But how was she to do this? An establishment in the Stumfold direction might be easier.
In the course of the next week two affairs of moment occurred to Miss Mackenzie. On the Wednesday morning she received from London a letter of business which caused her considerable anxiety, and on the Thursday afternoon a note was brought to her from Mrs Stumfold,—or rather an envelope containing a card on which was printed an invitation to drink tea with that lady on that day week. This invitation she accepted without much doubt. She would go and see Mrs Stumfold in her house, and would then be better able to decide whether the mode of life practised by the Stumfold party would be to her taste. So she wrote a reply, and sent it by her maid-servant, greatly doubting whether she was not wrong in writing her answer on common note-paper, and whether she also should not have supplied herself with some form or card for the occasion.
The letter of business was from her brother Tom, and contained an application for the loan of some money,—for the loan, indeed, of a good deal of money. But the loan was to be made not to him but to the firm of Rubb and Mackenzie, and was not to be a simple lending of money on the faith of that firm, for purposes of speculation or ordinary business. It was to be expended in the purchase of the premises in the New Road, and Miss Mackenzie was to have a mortgage on them, and was to receive five per cent for the money which she should advance. The letter was long, and though it was manifest even to Miss Mackenzie that he had written the first page with much hesitation, he had waxed strong as he had gone on, and had really made out a good case. "You are to understand," he said, "that this is, of course, to be done through your own lawyer, who will not allow you to make the loan unless he is satisfied with the security. Our landlords are compelled to sell the premises, and unless we purchase them ourselves, we shall in all probability be turned out, as we have only a year or two more under our present lease. You could purchase the whole thing yourself, but in that case you would not be sure of the same interest for your money." He then went on to say that Samuel Rubb, junior, the son of old Rubb, should run down to Littlebath in the course of next week, in order that the whole thing might be made clear to her. Samuel Rubb was not the partner whose name was included in the designation of the firm, but was a young man,—"a comparatively young man,"—as her brother explained, who had lately been admitted to a share in the business.
This letter put Miss Mackenzie into a twitter. Like all other single ladies, she was very nervous about her money. She was quite alive to the beauty of a high rate of interest, but did not quite understand that high interest and impaired security should go hand in hand together. She wished to oblige her brother, and was aware that she had money as to which her lawyers were looking out for an investment. Even this had made her unhappy, as she was not quite sure whether her lawyers would not spend the money. She knew that lone women were terribly robbed sometimes, and had almost resolved upon insisting that the money should be put into the Three per Cents. But she had gone to work with figures, and having ascertained that by doing so twenty-five pounds a year would be docked off from her computed income, she had given no such order. She now again went to work with her figures, and found that if the loan were accomplished it would add twenty-five pounds a year to her computed income. Mortgages, she knew, were good things, strong and firm, based upon landed security, and very respectable. So she wrote to her lawyers, saying that she would be glad to oblige her brother if there were nothing amiss. Her lawyers wrote back, advising her to refer Mr Rubb, junior, to them. On the day named in her brother's letter, Mr Samuel Rubb, junior, arrived at Littlebath, and called upon Miss Mackenzie in the Paragon.
Miss Mackenzie had been brought up with contempt and almost with hatred for the Rubb family. It had, in the first instance, been the work of old Samuel Rubb to tempt her brother Tom into trade; and he had tempted Tom into a trade that had not been fat and prosperous, and therefore pardonable, but into a trade that had been troublesome and poor. Walter Mackenzie had always spoken of these Rubbs with thorough disgust, and had persistently refused to hold any intercourse with them. When, therefore, Mr Samuel Rubb was announced, our heroine was somewhat inclined to seat herself upon a high horse.
Mr Samuel Rubb, junior, came upstairs, and was by no means the sort of person in appearance that Miss Mackenzie had expected to see. In the first place, he was, as well as she could guess, about forty years of age; whereas she had expected to see a young man. A man who went about the world especially designated as junior, ought, she thought, to be very young. And then Mr Rubb carried with him an air of dignity, and had about his external presence a something of authority which made her at once seat herself a peg lower than she had intended. He was a good-looking man, nearly six feet high, with great hands and feet, but with a great forehead also, which atoned for his hands and feet. He was dressed throughout in black, as tradesmen always are in these days; but, as Miss Mackenzie said to herself, there was certainly no knowing that he belonged to the oilcloth business from the cut of his coat or the set of his trousers. He began his task with great care, and seemed to have none of the hesitation which had afflicted her brother in writing his letter. The investment, he said, would, no doubt, be a good one. Two thousand four hundred pounds was the sum wanted, and he understood that she had that amount lying idle. Their lawyer had already seen her lawyer, and there could be no doubt as to the soundness of the mortgage. An assurance company with whom the firm had dealings was quite ready to advance the money on the proposed security, and at the proposed rate of interest, but in such a matter as that, Rubb and Mackenzie did not wish to deal with an assurance company. They desired that all control over the premises should either be in their own hands, or in the hands of someone connected with them.
By the time that Mr Samuel Rubb had done, Miss Mackenzie found herself to have dismounted altogether from her horse, and to be pervaded by some slight fear that her lawyers might allow so favourable an opportunity for investing her money to slip through their hands.
Then, on a sudden, Mr Rubb dropped the subject of the loan, and Miss Mackenzie, as he did so, felt herself to be almost disappointed. And when she found him talking easily to her about matters of external life, although she answered him readily, and talked to him also easily, she entertained some feeling that she ought to be offended. Mr Rubb, junior, was a tradesman who had come to her on business, and having done his business, why did he not go away? Nevertheless, Miss Mackenzie answered him when he asked questions, and allowed herself to be seduced into a conversation.
"Yes, upon my honour," he said, looking out of the window into the Montpelier Gardens, "a very nice situation indeed. How much better they do these things in such a place as this than we do up in London! What dingy houses we live in, and how bright they make the places here!"
"They are not crowded so much, I suppose," said Miss Mackenzie.
"It isn't only that. The truth is, that in London nobody cares what his house looks like. The whole thing is so ugly that anything not ugly would be out of place. Now, in Paris—you have been in Paris, Miss Mackenzie?"
In answer to this, Miss Mackenzie was compelled to own that she had never been in Paris.
"Ah, you should go to Paris, Miss Mackenzie; you should, indeed. Now, you're a lady that have nothing to prevent your going anywhere. If I were you, I'd go almost everywhere; but above all, I'd go to Paris. There's no place like Paris."
"I suppose not," said Miss Mackenzie.
By this time Mr Rubb had returned from the window, and had seated himself in the easy chair in the middle of the room. In doing so he thrust out both his legs, folded his hands one over the other, and looked very comfortable.
"Now I'm a slave to business," he said. "That horrid place in the New Road, which we want to buy with your money, has made a prisoner of me for the last twenty years. I went into it as the boy who was to do the copying, when your brother first became a partner. Oh dear, how I did hate it!"
"Did you now?"
"I should rather think I did. I had been brought up at the Merchant Taylors' and they intended to send me to Oxford. That was five years before they began the business in the New Road. Then came the crash which our house had at Manchester; and when we had picked up the pieces, we found that we had to give up university ideas. However, I'll make a business of it before I'm done; you see if I don't, Miss Mackenzie. Your brother has been with us so many years that I have quite a pleasure in talking to you about it."
