your hands would never want to leave you, Mr. Southwode."
"They never do. And as I told you, there is never a question of strikes. Neither do we ever have a time of bad business. The work done is so thorough and has been so long well known, that we never need to ask for orders. We never lose by making bad debts; and we never give notes, or take them. I say 'we'--I am using the old formula--it is all in my hand now."
"Why are not other people wise enough to make such arrangements and have the same sort of comfort?"
"Men fail to recognize their common humanity with those under them. That has been the basis of our management from the beginning. But the chapel, and the religious influence, are of later date.--I must find a ring for this finger, Rotha."
"A ring!" exclaimed the girl.
"Yes. Is not that the custom here? to make people remember what they have pledged themselves to?--" he said smiling.
"Oh never mind that, Mr. Southwode!" said Rotha hurriedly. "Go on and tell me more about your mill people."
"What shall I tell you?"
"About your ways,--and their ways. When do they have dinner?"
"Between one and two. They have an hour for it. A little after half past one they go to work again and work till six; only they have time allowed them for tea and coffee at half past four."
"There is no drinking, I suppose?"
"Not even of beer. Half the people do their work at their own homes; they bring it in on certain days, when we give them hot tea and coffee and bread and cheese, which they have without paying for it. That saves them from the temptation of the public houses; and there is no such thing as drunkenness known in the community."
"Tea and coffee seem to play a great part," said Rotha.
"So they do. People steadily at work in any mechanical way need frequent refreshment of body, which also in some degree is refreshment of mind; and there, as beer and whiskey are banished, tea and coffee come in happily. I do not know how they would manage without them.--Then in various ways we minister to the people and care for them; so that we are like one big family. When any are sick, they are paid at least half wages all the time; and by clubbing together it is generally made up to full wages. We have hospitals, where they have board and lodging and care in addition to half wages; but there is no compulsion about going to the hospitals. And whenever any of them are in any sort of trouble, they come to us for counsel and sympathy and help; my father knew them all personally, and so do I, and so did my dear mother when she was living. But a mistress is wanted there now, Rotha," Mr. Southwode went on. "I cannot do all I would alone, nor half so well what I do. Your place is ready."
"O do not speak so!" cried Rotha catching her breath. "I wish I were fit for it."
"Fit for it!" said he, putting his hand under her chin and drawing his fingers slowly along the delicate outlines, while the blood mounted into her cheeks and flamed out vividly.
"You make me feel so very small, telling me all these things!" she said. "They are such grand things! And what am I?"
He lifted her face, not without a little resistance on her part, till he could reach her lips, and gave his answer there first; gave it tenderly, and laughingly.
"You are mine," he said; "and what is mine I do not like anybody to find fault with, except myself."
"I mean it seriously, Mr. Digby--" Rotha made effort to say.
"So do I. And seriously, I want you there very much. I want your help in the schools, and with men, women and children out of the schools. It is pleasant work too. They are always glad to see me; and they will be more glad to see you."
"Never!" said Rotha energetically. "What is the name of the place? you never told me."
"Southwode."
"Southwode! That is pretty."
"I am glad you think so. I will shew you, if I can, a little what the house is like."
He had sketched the ground plan of it before; now he drew the elevation, giving some hints of the surrounding trees and further lines of the landscape; telling her all sorts of quiet details about this room and that room, this and that growth of trees, or plantation, or shrubbery. And Rotha looked on and listened, in a kind of dream witchery of pleasure; absorbed, fascinated, with very fulness of content.
Nevertheless, her mind was not settled on one point, and that a very essential point; and after the evening was over and she was alone in her own room, she thought about it a great deal. She could not think regularly; that was impossible; she was in too great a confusion of emotions; happiness and wonder and strangeness and doubt made a labyrinth; through which Rotha had no clue but a thread of sensitive impulse; a woman's too frequent only leader, or misleader. That thread she held fast to; and made up her mind that certain words in consonance therewith should certainly be spoken to Mr. Digby in the morning. It would not be easy, nor pleasant. No, not at all; but that made no difference. She had taken to her room with her the sketch which Mr. Southwode had made of his home; she would keep that always. It was very lovely to Rotha's eyes. She looked at it fondly, longingly, even with a tear or two; but all the same, one thing she was sure it was right to do, to say; and she would do it, though it drew the heart out of her body. She thought about it for a while, trying to arrange how she should do it; but then went to sleep, and slept as if all cares were gone.
She slept late; then dressed hastily, nervously, thinking of her task. It would be very difficult to speak so that her words would have any chance of effect; but Rotha set her teeth with the resolve that it should be done. Better any pain or awkwardness than a mistake now. Now or never a mistake must be prevented. She went to the sitting room with her heart beating. Mr. Digby was already there, and the new, unwonted manner of his greeting nearly routed Rotha's plan of attack. She stood still to collect her forces. She was sure the breakfast bell would ring in a minute, and then the game would be up. Mr. Southwode set a chair for her, and turned to gather together some papers on the table; he had been writing.
"What o'clock is it?" Rotha asked, to make sure of her own voice.
"Almost breakfast time, if that is what you mean. Are you hungry?"
"I--do not know," said Rotha. "Mr. Digby--"
Mr. Digby knew her well enough and knew the tone of her voice well enough, to be almost sure of what sort of thing was coming. He answered with a matter-of-fact "What, Rotha?"
"I want to say something to you--" But her breath came and went hastily. Then he came and put his arms round her, and told her to speak.
"It is not easy to speak--what I want to say."
"I am not anxious to make it easy!"
"Why not?" said Rotha, looking suddenly up at him, with such innocent, eager, questioning eyes that he was much inclined to put a sudden stop to her communications. But she had something on her mind, and it was better that she should get rid of it; so he restrained himself.
"Go on, Rotha. What is it?"
"I can hardly talk to you so, Mr. Digby. I think, if I were standing over yonder by the window, with all that space between us, I could manage it better."
"I am not going to put space between us in any way, nor for any reason. What is this all about?"
"It is just that, Mr. Southwode. I think--I am afraid--I think, perhaps, you spoke hastily to me yesterday, and might find out afterwards that it was not just the best thing--"
"What?"
"I--for you," said the girl bravely; though her cheeks burned and every nerve in her trembled. He could feel how she was trembling. "I think--maybe,--you might find it out after a while; and I would rather you should find it out at once. I propose,"--she went on hurriedly, forcing herself to say all she had meant to say;--"I propose, that we agree to let things be as if you had not said it; let things be as they were--for a year,--until next summer, I mean. And _then_, if you think it was not a mistake, you can tell me."
She had turned a little pale now, and her lip quivered slightly. And after a slight pause, which Mr. Southwode did not break, she went on,--
"And, in the mean time, we will let nobody know anything about it."
"I shall tell Mrs. Mowbray the first five minutes I am in her company," he said.
Rotha looked up again, but then her eyes fell, and the strained lines of brow and lips relaxed, and the colour rose.
"About Mrs. Busby, you shall do as you please. You do not know me yet, Rotha--my little Rotha! Do you think I would say to any woman what I said to you yesterday, and not know my own mind?"
"No--" Rotha said softly. "But I thought I was so unfit I do not know what I thought! only I knew I must speak to you."
"You are a brave girl," said he tenderly,