 CHAPTER XVII. The arrival of Mr. Archdeacon Beverly in Carlingford was, for many reasons, an event of importance to the town, and especially to society, which was concerned in anything that drew new and pleasant people to Grange Lane. For one thing, it occurred just at the time when that first proposal of elevating Carlingford into a bishopric in order to relieve the present bishop of the district of a part of his immense diocese had just been mooted, and, supposing this conception to be ever carried out, nobody could have been more eligible as first bishop than the Archdeacon, who was in the prime of life and a very successful clergyman. And then, not to speak of anything so important, his presence was a great attraction to the country clergy, especially as he had come to hold a visitation. Besides that, there were private reasons why some of the families in Grange Lane should be moved by the arrival of the Archdeacon. Notwithstanding all this, it is impossible to deny that Mrs. Chiley, his hostess, and even Miss Marchbanks herself, regarded the matter of his first appearance with certain displeasure. If he had only had the good sense to stay at home and not come to seek his entertainers, to be sure it is awkward to arrive at a house and find that everybody is out. But still, as Mrs. Chiley justly observed, the Archdeacon was not a baby, and he might have known better. Coming to you the very first night, and almost in his travelling things, to take the cream off everything the old lady said with tears of vexation in her eyes. And after that, what have we to show him in Carlingford, Lucilla? As for Miss Marchbanks, she was annoyed, but she knew the wealth of her own resources, and she was not in despair like her old friend. They never know any better, she said sympathetically. Dear Mrs. Chiley, there was nothing else to be expected. But at the same time I don't think things are so very bad, said Lucilla, for she had naturally a confidence in herself of which even Mrs. Chiley's admiring faith fell short. The Archdeacon himself took it quite cheerfully, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I have no doubt it was a very pleasant party if one could have got the keynote, he said in his broad church way, as if there was nothing more to be said on the subject. And Lucilla's Thursday was the merest ordinary assembly. For there could be no doubt that he was broad church, even though his antecedents had not proclaimed the fact. He had a way of talking on many subjects which alarmed his hostess. It was not that there was anything objectionable in what he said, for to be sure, a clergyman and an Archdeacon may say a great many things that ordinary people would not like to venture on. But still, it was impossible to tell what it might lead to, for it is not everybody who knows when to stop as Mr. Beverly in his position might be expected to do. It was the custom of good society in Carlingford to give a respectful assent, for example, to Mr. Burry's extreme low-churchism, as if it were profane, as it certainly was not respectable, to differ from the rector, and to give him as wide a field as possible for his missionary operations by keeping out of the way. But Mr. Beverly had not the least regard for respectability, nor for that respect for religion which consists in keeping as clear of it as possible. And the way in which he spoke of Mr. Burry's views wounded some people's feelings. All together, he was, as Mrs. Chiley said, an anxious person to have in the house, for he just as often agreed with the gentleman in their loose ways of thinking, as with the more correct opinions by which the wives and mothers who had charge of their morality strove hard to keep them in the right way. And that was the reverse of what one naturally expected from a clergyman. He was very nice, and had a nice position. And, under all the circumstances, it was not only a duty to pay attention to him, but a duty from which results of a most agreeable character might spring. But still, though she could not be otherwise than kind, it would be impossible to say that it was out of personal predilection that Mrs. Chiley devoted herself to her guest. She admitted frankly that he was not like what clergymen were in her time. For one thing he seemed to think that every silly boy and girl ought to have an opinion, and be consulted, as if they had anything to do with it, which was just the way to turn their heads and make them utterly insupportable. On the whole, perhaps, the old lady was more charitable to Mary Chiley, and understood how it was that she, brought up in sound church principles, did not get on so well as might be desired with her husband's family, after a week of the arch-deacon. And yet he was a delightful person, and full of information, as everybody admitted. And to be sure, if Carlingford should be erected into a bishopric, as would be only right, and if Mr. Beverly should happen to be a pointed bishop, as was highly probable, then it would be a pleasure to think that one had been kind to him. At the same time, it must be admitted that he showed a great want of tact in coming to Miss Marchbanks's Thursday, and thus brushing, as it were, the very cream off his introduction to Grange Lane. And Mrs. Chiley still sighed a little over Mr. Cavendish, and thought within herself that it was not his fault, but that designing artful creature who was enough to lead any man wrong, for it was very clear to the meanest capacity, that nobody ever could call the arch-deacon my dear, as with all his faults it had been possible to call Mr. Cavendish. And by this line of thought, Mrs. Chiley was led to regret Mr. Cavendish, and to wonder what had become of him, and what family affairs it could be that had taken him so suddenly away. A great many people in Carlingford were at that moment occupied by the same wonders and regrets. Some people thought he was frightened to find how far he had gone with that Miss Lake, and had left town for a little to be out of the way. Some thought that he might have been speculating and have lost money. To tell the truth, it was very strange that he should have disappeared so suddenly, just at the moment too when old Mr. Chiltern had one of his bad attacks of bronchitis, which Dr. Marchbanks himself had admitted might carry him off any day. Nothing could be more important to the future interests of young Cavendish than to be on the spot at this critical moment. And yet, he disappeared without telling anybody he was going, or where he was going, which was on the whole a perfectly unexplainable proceeding. His very servants, as had been ascertained by some inquiring minds in the community, were unaware of his intention up to the very last moment, and certainly he had not said good-bye to anybody before leaving Dr. Marchbanks' garden on that Thursday evening. Mr. Woodburn, who was not a person of very refined perceptions, was the only man who found his disappearance quite natural. After making such a deucid ass of himself by George, what could the fellow do? said his brother-in-law, who naturally enjoyed the discomforture of so near a connection. And this was no doubt a providential circumstance for Mrs. Woodburn, who was thus saved from the necessity of explaining or accounting for her brother's unexpected disappearance. But it failed to satisfy the general community, who did not think Mr. Cavendish likely to give in at the first blow, even if so distinguished an antagonist as Miss Marchbanks. Some of the more charitable inhabitants of Grange Lane concluded that it must be the sudden illness of some relative, which had called him away. But then, though he was well known to be one of the Cavendishes, neither he nor his sister ever spoke much of their connections. And on the whole public opinion fluctuated between the two first suggestions, which seemed truest to the nature at least, whether or not they might be fully corroborated by fact, which were either that Mr. Cavendish had taken fright, as he might very naturally have done at the advanced state of his relations with Barbara Lake, or that he had speculated and lost money. In either case, his departure would have been natural enough, and need not perhaps have been accomplished with quite so much precipitation. But still such a community as that in Grange Lane was in circumstances to comprehend how a young man might take fright and leave home, either because of losing a lot of money or getting entangled with a drawing master's daughter. The immediate result, so far as society was concerned, was one for which people did not know whether to be most glad or sorry. Mrs. Woodburn, who kept half the people in Grange Lane in terror of their lives, seemed to have lost all her inspiration now her brother was away. She did not seem to have the heart to take off anybody, which was quite a serious matter for the amusement of the community. To be sure, some people were thankful, as supposing themselves exempted from caricature. But then, unfortunately, as has been said, the people who were most afraid for Mrs. Woodburn were precisely those who were unworthy of her trouble and had nothing about them to give occupation to her graphic powers. As for Miss Marchbanks, who had supplied one of the Mimic's most effective studies, she was so much disturbed by the failure of this element of entertainment that her legislative mind instantly bestirred itself to make up for the loss. I have always thought it so strange that I never had any sense of humor, Lucila said, but it would not do, you know, if all the world was like me, and society would be nothing if everybody did not exert themselves to the best of their abilities. There was a mournful intonation in Lucila's voice as she said this, for to tell the truth, since Mr. Cavendish's departure, she had been dreadfully sensible of the utter absence of any man who could flirt. As for Osmond Brown and the other boys of his age, it might be possible to train them. But, at the very best, they were only a provision for the future, and in the meantime Miss Marchbanks could not but be sensible of her loss. She lamented it with such sincerity that all the world thought her the most perfect actress in existence. I have nothing to say against any of you, Lucila would say, contemplating with the eye of an artist the young man of Grange Lane, who were her raw material. I dare say you will all fall in love with somebody sooner or later, and be very happy and good for nothing. But you are no assistance in any way to society. It is Mr. Cavendish I am sighing for, said the woman of genius, with the candor of a great mind, and even Mrs. Woodburn was beguiled out of her despondency by a study so unparalleled. All this time, however, Lucila had not forgotten the last look of her faithless admirer, as he faced round upon her when Mr. Archdeacon