CHAPTER EIGHT.
RHODA IS TAKEN IN THE TRAP.
"That busy hive, the world, And all its thousand stings."
Phoebe sat still for a while in her corner, watching the various membersof the party as they flitted in and out: for the scene was now becomingdiversified by the addition of elder persons. Ere long, two gentlemenin evening costume, engaged in conversation, came and stood close byher. One of them, as she soon discovered, was Sir Richard Delawarr.
"'Tis really true, then," demanded the other--a round-faced man, withbrilliant eyes, who was attired as a dignitary of the Church--"'tisreally true, Sir, that the Queen did forbid the visit of the Elector?"
"_I_ had it from an excellent hand, I assure you," returned Sir Richard."Nor only that, but the Princess Sophia so laid it to heart, that 'twasthe main cause of her sudden death."
"It really was so?"
"Upon honour, my Lord; my Lady Delawarr had it from Mrs RosamondHarley."
"Ha! then 'tis like to be true. You heard, I doubt not, Sir, ofD'Urfey's jest on the Princess Sophia?--ha, ha, ha!" and the Bishoplaughed, as if the recollection amused him exceedingly.
"No, I scarce think I did, my Lord."
"Not? Ah, then, give me leave to tell it you. I hear it gave the Queenextreme diversion.
"`The crown is too weighty For shoulders of eighty-- She could not sustain such a trophy: Her hand, too, already Has grown so unsteady, She can't hold a sceptre: So Providence kept her Away--poor old dowager Sophy!'"
Sir Richard threw his head back, and indulged in unfeigned merriment.Phoebe, in her corner, felt rather indignant. Why should the PrincessSophia, or any other woman, be laughed at solely for growing old?
"Capital good jest!" said the Baronet, his amusement over. "I heardfrom a friend that I met at the Bath, that the Queen is looking vastlywell this summer--quite rid of her gout."
"So do I hear," returned the Bishop. "What think you of the price seton the Pretender's head?"
Sir Richard whistled.
"The Queen's own sole act, without any concurrence of her Ministers,"continued the Bishop.
"Dear, dear!" exclaimed Sir Richard. "Five thousand, I was told?"
"Five thousand. An excellent notion, I take it."
"Well--I--don't--know!" slowly answered Sir Richard. "I cannot but feelvery doubtful of the mischievous consequence that may ensue. A price onthe head of the Prince of Wales! Sounds bad, my Lord--sounds bad!Though, indeed, he be not truly the Queen's brother, yet 'tis unnaturalfor his sister to set a price on his head."
By which remark it will be seen that Sir Richard's intellect was not ofthe first order. The intellect of Bishop Atterbury was: and a slightlycontemptuous smile played on his lips for a moment.
"`The Prince of Wales!'" repeated he. "Surely, Sir, you have more witthan to credit that baseless tale? Why not set a price on thePretender?"
Be it known to the reader, though it was not to Sir Richard, that onthat very morning Bishop Atterbury had forwarded a long letter to thePalace of Saint Germain, in which he addressed the aforesaid Pretenderas "your Majesty," and assured him of his entire devotion to hisinterests.
"Oh, come, I leave the whys and wherefores to yon gentlemen of the blackrobe!" answered Sir Richard, laughing. "By the way, talking of prices,have you heard the prodigious price Sir Nathaniel Fowler hath given forhis seat in the Commons? Six thousand pounds, 'pon my honour!"
"Surely, Sir, you have been misinformed. Six thousand! 'Tis amazing."
"Your Lordship may well say so. Why, I gave but eight hundred for mine.By the way, there is another point I intended to acquaint you of, myLord. Did you hear, ever, that there should be a little ill-humour withmy Lord Oxford, on account of--you know?"
"On account? Oh!" and the Bishop's right hand was elevated to his lips,in the attitude of a person drinking. "Yes, yes. Well, I cannot say Iam entirely ignorant of that affair. Sir Jeremy's lady assured me sheknew, beyond contradiction, that my Lord Oxford once waited on her,somewhat foxed."