Miss Mackenzie was not quite sure that she reciprocated the pleasure; for, after all, though he did look so much better than she had expected, he was only Rubb, junior, from Rubb and Mackenzie's; and any permanent acquaintance with Mr Rubb would not suit the line of life in which she was desirous of moving. But she did not in the least know how to stop him, or how to show him that she had intended to receive him simply as a man of business. And then it was so seldom that anyone came to talk to her, that she was tempted to fall away from her high resolves. "I have not known much of my brother's concerns," she said, attempting to be cautious.
Then he sat for another hour, making himself very agreeable, and at the end of that time she offered him a glass of wine and a biscuit, which he accepted. He was going to remain two or three days in the neighbourhood, he said, and might he call again before he left? Miss Mackenzie told him that he might. How was it possible that she should answer such a question in any other way? Then he got up, and shook hands with her, told her that he was so glad he had come to Littlebath, and was quite cordial and friendly. Miss Mackenzie actually found herself laughing with him as they stood on the floor together, and though she knew that it was improper, she liked it. When he was gone she could not remember what it was that had made her laugh, but she remembered that she had laughed. For a long time past very little laughter had come to her share.
When he was gone she prepared herself to think about him at length. Why had he talked to her in that way? Why was he going to call again? Why was Rubb, junior, from Rubb and Mackenzie's, such a pleasant fellow? After all, he retailed oilcloth at so much a yard; and little as she knew of the world, she knew that she, with ever so much good blood in her veins, and with ever so many hundreds a year of her own, was entitled to look for acquaintances of a higher order than that. She, if she were entitled to make any boast about herself—and she was by no means inclined to such boastings—might at any rate boast that she was a lady. Now, Mr Rubb was not a gentleman. He was not a gentleman by position. She knew that well enough, and she thought that she had also discovered that he was not quite a gentleman in his manners and mode of speech. Nevertheless she had liked him, and had laughed with him, and the remembrance of this made her sad.
That same evening she wrote a letter to her lawyer, telling him that she was very anxious to oblige her brother, if the security was good. And then she went into the matter at length, repeating much of what Mr Rubb had said to her, as to the excellence of mortgages in general, and of this mortgage in particular. After that she dressed herself with great care, and went out to tea at Mrs Stumfold's. This was the first occasion in her life in which she had gone to a party, the invitation to which had come to her on a card, and of course she felt herself to be a little nervous.
Miss Mackenzie had been three weeks at Littlebath when the day arrived on which she was to go to Mrs Stumfold's party, and up to that time she had not enjoyed much of the society of that very social place. Indeed, in these pages have been described with accuracy all the advancement which she had made in that direction. She had indeed returned Miss Todd's call, but had not found that lady at home. In doing this she had almost felt herself to be guilty of treason against the new allegiance which she seemed to have taken upon herself in accepting Mrs Stumfold's invitation; and she had done it at last not from any firm resolve of which she might have been proud, but had been driven to it by ennui, and by the easy temptation of Miss Todd's neighbouring door. She had, therefore, slipped out, and finding her wicked friend to be not at home, had hurried back again. She had, however, committed herself to a card, and she knew that Mrs Stumfold would hear of it through Miss Baker. Miss Baker's visit she had not returned, being in doubt where Miss Baker lived, being terribly in doubt also whether the Median rules of fashion demanded of her that she should return the call of a lady who had simply come to her with another caller. Her hesitation on this subject had been much, and her vacillations many, but she had thought it safer to abstain. For the last day or two she had been expecting the return of Mr Rubb, junior—keeping herself a prisoner, I fear, during the best hours of the day, so that she might be there to receive him when he did come; but though she had so acted, she had quite resolved to be very cold with him, and very cautious, and had been desirous of seeing him solely with a view to the mercantile necessities of her position. It behoved her certainly to attend to business when business came in her way, and therefore she would take care to be at home when Mr Rubb should call.
She had been to church twice a day on each of the Sundays that she had passed in Littlebath, having in this matter strictly obeyed the hints which Mr Stumfold had given for her guidance. No doubt she had received benefit from the discourses which she had heard from that gentleman each morning; and, let us hope, benefit also from the much longer discourses which she had heard from Mr Stumfold's curate on each evening. The Rev. Mr Maguire was very powerful, but he was also very long; and Miss Mackenzie, who was hardly as yet entitled to rank herself among the thoroughly converted, was inclined to think that he was too long. She was, however, patient by nature, and willing to bear much, if only some little might come to her in return. What of social comfort she had expected to obtain from her churchgoings I cannot quite define; but I think that she had unconsciously expected something from them in that direction, and that she had been disappointed.
But now, at nine o'clock on this appointed evening, she was of a certainty and in very truth going into society. The card said half-past eight; but the Sun had not yoked his horses so far away from her Tyre, remote as that Tyre had been, as to have left her in ignorance that half-past eight meant nine. When her watch showed her that half-past eight had really come, she was fidgety, and rang the bell to inquire whether the man might have probably forgotten to send the fly; and yet she had been very careful to tell the man that she did not wish to be at Mrs Stumfold's before nine.
"He understands, Miss," said the servant; "don't you be afeard; he's a-doing of it every night."
Then she became painfully conscious that even the maid-servant knew more of the social ways of the place than did she.
When she reached the top of Mrs Stumfold's stairs, her heart was in her mouth, for she perceived immediately that she had kept people waiting. After all, she had trusted to false intelligence in that matter of the hour. Half-past eight had meant half-past eight, and she ought to have known that this would be so in a house so upright as that of Mrs Stumfold. That lady met her at the door, and smiling—blandly, but, perhaps I might be permitted to say, not so blandly as she might have smiled—conducted the stranger to a seat.
"We generally open with a little prayer, and for that purpose our dear friends are kind enough to come to us punctually."
Then Mr Stumfold got up, and pressed her hand very kindly.
"I'm so sorry," Miss Mackenzie had uttered.
"Not in the least," he replied. "I knew you couldn't know, and therefore we ventured to wait a few minutes. The time hasn't been lost, as Mr Maguire has treated us to a theological argument of great weight."
Then all the company laughed, and Miss Mackenzie perceived that Mr Stumfold could joke in his way. She was introduced to Mr Maguire, who also pressed her hand; and then Miss Baker came and sat by her side. There was, however, at that moment no time for conversation. The prayer was begun immediately, Mr Stumfold taking this duty himself. Then Mr Maguire read half a chapter in the Bible, and after that Mr Stumfold explained it. Two ladies asked Mr Stumfold questions with great pertinacity, and these questions Mr Stumfold answered very freely, walking about the room the while, and laughing often as he submitted himself to their interrogations. And Miss Mackenzie was much astonished at the special freedom of his manner,—how he spoke of St Paul as Paul, declaring the saint to have been a good fellow; how he said he liked Luke better than Matthew, and how he named even a holier name than these with infinite ease and an accustomed familiarity which seemed to delight the other ladies; but which at first shocked her in her ignorance.
"But I'm not going to have anything more to say to Peter and Paul at present," he declared at last. "You'd keep me here all night, and the tea will be spoilt."
Then they all laughed again at the absurd idea of this great and good man preferring his food,—his food of this world,—to that other food which it was his special business to dispense. There is nothing which the Stumfoldian ladies of Littlebath liked so much as these little jokes which bordered on the profanity of the outer world, which made them feel themselves to be almost as funny as the sinners, and gave them a slight taste, as it were, of the pleasures of iniquity.