Beverly came into the room. She too, like everybody else, wondered innocently why Mr. Cavendish had gone away, and when he was coming back again. But she never hinted to anyone that the Archdeacon had anything to do with it. For indeed, as she said to herself, she had no positive evidence except that of a look, that the Archdeacon had anything to do with it. By which it will be seen that Miss Marchbanks's prudence equalled her other great qualities. It would be wrong to say, however, that her curiosity was not excited, and that in a very lively way. For, to be sure, the vague wonder of the public mind over a strange fact could never be compared in intensity to the surprise and curiosity excited by something one has actually seen, and which gives one, as it were, a share in the secret, if indeed there was a secret, which was a matter upon which Lucila, within herself, had quite made up her mind. As for the Archdeacon, the place which he took in society was one quite different from that which had been filled by Mr. Cavendish, as indeed was natural. He was one of those men who are very strong for the masculine side of Christianity, and when he was with the ladies he had a sense that he ought to be paid attention to, instead of taking that trouble in his own person. Miss Marchbanks was not a woman to be blind to the advantages of this situation. But still, as was to be expected, it took her a little time to get used to it, and to make all the use of it which was practicable under the circumstances, which was all the more difficult since she was not the least viewy in her own person, but had been brought up in the old-fashioned orthodox way of having a great respect for religion, and as little to do with it as possible, which was a state of mind largely prevalent in Carlingford. But that was not, in the least, Mr. Beverly's way of thinking. It was when Lucila's mind was much occupied by this problem that she received a visit quite unexpectedly one morning from Little Rose Lake, who had just at that time a great deal on her mind. For it may easily be supposed that Mr. Cavendish's sudden departure, which bewildered the general public who had no special interest in the matter, must have had a still more overwhelming effect upon Barbara Lake, who had just been raised to the very highest pinnacle of hope, closely touching upon reality, when all her expectations collapsed and came to nothing in a moment. She would not believe at first that it could be true. And then, when it was no longer possible to resist the absolute certainty of Mr. Cavendish's departure, her disappointment found vent in every kind of violence, hysterics and other manifestations of unreason and self-will. Rose had been obliged to leave the female School of Design upon her papaz overburdened shoulders and stay at home to nurse her sister. Perhaps the little artist was not the best person to take care of a sufferer under such circumstances, for she was neither unreasonable nor self-willed to speak of, though perhaps a little opinionative in her way. And she could not be brought to think that a whole household should be disturbed and disordered, and a young woman in good health retired to her room and lose all control of herself, because a young man with whom she had no acquaintance three months before had gone out of town unexpectedly. Perhaps it was a want of feeling on the part of the unsympathetic sister. She gave out that Barbara was ill, and kept up a most subdued and anxious countenance downstairs for the benefit of the children and the maid of all work, who represented public opinion in Grove Street. But when Rose went into her sister's room, where Barbara kept the blinds down, and had her face swollen with crying, it was with the very stern countenance that her little mentor regarded the invalid. I do not ask you to have a sense of duty, Rose said, with a certain findestain, but at least you might have a proper pride. This was all she took the trouble to say, but it must be admitted that a great deal more to the same effect might be read in her eyes, which were generally so dewy and soft, but which could flash on occasion. And then, as the week drew on towards Thursday, and all her representations proved unavailing to induce Barbara to get up and prepare herself for her usual duties, the scorn and vexation and impatience with which the dutiful little soul met her sister's sullen determination that she was not able to fulfill her ordinary engagements, rose up to a great resolution. For her own part she was one of the people who do not understand giving in. What do you mean by lying there, she said, pounding Barbara down small, and cutting her to pieces with infallible good sense and logic? Will that do any good? You would try to look better than usual, and sing better than usual if you had any proper pride. I did not fall ill when my flounce was passed over at the exhibition. I made up my mind. That very evening about the combination for my veil. I would die rather than give in if I were you. Your flounce, sobbed Barbara. O you unfeeling insensible thing, as if your heart had anything to do with that. I only went to spite Lucilla, and I won't go. No more. Oh, no more. Now he's been and deserted me. You can't understand my feelings. Go away and leave me alone. Barbara, said Rose with solemnity, I would forgive you if you would not be mean. I don't understand it in one of us. If Mr. Cavendish has gone away, it shows that he does not care for you, and you would scorn him, and scorn to show you were thinking of him if you had any proper pride. But all the answer Barbara gave was to turn away with a jerk of annoyance the old, easy chair in which she was lying buried with her hands thrust up into her black hair, and her eyes all red, upon which Rose left her to carry out her own resolution. She was prompt in all her movements, and she wasted no time on reconsideration. She went down into Grange Lane. Her little head erected, and her right eyes regarding the world with that air of frank recognition and acknowledgment which Rose felt she owed as an artist to her fellow creatures. They were all good subjects more or less, and the consciousness that she could draw them and immortalize them gave her the same sense of confidence in their friendliness, and her own perfect command of the situation, as a young princess might have felt, whose rank protected her like an invisible buckler. Rose, too, walked erect and open-eyed in the confidence of her rank, which made her everybody's equal. It was in this frame of mind that she arrived at Dr. March Banks's house, and found Lucilla, who was very glad to see her. Ms. March Banks was pondering deeply on the Archdeacon at that moment, and her little visitor seemed as one sent by heaven to help her out. For to tell the truth, though Lucilla understood all about Mr. Cavendish and men of his description, and how to manage them and take full use of their powers, even her commanding intelligence felt the lack of experience in respect to such a case as that of the Archdeacon, who required a different treatment to draw him out. She was thinking it over intently at the moment of Rose's arrival, for Lucilla was not a person to give up the advantages of a novel position because she did not quite understand it. She felt within herself that there was no doubt a great effort might be produced if she could but see how to do it. And it was Thursday morning, and there was no time to lose. I came to speak to you about Barbara, said Rose. She is not fit to come out this morning. I told her it was very ungrateful not to make an effort after you had been so kind. But I am sorry to say she has not a strong sense of duty, and I don't think she would be able to sing or do anything but look stupid. I hope you will not think very badly of her. There are some people who can't help giving in, I suppose, said Rose, with an impatient little sigh. And so this is you, you dear little Rose, said Lucilla, and I have never seen you before since I came home. And you always were such a pet of mine at Mount Pleasant. I can't think why you never came to see me before. As for me, you know, I never have any time. Poor Papa has nobody else to take care of him, and it always was the object of my life to be a comfort to Papa. Yes, said Rose, who was a straightforward little woman, and not given to compliments. I have a great deal to do too, she said, and then, all my spare moments I am working at my design. Papa always says that society accepts artists for what they can give, and does not expect them to sacrifice their time. Rose continued, with her little air of dignity. To be sure, Miss Marchbanks knew very well that society was utterly unconscious of the existence of the Lake family. But then there was always something imposing in such a perfectly innocent and superb assumption as that to which the young pre-Raphaelite had just given utterance. And it began to dawn upon Lucilla that here was another imperfectly understood but effective instrument lying ready to her hand. I should like to see your design, said Miss Marchbanks graciously. You made such a pretty little wreath for the corner of my handkerchief, don't you remember? All frogs' legs and things. It looked so sweet in the old satin stitch. What is the matter with poor Barbara? I felt sure she would catch cold and lose her voice. I shall tell Papa to go and see her. As for tonight it will be a dreadful loss to be sure, for I never could find a voice that went so well with mine. But if you are sure she can't come. When people have not a sense of duty, said Rose, with an indignant sigh, nor any proper pride. Some are so different. Barbara ought to have been some rich person's daughter with nothing to do. She would not mind being of no use in the world. It is a kind of temperament I don't understand, continued the little artist. All this, it is true, was novel to Miss Marchbanks, who had a kind of prejudice in favour of the daughters of rich persons who had nothing to do. But Lucilla's genius was broad and Catholic, and did not insist upon comprehending everything. And it was at this moment that a new idea flashed upon her with all the rapidity of an intuition. She gave Rose a sudden scrutinizing look, and measured her mentally against the gap she had to fill. No doubt it was an experiment, and might fail, signally. But then Miss Marchbanks was always at hand to cover deficiencies, and she had that confidence in herself and her good fortune which is necessary to everybody who greatly dares. You must come yourself this evening, you dear old Rose, said Lucilla. You know I always was fond of you. Oh yes, I know you can't sing like Barbara, but the Archdeacon is coming, who understands about art, and if you would like to bring your design. My principle has always been that there should