Of course, "she" was the Queen. But why a fox, usually as sober a beastas others, should have been compelled to lend its name to the vocabularyof intoxication, is not so apparent.
"Absolutely drunk, I heard," responded Sir Richard; "and she wasprodigiously angered. Said to my Lady Masham, that if it were everrepeated, she would take his stick from him that moment. Odd, if theministry were to fall for such a nothing as that."
"Well, 'twas not altogether reverential to the sovereign," said theBishop; "and the Queen is extreme nice, you know."
The threat of taking the stick from a minister was less figurative inQueen Anne's days than now. The white wand of office was carried beforeevery Cabinet Minister, not only in his public life, but even inprivate.
At this point a third gentleman joined the others, and they moved away,leaving Phoebe in her corner.
Phoebe sat meditating, for nobody had spoken to her, when she felt asoft gloved hand laid upon her arm. She turned, suddenly, to look upinto a face which she thought at first was the face of a stranger.Then, in a moment, she knew Gatty Delawarr.
The small-pox had changed her terribly--far more than her sister. Noone could think of setting her up for a beauty now. The soft,peach-like complexion, which had been Gatty's best point, was replacedby a sickly white, pitifully seamed with the scars of the dread disease.
"You did not know me at first," said Gatty, quietly, as if stating afact, not making an inquiry.
"I do now," answered Phoebe, returning Gatty's smile.
"Well, you see the Lord made a way for me. But it is rather a roughone, Phoebe."
"I am afraid you must have suffered _very_ much, Mrs Gatty."
"Won't you drop the Mistress? I would rather. Well, yes, I suffered,Phoebe; but it was worse since than just then."
Phoebe's face, not her tongue, said, "In what manner?"
"'Tis not very pleasant, Phoebe, to have everybody bewailing you, andtelling all their neighbours how cruelly you are changed, but I couldhave stood that. Nor is it delightful to have Molly for ever at one'selbow, calling one Mrs Baboon, and my Lady Venus, and such like; but Icould have stood that, though I don't like it. But 'tis hard to be toldI have disappointed my mother's dearest hopes, and that she will nevertake any more pleasure in me; that she would to Heaven I had died in mycradle. That stings sometimes. Then, to know that if one makes theleast slip, it will be directly, `Oh, your saints are no better thanother folks!' Phoebe, I wish sometimes that I had not recovered."
"Oh, but you must not do that, Mrs Gatty!--well, Gatty, then, as youare so kind. The Lord wanted you for something, I suppose."
"I wonder for what!" said Gatty.
"Well, we can't tell yet, you see," replied Phoebe, simply. "I supposeyou will find out by and bye."
"I wish I could find out," said Gatty, sighing.
"I think He will show you, when He is ready," said Phoebe. "Father usedto say that it took a good deal longer to make a fine microscope than itdid to make a common chisel or hammer; and he thought it was the samewith us. I mean, you know, that if the Lord intends us to do very nicework, He will be nice in getting us ready for it, and it may take a goodwhile. And father used to say that we seldom know what God is doingwith us while He does it, but only when He has finished."
"Nice," at that time, had not the sense of pleasant, but only that ofdelicately particular.
"I am glad you have told me that, Phoebe. I wish your father had beenliving now."
"Oh!" very deep-drawn, from Phoebe, echoed the wish.
"Phoebe, I want you to tell me where you get your patience?"
"My patience!" repeated astonished Phoebe.
"Yes; I think you are the most patient maid I know."
"I can't tell you, I am sure!" answered Phoebe, in a rather puzzledtone. "I didn't know I was patient. I don't think I have often askedfor that, specially. Very often, I ask God to give me what He sees Ineed; and if that be as you
say, I suppose He saw I wanted it, and gaveit me."
The admiring look in Gatty's eyes was happily unintelligible to Phoebe.
"Now then!" said Molly's not particularly welcome voice, close by them."Here's old Edmundson. Clasp your hands in ecstasy, Phoebe. Mum saysyou and he have got to fall in love and marry one another; so make hasteabout it. He's not an ill piece, only you'll find he won't get upbefore noon unless you squirt water in his face. Now then, fall to, andsay some pretty things to one another!"