"Wine maketh glad the heart of woman, Mrs Jones," Mr Stumfold would say as he filled for the second time the glass of some old lady of his set; and the old lady would chirrup and wink, and feel that things were going almost as jollily with her as they did with that wicked Mrs Smith, who spent every night of her life playing cards, or as they had done with that horrid Mrs Brown, of whom such terrible things were occasionally whispered when two or three ladies found themselves sufficiently private to whisper them; that things were going almost as pleasant here in this world, although accompanied by so much safety as to the future in her own case, and so much danger in those other cases! I think it was this aptitude for feminine rakishness which, more than any of his great virtues, more even than his indomitable industry, made Mr Stumfold the most popular man in Littlebath. A dozen ladies on the present occasion skipped away to the tea-table in the back drawing-room with a delighted alacrity, which was all owing to the unceremonious treatment which St Peter and St Paul had received from their pastor.
Miss Mackenzie had just found time to cast an eye round the room and examine the scene of Mr Stumfold's pleasantries while Mr Maguire was reading. She saw that there were only three gentlemen there besides the two clergymen. There was a very old man who sat close wedged in between Mrs Stumfold and another lady, by whose joint dresses he was almost obliterated. This was Mr Peters, a retired attorney. He was Mrs Stumfold's father, and from his coffers had come the superfluities of comfort which Miss Mackenzie saw around her. Rumour, even among the saintly people of Littlebath, said that Mr Peters had been a sharp practitioner in his early days;—that he had been successful in his labours was admitted by all.
"No doubt he has repented," Miss Baker said one day to Miss Todd.
"And if he has not, he has forgotten all about it, which generally means the same thing," Miss Todd had answered.
Mr Peters was now very old, and I am disposed to think he had forgotten all about it.
The other two gentlemen were both young, and they stood very high in the graces of all the company there assembled. They were high in the graces of Mr Stumfold, but higher still in the graces of Mrs Stumfold, and were almost worshipped by one or two other ladies whose powers of external adoration were not diminished by the possession of husbands. They were, both of them, young men who had settled themselves for a time at Littlebath that they might be near Mr Stumfold, and had sufficient of worldly wealth to enable them to pass their time in semi-clerical pursuits.
Mr Frigidy, the elder, intended at some time to go into the Church, but had not as yet made sufficient progress in his studies to justify him in hoping that he could pass a bishop's examination. His friends told him of Islington and St Bees, of Durham, Birkenhead, and other places where the thing could be done for him; but he hesitated, fearing whether he might be able to pass even the initiatory gates of Islington. He was a good young man, at peace with all the world—except Mr Startup. With Mr Startup the veracious chronicler does not dare to assert that Mr Frigidy was at peace. Now Mr Startup was the other young man whom Miss Mackenzie saw in that room.
Mr Startup was also a very good young man, but he was of a fiery calibre, whereas Frigidy was naturally mild. Startup was already an open-air preacher, whereas Frigidy lacked nerve to speak a word above his breath. Startup was not a clergyman because certain scruples impeded and prevented him, while in the bosom of Frigidy there existed no desire so strong as that of having the word reverend attached to his name. Startup, though he was younger than Frigidy, could talk to seven ladies at once with ease, but Frigidy could not talk to one without much assistance from that lady herself. The consequence of this was that Mr Frigidy could not bring himself to love Mr Startup,—could not enable himself to justify a veracious chronicler in saying that he was at peace with all the world, Startup included.
The ladies were too many for Miss Mackenzie to notice them specially as she sat listening to Mr Maguire's impressive voice. Mr Maguire she did notice, and found him to be the possessor of a good figure, of a fine head of jet black hair, of a perfect set of white teeth, of whiskers which were also black and very fine, but streaked here and there with a grey hair,—and of the most terrible squint in his right eye which ever disfigured a face that in all other respects was fitted for an Apollo. So egregious was the squint that Miss Mackenzie could not keep herself from regarding it, even while Mr Stumfold was expounding. Had she looked Mr Maguire full in the face at the beginning, I do not think it would so much have mattered to her; but she had seen first the back of his head, and then his profile, and had unfortunately formed a strong opinion as to his almost perfect beauty. When, therefore, the defective eye was disclosed to her, her feelings were moved in a more than ordinary manner. How was it that a man graced with such a head, with such a mouth and chin and forehead, nay, with such a left eye, could be cursed with such a right eye! She was still thinking of this when the frisky movement into the tea-room took place around her.
When at this moment Mr Stumfold offered her his arm to conduct her through the folding doors, this condescension on his part almost confounded her. The other ladies knew that he always did so to a newcomer, and therefore thought less of it. No other gentleman took any other lady, but she was led up to a special seat,—a seat of honour as it were, at the left hand side of a huge silver kettle. Immediately before the kettle sat Mrs Stumfold. Immediately before another kettle, at another table, sat Miss Peters, a sister of Mrs Stumfold's. The back drawing-room in which they were congregated was larger than the other, and opened behind into a pretty garden. Mr Stumfold's lines in falling thus among the Peters, had fallen to him in pleasant places. On the other side of Miss Mackenzie sat Miss Baker, and on the other side of Mrs Stumfold stood Mr Startup, talking aloud and administering the full tea-cups with a conscious grace. Mr Stumfold and Mr Frigidy were at the other table, and Mr Maguire was occupied in passing promiscuously from one to the other. Miss Mackenzie wished with all her heart that he would seat himself somewhere with his face turned away from her, for she found it impossible to avert her eyes from his eye. But he was always there, before her sight, and she began to feel that he was an evil spirit,—her evil spirit, and that he would be too many for her.
Before anybody else was allowed to begin, Mrs Stumfold rose from her chair with a large and completely filled bowl of tea, with a plate also laden with buttered toast, and with her own hands and on her own legs carried these delicacies round to her papa. On such an occasion as this no servant, no friend, no Mr Startup, was allowed to interfere with her filial piety.
"She does it always," said an admiring lady in an audible whisper from the other side of Miss Baker. "She does it always."
The admiring lady was the wife of a retired coachbuilder, who was painfully anxious to make her way into good evangelical society at Littlebath.
"Perhaps you will put in the sugar for yourself," said Mrs Stumfold to Miss Mackenzie as soon as she returned. On this occasion Miss Mackenzie received her cup the first after the father of the house, but the words spoken to her were stern to the ear.
"Perhaps you will put in the sugar yourself. It lightens the labour."
Miss Mackenzie expressed her willingness to do so and regretted that Mrs Stumfold should have to work so hard. Could she be of assistance?
"I'm quite used to it, thank you," said Mrs Stumfold.
The words were not uncivil, but the tone was dreadfully severe, and Miss Mackenzie felt painfully sure that her hostess was already aware of the card that had been left at Miss Todd's door.
Mr Startup was now actively at work.
"Lady Griggs's and Miss Fleebody's—I know. A great deal of sugar for her ladyship, and Miss Fleebody eats muffin. Mrs Blow always takes pound-cake, and I'll see that there's one near her. Mortimer,"—Mortimer was the footman,—"is getting more bread and butter. Maguire, you have two dishes of sweet biscuits over there; give us one here. Never mind me, Mrs Stumfold; I'll have my innings presently."
All this Mr Frigidy heard with envious ears as he sat with his own tea-cup before him at the other table. He would have given the world to have been walking about the room like Startup, making himself useful and conspicuous; but he couldn't do it—he knew that he couldn't do it. Later in the evening, when he had been sitting by Miss Trotter for two hours—and he had very often sat by Miss Trotter before—he ventured upon a remark.
"Don't you think that Mr Startup makes himself a little forward?"
"Oh dear yes, very," said Miss Trotter. "I believe he's an excellent young man, but I always did think him forward, now you mention it. And sometimes I've wondered how dear Mrs Stumfold could like so much of it. But do you know, Mr Frigidy, I am not quite sure that somebody else does like it. You know who I mean."