be a little of everything in society, said Miss Marchbanks. I dare say you will feel a little strange at first, with not knowing the people, but that will soon pass off, and you must come. When she had said this, Lucilla bestowed upon little Rose a friendly school fellow-kiss, putting her hands upon the little artist's shoulders, and looking her full in the face as she did so. I am sure you can talk, said Miss Marchbanks. She did not say, go away now, and leave me to my arrangements. But Rose, who was quick-witted, understood that the salute was a dismissal, and she went away accordingly, tingling with pride and excitement and pleasure, and a kind of pain. The idea of practically exemplifying in her own person the kind of demeanor which society ought to expect from an artist had not occurred to Rose, but destiny having arranged it so, she was not the woman to withdraw from her responsibilities. She said to herself that it would be shabby for her who was known to have opinions on this subject to shrink from carrying them out, and stimulated her courage by recourse to her principles, as people who do feel themselves bound to lay sacrifices on the altar of duty. Notwithstanding this elevated view of the emergency, it must be admitted that a sudden thought of what she would wear had flushed Rose's very fingertips with a heat and tingle of which the little heroine was ashamed. For to be sure, it was Thursday morning, and there was not a moment to be lost. However, after the first thrill which this idea had given her, Rose bethought herself once more of her principles, and stilled her beating heart. It was not for her to think of what she was to put on, she who had so often proclaimed the exemption of a family of artists from the rules which weigh so hard upon the common world. We have a rank of our own, she said to herself, but with that tremor which always accompanies the transference of a purely theoretical and even fantastic rule of conduct into practical ground. We are everybody's equal, and we are nobody's equal, and when papa begins to be appreciated as he ought to be, and will he has made a name. This was always the point at which Rose broke off, falling into reverie that could not be expressed in words, but she had no leisure to remark upon the chance compositions in the street or the effects of light and shade as she went home. A sudden and heavy responsibility had fallen upon her shoulders, and she would have scorned herself had she deserted her post. End of Chapter 17, recording by Michelle Crandall, Fremont, California, May 2010. Chapter 18 of Miss March Banks This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Michelle Crandall Miss March Banks by Mrs. Oliphant Chapter 18 It may be imagined that Rose Lake was not the only person who looked forward with excitement to the evening of this Thursday, which was to be, properly speaking, the Archdeacon's first appearance in Carlingford. To be sure, he had dined at the rectory, and also at Sir John Richman's. Besides that, there had been somebody to dinner at Colonel Chiley's table almost every day. But then there were only county people at Sir John's, and Mr. Burry's guests naturally counted for very little ingrained lane. Indeed, it was very confidently reported that the rector had invited Mr. Tufton of Salem Chapel to meet the Archdeacon, and that but for the dissenting minister having more sense in knowing his place, that unseemly conjunction would have taken place to the horror of all right-thinking people. So that Dr. March Banks's was in reality the first house where he had any chance of seeing Society in Carlingford. It would perhaps be using too strong a word to say that Ms. March Banks was anxious about the success of her arrangements for this particular evening. But at the same time, it must be admitted that the circumstances were such as to justify a little anxiety. Mr. Cavendish was gone, who, to do him justice, was always agreeable, and his departure disturbed the habitual party, and Mrs. Woodburn had lost all her powers, as it seemed, and sat at Dr. March Banks's left hand, looking just like other people, and evidently not to be in the least depended on. And Lucilla was aware that Barbara was not coming, which made, if nothing else, a change in the program of the evening. No music, nobody to do the flirting, nor to supply the dramatic by-play to which Grange Lane had become accustomed, and a new man to be made use of, and at the same time to be pleased and fascinated, and made the instrument of fascinating others. A young woman of powers inferior to those of Miss March Banks would have sunk under such a weight of responsibility, and there was no doubt that Lucilla was a little excited. She felt that everything depended upon her courage and self-possession. If she but lost her head for a moment, and lost command of affairs, everything might have been lost. But, then, fortunately, she knew herself and what she could do, and had a modest confidence that she would not lose her head. And thus she could still eat her dinner with the composure of genius, though it would be wrong to deny that Lucilla was a little pale. And then, as if all these things had not been enough to discourage the lady of the house, another discordant element was added by the presence of Mr. Burry and his sister, whom it had been necessary to ask to meet the Archdeacon. The rector, though he was very low church, had no particular objections to a good dinner, but he had a way of sneering at the flesh, even while taking all due pains to nourish it, which roused Dr. Marchbanks's temper. Sometimes the doctor would launch a shaft of medical wit at his spiritual ruler, which Mr. Burry had no means of parrying. I have no doubt, Dr. Marchbanks would say, that an indigestion is an admirable way of mortifying the flesh, as our excellent rector says. Fasting was the suggestion of a barbarous age. It must have kept those anchorite fellows in an un-christian strength of stomach. And it's far more philosophical to punish the offending body, as Mr. Burry does, by means of made dishes. And when he had thus disturbed his reverend guest's enjoyment, the doctor would go on with great relish with his dinner. This, however, was not the only danger to which the peace of the party was exposed. For the rector, at the same time, regarded Mr. Beverly with a certain critical suspiciousness, such as a seldom to be encountered except among clergymen. He did not know much about his clerical superior, who had only recently been appointed to his arch-deaconry. But there was something in his air, his looks and demeanor, which indicated what Mr. Burry considered a loose way of thinking. When the arch-deacon made any remark, the rector would pause and look up from his plate to listen to it, with his fork suspended in the air the while, and then he would exchange glances with his sister, who was on the other side of the table. All this it may be supposed was a little discomposing for Lucilla, who had the responsibility of everything, and could now look for no assistance among the ordinary members of her father's party, who were, as a general rule, much more occupied with the dinner than with anything else that was going on. In this state of affairs, Ms. Marchbanks was very glad when the arch-deacon, who occupied the post of honour by her side, made a lively new beginning in the conversation. It had not to call flagged before—not precisely flagged, but still there were indications of approaching exhaustion, such as can always be perceived half-mile off by anybody who has any experience in society. And when the arch-deacon took up the ball, with all the liveliness of a man who is interested in a special question, it will not be difficult to any lady who has ever been in such circumstances to realise to herself Ms. Marchbanks's sense of gratitude and relief. By the by, said Mr. Beverly, I meant to ask if anyone knew a man whom I am sure I caught a glimpse of the first day I was in Carlingford. Perhaps it was in the morning after I arrived, to be precise. I can't recollect exactly. If he lives about here, he ought to be known, for he is a very clever, amusing sort of fellow. I don't know if Carlingford is more blessed than other country towns with people of that complexion, said the arch-deacon, turning to Lucilla with a smile. He was in no hurry, though he was a little curious. The subject was not exciting to him, and to be sure, nothing could be further from his thoughts than that there was anybody at the table who might have turned sick with anxiety and suspense, and felt the pause he made a horrible kind of torture. He paused and turned to Ms. Marchbanks with the smile, which is a kind of challenge when it is addressed to a young lady, and meant to lead to a lively little combat, by the way. As for Lucilla, she was conscious of an immediate thrill of curiosity, but still it was curiosity unmingled with any excitement, and she had no particular objection to respond. Everybody is nice in Carlingford, said Ms. Marchbanks. Some people are always finding fault with their neighbors, but I always get on so well with everybody. I suppose it is my luck, said Lucilla, which, to be sure, was not precisely an answer to the arch-deacon's question. And there was somebody at the table all the time who could have fallen upon her and beaten her for putting off the revelation which trembled on the lips of Mr. Beverly, and yet would have given anything in the world to silence the arch-deacon, and felt capable of rushing at him like a fury and tearing his tongue out or suffocating him to stop the next words that he was going to say. And yet the same inconsistent person was furious with Lucilla for postponing this utterance a little. And all the while, so absolute are the restraints of society, everybody at Dr. Marchbanks's table sat eating their dinner, one precisely like another, as if there had been no such thing as mystery or terror in the world. You must not expect me to believe in the perfection of human society, said the arch- deacon, going on in the same strain. I would much rather pin my faith on the amiable dispositions of one young lady who always finds her neighbors agreeable, and I hope she makes no exception to the rule, said the broad churchman, in a parentheses, with a smile and a bow. And then he raised his voice a little. The man I speak of is really a very amusing fellow, you know, and very well got up, and calculated to impose upon ordinary observers. It is quite a curious story. He was the son of a trainer or something of that sort about Newmarket. Old Lord Monmouth took an extraordinary fancy to him, and had him constantly about his place, half brought him up, indeed, along with his grandson, you know. He always was a handsome fellow, and picked up a little polish, and really, for people