Of course Molly had taken the most effectual way possible to prevent anysuch occurrence. Phoebe did not dare to lift her eyes; and the chaplainwas, if possible, the shyer of the two, and had been dragged thereagainst his will by invincible Molly. Neither would have known what todo, if Gatty had not kindly come to the rescue.
"Pray sit down, Mr Edmundson," she said, in a quiet, natural way, as ifnothing had happened. "I thought I had seen you riding forth, half anhour ago; I suppose it must have been some one else."
"I--ah--yes--no, I have not been riding to-day," stammered the perturbeddivine.
"Twas a very pleasant morning for a ride," said mediating Gatty.
"Very pleasant, Madam," answered the chaplain.
"Have you quite lost your catarrh, Mr Edmundson?"
"Quite, I thank you, Madam."
"I believe my mother wishes to talk with you of Jack Flint, MrEdmundson."
"Yes, Madam?"
"The lad hath been well spoken of to her for the under-gardener's boy'splace. I think she wished to have your opinion of him."
"Yes, Madam."
"Is the boy of a choleric disposition?"
"Possibly, Madam."
"But what think you, Mr Edmundson?"
"Madam, I--ah--I cannot say, Madam."
"I think I see Mr Lamb beckoning to you," observed Gatty, wishful torelieve the poor _gauche_ chaplain from his uncomfortable position.
"Madam, I thank you--ah--very much, Madam." And Mr Edmundson made adive into the throng, and disappeared behind a quantity of silk brocadeand Brussels lace. Phoebe ventured to steal a glance at him as hedeparted. She found that the person to whom she had been sounceremoniously handed over, alike by Madam, Lady Delawarr, and Molly,was a thickset man of fifty years, partially bald, with small,expressionless features. He was not more fascinating to look at than totalk to, and Phoebe could only entertain a faint hope that his preachingmight be an improvement upon both looks and conversation.
A little later in the evening, as Phoebe sat alone in her corner,looking on, "I say!" came from behind her. Her heart fluttered, for thevoice was Molly's.
"I say!" repeated Molly. "You look here. I'm not all bad, you know. Ididn't want old Edmundson to have you. And I knew the way to keep himfrom it was to tell him he must. I think 'tis a burning shame to treata maid like that. They were all set on it--the old woman, and Mum, andeverybody. He's an old block of firewood. You're fit for somethingbetter. I tease folks, but I'm not quite a black witch. Ta-ta._He'll_ not tease you now."
And Molly disappeared as suddenly as she had appeared. There was noopportunity for Phoebe to edge in a word. But, for once in her life,she felt obliged to Molly.
The next invader of Phoebe's peace was Lady Delawarr herself. She satdown on an ottoman, fanned herself languidly, and hoped dear Mrs Rhodawas enjoying herself.
Phoebe innocently replied that she hoped so too.
"'Twill be a pretty sight, all the young maids in white, to meet theQueen at Berkeley," resumed Lady Delawarr. "There are fourteen goingfrom this house. My three daughters, of course, and Lady Diana--she isto hand the nosegay--and Mrs Rhoda, and Mrs Kitty Mainwaring, and MrsSophia Rich, and several more. Those that do not go must have somelittle pleasure to engage them whilst the others are away. I thoughtthey might drink a dish of chocolate in yon little ivy-covered tower inthe park, and have the young gentlemen to wait on them and divert them.The four gentlemen of the best families and fortunes will wait on thegentlewomen to Berkeley: that is, Mr Otway, Mr Seymour, my nephew MrGeorge Merton, and Mr Welles. I shall charge Mr Derwent yonder towait specially on you, Mrs Phoebe, while Mrs Rhoda is away."
Phoebe perceived that she was not one of the fourteen favoured ones. Alittle flutter of anxiety disturbed her anticipations. What would go onwith Rhoda and Mr Welles?
Lady Delawarr sat for a few minutes, talking of nothing in particular,and then rose and sailed away. It was evident that the main object ofher coming had been to give Phoebe a hint that she must not expect tojoin the expedition to Berkeley.
