Hopes and Fears or, scenes from the life of a spinster. Yonge Charlotte MaryЧитать онлайн книгу.
anything to anybody,’ she answered with a little smile. ‘He cannot endure remarks.’
‘I am a very sober old body for a visit to me to be the occasion of remarks!’ said Honor, laughing more merrily than perhaps Robert himself could have done; but Phœbe answered with grave, straightforward sincerity, ‘Yes, but he did not know if Lucy might not be come home.’
Honora sighed, but playfully said, ‘In which case he would have stayed?’
‘No,’ said the still grave girl, ‘he would have been still less likely to do so.’
‘Ah! the remarks would have been more pointed! But he has brought you at any rate, and that is something! How did he achieve it?’
‘Miss Fennimore is really quite ready to be kind,’ said Phœbe, earnestly, with an air of defence, ‘whenever we have finished all that we have to do.’
‘And when is that?’ asked Honor, smiling.
‘Now for once,’ answered Phœbe, with a bright arch look. ‘Yes, I sometimes can; and so does Bertha when she tries; and, indeed, Miss Charlecote, I do like Miss Fennimore; she never is hard upon poor Maria. No governess we ever had made her cry so seldom.’
Miss Charlecote only said it was a comfort. Within herself she hoped that, for Maria’s peace and that of all concerned, her deficiency might become an acknowledged fact. She saw that the sparing Maria’s tears was such a boon to Phœbe as to make her forgive all overtasking of herself.
‘So you get on better,’ she said.
‘Much better than Robin chooses to believe we do,’ said Phœbe, smiling; ‘perhaps it seemed hard at first, but it is comfortable to be made to do everything thoroughly, and to be shown a better best than we had ever thought of. I think it ought to be a help in doing the duty of all one’s life in a thorough way.’
‘All that thou hast to do,’ said Honor, smiling, ‘the week-day side of the fourth commandment.’
‘Yes, that is just the reason why I like it,’ said Phœbe, with bright gladness in her countenance.
‘But is that the motive Miss Fennimore puts before you?’ said Honor, a little ironically.
‘She does not say so,’ answered Phœbe. ‘She says that she never interferes with her pupils’ religious tenets. But, indeed, I do not think she teaches us anything wrong, and there is always Robert to ask.’
This passed as the two ladies were entering the house and preparing for the evening meal. The table was placed in the bay of the open window, and looked very inviting, the little silver tea-pot steaming beside the two quaint china cups, the small crisp twists of bread, the butter cool in ice-plant leaves, and some fresh fruit blushing in a pretty basket. The Holt was a region of Paradise to Phœbe Fulmort; and glee shone upon her sweet face, though it was very quiet enjoyment, as the summer breeze played softly round her cheeks and danced with a merry little spiral that had detached itself from her glossy folds of light hair.
‘How delicious!’ she said. ‘How sweet the honeysuckle is, dear old thing! You say you have known it all your life, and yet it is fresh as ever.’
‘It is a little like you, Phœbe,’ said Honor, smiling.
‘What! because it is not exactly a pretty flower?’
‘Partly; and I could tell you of a few other likenesses, such as your being Robert’s woodbine, yet with a sort of clinging freedom. Yes, and for the qualities you share with the willow, ready to give thanks and live on the least that Heaven may give.’
‘But I don’t live on the least that Heaven may give,’ said Phœbe, in such wonder that Honor smiled at the justice of her simile, without impressing it upon Phœbe, only asking—
‘Is the French journey fixed upon, Phœbe?’
‘Yes; they start this day fortnight.’
‘They—not you?’
‘No; there would be no room for me,’ with a small sigh.
‘How can that be? Who is going? Papa, mamma, two sisters!’
‘Mervyn,’ added Phœbe, ‘the courier, and the two maids.’
‘Two maids! Impossible!’
‘It is always uncomfortable if mamma and my sisters have only one between them,’ said Phœbe, in her tone of perfect acquiescence and conviction; and as her friend could not restrain a gesture of indignation, she added eagerly—‘But, indeed, it is not only for that reason, but Miss Fennimore says I am not formed enough to profit by foreign travel.’
‘She wants you to finish Smith’s Wealth of Nations, eh?’
‘It might be a pity to go away and lose so much of her teaching,’ said Phœbe, with persevering contentment. ‘I dare say they will go abroad again, and perhaps I shall never have so much time for learning. But, Miss Charlecote, is Lucilla coming home for the Horticultural Show?’
‘I am afraid not, my dear. I think I shall go to London to see about her, among other things. The Charterises seem to have quite taken possession of her, ever since she went to be her cousin Caroline’s bridesmaid, and I must try to put in my claim.’
‘Ah! Robin so much wished to have seen her,’ sighed Phœbe. ‘He says he cannot settle to anything.’
‘Without seeing her?’ said Honor, amused, though not without pain.
‘Yes,’ said Phœbe; ‘he has thought so much about Lucilla.’
‘And he tells you?’
‘Yes,’ in a voice expressing of course; while the frank, clear eyes turned full on Miss Charlecote with such honest seriousness, that she thought Phœbe’s charm as a confidante might be this absence of romantic consciousness; and she knew of old that when Robert wanted her opinion or counsel, he spared his own embarrassment by seeking it through his favourite sister. Miss Charlecote’s influence had done as much for Robert as he had done for Phœbe, and Phœbe had become his medium of communication with her in all matters of near and delicate interest. She was not surprised when the maiden proceeded—‘Papa wants Robin to attend to the office while he is away.’
‘Indeed! Does Robin like it?’
‘He would not mind it for a time; but papa wants him, besides, to take to the business in earnest. You know, my great-uncle, Robert Mervyn, left Robert all his fortune, quite in his own hands; and papa says that if he were to put that into the distillery it would do the business great good, and that Robert would be one of the richest men in England in ten years’ time.’
‘But that would be a complete change in his views,’ exclaimed Honor, unable to conceal her disapproval and consternation.
‘Just so,’ answered Phœbe; ‘and that is the reason why he wants to see Lucy. She always declared that she could not bear people in business, and we always thought of him as likely to be a clergyman; but, on the other hand, she has become used to London society, and it is only by his joining in the distillery that he could give her what she is accustomed to, and that is the reason he is anxious to see her.’
‘So Lucy is to decide his fate,’ said Honora. ‘I am almost sorry to hear it. Surely, he has never spoken to her.’
‘He never does speak,’ said Phœbe, with the calm gravity of simplicity which was like a halo of dignity. ‘There is no need of speaking. Lucilla knows how he feels as well as she knows that she breathes the air.’
And regards it as little, perhaps, thought Honor, sadly. ‘Poor Robin!’ she said; ‘I suppose he had better get his mind settled; but indeed it is a fearful responsibility for my poor foolish Lucy—’ and but for the fear of grieving Phœbe, she would have added, that such a purpose as that of entering Holy Orders ought not to have been made dependent upon the fancy of a girl. Possibly her expression betrayed her sentiments, for Phœbe answered—‘There