not quite used to the real thing, was his nearly like a gentleman. Come now, I don't put any faith in that, said Mr. Woodburn. I don't pretend to be much of one for fine company myself, but I know a gentleman when I see him. A snob always over desert, you know. I never said this man was a snob, said the Archdeacon, with a refined expression of disgust at the interruption flitting over his features. On the contrary, if he had only been honest, he would have been really a very nice fellow. My dear sir, said Mr. Burry, excuse me for breaking in. Perhaps I am old-fashioned, but don't you think it's a pity to treat the question of honesty so lightly? A dishonest person has a precious soul to be saved, and may be a most deeply interesting character. But to speak of him, as a very nice fellow is, pardon me, I think it's a pity, especially in mixed society, where it is so important for a clergyman to be guarded in his expressions, said the rector. When Mr. Burry began to speak, everybody else at the table ceased talking, and gave serious attention to what was going on. For the prospect of a passage of arms between the two clergymen was an opportunity too captivating to be lost. I hope Mr. Burry's dishonest friends will pardon me, said the Archdeacon. I mean no harm to their superior claims. Does anybody know the man here, I wonder? His name was Kavan, I think, or something like that. An Irish name. I assure you he was a very good-looking fellow, dark, good features, nearly six feet high. Oh, please don't say any more, said Miss March Banks, and she could not quite have explained why she interrupted these personal details. If you tell me what he is like, I shall fancy everybody I meet is him. Mr. Sentom is dark and has good features, and is nearly six feet high, never mind what he is like. You gentlemen can never describe anybody. You always keep to generals. Tell us what he has done. Somebody drew a long breath at the table when the Archdeacon obeyed Miss March Banks' injunction. More than one person caught the sound, but even Lucilla's keen eyes could not make out beyond controversy from whom it proceeded. To be sure, Lucilla's mind was in a most curious state of tumult and confusion. She was not one of the people who take a long time to form their conclusions, but the natural conclusion to which she felt inclined to jump, in this case, was one so monstrous and incredible that Miss March Banks felt her only safeguard in the world of possibilities was to reject it altogether and make up her mind that it was impossible. And then all the correspondences and apparent corroborations began to dance and whirl about her in a bewildering ring till her own brain seemed to spin with them. She was as much afraid lest the Archdeacon by some chance should fall upon a really individual feature which the world in general could identify, as if she had had any real concern in the matter. But then, fortunately, there was not much chance of that, for it was one of Lucilla's principles that men never can describe each other. She listened, however, with such a curious commotion in her mind that she did not quite make out what he was saying and only pieced it up in little bits from memory afterwards. Not that it was a very dreadful story. It was not a narrative of robbery or murder or anything very alarming, but if it could by any possibility turn out that the man of whom Mr. Beverly was speaking had ever been received in society in Carlingford, then it would be a dreadful blow to the community and destroy public confidence forever in the social leaders. This was what Lucilla was thinking in her sudden turmoil of amazement and apprehension. And then, all of this time, there was another person at table who knew all about it 20 times better than Lucilla and knew what was coming and had a still more intense terror lest some personal detail might drop from the Archdeacon's lips, which the public in general would recognize. Notwithstanding, Mr. Beverly went on quite composedly with his story, never dreaming for a moment that anybody was disturbed or excited by it. He has a mark in his face, the Archdeacon said, but here Miss Marchbanks gave a little cry and held up both her hands in dismay. Don't tell us what marks he has on his face, said Lucilla. I know that I shall think every man who is dark and has good features and his six feet must be him. I wonder if it could be my cousin Tom. He has a little mark on his face, and it would be just like his dreadful luck, poor fellow. Would it be right to give up one's own cousin if it should turn out to be Tom? said Miss Marchbanks. The people who were sitting at her end of the table laughed, but there was no laughing in Lucilla's mind. And this fright and panic were poor preparatives for the evening, which had to be got through creditably with so few resources and was such a total reversal of the ordinary program. Miss Marchbanks was still tingling with curiosity and alarm when she rose from the table. If it should really come to pass that an adventurer had been received into the best society of Carlingford, and that the best judges had not been able to discriminate between the false and the true, how could anyone expect that Grange Lane would continue to confide its most important arrangements to such incompetent hands? Such was the dreadful question that occupied all Lucilla's thoughts. So far as the adventurer himself was concerned, no doubt he deserved anything that might come upon him. But the judgment which might overtake the careless shepherds who had admitted the wolf into the fold was much more in Miss Marchbanks' mind than any question of abstract justice. So that was not entirely with a philanthropical intention that she stopped Mr. Beverly and put an end to his dangerous details. Now she came to think of it, she began to remember that nobody of her acquaintance had any mark on his face. But still, it was best not to inquire too closely. It was thus with a preoccupied mind that she went up to the drawing-room feeling less in spirits for her work than on any previous occasion. It was the first of the unlucky nights which every woman of Lucilla's large and public spirited views must calculate upon as inevitable now and then. There was no moon and the richmen's naturally were absent, and so were the Miss Browns who were staying there on a visit, for it was after the engagement between Lydia and John and Mr. Cavendish was away, though perhaps under the circumstances that was no disadvantage, and Mrs. Woodburn was silenced, and even Barbara Lake had failed her patroness. You are not in spirits to-night, Lucilla, my poor dear, said Mrs. Chiley, as they went upstairs, and the kind old lady cast a fierce glance at Mrs. Woodburn, who was going before them with Miss Burry as if it could be her fault. Dear Mrs. Chiley, said Miss Marchbanks, I am in perfect spirits. It is only the responsibility, you know. Poor Barbara is ill, and we can't have any music. And what if people should be bored? When one has real friends to stand by one, it is different, said Lucilla, with an intonation that was not intended for Mrs. Chiley, and I always stand by my friends. If she meant anything by what she said there was no time to enlarge upon it, for they were just at the drawing-room door, where all the heavy people were waiting to be amused. Mrs. Chiley held her young friend back for a moment with those unreasonable partisan ideas of hers, which were so different from Lucilla's broad and statesmanlike way of contemplating affairs. I am glad that bold thing is not coming, said the kind old lady. She deserves to be ill, Lucilla. But don't go and overexcite yourself, my poor dear. People must just amuse themselves in their own way. They are very well off, I am sure, with this pretty room and a very nice cup of tea, and each other's things to look at. Never mind the people, but go and find a nice corner and have a chat with the arch-deacon when he comes upstairs. I am sure that is what he would like. And you know he is the stranger and the person to be studied, said the designing old woman. As for Lucilla, she made no categorical response. She only opened the door a little wider for Mrs. Charlie's entrance and arranged the ribbons of the old lady's cap as she followed her into the room in a caressing way. I daresay we shall do very well, Lucilla said, feeling her courage rise within her in face of the emergency. And thus she went her way into the gay mob who were waiting for her and who had not the least idea when Miss March Banks made her appearance among them that she had anything on her mind. But the first group that met Lucilla's eye as she went into the drawing room was one which made her start a little, self-possessed as she was. This group was composed of, in the first place, Barbara Lake in her crumpled white dress which she had not had any heart to think of and which was just as she had taken it off last Thursday evening. Barbara herself showed to as little advantage as her dress did. There was no expectation about her to brighten her up. Her heavy black eyebrows lowered like a dead line of resistance and defiance and her eyes gleamed underneath, sullenly oblique and dangerous. Her hair was hastily arranged, her complexion muddy and somber, her eyelids red. It was as easy to see that she had been crying and that disappointment and spite and vexation had had the greatest share in her tears as if all the party had been admitted to the little house in Grove Street and had heard the tempest going on. Though she had made up her mind that she was unable to go, when her going was merely a necessary loyalty to Lucilla, the fact that Rose had been invited acted with a wonderfully stimulating effect upon her sister. Then she began to think that perhaps, after all, he might have come back and that to be out of the way and leave the field clear to Lucilla was all that her enemies wanted. For poor Barbara could not think but she must have enemies. And the mere idea that Rose was asked roused her of itself. I don't know what she could mean by asking you unless it was despite me, said the sullen controlto. Oh yes, I dare say she will be very glad to get rid of me, but I'll go to spite her, Barbara cried with a flash from under her lowering brows. And it was this amiable motive which had brought her out. She thought, if by any chance Mr. Cavendish might happen to be there, that the sight of her all crumpled and suffering would be eloquent to his heart, for the poor girl's knowledge of the world and the gentleman was naturally very small. Thus she made her appearance with her disappointment and rage and vexation written on her face to serve as a beacon to all the young women of Carlingford and show them the necessity of concealing their feelings. Mrs. Chiley, who felt that Barbara deserved it and was resolved not