As Phoebe went upstairs that evening, feeling rather heavy-hearted, shesaw something gleam and fall, and discovered, on investigation, that atassel had dropped from Rhoda's purse, which that young lady had desiredher to carry up for her. She set to work to hunt for it, but for someseconds in vain. She had almost given up the search in despair, when astrange voice said behind her, "Le voici, Mademoiselle."
Phoebe turned and faced her countrywoman--for so she considered her--with an exclamation of delight.
"Ah! you speak French, Mademoiselle?" said the girl. "It is a pleasure,a pleasure, to hear it!"
"I am French," responded Phoebe, warmly. "My father was a Frenchman.My name is Phoebe Latrobe: what is yours?"
"Louise Dupret. I am Lady Delawarr's woman. I have been here two long,long years; and nobody speaks French but Madame and Mesdemoiselles herdaughters. And Mademoiselle Marie will not, though she can. She willtalk to me in English, and laughs at me when I understand her not. Ah,it is dreadful!"
"From what part of France do you come?"
"From the mountains of the Cevennes. And you?"
"The same. Then you are of the religion?"
This was the Huguenot form of inquiry whether a stranger belonged tothem. Louise's eyes lighted up.
"We are daughters of the Church of the Desert," she said. "And we aresisters in Jesus Christ."
From that hour Phoebe was not quite friendless at Delawarr Court. Itwas well for her: since the preparations for Berkeley absorbed Gatty,and of Rhoda she saw nothing except during the processes of dressing andundressing. Very elaborate processes they became, for Lady Delawarrkept a private hair-dresser, who came round every morning to curl, friz,puff, and powder each young lady in turn; and the unfortunate maiden whokept him waiting an instant was relegated to the last, and certain to belate for breakfast. Following in the footsteps of his superiors, he didnot notice Phoebe, nor count her as one of the group; but after themeeting on the stairs, as soon as Lady Delawarr released her, Louise wasat hand with a beaming face, entreating permission to arrangeMademoiselle, and she sent her downstairs looking very fresh andstylish, almost enough to provoke the envy of Rhoda.
"Ah, Mademoiselle!--if you were but a rich, rich lady, and I might beyour maid!" sighed Louise. "This is a dreary world; and a drearycountry, this England; and a dreary house, this Cour de la Warre!Madame is--is--ah, well, she is my mistress, and it is not right tochatter all one thinks. Still one cannot help thinking. MademoiselleBetti--if she were in my country, we should call her Elise, which ispretty--it is ugly, Betti!--well, Mademoiselle Betti is verygood-natured--very, indeed; and Mademoiselle Henriette--ah, this drollcountry! her name is Henriette, and they call her Gatti!--she is verygood, very good and pleasant Mademoiselle Henriette. And since she hadthe small-pox she is nicer than before. It had spoiled her face tobeautify her heart. Ah, that poor demoiselle, how she suffers!Perhaps, Mademoiselle, it is not right that I should tell you, even you;but she suffers so much, this good demoiselle, and she is so patient!But for Mademoiselle Marie--ah, there again the droll name, Molli!--doesnot Mademoiselle think this a strange, very strange, country?"
The great expedition was ready to set out at last. All the girls weredressed exactly alike, in white, and all the gentlemen in blue turned upwith white. They were to travel in two coaches to Bristol, where allwere to sleep at the house of Mrs Merton, sister-in-law to LadyDelawarr; the next day the bouquet was to b
e presented at Berkeley, andon the third day they were to return. By way of chaperone, thehousekeeper at the Court was to travel with them to and from Bristol,out Mrs Merton herself undertook to conduct them to Berkeley.
Rhoda was in the highest spirits, and Phoebe saw her assisted into thecoach by Mr Marcus Welles with no little misgiving. Molly, as shebrushed past Phoebe, allowed the point of a steel scissors-sheath topeep from her pocket for an instant, accompanying it with the mysteriousintimation--"You'll see!"
"What will she see, Molly?" asked Lady Diana, who was close beside her.
"How to use a pair of scissors," said Molly. "What's to be cut, Molly?"Sophia Rich wished to know.