Miss Trotter said much more than this, and Mr Frigidy was comforted, and believed that he had been talking.
When Mrs Stumfold commenced her conversation with Mr Startup, Miss Baker addressed herself to Miss Mackenzie; but there was at first something of stiffness in her manner,—as became a lady whose call had not been returned.
"I hope you like Littlebath," said Miss Baker.
Miss Mackenzie, who began to be conscious that she had done wrong, hesitated as she replied that she liked it pretty well.
"I think you'll find it pleasant," said Miss Baker; and then there was a pause. There could not be two women more fitted for friendship than were these, and it was much to be hoped, for the sake of our poor, solitary heroine especially, that this outside crust of manner might be broken up and dispersed.
"I dare say I shall find it pleasant, after a time," said Miss Mackenzie. Then they applied themselves each to her own bread and butter.
"You have not seen Miss Todd, I suppose, since I saw you?" Miss Baker asked this question when she perceived that Mrs Stumfold was deep in some secret conference with Mr Startup. It must, however, be told to Miss Baker's credit, that she had persistently maintained her friendship with Miss Todd, in spite of all the Stumfoldian influences. Miss Mackenzie, at the moment less brave, looked round aghast, but seeing that her hostess was in deep conference with her prime minister, she took heart of grace. "I called, and I did not see her."
"She promised me she would call," said Miss Baker.
"And I returned her visit, but she wasn't at home," said Miss Mackenzie.
"Indeed," said Miss Baker; and then there was silence between them again.
But, after a pause, Miss Mackenzie again took heart of grace. I do not think that there was, of nature, much of the coward about her. Indeed, the very fact that she was there alone at Littlebath, fighting her own battle with the world, instead of having allowed herself to be swallowed up by the Harry Handcocks, and Tom Mackenzies, proved her to be anything but a coward. "Perhaps, Miss Baker, I ought to have returned your visit," said she.
"That was just as you like," said Miss Baker with her sweetest smile.
"Of course, I should have liked it, as I thought it so good of you to come. But as you came with Mrs Stumfold, I was not quite sure whether it might be intended; and then I didn't know,—did not exactly know,—where you lived."
After this the two ladies got on very comfortably, so long as they were left sitting side by side. Miss Baker imparted to Miss Mackenzie her full address, and Miss Mackenzie, with that brightness in her eyes which they always assumed when she was eager, begged her new friend to come to her again.
"Indeed, I will," said Miss Baker. After that they were parted by a general return to the front room.
And now Miss Mackenzie found herself seated next to Mr Maguire. She had been carried away in the crowd to a further corner, in which there were two chairs, and before she had been able to consider the merits or demerits of the position, Mr Maguire was seated close beside her. He was seated close beside her in such a way as to make the two specially separated from all the world beyond, for in front of them stood a wall of crinoline,—a wall of crinoline divided between four or five owners, among whom was shared the eloquence of Mr Startup, who was carrying on an evangelical flirtation with the whole of them in a manner that was greatly pleasing to them, and enthusiastically delightful to him. Miss Mackenzie, when she found herself thus entrapped, looked into Mr Maguire's eye with dismay. Had that look been sure to bring down upon her the hatred of that reverend gentleman, she could not have helped it. The eye fascinated her, as much as it frightened her. But Mr Maguire was used to have his eye inspected, and did not hate her. He fixed it apparently on the corners of the wall, but in truth upon her, and then he began:
"I am so glad that you have come among us, Miss Mackenzie."
"I'm sure that I'm very much obliged."
"Well; you ought to be. You must not be surprised at my saying so, though it sounds uncivil. You ought to feel obliged, and the obligation should be mutual. I am not sure, that when all things are considered, you could find yourself in any better place in England, than in the drawing-room of my friend Stumfold; and, if you will allow me to say so, my friend Stumfold could hardly use his drawing-room better, than by entertaining you."
"Mr Stumfold is very good, and so is she."
"Mr Stumfold is very good; and as for Mrs Stumfold, I look upon her as a very wonderful woman,—quite a wonderful woman. For grasp of intellect, for depth of thought, for tenderness of sentiment—perhaps you mightn't have expected that, but there it is—for tenderness of sentiment, for strength of faith, for purity of life, for genial hospitality, and all the domestic duties, Mrs Stumfold has no equal in Littlebath, and perhaps few superiors elsewhere."
Here Mr Maguire paused, and Miss Mackenzie, finding herself obliged to speak, said that she did not at all doubt it.
"You need not doubt it, Miss Mackenzie. She is all that, I tell you; and more, too. Her manners may seem a little harsh to you at first. I know it is so sometimes with ladies before they know her well; but it is only skin-deep, Miss Mackenzie,—only skin-deep. She is so much in earnest about her work, that she cannot bring herself to be light and playful as he is. Now, he is as full of play as a young lamb."
"He seems to be very pleasant."
"And he is always just the same. There are people, you know, who say that religion is austere and melancholy. They never could say that if they knew my friend Stumfold. His life is devoted to his clerical duties. I know no man who works harder in the vineyard than Stumfold. But he always works with a smile on his face. And why not, Miss Mackenzie? when you think of it, why not?"
"I dare say it's best not to be unhappy," said Miss Mackenzie. She did not speak till she perceived that he had paused for her answer.
"Of course we know that this world can make no one happy. What are we that we should dare to be happy here?"
Again he paused, but Miss Mackenzie feeling that she had been ill-treated and trapped into a difficulty at her last reply, resolutely remained silent.
"I defy any man or woman to be happy here," said Mr Maguire, looking at her with one eye and at the corner of the wall with the other in a manner that was very terrible to her. "But we may be cheerful,—we may go about our work singing psalms of praise instead of songs of sorrow. Don't you agree with me, Miss Mackenzie, that psalms of praise are better than songs of sorrow?"
"I don't sing at all, myself," said Miss Mackenzie.
"You sing in your heart, my friend; I am sure you sing in your heart. Don't you sing in your heart?" Here again he paused.
"Well; perhaps in my heart, yes."
"I know you do, loud psalms of praise upon a ten-stringed lute. But Stumfold is always singing aloud, and his lute has twenty strings." Here the voice of the twenty-stringed singer was heard across the large room asking the company a riddle.
"Why was Peter in prison like a little boy with his shoes off?"
"That's so like him," said Mr Maguire.
All the ladies in the room were in a fever of expectation, and Mr Stumfold asked the riddle again.
"He won't tell them till we meet again; but there isn't one here who won't study the life of St Peter during the next week. And what they'll learn in that way they'll never forget."
"But why was he like a little boy with his shoes off?" asked Miss Mackenzie.
"Ah! that's Stumfold's riddle. You must ask Mr Stumfold, and he won't tell you till next week. But some of the ladies will be sure to find it out before then. Have you come to settle yourself altogether at Littlebath, Miss Mackenzie?"
This question he asked very abruptly, but he had a way of looking at her when he asked a question, which made it impossible for her to avoid an answer.
"I suppose I shall stay here for some considerable time."
"Do, do," said he with energy. "Do; come and live among us, and be one of us; come and partake with us at the feast which we are making ready; come and eat of our crusts, and dip with us in the same dish; come and be of our flock, and go with us into the pleasant pastures, among the lanes and green hedges which appertain to the farm of the Lord. Come and walk with us through the Sabbath cornfields, and pluck the ears when you are a-hungered, disregarding the broad phylacteries. Come and sing with us songs of a joyful heart, and let us be glad together. What better can you do, Miss Mackenzie? I don't believe there is a more healthy place in the world than Littlebath, and, considering that the place is fashionable, things are really very reasonable."