to pity her, seized the opportunity and delivered quite a little lecture to a group of girls on the subject of the Forsaken. A disappointment may happen to any young person, Mrs. Chiley said, and so long as it is not their fault, nobody could blame them. But my dears, whatever you do, don't show it like that. It makes me ashamed for my sex. And only look at Lucilla, said the old lady, who, to tell the truth, instead of looking ashamed, looked triumphant. And to be sure, Miss Marchbanks had regained all her pristine energy and looked entirely like herself. What was still more extraordinary, however, was that Mrs. Woodburn had quite emerged from her momentary quietude and was in a corner, as usual, with a group of people round her, from whom stifled bursts of laughter were audible. I am frightened out of my life when I see that woman, said one of the grange, lame ladies, who was the very impersonation of commonplace and utterly unworthy of the mimics while. She is taking some of us off at this moment, I am quite sure. My dear, she is very amusing, said Mrs. Chiley, drawing her lace shawl round her shoulders with that little jerk which Mrs. Woodburn executed to perfection. I am quite easy in my mind, for my part. There can't be much to take off in an old woman that is old enough to be all your grandmothers. And I am quite pleased for Lucilla's sake. And then it is true the girls laughed and tried hard to hide that they were laughing, for they had all heard Mrs. Woodburn give that very speech with inimitable success. But it was in reality the Archdeacon of whom the mimic was giving a private rehearsal at that moment. She was doing it with a little exaggeration and coloring strongly, which perhaps was owing to an imperfect acquaintance with the subject, and perhaps to the little excitement which accompanied the throwing off of the cloud, which had enveloped her. To be sure, nobody knew why she should have been under a cloud, for married sisters don't generally lose their spirits in consequence of a brother's temporary absence. But still, the general eye perceived the change. Now you will look a little like yourself again, someone said to her. You might have been out of town, like Mr. Cavendish, for anything one has heard of you for a week past. I have been studying very closely, Mrs. Woodburn said, it is so important to get the keynote. And this was how, more than by anything he said or did himself, that Mr. Beverly's ways of expressing himself became familiar to the mind of Grange Lane. All this time, little Rose Lake had been standing by the table near her sister, not feeling very comfortable if the truth must be told. Rose had been obliged to solve the important question of what she was to put on by the simple, but not quite satisfactory, expedient of wearing what she had, as so many people have to do. And her dress was, to say the least, rather a marked contrast to the other dresses around her. For when one is an artist and belongs to a family of artists, one is perhaps tempted to carry one's ideas of what is abstractly graceful, even into the sacred conventionalities of personal attire. And it is sad to be obliged to confess that the success is generally much less apparent than one might have expected it to be, as many an unfortunate painter's wife has found out to her cost. Among all the Grange Lane girls, there was not one who could have looked, as Miss March Banks herself said, nicer than Rose if she had been dressed like other people. To be sure, there were several handsomer, such as Barbara, for instance, who possessed a kind of beauty, but who was as far from being nice as can be conceived. But then what can be done with a girl who goes out for the evening, in a black dress trimmed with red, and made with quaint little slashings at the shoulders and round the waist of an architectural character. Rose's opinions in respect to effective ornamentation were, as has been said, very strongly marked for so young a person. And though she was perfectly neat, and not a crumple about her, still it must be confessed that her costume altogether suggested, even to Lucilla, who was not imaginative, one of the carnival demons that she had seen in Italy. When she went up to her young visitor, veiling her altogether for the moment in her own clouds of white, Miss March Banks made a furtive attempt to put some of the tags out of the way. But this was an impracticable effort. It was so nice if you to come on such short notice, Lucilla said, putting her hand affectionately on Rose's shoulder. But her eyes would wander while she was speaking from her little school fellow's face to her dreadful trimmings. And I am so glad to see Barbara is better. But you shan't be troubled tonight, for we are not going to have any music. I am sure you are not able to sing, said Miss March Banks, addressing the elder sister. And all this time she was insidiously fingering Rose's tags, which were far too firmly secured to yield to any such leisure demand. And then, as was natural, Lucilla had to go away and attend to her other guests. And the other people in the room were too busy with their own talks and friends to pay any attention to Rose, even had she not been sister to Barbara, whom nobody felt disposed to notice. Rose had brought a large portfolio with her, containing not only the design in which her own genius was launching forth, but also some drawings, which the little artist set much less store by, and one surreptitious sketch, which was by Willie, who had not yet made a name. She thought in her innocence, poor child, as is natural to youthful professors of art or literature, that such matters formed the staple of conversation in polite society, and that everybody would be pleased and proud to have heard of and seen, just before his debut, the works of the coming man. I have brought some drawings, she said to Lucilla, putting her hand upon the portfolio, and Lucilla had said, you dear little Rose, how nice of you! But that was all that had as yet passed on the subject. Miss March Banks regarded with eyes of painful interest the young pre-Raphaelites tags, but she paid no regard to the portfolio, and never even asked to see its contents. Rose, to be sure, might have sat down had she pleased, but she preferred to keep her place standing by her sister's side, with her hand upon the portfolio, listening to all the people talking. It was rather a disenchanting process. All of them might have seen the portfolio had they liked, and yet they went on talking about the most unimportant matters, where they were going, and what they were to wear, and what new amusements her occupations had been planned for the morrow, which two words indeed seem to mean the same thing, according to Carlingford Young Ladies. As Rose Lake stood and listened, a few of her childish allusions began to leave her. In the first place, nobody said a syllable either about art, literature, or even music, which gave the lie to all her previous conceptions of conversation among educated people. And then it began slowly to dawn upon Rose that a life like her own, full of work and occupation, which she had been used up to this moment to think a very good life, and quite refined and dignified in comparison with most of the lives she knew of, was in reality a very shabby and poor existence, of which a young woman ought to be ashamed when she came into society in Grange Lane. When this discovery began to dawn upon the little artist, it made her very hot and uncomfortable for the first moment as may be supposed. She who had thought of the female school of design as of a career, and considered herself a little in the light of one of the pioneers of society and benefactors of her kind. But amidst Marchbanks's drying room, the careers seemed to change its character. And then Rose began to think that now she understood Barbara. It was, on the whole, a painful little bit of experience, and the more humbled she felt in herself, the more did her little heart swell within her with the innocent pride grown bitter, and the happy contemplation of her scruples turned into a combative self-assertion which is not an uncommon process with people who have cherished ideas about the rank of artists. The world did not care on the least for her being an artist, except perhaps insofar as that fact gave a still more absurd explanation to her absurd dress. And then she had never been to a ball, and was not going to any ball, nor to the picnic on Saturday, nor to Mrs. Sentom's on Monday, nor to ride, nor to drive, nor to do anything that all these young people were doing. And naturally, the sensation produced was not a very agreeable one, for to be sure, she was only seventeen, and it went to her heart to be so altogether out of accord with everything she heard of in this new world. Thus she stood, losing more and more the easy grace of her first attitude, and getting berose and stiff and constrained with a sense of being absurd. This perhaps was why Barbara had always stopped her when she began to speak of their rank as artists. Barbara had been more far-sighted than herself, and had but followed the lead of the world. This was the lesson Rose was learning as she stood up at the end of the room, clearly marked out in her black and red dress against the background and entourage of white-robed angels. It had been Barbara that knew best. It was a lesson a little sharp, but still, it was one which everybody in her position has to find out, and which it was very well for her to learn. And it was just at this time that the gentleman came up from the dining room. As for Barbara, she roused up a little from her sullen silence, and turned an eager look to the door with a lingering, desperate idea that after all, he might be there, which was an act which shocked her sister. If you would only have a proper pride, the impatient little mentor whispered, but Barbara only heaved up her plump round shoulders and jerked her ear away. So far from having proper pride, she rather wanted to show all the Grange Lane people that she was looking for him, that she was suffering from his loss, and had hopes of his return, and came not for them or for Lucilla, but on his account. For Barbara had no dreams of any possible good to be got out of Papaz being appreciated, or Willie making a name, and even to be the deserted of Mr. Cavendish was a more flattering distinction than to be simply the drawing master's daughter. But, of course, there was no Mr. Cavendish there, and to tell the truth, his absence made itself most distinctly felt at that critical moment. Then, for the first time, the ordinary public found out how he had bridged over the chasm between the dinner party who were very satisfied in blasé, and wanted repose, and the evening people who were all quite fresh and looked for amusement. The public, with its