"A dash!" said Molly, significantly. And away rolled the coachestowards Bristol. Phoebe turned back into the house with a ratherdesolate feeling. For three days everybody would be gone. Those whowere left behind were all strangers to her except Mr Edmundson, and shewanted to get as far from him as she could. True, there was Louise; butLouise could hardly be a companion for her, even had her work for LadyDelawarr allowed it, for she was not her equal in education. The othergirls were engaged, as usual, in idle chatter, and fluttering of fans.Lady Delawarr, passing through the room, saw Phoebe sitting ratherdisconsolately in a corner.
"Mrs Phoebe, my dear, come and help me to make things ready forto-morrow," she said, good-naturedly; and Phoebe followed her verywillingly.
The picnic was a success. The weather was beautiful, and the youngpeople in good temper--two important points. Lady Delawarr herself, inthe absence of her housekeeper, superintended the packing of the lightvan which carried the provisions to the old tower. There was to be agipsy fire to boil the kettle, with three poles tied together over it,from which the kettle was slung in the orthodox manner. Phoebe, who wastrying to make herself useful, stretched out her hand for the kettle,when Lady Delawarr's voice said behind her, "My dear Mrs Phoebe, youmay be relieved of that task. Mr Osmund Derwent--Mrs Phoebe Latrobe.Mrs Latrobe--Mr Derwent."
There was one advantage, now lost, in this double introduction; if thename were not distinctly heard in the first instance, it might be caughtin the second.
Phoebe looked up, and saw a rather good-looking young man, whose goodlooks, however, lay more in a pleasant expression than in any specialbeauty of feature. A little shy, yet without being awkward; and alittle grave and silent, but not at all morose, he was one with whomPhoebe felt readily at home. His shyness, which arose from diffidence,not pride, wore off when the first strangeness was over. It was evidentthat Lady Delawarr had given him, as she had said, a hint to wait onPhoebe.
The peculiarity of Lady Delawarr's conduct rather puzzled Phoebe. Attimes she was particularly gracious, whilst at others she utterlyneglected her. Simple, unworldly Phoebe did not guess that while RhodaPeveril and Phoebe Latrobe were of no consequence in the eyes of herhostess, the future possessor of White-Ladies was of very much. LadyDelawarr never felt quite certain who that was to be. She expected itto be Rhoda; yet at times the conviction smote her that, after all,there was no certainty that it might not be Phoebe. Madam wasimpulsive; she had already surprised people by taking up with Phoebe atall; and Rhoda might displease her. In consequence of thesereflections, though Phoebe was generally left unnoticed, yetoccasionally Lady Delawarr warmed into affability, and cultivated thegirl who might, after all, come to be the heiress of Madam's untoldwealth. For Lady Delawarr's mind was essentially of the earth, earthy;gold had for her a value far beyond goodness, and pleasantness ofdisposition or purity of mind were not for a moment to be set incomparison with a suite of pearls.
Mr Derwent took upon himself the responsibility of the kettle, andchatted pleasantly enough with Phoebe, to whom the other damsels wereonly too glad to leave all trouble. He walked home with her, insistingwith playful persistence upon carrying her scarf and the little basketwhich she had brought for wild flowers; talked to her about his motherand sisters, his own future prospects as a younger son who must make hisway in the world for himself, and took pains to make himself generallyagreeable and interesting. Under his kindly notice Phoebe opened like aflower to the sun. It was something new to her to find a sensible,grown-up person who really seemed to take pleasure in talking with her--except Mrs Dorothy Jennings, and she and Phoebe were not on a level.In conversation with Mrs Dorothy she felt herself being taught andcounselled; in conversation with Mr Derwent she was entertained andgratified.
Judging from his conduct, Mr Derwent was as much pleased with Phoebe asshe was with him. During the whole time she remained at Delawarr Court,he constituted himself her cavalier. He was always at hand when shewanted anything, at times supplying the need even before she haddiscovered its existence. Phoebe tasted, for the first time in herlife, the flattering ease of being waited on, instead of waiting onothers; the delicate pleasure of being listened to, instead of snubbedand disregarded; the intellectual treat of finding one who was willingto exchange ideas with her, rather than only to impart ideas to her.Was it any wonder if Osmund Derwent began to form a nucleus in herthoughts, round which gathered a floating island of fair fancies andgolden visions, all the more beautiful because they were vague?
