declaration was a source of great comfort to the girl, and a great help towards its own justification; as Mr. Digby probably guessed. Nevertheless Rotha grieved, deeply and silently, through the days that followed. Her friend saw it, and with serious disquiet. That passion of pain and dismay with which she had greeted the first news of what was before her was no transient gust, leaving the air as clear as it had been previously. True, the storm was over. Rotha obtruded her feelings in no way upon his notice; she was quiet and docile as usual. But the happiness was gone. There were rings round her eyes, which told of watching or of weeping; her brow was clouded; and now and then Mr. Digby saw a tear or two come which she made good efforts to get rid of unseen. She was mourning, and it troubled him; but, as he said to himself over and over again, "there was no help for it." He was unselfish about it; for to himself personally there was no doubt but to have Rotha safely lodged with her aunt would be a great relief. He had other business to attend to.
CHAPTER XII.
MRS. BUSBY'S HOUSE.
By the beginning of the week Rotha had recovered command of herself, externally at least; and on the Monday Mr. Digby and his charge were to go to Mrs. Busby's. It was the first of November; dull, cloudy and cold; getting ready for snow, Mr. Digby said, to judge by the sky. From the clouds his eye came down to Rotha, who had just entered the room dressed for her departure.
"Rotha," said he, "what is that you have on?"
"My brown lawn, Mr. Digby."
"Lawn? on such a day as this? You want a warmer dress, my child."
Rotha hesitated and coloured.
"My warm dresses--are not very nice," she said with some difficulty. "I thought I must look as well as I could."
"And I have forgotten that the season was changing! and left you without proper provision. You see, Rotha, I never had the charge of a young lady before. Never mind, dear; that will soon be made right. But put on something warm, no matter how it looks. You will take cold with that thin dress."
Rotha hesitated.
"I don't think you will like it, if I put on my old winter frock," she said.
"I would like it better than your getting sick. Change your dress by all means."
When Rotha came in again, she was a different figure. She had put on an old grey merino, which had once belonged to her mother and had been made over for her. At the time she had rejoiced much over it; now Rotha had got a new standard for judging of dresses, and she seemed to herself very "mean" looking. Truly, the old grey gown had been made a good while ago; the fashion had changed, and Rotha had grown; it was scant now and had lost even a distant conformity with prevailing modes. Moreover it was worn, and it was faded, and it was not even very clean. Rotha thought Mr. Digby would hardly endure it; she herself endured it only under stress of authority. He looked at her a little gravely.
"That's the best you have, is it? Never mind, Rotha; it is I who am to blame. I am very much ashamed of myself, for forgetting that winter was corning."
He had never known what it was, in all his life, to want a thick coat or a thin coat and not find it in his wardrobe; and that makes people forget.
"This will not do, do you think it will, Mr. Digby?" said Rotha tentatively.
"Better than to have you get sick. It will keep you warm, will it not? and we will soon have you fitted up with better supplies."
It was not time quite for the carriage to be at the door, and Mr. Digby sat down to a bit of drawing; he was making a copy for Rotha. Rotha stood by, doubtful and thoughtful.
"Mr. Digby," she said at last shyly, "there is something I should like very much to ask."
"Ask it, Rotha."
"But I do not know whether you would like it--and yet I cannot know without asking--"
"Naturally. What is it, Rotha?"
"Mr. Digby, my mother hadn't anything at all, had she? Money, I mean."
"Of late? No, Rotha, I believe not."
The girl hesitated and struggled with herself.
"I thought so," she said. "And while it was you, I didn't mind. But now,--how will it be, Mr. Digby?"
Mr. Digby got at the sense of this by some intuition.
"Who will be at the charge of your schooling, you mean? and other things? Certainly I, Rotha, unless your aunt wishes very decidedly that it should be herself."
"She will not wish that," said the girl. "Then, Mr. Digby, when I am done with school--what am I to do? What do you want me to do? Because if I knew, I might work better to get ready for it."
"Well," said Mr. Digby, making some easy strokes with his pencil, every one of which however meant something,--"there is generally something for everybody to do in this world; but we cannot always tell what, till the time comes. The best way is to prepare yourself, as far as possible, for everything."
"But I cannot do that," said Rotha, with the nearest approach to a laugh that she had made since the previous Friday.
"Yes, you can. First, be a good woman; and then, get all the knowledge and all the accomplishments, and all the acquirements, that come in your way. Drawing, certainly, for you have a true love for that. How is it with music? Are you fond of it?"
"I don't know," Rotha said low. "Mr. Digby, can I not--some time--do something for you?"
"Yes," said he, looking up at her with a laughing glance, "you can do all these things for me. I want you to be as good a woman, and as wise a woman, and as accomplished a woman, as you are able to become."
"Then I will," said Rotha very quietly.
The carriage came. Rotha covered up her old dress as well as she could under her silk mantle, very ill satisfied with the joint effect, She behaved very well, however; was perfectly quiet during the drive, and only once asked,
"Mr. Digby, you said I might write to you?"
"As often as you like. But you will see me too, Rotha, though not every day. If anything goes wrong with you, let me know."
That was all; and then the carriage turned a corner and stopped in a street of high, regular, stately houses, with high flights of doorsteps. Poor Rotha felt her gown dreadfully out of place; but her bearing did not betray her. She was trying hard to form herself on Mr. Digby's model, and so to be even and calm and unimpassioned in her manners. Not easy, when a young heart beats as hers was beating then. They entered the house. Mrs. Busby was not in, the servant said; at the same time she opened the door of the parlour, and Mr. Digby and Rotha went in.
Nobody was there; only the luxurious presence of warmth and colour and softness and richness, whichever way the girl looked. She tried not to look; she fixed her eyes on the glowing grate; while a keen sense of wrong and a bitter feeling of resentment and opposition swelled her heart. This was how her aunt lived! and her mother had done sewing for her bread, and not got it. If the flowers in the carpet had been living exotics, they would have thriven in the warm air that surrounded them, and feared no frost; and her mother's fire had been fed by charity! It was to the credit of Rotha's budding power of self-command that she shewed nothing of what she felt. She was outwardly calm and impassive.
Then the heavy door was pushed inward and a figure appeared for which she was scarcely prepared. A young girl of about her own age, also a contrast. There was nothing but contrasts here. She was excessively pretty, and as lively as a soap bubble. Something of her mother's hardness of outlines, perhaps; but in that fifteen must needs be far different from fifty; and this face was soft enough, with a lovely tinting of white and red, charming little pearly teeth, a winning smile, and pretty movements. She was not so tall as Rotha; and generally they were as unlike as two girls could be. In dress too, as in everything else. This new-comer on the scene was as bright as a flower; in a new cashmere, fashionably made, of a green hue that set off the fresh tints of her skin, edged with delicate laces which softened the lines between the one and the other. She came in smiling and eager.
"Mr. Southwode! how long it is since we have seen you! What made you stay away so? Mamma is out; she told me if y
ou came I must see you. I am so sorry she is out! No, I am very glad to see you; but I know you wanted to see mamma. I'll do as well as I can." And she smiled most graciously on him, but hitherto had not looked at Rotha, though Mr. Digby knew one glance of her eye had taken her all in.
"Miss Antoinette," said he, shaking hands with her, "this is your cousin."
The eyes came round, the smile faded.
"Oh!--" said she. "I knew it must be you. How do you do? Mamma is out; she'll be so sorry. But your room is ready. Would you like to go up to it at once, and take off your things?"--Then without waiting for an answer, she pulled the bell twice, and springing to the door cried out, "Lesbia! Lesbia!--Lesbia, where are