usual dullness of perception, had ignored this, though Miss Marchbanks had known it from the very beginning, and now there was nobody to take this delicate office. The result was that the gentlemen were just falling into that terrible black knot all by themselves about the door, and but taking themselves to the subjects which were, as Lucilla justly remarked, on a level with their capacities, when Miss Marchbanks felt that the moment had arrived for decisive action. The Archdeacon, to do him justice, had made a little effort to enter into general society, for he was still young, enough, as Mrs. Charlie said, to think it worth his while to take in the younger and prettier section of the community into the circle of his sympathies. But it was here that the limited range of a church man became apparent in comparison with the broad and Catholic tendencies of a man of the world like Mr. Cavendish. A well-bred up young woman in general society cannot be expected on the spot to bring forward her theological doubts or speculations for immediate solution, and that was the only kind of flirtation which Mr. Beverly was properly up to. He made one or two attempts, but without great success, and then the Archdeacon began to veer slowly downward into the midst of the circle of black coats, which was slowly consolidating, and which was the object of Miss Marchbanks's special terror. And this being the case, Lucilla felt that no time was to be lost. Though she had taken no notice of the portfolio, and to tell the truth did not care in the least about its contents, she had no more forgotten that it was there than she forgot any other instrument which could be put to use. When it was evident that nothing else was to be done, Miss Marchbanks called the Archdeacon to her to the other end of the room. I want to show you something, said Lucilla. I am quite sure you know about art. Do come and look at Miss Lake's drawings. They are charming. This is Mr. Beverly Rose, and you must let him see what you have got in the portfolio. He is quite a judge, you know, and she is a little genius, said Lucilla. This speech awoke a little flutter of amazement and consternation in the assembly. But Miss Marchbanks knew what she was about. She opened up the portfolio with her own hands, and brought forth the drawing which was Willie's drawing, and which, to be sure, Lucilla knew nothing about. It was my luck, you know, as she said afterwards, for Willie's drawing was wonderfully clever, and quite in Mr. Beverly's way. And then everybody got up to look at it, and made a circle round the Archdeacon, and the broad churchmen who had at bottom no objection to be mobbed and surrounded by a party of ladies exerted himself accordingly and opened up to such an extent that the whole room thrilled with interest. Thus Lucilla's look, as she modestly called it, or rather her genius, triumphed once more over the novel combination which had perplexed her for the first moment. She drew a little apart, well pleased, and looked on with that sense of success and administrative power which is one of the highest mental enjoyments. She contemplated the grouping affectionately, and felt in her own soul the reassuring and delicious consciousness that having mastered such a difficulty as this, she might go on with renewed confidence in her own powers. And it was this soothing and at the same time exhilarating sentiment which was interrupted by the somewhat impatient gestures of Mrs. Charlie who at this moment caught Lucilla's dress and drew her to her side. My dear, said the old lady hastily, this will never do. It is all very well to sacrifice yourself, but you can't expect me to approve of it when you carry it so far. Go and talk to him yourself, Lucilla. What was the good of bringing him here and making a fuss about him all for that? And you will see that other fantastic little creature will be just as nasty as her sister, said Mrs. Charlie, who was so much excited that she could scarcely restrain herself from speaking out loud. But Lucilla only smiled like an angel upon her excited friend. Dear Mrs. Charlie, she said in a seraphic way, the lady of the house must always think of her guests first, and you know that the object of my life is to be a comfort to dear papa. Thus that evening came to a climax of success and satisfaction so far as Miss Marchbanks was personally concerned, but it will be necessary to turn over another leaf before describing the very different sentiments of Little Rose Lake at the same crisis. For, of course, no great work was ever achieved without the sacrifice of a certain number of instruments and the young pre-Raphaelite was at this moment no better than a graphic little pencil in the greater artist's hand. End of Chapter 18 Recorded by Michelle Crandall Fremont, California May 2010 Chapter 19 of Miss Marchbanks This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Michelle Crandall Miss Marchbanks by Mrs. Elephant Chapter 19 Mr. Archdeacon Beverly was tall and strong, as was natural to a broad churchman, and when he took Willie's drawing in his hand and held it up to his eyes and began to express his sentiments on the subject, it did not occur to him that his shadow, both physical and moral, was quite blotting out the little figure down at his elbow whom he's supposed to be the artist, and whose face was crimson, and her heart beating, and her whole frame in a tremble of eagerness to disavow the honor and secure the credit of his work to Willie, who had still his name to make. As for Rose's explanations and descriptions, they might as well have been uttered to a collection of deaf people for any effect they had upon the Archdeacon, who was discoursing about the picture in his own way, ever so far above her, or to his auditory, who were interested in what he was saying because he said it, and not because of any interest they had in the subject. Rose stood trembling with impatience and a kind of feminine rage, deep down in the circle of white ladies, and under the shadow of the large black figure in the midst of them. The Archdeacon might have stood very well for one of the clerical heroes upon whose arm the modern heroine thinks it would be sweet to lean, who would guard her from the world and support her in trouble, and make his manly bosom a bulwark for her against all injustice, which indeed was a way of thinking of Mr. Beverly, which some of the ladies surrounding him at that moment might have been not disenglined to adopt, as, to be sure, it was with the conception of his character which Mrs. Chiley would very feign have impressed on Miss Marchbanks. But, as for Rose, on the contrary, so far from thinking of clinging to his arm and being supported thereby, her girlish impulse was to spring upon that elbow, which was the only point accessible to her stature, and box and pinch him into listening to the indignant disclaimers, the eager protestations, to which he gave no manner of attention. But then it is well known that the point of view from which circumstances compel us to regard either a landscape or a person has everything to do with the opinion formed upon it. Willie was the genius of the Lake family, as may be divined, and he was just then in London working very hard and thinking of making a name with still more fervid, the less confident calculations than those of his little sister, and the idea that she was appropriating his glory, however unwillingly, and depriving him, for a moment of the honour due to him, drove Rose half frantic, while at the same time nature had made her voice so soft and toned it so gently that all her efforts could not secure herself a hearing. As for the audience in general, it was, on the contrary, quite enchanted with the Archdeacon's elucidation. It was not so much that he was entertaining as that it was him, the highest clerical dignitary who had been seen for a long time about Carlingford, possibly its future bishop, and a man who was said to have written articles in the reviews. And to be a friend of Dean Howard's, and very well received in the highest quarters. Such a man could not fail to be an authority on the subject of art, or indeed on any other subject which it might be his pleasure to discuss. I recognize here a wonderful absence of conventionality, said the Archdeacon. There is good in everything, perhaps the want of any picture gallery in the neighbourhood of Carlingford, which I have been so sorry to observe. Oh, but I assure you, Sir John has a very nice collection of pictures, said one of Mr. Beverly's audience. And dear Lady Richmond is so kind in letting one bring one's friends to see them. She is such a sweet woman, don't you think so? I am sure my husband says. Lady Richmond is a good, pure gentlewoman, said the Archdeacon in his broad church way, summing up and settling the question. Everybody must be the better for knowing her. There is a great deal of very fine feeling for drapery and that mantle, and the boy's attitude is remarkable. There is a freedom in that leg, for example, which is extraordinary for a lady. But it is not a lady, shrieked Rose, who is getting incoherent, and with difficulty restrained herself from seizing Mr. Beverly's elbow. The Archdeacon, this time, gave a little glance down at her, and his eye caught her red trimmings, and he smiled little. He thought he knew what she meant. Miss Lake declines to be mildly judged on the score of being a lady, he said, and I quite agree with her, so we'll abandon that phraseology. I confess that I was quite unprepared to find such genius in Carlingford. It is a delightful little town, but with no collection of pictures, no gallery, no masters. But here Rose, who could bear no longer, made a dash at last at that elbow, which represented to her, for the moment, all the arrogance and superficial information of criticism. Papa is the master, cried Rose, and there are two schools of design. We gained six prizes, and Willie had all his first training, precisely, said the Archdeacon in his bland tones. Schools of design are admirable things in their way. They develop what one may call the superficial talent, which pervades the community. But to find a real power, such as this, may develop into, in a town so destitute of the means of instruction, says a great deal for human nature. Sentim, you are a connoisseur. You know what I mean. Why you should not have a yearly exhibition at Carlingford, for example, when there is an amount of native talent which can produce a sketch like this I cannot conceive. Look how finely characterized are the different figures, and such depth the feeling in the accessories. This piece of drapery, for example, I am sure all our thanks are due to Miss Lake for suffering us to see her production. I should like you to examine it well, Sentim, said the Archdeacon, and then pass it to