And all the while, Phoebe never realised what was happening to her. Shelet herself drift onwards in a pleasant dream, and never thought ofpausing to analyse her sensations.
The absentees returned home in the afternoon of the third day. Andbeyond the roll of the coaches, and the noise and bustle inseparablefrom the arrival of eighteen persons, the first intimation of it whichwas given in the drawing-room was caused by the entrance of Molly, whoswept into the room with tragi-comic dignity, and mounting a chair,cleared her voice, and held forth, as if it had been a sceptre, a minutebow of black gauze ribbon.
"Ladies and gentlewomen!" said Molly with solemnity. "(The gentlemendon't count.) Ladies and gentlewomen! I engaged myself, before leavingthe Court, to bring back to you in triumph a snip from the Queen's gown.Behold it! (Never mind how I got it,--here it is.) Upon honour, assure as my name is Mary--('tisn't,--I was christened Maria)--but, assure as there is one rent and two spots of mud on this white gown whichdecorates my charming person,--the places whereof are best known tomyself,--this bow of gauze, on which all your eyes are fixed,--nowthere's a shame! Sophy Rich isn't looking a bit--this bow was on thegown of Her Majesty Queen Anne yesterday morning! _Plaudite vobis_!"
And down came Miss Molly.
"If I might be excused, Mrs Maria," hesitatingly began Mr Edmundson,who seemed almost afraid of the sound of his own voice, "_vobis_ is, asI cannot but be sensible, not precisely the--ah--not quite the word--ah--"
"You shut up, old Bandbox," said Molly, dropping her heroics. "None ofyour business. Can't you but be sensible? First time you ever were!"
"I ask your pardon, Mrs Maria. I trust, indeed,--ah--I am not--ah--insensible, to the many--ah--many things which--"
The youthful company were convulsed with laughter. They were all awarethat Molly was intentionally talking at cross purposes with her pastor;and that while he clung to the old signification of sensible, namely, tobe aware of, or sensitive to, a thing, she was using it in the new, nowuniversally accepted, sense of sagacious. The fun, of course, wasenhanced by the fact that poor Mr Edmundson was totally unacquaintedwith the change of meaning.
"I don't believe she cut it off a bit!" whispered Kitty Mainwaring."She gave a guinea to some orange-girl who was cousin to some other maidin the Queen's laundry,--some stuff of that sort. Cut it off!--howcould she? Just tell me that."
Before the last word was well out of Kitty's lips, Molly's small, brightscissors were snapped within an inch of Kitty's nose.
"Perhaps you would have the goodness to say that again, Mrs CatherineMainwaring!" observed that young person, in decidedly menacing tones.
"Thank you, no, I don't care to do," replied Kitty, laughing, butshrinking back from the scissors.
"When I say I will do a thing, I will do it, Madam!" retorted Molly.
/> "If you can, I suppose," said Kitty, defending herself from anotherthreatening snap.
"Say I can't, at your peril!"
And Molly and her scissors marched away in dudgeon.
"You are very tired, I fear, Mrs Gatty," said Phoebe, when Gatty cameup to the room they shared, for the night.
"Rather," answered Gatty, with a sad smile on her white face.
But she did not tell Phoebe what had tired her. It was not the journey,nor the ceremony, but her mother's greeting.
"Why, Betty, you are quite blooming!" Lady Delawarr had said. "It hathdone you good, child. And Molly, too, as sprightly as ever! Child, didyou get touched?"
"I did, Madam," answered Molly, with an extravagant courtesy.
"Ah!" said her mother, in a tone of great satisfaction. "Then we needapprehend no further trouble from the evil. I am extreme glad. OGatty! you poor, scarred, wretched creature! Really, had it not beenthat the absence of one of my daughters would be remarked on, I vow Iwish you had not gone! 'Tis such a sight to show, that dreadful face ofyours. You will never give me any more comfort--that is certain."