He was rapid in his utterance, and so full of energy, that Miss Mackenzie did not quite follow him in his quick transitions. She hardly understood whether he was advising her to take up an abode in a terrestrial Eden or a celestial Paradise; but she presumed that he meant to be civil, so she thanked him and said she thought she would. It was a thousand pities that he should squint so frightfully, as in all other respects he was a good-looking man. Just at this moment there seemed to be a sudden breaking up of the party.
"We are all going away," said Mr Maguire. "We always do when Mrs Stumfold gets up from her seat. She does it when she sees that her father is nodding his head. You must let me out, because I've got to say a prayer. By-the-bye, you'll allow me to walk home with you, I hope. I shall be so happy to be useful."
Miss Mackenzie told him that the fly was coming for her, and then he scrambled away into the middle of the room.
"We always walk home from these parties," said Miss Baker, who had, however, on this occasion, consented to be taken away by Miss Mackenzie in the fly. "It makes it come so much cheaper, you know."
"Of course it does; and it's quite as nice if everybody does it. But you don't walk going there?"
"Not generally," said Miss Baker; "but there are some of them who do that. Miss Trotter always walks both ways, if it's ever so wet." Then there were a few words said about Miss Trotter which were not altogether good-natured.
Miss Mackenzie, as soon as she was at home, got down her Bible and puzzled herself for an hour over that riddle of Mr Stumfold's; but with all her trouble she could not find why St Peter in prison was like a little boy with his shoes off.
A full week had passed by after Mrs Stumfold's tea-party before Mr Rubb called again at the Paragon; and in the meantime Miss Mackenzie had been informed by her lawyer that there did not appear to be any objection to the mortgage, if she liked the investment for her money.
"You couldn't do better with your money,—you couldn't indeed," said Mr Rubb, when Miss Mackenzie, meaning to be cautious, started the conversation at once upon matters of business.
Mr Rubb had not been in any great hurry to repeat his call, and Miss Mackenzie had resolved that if he did come again she would treat him simply as a member of the firm with whom she had to transact certain monetary arrangements. Beyond that she would not go; and as she so resolved, she repented herself of the sherry and biscuit.
The people whom she had met at Mr Stumfold's had been all ladies and gentlemen; she, at least, had supposed them to be so, not having as yet received any special information respecting the wife of the retired coachbuilder. Mr Rubb was not a gentleman; and though she was by no means inclined to give herself airs,—though, as she assured herself, she believed Mr Rubb to be quite as good as herself,—yet there was, and must always be, a difference among people. She had no inclination to be proud; but if Providence had been pleased to place her in one position, it did not behove her to degrade herself by assuming a position that was lower. Therefore, on this account, and by no means moved by any personal contempt towards Mr Rubb, or the Rubbs of the world in general, she was resolved that she would not ask him to take any more sherry and biscuits.
Poor Miss Mackenzie! I fear that they who read this chronicle of her life will already have allowed themselves to think worse of her than she deserved. Many of them, I know, will think far worse of her than they should think. Of what faults, even if we analyse her faults, has she been guilty? Where she has been weak, who among us is not, in that, weak also? Of what vanity has she been guilty with which the least vain among us might not justly tax himself? Having been left alone in the world, she has looked to make friends for herself; and in seeking for new friends she has wished to find the best that might come in her way.
Mr Rubb was very good-looking; Mr Maguire was afflicted by a terrible squint. Mr Rubb's mode of speaking was pleasant to her; whereas she was by no means sure that she liked Mr Maguire's speech. But Mr Maguire was by profession a gentleman. As the discreet young man, who is desirous of rising in the world, will eschew skittles, and in preference go out to tea at his aunt's house—much more delectable as skittles are to his own heart—so did Miss Mackenzie resolve that it would become her to select Messrs Stumfold and Maguire as her male friends, and to treat Mr Rubb simply as a man of business. She was denying herself skittles and beer, and putting up with tea and an old aunt, because she preferred the proprieties of life to its pleasures. Is it right that she should be blamed for such self-denial? But now the skittles and beer had come after her, as those delights will sometimes pursue the prudent youth who would fain avoid them. Mr Rubb was there, in her drawing-room, looking extremely well, shaking hands with her very comfortably, and soon abandoning his conversation on that matter of business to which she had determined to confine herself. She was angry with him, thinking him to be very free and easy; but, nevertheless, she could not keep herself from talking to him.
"You can't do better than five per cent," he had said to her, "not with first-class security, such as this is."
All that had been well enough. Five per cent and first-class security were, she knew, matters of business; and though Mr Rubb had winked his eye at her as he spoke of them, leaning forward in his chair and looking at her not at all as a man of business, but quite in a friendly way, yet she had felt that she was so far safe. She nodded her head also, merely intending him to understand thereby that she herself understood something about business. But when he suddenly changed the subject, and asked her how she liked Mr Stumfold's set, she drew herself up suddenly and placed herself at once upon her guard.
"I have heard a great deal about Mr Stumfold," continued Mr Rubb, not appearing to observe the lady's altered manner, "not only here and where I have been for the last few days, but up in London also. He is quite a public character, you know."
"Clergymen in towns, who have large congregations, always must so be, I suppose."
"Well, yes; more or less. But Mr Stumfold is decidedly more, and not less. People say he is going in for a bishopric."
"I had not heard it," said Miss Mackenzie, who did not quite understand what was meant by going in for a bishopric.
"Oh, yes, and a very likely man he would have been a year or two ago. But they say the prime minister has changed his tap lately."
"Changed his tap!" said Miss Mackenzie.
"He used to draw his bishops very bitter, but now he draws them mild and creamy. I dare say Stumfold did his best, but he didn't quite get his hay in while the sun shone."
"He seems to me to be very comfortable where he is," said Miss Mackenzie.
"I dare say. It must be rather a bore for him having to live in the house with old Peters. How Peters scraped his money together, nobody ever knew yet; and you are aware, Miss Mackenzie, that old as he is, he keeps it all in his own hands. That house, and everything that is in it, belongs to him; you know that, I dare say."
Miss Mackenzie, who could not keep herself from being a little interested in these matters, said that she had not known it.
"Oh dear, yes! and the carriage too. I've no doubt Stumfold will be all right when the old fellow dies. Such men as Stumfold don't often make mistakes about their money. But as long as old Peters lasts I shouldn't think it can be quite serene. They say that she is always cutting up rough with the old man."
"She seemed to me to behave very well to him," said Miss Mackenzie, remembering the carriage of the tea-cup.
"I dare say it is so before company, and of course that's all right; it's much better that the dirty linen should be washed in private. Stumfold is a clever man, there's no doubt about that. If you've been much to his house, you've probably met his curate, Mr Maguire."
"I've only been there once, but I did meet Mr Maguire."
"A man that squints fearfully. They say he's looking out for a wife too, only she must not have a father living, as Mrs Stumfold has. It's astonishing how these parsons pick up all the good things that are going in the way of money." Miss Mackenzie, as she heard this, could not but remember that she might be regarded as a good thing going in the way of money, and became painfully aware that her face betrayed her consciousness.
"You'll have to keep a sharp look out," continued Mr Rubb, giving her a kind caution, as though he were an old familiar friend.
"I don't think there's any fear of that kind," said Miss Mackenzie, blushing.