Mr. Sentim's hand. To tell the truth, Mr. Sentim would have differed from Mr. Beverly had he dared, for it is all very easy for a stranger to speak about native talent, whereas for a man who lives in the town, and may be expected to foster a rising artist in a more substantial way than by mere praise, it is a very different matter. But then the banker knew that to differ from the Archdeacon, a man who is in the very best society, and indeed quite familiar at Windsor, would be to make a summary end of the reputation he himself enjoyed as a connoisseur. So he drew near and looked at the drawing and echoed Mr. Beverly's sentiments, but naturally in a modified way. But as for a yearly exhibition, I don't know what to say about that, said Mr. Sentim, for you know we'd have to give a prize to tempt a few of the fellows in London to send a picture or two. All that is very easy in theory, but it is much more difficult in practice. It's a very clever drawing. I dare say your father touched it up, did he not? I always said Lake was a very clever fellow in his way, but if it was the very finest beginning ever made, it is only a sketch, and one spallow does not make a summer. And then, said Mr. Sentim trying to escape by a joke, you know a young lady is never to be calculated upon, though as a sketch nothing could be more promising, added the man whose character was at stake, and then the whole party burst into an animated discussion of the chance of an exhibition at Carlingford and the duty of fostering native talent. Rose stood in the centre of the circle all this time while Lily's drawing passed from hand to hand, and all this talk went on, palpitating with vexation and impatience, and keen feminine rage, and unable to get anybody to listen to her. Nobody cared the least in the world whether it was or was not she who had done it. Nobody knew anything about Lily, whether he had made a name or not who cared. It was a very successful expedient so far as Lucila's great work was concerned and rewarded her pains in a way which it was delightful to contemplate. But then there never was a great work in the world which should not involve a few heartaches to the instruments, and to be truly successful, a person of the highest order of administrative genius must be indifferent to that. At the same time it would be quite false to say that Miss Marchbanks contemplated any such accompaniment, or had the least intention of wounding Rose, who on the contrary was a great pet of hers. But Lucila's eyes were naturally fixed upon her own aim, which was it must be confessed of sufficient magnitude to justify a few sacrifices of the rank and file. If a great monarch was to count how many soldiers would be killed every time it was necessary to his credit, to fight a great battle, what would become of the world. But then the misfortune was that in this case poor little Rose had been quite as intent upon her little aim as was Lucila, did not understand that she was there to be bowled over, and to make way for the car of triumph. When she had restored to her at last the precious drawing which had gained so much praise, and which by this time was a little frayed at the edges, but to be sure that was only the mounting board, and looked as if it had seen service instead of being elated and triumphant as she was expected to be, poor Rose could scarcely keep from crying. Not hers was to be the gratification of helping Willie on his first step towards a name. On the contrary, she felt herself in the horrible position of having usurped his credit, and done him an injury, and put his drawing away in the portfolio with inexpressible feelings, shutting it down over her own poor little work, and the veil which had up to this moment held the principal share in her thoughts. Alas, by this time, poor Rose had more serious matters to think of, and when she made an attempt privately, when there was some chance of being heard, to rectify the mistake, her effort was equally unsuccessful. She took her chance when she saw Mr. Sentom alone, and stole up to him and made her little statement. It was my brother's drawing, not mine, she said, and the banker who had by this time forgotten all about it, opened his eyes and stared at her. Ah, oh, it was your brother's, said Mr. Sentom with a little yawn, and the impulse may be forgiven to Rose if she could have seized upon this man who considered himself a connoisseur, and given him a good shake in her rage and vexation. But then, to be sure, all that impatience did no good, and Rose was not even grateful for the kiss Lucilla gave her when she went away. Thank you so much for bringing that beautiful drawing, Miss March Bank said, and she meant it quite sincerely, and felt that Rose and her portfolio had helped her to her latest triumph, just as Barbara and her contralto had helped in the earliest. And thus, the two representatives of the arts went home in their wounded condition after having served their purpose. To be sure, Barbara richly deserved her share of the pain, but at the same time, Lucilla had gone over them both in her triumphal chariot, and they had contributed much to her victory. And then, neither of them was philosophical enough to feel that to help on, even by your own humiliation, the success of a great work is worth everybody's while. Miss March Banks had made use of them as a society generally makes use of art, and they, unfortunately, had taken it as the artist generally does take that supreme compliment. This was the other side of the picture which Lucilla licked upon with such complacent eyes. And at the very same moment, Mrs. Chiley, seeing matters from her point of view, confided to her husband her vexation and annoyance at the way in which her young friend neglected her opportunities. He is not like what clergymen were in our day, so the old lady, but still, he is very nice, and has such a nice position, and it would just suit Lucilla. But to think of her going and leaving him with these late girls, notwithstanding the lesson she has had. And I have no doubt the little one is just as designing and nasty as the other. If it should come to anything, she has only herself to blame, said Mrs. Chiley. As for the Colonel, he took it more calmly as a gentleman might be expected to do. You may trust a person for that, said the old soldier. He knows what he is about. You will never find him make such an ass of himself as young Cavendish did. But this only made Mrs. Chiley sigh the more. Poor Mr. Cavendish, said the old lady. I will never blame him, poor fellow. It was all that deceitful thing laying her snares for him. For my part, I never like to have anything to do with those artist kind of people. They are all adventurers, said the Colonel's wife. And she went to bed with this un-christian persuasion in her mind. Thus the matter was regarded on all sides with sentiments differing according to the different points of view. And the only person who looked at it abstractly and contemplated not to the accidents of the evening but the work itself which was progressing in the face of all kinds of social difficulties was the mastermind which first conceived the grand design of turning the chaotic elements of society in Carlingford into one grand unity. One may be charitable to the natural feelings of those who have been shot at and ridden over in the course of the combat. And one may even sympathize a little with the disgust of the critic who can see the opportunities which have been neglected after the day was won. But in reality it is only the eye of the general who has planned it who can estimate the true importance of each individual fight in the campaign. And when we announce that Miss Marchbanks herself was satisfied there remains little more to say. As for the Archdeacon he, as was natural, knew nothing about the matter. He said again with the natural obtuseness which is so general among the gentlemen that it had been a very pleasant party. She has a fine, clear candid nature, said Mr. Beverly. I should think such a person must exercise an influence for good on society, which no doubt was true enough. This was how Lucilla by sheer dent of genius triumphed over all the obstacles that stood in her way and without music, without the county people and without Mr. Cavendish still continued with renewed a clot to her weekly success. But though she was satisfied with the evening it would be vain to deny that there were perturbations in the mind of Ms. Marchbanks as she laid her head upon her maiden pillow. She said to herself again with profounder fervor that fortunately her affections had not been engaged but there were more things than affections to be taken into consideration. Could it be possible that mystery and perhaps imposter of one kind or another had crossed the sacred threshold of Grange Lane and that people might find out and cast in Lucilla's face the dreadful discovery that a man had been received in her house who was not what he appeared to be? When such an idea crossed her mind Ms. Marchbanks shivered under her satin quote. Of course she could not change the nature of the fact one way or another but at least it was her duty to act with great circumspection so that if possible it might not be found out. For Lucilla appreciated fully the difference that exists between wrong and discovery. If any man was imposing upon his neighbors and telling lies about himself it was his own fault but if a leader of society were to betray the fact of having received impeded such a person then the responsibility was on her shoulders. It dismayed Ms. Marchbanks and at the same time it gave a tinge of excitement to the future in which there might be and no doubt were crowds of unrevealed archdeacons and undiscovered men of the world on their way to Carlingford all knowing something about somebody and bringing with them an ever-recurring succession of difficulties and triumphs. It was prudence that was the great thing that was required and not to give too hasty heed to anything nor to put oneself in the wrong way by any alarmist policy. Fortunately the respectability of Dr. Marchbanks's house was enough to cover its guests with a shining buckler. Thus Lucilla calmed down her own apprehensions and succeeded in convincing herself that if the imposter whom the archdeacon had seen had been really received in Grange Lane it was so much the worse for the imposter but that in the meantime in the lack of evidence it was much the best thing to take no notice. If there was anyone else in Carlingford who regarded that past danger with a livelier horror and a more distinct fear certainly Ms. Marchbanks had no way of knowing it and nobody had been remarked in a despondent condition or indeed in anything but the highest spirits in the course of this Thursday except the ungrateful creature who had done so much mischief