"Pos.!" echoed Molly, exactly in the same tone.
"I would not mind, Gatty!" was Betty's kindly remark.
"Thank you," said Gatty, meekly. "I wish I did not!"
Gatty did not repeat this to Phoebe. But Phoebe saw there was somethingwrong.
Rhoda came rustling in before much more could be said. She was full ofdetails of the journey. What the Queen looked like,--a tall, stoutwoman, with such blooming cheeks that Rhoda felt absolutely certain shewore rouge,--how she was dressed,--all in black, with a black calash, orhigh, loose hood, and adorned with diamonds--how she had beenreceived,--with ringing cheers from the Tory part of the population, butominous silence, or very faint applause, from such as were known to beWhigs: how Sophia Rich had told Rhoda that all the Whig ladies of markhad made up their minds to attend no drawing-rooms the next season: howit was beginning to be dimly suspected that Lord Mar was coquetting withthe exiled members of the royal family, and more than suspected that theDuke and Duchess of Marlborough were no longer all powerful with QueenAnne, as they had once been: how the Queen always dined at three p.m.,never drank French wine, held drawing-rooms on Sundays after service,would not allow any gentleman to enter her presence without afull-bottomed periwig: all these bits of information Rhoda dilated on,passing from one to another with little regard to method, and wound upwith an account of the presentation of the bouquet, and how the Queenhad received it from Lady Diana with a smile, and, "I thank you all,young gentlewomen," in that silver voice which was Anne's pre-eminentcharm.
But half an hour later, when Gatty was asleep, Rhoda said to Phoebe,--
"I have made up my mind, Phoebe."
"Have you?" responded Phoebe. "What about?"
"I mean to marry Marcus Welles."
"Has he asked you?" said Phoebe, rather drily.
"Yes," was Rhoda's short answer.
Phoebe lay silent.
"Well?" said Rhoda, rather sharply.
"I think, Cousin, I had better be quiet," answered Phoebe; "for I amafraid I can't say what you want me."
"What I want you!" echoed Rhoda, more sharply than ever. "What do Iwant you to say, Mrs Prude, if you please?"
"Well, I suppose you would like me to say I was glad: and I am not: so Ican't."
"I don't suppose it signifies to us whether you are glad or sorry,"snapped Rhoda. "But why aren't you glad?--you never thought he'd marryyou, surely?"
Phoebe said "No" with a little laugh, as she thought how very far shewas from any such expectation, and how very much farther from any wishfor it. But Rhoda was not satisfied.
"Well, then, what's the matter?" said she.
"Do you want me to say, Cousin?"
"Of course I do! Should I have asked you if I didn't?"
"I am afraid he does not love you."
Rhoda sat up on her elbow, with an ejaculation of amazement.
"If I ever heard such nonsense? What do you know about it, you poorlittle white-faced thing?"
"I dare say I don't know much about it," said Phoebe, calmly; "but Iknow that if a man really loves one woman with all his heart, he won'tlaugh and whisper and play with the fan of another, or else he is notworth anybody's love. And I am afraid what Mr Welles wants is justyour money and not you. I beg your pardon, Cousin Rhoda."
It was time. Rhoda was in a towering passion. What could Phoebe mean,she demanded with terrible emphasis, by telling such lies as those? Didshe suppose that Rhoda was going to believe them? Did Phoebe know whatthe Bible said about speaking ill of your neighbour? Wasn't shecompletely ashamed of herself?
"And I'll tell you what, Phoebe Latrobe," concluded Rhoda, "I don'tbelieve it, and I won't! I'm not going to believe it,--not if you godown on your knees and swear it! 'Tis all silly, wicked, abominablenonsense!--and you know it!"
"Well, if you won't believe it, there's an end," said Phoebe, quietly."And I think, if you please, Cousin, we had better go to sleep."
"Pugh! Sleep if you can, you false-hearted crocodile!" said Rhoda,poetically, in distant imitation of the flowers of rhetoric of herfriend Molly. "I shan't sleep to-night. Not likely!"
Yet Rhoda was asleep the first.