"I don't know about fear, but I should say that there is great probability; of course I am only joking about Mr Maguire. Like the rest of them, of course, he wishes to feather his own nest; and why shouldn't he? But you may be sure of this, Miss Mackenzie, a lady with your fortune, and, if I may be allowed to say so, with your personal attractions, will not want for admirers."
Miss Mackenzie was very strongly of opinion that Mr Rubb might not be allowed to say so. She thought that he was behaving with an unwarrantable degree of freedom in saying anything of the kind; but she did not know how to tell him either by words or looks that such was the case. And, perhaps, though the impertinence was almost unendurable, the idea conveyed was not altogether so grievous; it had certainly never hitherto occurred to her that she might become a second Mrs Stumfold; but, after all, why not? What she wanted was simply this, that something of interest should be added to her life. Why should not she also work in the vineyard, in the open quasiclerical vineyard of the Lord's people, and also in the private vineyard of some one of the people's pastors? Mr Rubb was very impertinent, but it might, perhaps, be worth her while to think of what he said. As regarded Mr Maguire, the gentleman whose name had been specially mentioned, it was quite true that he did squint awfully.
"Mr Rubb," said she, "if you please, I'd rather not talk about such things as that."
"Nevertheless, what I say is true, Miss Mackenzie; I hope you don't take it amiss that I venture to feel an interest about you."
"Oh! no," said she; "not that I suppose you do feel any special interest about me."
"But indeed I do, and isn't it natural? If you will remember that your only brother is the oldest friend that I have in the world, how can it be otherwise? Of course he is much older than me, and very much older than you, Miss Mackenzie."
"Just twelve years," said she, very stiffly.
"I thought it had been more, but in that case you and I are nearly of an age. As that is so, how can I fail to feel an interest about you? I have neither mother, nor sister, nor wife of my own; a sister, indeed, I have, but she's married at Singapore, and I have not seen her for seventeen years."
"Indeed."
"No, not for seventeen years; and the heart does crave for some female friend, Miss Mackenzie."
"You ought to get a wife, Mr Rubb."
"That's what your brother always says. 'Samuel,' he said to me just before I left town, 'you're settled with us now; your father has as good as given up to you his share of the business, and you ought to get married.' Now, Miss Mackenzie, I wouldn't take that sort of thing from any man but your brother; it's very odd that you should say exactly the same thing too."
"I hope I have not offended you."
"Offended me! no, indeed, I'm not such a fool as that. I'd sooner know that you took an interest in me than any woman living. I would, indeed. I dare say you don't think much of it, but when I remember that the names of Rubb and Mackenzie have been joined together for more than twenty years, it seems natural to me that you and I should be friends."
Miss Mackenzie, in the few moments which were allowed to her for reflection before she was obliged to answer, again admitted to herself that he spoke the truth. If there was any fault in the matter the fault was with her brother Tom, who had joined the name of Mackenzie with the name of Rubb in the first instance. Where was this young man to look for a female friend if not to his partner's family, seeing that he had neither wife nor mother of his own, nor indeed a sister, except one out at Singapore, who was hardly available for any of the purposes of family affection? And yet it was hard upon her. It was through no negligence on her part that poor Mr Rubb was so ill provided. "Perhaps it might have been so if I had continued to live in London," said Miss Mackenzie; "but as I live at Littlebath—" Then she paused, not knowing how to finish her sentence.
"What difference does that make? The distance is nothing if you come to think of it. Your hall door is just two hours and a quarter from our place of business in the New Road; and it's one pound five and nine if you go by first-class and cabs, or sixteen and ten if you put up with second-class and omnibuses. There's no other way of counting. Miles mean nothing now-a-days."
"They don't mean much, certainly."
"They mean nothing. Why, Miss Mackenzie, I should think it no trouble at all to run down and consult you about anything that occurred, about any matter of business that weighed at all heavily, if nothing prevented me except distance. Thirty shillings more than does it all, with a return ticket, including a bit of lunch at the station."
"Oh! and as for that—"
"I know what you mean, Miss Mackenzie, and I shall never forget how kind you were to offer me refreshment when I was here before."
"But, Mr Rubb, I hope you won't think of doing such a thing. What good could I do you? I know nothing about business; and really, to tell the truth, I should be most unwilling to interfere—that is, you know, to say anything about anything of the kind."
"I only meant to point out that the distance is nothing. And as to what you were advising me about gettingmarried—"
"I didn't mean to advise you, Mr Rubb!"
"I thought you said so."
"But, of course, I did not intend to discuss such a matter seriously."
"It's a most serious subject to me, Miss Mackenzie."
"No doubt; but it's one I can't know anything about. Men in business generally do find, I think, that they get on better when they are married."
"Yes, they do."
"That's all I meant to say, Mr Rubb."
After this he sat silent for a few minutes, and I am inclined to think that he was weighing in his mind the expediency of asking her to become Mrs Rubb, on the spur of the moment. But if so, his mind finally gave judgment against the attempt, and in giving such judgment his mind was right. He would certainly have so startled her by the precipitancy of such a proposition, as to have greatly endangered the probability of any further intimacy with her. As it was, he changed the conversation, and began to ask questions as to the welfare of his partner's daughter. At this period of the day Susanna was at school, and he was informed that she would not be home till the evening. Then he plucked up courage and begged to be allowed to come again,—just to look in at eight o'clock, so that he might see Susanna. He could not go back to London comfortably, unless he could give some tidings of Susanna to the family in Gower Street. What was she to do? Of course she was obliged to ask him to drink tea with them. "That would be so pleasant," he said; and Miss Mackenzie owned to herself that the gratification expressed in his face as he spoke was very becoming.
When Susanna came home she did not seem to know much of Mr Rubb, junior, or to care much about him. Old Mr Rubb lived, she knew, near the place of business in the New Road, and sometimes he came to Gower Street, but nobody liked him. She didn't remember that she had ever seen Mr Rubb, junior, at her mother's house but once, when he came to dinner. When she was told that Mr Rubb was very anxious to see her, she chucked up her head and said that the man was a goose.
He came, and in a very few minutes he had talked over Susanna. He brought her a little present,—a work-box,—which he had bought for her at Littlebath; and though the work-box itself did not altogether avail, it paved the way for civil words, which were more efficacious. On this occasion he talked more to his partner's daughter than to his partner's sister, and promised to tell her mamma how well she was looking, and that the air of Littlebath had brought roses to her cheeks.
"I think it is a healthy place," said Miss Mackenzie.
"I'm quite sure it is," said Mr Rubb. "And you like Mrs Crammer's school, Susanna?"
She would have preferred to have been called Miss Mackenzie, but was not disposed to quarrel with him on the point.
"Yes, I like it very well," she said. "The other girls are very nice; and if one must go to school, I suppose it's as good as any other school."
"Susanna thinks that going to school at all is rather a nuisance," said Miss Mackenzie.
"You'd think so too, aunt, if you had to practise every day for an hour in the same room with four other pianos. It's my belief that I shall hate the sound of a piano the longest day that I shall live."
"I suppose it's the same with all young ladies," said Mr Rubb.
"It's the same with them all at Mrs Crammer's. There isn't one there that does not hate it."
"But you wouldn't like not to be able to play," said her aunt.
"Mamma doesn't play, and you don't play; and I don't see what's the use of it. It won't make anybody like music to hear four pianos all going at the same time, and all of them out of tune."
"You must not tell them in Gower Street, Mr Rubb, that Susanna talks like that," said Miss Mackenzie.
"Yes, you may, Mr Rubb. But you must tell them at the same time that I am quite happy, and that Aunt Margaret is the dearest woman in the world."
