin, because I have asked Him to bring you," said Phoebe, simply; "and it must be His will to hear that; because He willeth not the death of a sinner."

"So you count me a sinner! I am sure I'm very much obliged to you!"

said Rhoda, more in her old style than before.

"Yes, dear Cousin, I count you a sinner; and so do I myself, and every body else," said Phoebe, gently.

"Oh, well, I suppose we are all sinners," admitted Rhoda. "Don't I keep telling you I am not made for a saint?"

"But you were, Rhoda; G.o.d made you for Himself," said Phoebe.

"Oh, well 'tis no use talking!" and Rhoda got up, and began to pull down her elaborately-dressed hair, with hasty, uncareful fingers. "We'd better go to bed."

"Perhaps it isn't much use talking," said Phoebe, as she rose to help her. "But it is sure to be some praying, so I shall go on."

It was a few days later, and Phoebe was crossing the Park on her way to the Maidens' Lodge, carrying a basket of fruit sent by Mrs Latrobe to Lady Betty. From all the Maidens, except Lady Betty, Mrs Latrobe held aloof. Mrs Jane was too sharp for her, Mrs Marcella too querulous, and Mrs Dorothy too dull. Mrs Clarissa she denounced as "poor vain flirt that could not see her time was pa.s.sed," and Mrs Eleanor, she declared, gave her the horrors only to look at. But Lady Betty she diligently cultivated. How much of her regard was due to her Ladyship's t.i.tle, Mrs Latrobe did not explain.

Phoebe was nearing the Maidens' Lodge, and had just entered the last glade on her way thither, when--very much to her disapprobation and dismay--from a belt of trees on her left hand, Mr Marcus Welles stepped out and stood before her.

"Your most humble servant, Mrs Phoebe! I was very desirous to have the honour of waiting on you this fine morning; and thinking that I saw you at a little distance, I took the great liberty of accosting you."

If Phoebe had said just what she thought, she would have informed Mr Welles that he had taken a wholly unwarrantable liberty in so doing; for while she sagely counselled Rhoda to forgive the offender, she had by no means forgiven him herself. But being mindful of conventionalities, Phoebe courtesied stiffly, and left Mr Welles to explain himself at his leisure. Now, Mr Welles had come to that glade in the Park for the special purpose of making a communication, which he felt rather an awkward one to make with that amount of grace which beseemed him: nevertheless, being a very adroit young man, and much given to turning corners in a rapid and elegant manner, he determined to go through with the matter. If it had only been anyone but Phoebe!

"Mrs Phoebe," he began, "I cannot but flatter myself that you are not wholly ignorant of the high esteem I have long had for your deep merit."

"Cannot you, Sir?" responded Phoebe, by no means in a promising manner.

Mr Welles felt the manner. He thought his web was scarcely fine-spun enough. He must begin again.

"I trust that Madam is in good health, Mrs Phoebe?"

"My mother is very well, I thank you, Sir."

"You are yourself in good health, I venture to hope, Madam?"

"I am, Sir, I thank you."

The task which Mr Welles had set himself, as he perceived with chagrin, was proving harder than he had antic.i.p.ated. Phoebe evidently intended to waste no more time on him than she could help.

"The state of affairs at White-Ladies is of infinite concern to me, Madam."

"Is it, Sir?"

"Undoubtedly, Madam. Your health and happiness--all of you--are extreme dear to me."

"Really, Sir!"

"Especially _yours_, Madam."

Phoebe made no answer to this. Her silence encouraged Mr Welles to proceed. He thought his tactics had succeeded, and the creature was coming round by degrees. The only point now requiring care was not to startle her away again.

"Allow me to a.s.sure you, Madam, that your welfare is in my eyes a matter of infinite concern."

"So you said, Sir," was Phoebe's cool reply, Mr Welles was very uncomfortable. Had he made any mistake? Was it possible that, after all, the creature was not coming round in an orthodox manner?

"Madam, give me leave to a.s.sure you, moreover, that I am infinitely attached to you, and desire no higher happiness than to be permitted to offer you my service."

It was an instant before Phoebe recognised that Mr Marcus Welles was actually making her an offer. When she did, her answer was immediate and unmistakable.

"Don't you, Mr Welles?" said Phoebe. "Then I do!"

"Madam, have you misapprehended me?" demanded her suitor, to whom the idea of any woman refusing him was an impossibility not to be entertained for a moment.

"I should be glad if I had," said Phoebe.

"You must be labouring under some mistake, Madam. I have an estate which brings me in three thousand a year, and I am my own master. 'Tis not an opportunity a maid can look to meet with every day, nor is it every gentlewoman that I would ask to be my wife."

"No--only a golden one!" said Phoebe.

"Madam!"

Phoebe turned, and their eyes met.