"I'll be sure to tell them that," said Mr Rubb. Then he went away, pressing Miss Mackenzie's hand warmly as he took his leave; and as soon as he was gone, his character was of course discussed.
"He's quite a different man, aunt, from what I thought; and he's not at all like old Mr Rubb. Old Mr Rubb, when he comes to drink tea in Gower Street, puts his handkerchief over his knees to catch the crumbs."
"There's no great harm in that, Susanna."
"I don't suppose there's any harm in it. It's not wicked. It's not wicked to eat gravy with your knife."
"And does old Mr Rubb do that?"
"Always. We used to laugh at him, because he is so clever at it. He never spills any; and his knife seems to be quite as good as a spoon. But this Mr Rubb doesn't do things of that sort."
"He's younger, my dear."
"But being younger doesn't make people more ladylike of itself."
"I did not know that Mr Rubb was exactly ladylike."
"That's taking me up unfairly; isn't it, aunt? You know what I meant; and only fancy that the man should go out and buy me a work-box. That's more than old Mr Rubb ever did for any of us, since the first day he knew us. And, then, didn't you think that young Mr Rubb is a handsome man, aunt?"
"He's all very well, my dear."
"Oh; I think he is downright handsome; I do, indeed. Miss Dumpus,—that's Mrs Crammer's sister,—told us the other day, that I was wrong to talk about a man being handsome; but that must be nonsense, aunt?"
"I don't see that at all, my dear. If she told you so, you ought to believe that it is not nonsense."
"Come, aunt; you don't mean to tell me that you would believe all that Miss Dumpus says. Miss Dumpus says that girls should never laugh above their breath when they are more than fourteen years old. How can you make a change in your laughing just when you come to be fourteen? And why shouldn't you say a man's handsome, if he is handsome?"
"You'd better go to bed, Susanna."
"That won't make Mr Rubb ugly. I wish you had asked him to come and dine here on Sunday, so that we might have seen whether he eats his gravy with his knife. I looked very hard to see whether he'd catch his crumbs in his handkerchief."
Then Susanna went to her bed, and Miss Mackenzie was left alone to think over the perfections and imperfections of Mr Samuel Rubb, junior.
From that time up to Christmas she saw no more of Mr Rubb; but she heard from him twice. His letters, however, had reference solely to business, and were not of a nature to produce either anger or admiration. She had also heard more than once from her lawyer; and a question had arisen as to which she was called upon to trust to her own judgment for a decision. Messrs Rubb and Mackenzie had wanted the money at once, whereas the papers for the mortgage were not ready. Would Miss Mackenzie allow Messrs Rubb and Mackenzie to have the money under these circumstances? To this inquiry from her lawyer she made a rejoinder asking for advice. Her lawyer told her that he could not recommend her, in the ordinary way of business, to make any advance of money without positive security; but, as this was a matter between friends and near relatives, she might perhaps be willing to do it; and he added that, as far as his own opinion went, he did not think that there would be any great risk. But then it all depended on this:—did she want to oblige her friends and near relatives? In answer to this question she told herself that she certainly did wish to do so; and she declared,—also to herself,—that she was willing to advance the money to her brother, even though there might be some risk. The upshot of all this was that Messrs Rubb and Mackenzie got the money some time in October, but that the mortgage was not completed when Christmas came. It was on this matter that Mr Rubb, junior, had written to Miss Mackenzie, and his letter had been of a nature to give her a feeling of perfect security in the transaction. With her brother she had had no further correspondence; but this did not surprise her, as her brother was a man much less facile in his modes of expression than his younger partner.
As the autumn had progressed at Littlebath, she had become more and more intimate with Miss Baker, till she had almost taught herself to regard that lady as a dear friend. She had fallen into the habit of going to Mrs Stumfold's tea-parties every fortnight, and was now regarded as a regular Stumfoldian by all those who interested themselves in such matters. She had begun a system of district visiting and Bible reading with Miss Baker, which had at first been very agreeable to her. But Mrs Stumfold had on one occasion called upon her and taken her to task,—as Miss Mackenzie had thought, rather abruptly,—with reference to some lack of energy or indiscreet omission of which she had been judged to be guilty by that highly-gifted lady. Against this Miss Mackenzie had rebelled mildly, and since that things had not gone quite so pleasantly with her. She had still been honoured with Mrs Stumfold's card of invitation, and had still gone to the tea-parties on Miss Baker's strenuously-urged advice; but Mrs Stumfold had frowned, and Miss Mackenzie had felt the frown; Mrs Stumfold had frowned, and the retired coachbuilder's wife had at once snubbed the culprit, and Mr Maguire had openly expressed himself to be uneasy.
"Dearest Miss Mackenzie," he had said, with charitable zeal, "if there has been anything wrong, just beg her pardon, and you will find that everything has been forgotten at once; a more forgiving woman than Mrs Stumfold never lived."
"But suppose I have done nothing to be forgiven," urged Miss Mackenzie.
Mr Maguire looked at her, and shook his head, the exact meaning of the look she could not understand, as the peculiarity of his eyes created confusion; but when he repeated twice to her the same words, "The heart of man is exceeding treacherous," she understood that he meant to condemn her.
"So it is, Mr Maguire, but that is no reason why Mrs Stumfold should scold me."
Then he got up and left her, and did not speak to her again that evening, but he called on her the next day, and was very affectionate in his manner. In Mr Stumfold's mode of treating her she had found no difference.
With Miss Todd, whom she met constantly in the street, and who always nodded to her very kindly, she had had one very remarkable interview.
"I think we had better give it up, my dear," Miss Todd had said to her. This had been in Miss Baker's drawing-room.
"Give what up?" Miss Mackenzie had asked.
"Any idea of our knowing each other. I'm sure it never can come to anything, though for my part I should have been so glad. You see you can't serve God and Mammon, and it is settled beyond all doubt that I'm Mammon. Isn't it, Mary?"
Miss Baker, to whom this appeal was made, answered it only by a sigh.
"You see," continued Miss Todd, "that Miss Baker is allowed to know me, though I am Mammon, for the sake of auld lang syne. There have been so many things between us that it wouldn't do for us to drop each other. We have had the same lovers; and you know, Mary, that you've been very near coming over to Mammon yourself. There's a sort of understanding that Miss Baker is not to be required to cut me. But they would not allow that sort of liberty to a new comer; they wouldn't, indeed."
"I don't know that anybody would be likely to interfere with me," said Miss Mackenzie.
"Yes, they would, my dear. You didn't quite know yourself which way it was to be when you first came here, and if it had been my way, I should have been most happy to have made myself civil. You have chosen now, and I don't doubt but what you have chosen right. I always tell Mary Baker that it does very well for her, and I dare say it will do very well for you too. There's a great deal in it, and only that some of them do tell such lies I think I should have tried it myself. But, my dear Miss Mackenzie, you can't do both."
After this Miss Mackenzie used to nod to Miss Todd in the street, but beyond that there was no friendly intercourse between those ladies.
At the beginning of December there came an invitation to Miss Mackenzie to spend the Christmas holidays away from Littlebath, and as she accepted this invitation, and as we must follow her to the house of her friends, we will postpone further mention of the matter till the next chapter.
About the middle of December Mrs Mackenzie, of Gower Street, received a letter from her sister-in-law at Littlebath, in which it was proposed that Susanna should pass the Christmas holidays with her father and mother. "I myself," said the letter, "am going for three weeks to the Cedars. Lady Ball has written to me, and as she seems to wish it, I shall go. It is always well, I think, to drop family dissensions." The letter said a great deal more, for Margaret Mackenzie, not having much business on hand, was fond of writing long letters; but the upshot of it was, that she would leave Susanna in Gower Street, on her way to the Cedars, and call for her on her return home.
"What on earth is she going there for?" said Mrs Tom Mackenzie.
"Because they have asked her," replied the husband.
"Of course they have asked her; but that's no reason she should go. The Balls have behaved very badly to us, and I should think much better of her if she stayed away."
To this Mr Mackenzie made no answer, but simply remarked that he would be rejoiced in having Susanna at home on Christmas Day.
"That's all very well, my dear," said Mrs Tom, "and of course so shall I. But as she has taken the charge of the child I don't think she ought to drop her down and pick her up just whenever she pleases. Suppose she was to take it into her head to stop at the Cedars altogether, what are we to do then?—just have the girl returned upon our hands, with all her ideas of life confused and deranged. I hate such ways."
"She has promised to provide for Susanna, whenever she may not continue to give her a home."
"What would such a promise be worth if John Ball got hold of her money? That's what they're after, as sure as my name is Martha; and what she's after too, very likely. She was there once before she went to Littlebath at all. They want to get their uncle's money back, and she wants to be a baronet's wife."
The same view of the matter was perhaps taken by Mr Rubb, junior, when he was told that Miss Mackenzie was to pass through London on her way to the Cedars, though he did not express his fears openly, as Mrs Mackenzie had done.
"Why don't you ask your sister to stay in Gower Street?" he said to his partner.
"She wouldn't come."
"You might at any rate ask her."
"What good would it do?"
"Well; I don't know that it would do any good; but it wouldn't do any harm. Of course it's natural that she should wish to have friends about her; and it will only be natural too that she should marry some one."
"She may marry whom she pleases for me."
"She will marry whom she pleases; but I suppose you don't want to see her money go to the Balls."
"I shouldn't care a straw where her money went," said Thomas Mackenzie, "if I could only know that this sum which we have had from her was properly arranged. To tell you the truth, Rubb, I'm ashamed to look my sister in the face."
"That's nonsense. Her money is as right as the bank; and if in such matters as that brothers and sisters can't take liberties with each other, who the deuce can?"
"In matters of money nobody should ever take a liberty with anybody," said Mr Mackenzie.
He knew, however, that a great liberty had been taken with his sister's money, and that his firm had no longer the power of providing her with the security which had been promised to her.
Mr Mackenzie would take no steps, at his partner's instance, towards arresting his sister in London; but Mr Rubb was more successful with Mrs Mackenzie, with whom, during the last month or two, he had contrived to establish a greater intimacy than had ever previously existed between the two families. He had been of late a good deal in Gower Street, and Mrs Mackenzie had found him to be a much pleasanter and better educated man than she had expected. Such was the language in which she expressed her praise of him, though I am disposed to doubt whether she herself was at all qualified to judge of the education of any man. He had now talked over the affairs of Margaret Mackenzie with her sister-in-law, and the result of that talking was that Mrs Mackenzie wrote a letter to Littlebath, pressing Miss Mackenzie to stay a few days in Gower Street, on her way through London. She did this as well as she knew how to do it; but still there was that in the letter which plainly told an apt reader that there was no reality in the professions of affection made in it. Miss Mackenzie became well aware of the fact as she read her sister's words. Available hypocrisy is a quality very difficult of attainment and of all hypocrisies, epistolatory hypocrisy is perhaps the most difficult. A man or woman must have studied the matter very thoroughly, or be possessed of great natural advantages in that direction, who can so fill a letter with false expressions of affection, as to make any reader believe them to be true. Mrs Mackenzie was possessed of no such skill.
"Believe her to be my affectionate sister-in-law! I won't believe her to be anything of the kind," Margaret so spoke of the writer to herself, when she had finished the letter; but, nevertheless, she answered it with kind language, saying that she could not stay in town as she passed through to the Cedars, but that she would pass one night in Gower Street when she called to pick up Susanna on her return home.
It is hard to say what pleasure she promised herself in going to the Cedars, or why she accepted that invitation. She had, in truth, liked neither the people nor the house, and had felt herself to be uncomfortable while she was there. I think she felt it to be a duty to force herself to go out among people who, though they were personally disagreeable to her, might be socially advantageous. If Sir John Ball had not been a baronet, the call to the Cedars would not have been so imperative on her. And yet she was not a tufthunter, nor a toady. She was doing what we all do,—endeavouring to choose her friends from the best of those who made overtures to her of friendship. If other things be equal, it is probable that a baronet will be more of a gentleman and a pleasanter fellow than a manufacturer of oilcloth. Who is there that doesn't feel that? It is true that she had tried the baronet, and had not found him very pleasant, but that might probably have been her own fault. She had been shy and stiff, and perhaps ill-mannered, or had at least accused herself of these faults; and therefore she resolved to go again.
She called with Susanna as she passed through London, and just saw her sister-in-law.
"I wish you could have stayed," said Mrs Mackenzie.
"I will for one night, as I return, on the 10th of January," said Miss Mackenzie.
Mrs Mackenzie could not understand what Mr Rubb had meant by saying that that old maid was soft and pleasant, nor could she understand Susanna's love for her aunt. "I suppose men will put up with anything for the sake of money," she said to herself; "and as for children, the truth is, they'll love anybody who indulges them."
"Aunt is so kind," Susanna said. "She's always kind. If you wake her up in the middle of the night, she's kind in a moment. And if there's anything good to eat, it will make her eyes quite shine if she sees that anybody else likes it. I have known her sit for half an hour ever so uncomfortable, because she would not disturb the cat."
"Then she must be a fool, my dear," said Mrs Mackenzie.
"She isn't a fool, mamma; I'm quite sure of that," said Susanna.
Miss Mackenzie went on to the Cedars, and her mind almost misgave her in going there, as she was driven up through the dull brick lodges, which looked as though no paint had touched them for the last thirty years, up to the front door of the dull brick house, which bore almost as dreary a look of neglect as the lodges. It was a large brick house of three stories, with the door in the middle, and three windows on each side of the door, and a railed area with a kitchen below the ground. Such houses were built very commonly in the neighbourhood of London some hundred and fifty years ago, and they may still be pleasant enough to the eye if there be ivy over them, and if they be clean with new paint, and spruce with the outer care of gardeners and the inner care of housemaids; but old houses are often like old ladies, who require more care in their dressing than they who are younger. Very little care was given to the Cedars, and the place therefore always looked ill-dressed. On the right hand as you entered was the dining-room, and the three windows to the left were all devoted to the hall. Behind the dining-room was Sir John's study, as he called it, and behind or beyond the hall was the drawing-room, from which four windows looked out into the garden. This might have been a pretty room had any care been taken to make anything pretty at the Cedars. But the furniture was old, and the sofas were hard, and the tables were rickety, and the curtains which had once been red had become brown with the sun. The dinginess of the house had not struck Miss Mackenzie so forcibly when she first visited it, as it did now. Then she had come almost direct from Arundel Street, and the house in Arundel Street had itself been very dingy. Mrs Stumfold's drawing-rooms were not dingy, nor were her own rooms in the Paragon. Her eye had become accustomed to better things, and she now saw at once how old were the curtains, and how lamentably the papers wanted to be renewed on the walls. She had, however, been drawn from the neighbouring station to the house in the private carriage belonging to the establishment, and if there was any sense of justice in her, it must be presumed that she balanced the good things with the bad.