and tolerant as Lucilla was it would have been going beyond the limits of nature to have expected that she could have been profoundly sorry for Barbara Lake but at the same time poor Barbara though she was not an elevated character had gone home in a very sad state of mind she had taken courage to ask Mrs. Woodburn about her brother and Mrs. Woodburn had made the very briefest and rudest response to her question and had taken off her woe-begone looks almost to her very face and no one had shown the least sympathy for the forsaken one she had not even been called from her solitude to sing which might have been something and it was Rose as she said to herself who had attracted all the attention for like most selfish people Barbara though keenly aware of her own wrongs had no eyes for the humiliation and pain to which her sister had been subjected I feel as if I should never see him more she said quite subdued and broken down with a burst of tears as the two went home and poor little Rose who was soft-hearted forgot all her disapprobation and sympathy never mind them dear they have no feeling we must cling together all the closer and tried to be everything to each other Rose said with eyes which were full but which would not shed any tears her mind was overflowing with mortification and wounded pride and at the same time she said to herself that all that was nothing in comparison to the wound of the heart under which Barbara was suffering dear never mind we will be everything to each other said the poor little romantic Rose and the elder sister even in the depths of her dejection could have given her a good shake for uttering such an absurd sentiment for a great deal of good it would do to be everything to each other as if that could ever replace the orange blossoms and the wedding tour and the carriage and handsome house which were included in the name of Cavendish and he was such a dear she said to herself in her own mind and wept and made her eyes redder and redder if Mr. Cavendish had known all that was going on in Carlingford that night the chances are that he would have been most flattered by those tears which Barbara shed for him under the lamps and Grove Street but then it is to be hoped he would not have been insensible either to the just reticence and self-restraint which mingling with Miss March Banks the suspicions prevented her as she herself said even in the deepest seclusion of her own thoughts from naming any name End of Chapter 19 Recording by Michelle Crandall Fremont, California October 2010 Chapter 20 of Miss March Banks This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Michelle Crandall Miss March Banks by Mrs. Oliphant Chapter 20 Lucilla had triumphed and did triumph over all the obstacles that presented themselves in her way and such was her power that after a while she even succeeded in convincing Little Rose Lake of the perfect reasonableness and indeed necessity of sacrificing herself to the public interests of the community. As for enjoying it Miss March Banks said that is quite a different matter. Now and then perhaps for a minute one enjoys it but that is not what I am thinking of. One owes something to one's fellow creatures you know and if it made the evening go off well I should not mind in the least to be hustled up in a corner and contradicted. To be sure I don't remember that it ever happened to me but then I have such luck and you are such a tiny little soul you dear Little Rose. Not that I should like you to be any bigger Lucilla added contemplating that little specimen of her raw material with a certain complacency. I like contrast for my part and I am sure I give you full leave to box the Archdeacon's ears next Thursday or to tell him he does not know anything in the world about art said Miss March Banks thoughtfully with a new combination rising in her mind. Thank you Lucilla said Rose but I shall not come back again. I am much obliged to you. It does not do for people who have work to do. My time is all I have and I cannot afford to waste it especially. My dear child said Miss March Banks how are you ever to be an artist if you did not know life. That is just the very reason why you ought to go out into the world and I don't see for my part that it matters whether it is pleasant or not. To practice scales all day long is anything but pleasant but then one has to do it you know. I don't blame you said Lucilla with tender condescension. You are a dear little thing and you don't know any better but I went through political economy and learned all about that. You don't think I chose it for the pleasure but you all know what is the object of my life and I hope I am not one to shrink from my duty Miss March Banks added and it was difficult to reply to such a sublime declaration. Little Rose left her friend with the conviction that it was her duty too to sacrifice herself for the benefit of society and the advancement of art. Such were the lofty sentiments elicited naturally as enthusiasm responds to enthusiasm by Lucilla's self-devotion. Already, although she was not much more than twenty, she had the consoling consciousness that had wrought a great work in Carlingford and if Miss March Banks required a little sacrifice from her assistance she did not shrink from making the same in her own person as had been a shadowed forth in the case of Mr. Cavendish and as will get in the course of this history be still more seriously and even sadly evolved. Three weeks had passed in this way, making it still more and more visible to Lucilla how much she had lost in losing Mr. Cavendish of whom nothing as yet had been heard when suddenly one day about luncheon time at the hour when Miss March Banks was known to be at home the drawing room door opened without any warning and the missing man walked in. It was thus that Lucilla herself described the unexpected apparition which appeared to her to have dropped from the clouds. She avowed afterwards to Mrs. Chiley that his entrance was so utterly unexpected so noiseless and without warning that she felt quite silly and could not tell in the least how she behaved. Though the friends of Miss March Banks it is to be hoped are too well acquainted with her promptitude of mind and action to imagine that she in any way compromised herself even under the surprise of the moment. As for Mr. Cavendish he exhibited a certain mixture of timidity and excitement which it was remarkable and indeed rather flattering for any lady to see in such an accomplished man of the world. Miss March Banks was not a person to deceive herself nor did she want experience in such matters as has been already shown but it would be vain to deny that the conviction forced upon her mind by the demeanor of her visitor was that it was a man about to propose who thus made his unlooked for appearance before her. She confessed afterwards to her confidential friend that he had all the signs of it in his looks and manners. He gave that little nervous cough Lucila said and pulled his cravat just so and stared into his hat as if he had it all written down there and looked as they always look Miss March Banks added with a touch of natural contempt. Nor was this all the change in Mr. Cavendish's appearance. He had managed miraculously slightly red like most peoples. It gleamed into Miss March Banks' mind in a moment. The people did such things sometimes by way of disguising themselves. But if such had been Mr. Cavendish's intention it had utterly failed since he seemed rather more like himself than before in Lucila's opinion and certainly was more likely to attract attention since beard were not so usual in these days. They met on the very spot where Lucila had seen him last with that look of insane terror on his handsome face. And the arch-deacon was still in Carlingford if it was he who had occasioned such a panic. Mr. Cavendish came in as if he had never been absent as if he had seen Miss March Banks on the previous night and had no fear of anything in the world but a failing to please her. And Lucila fortunately saw the nature of the position and was not to be put out even by such an emergency. Of course, under the circumstances to accept him was utterly out of the question. But at the same time Lucila did not feel it expedient without much more distinct information to put a definitive and cruel negative on Mr. Cavendish's hopes. As for Barbara Lake that was a trifle not worth thinking of. And notwithstanding that there was something rather unaccountable in his conduct he was still the probable member for Carlingford just as Mrs. Chiley so often said the position which of all others she would have chosen for Lucila. So that Miss March Banks was not prepared without due consideration to bring the matter to a final end. While Lucila made this rapid summary of affairs and took her stand in her own mind Mr. Cavendish had taken a chair and had opened the conversation. He hoped he had not been entirely forgotten though a fortnight's absence was a severe tax on anybody's memory. A fortnight said Miss March Banks how happy you must have been while you have been away for I assure you a month is a month at Carlingford and one does not get such ornaments in two weeks said Lucila patting her hand to her chin which made Mr. Cavendish laugh and look more nervous than ever. It is a souvenir of where I have been he said. I could imagine I had been gone two years judging by my own feelings. I am so pleased you remember how long it is. I dare say it looked a little droll running away so but I dared not trust myself with leave takings Mr. Cavendish said with an error of sentiment. I have been watching over a poor friend of mine on his sick bed. He was once very good to me and when he sent for me I could not delay or refuse him. I found he had telegraphed for me when I got home the last Thursday evening I was here he continued looking Lucila full in the face with the candor of conscious truth. Though to be sure when people are stating a simple fact it is seldom that they take the pains to be so particular. I started by the night train and crossed the channel while you were all fast asleep. I wonder if anyone gave me a thought continued Mr. Cavendish and it was still more and more impressed upon Lucila that he had all the signs of a man who had come to propose. I cannot say about that night in particular but I am sure a great many people have given you a thought said Miss March Banks. We have all been wondering what had become of you where you were and when you were coming back. So far as I am concerned I have missed you dreadfully said Lucila with her usual openness and she really thought for a moment that Mr. Cavendish in a sudden transport was going down on his knees. I scarcely hoped for so much happiness he said and though he kept up the tone proper to good society which might mean sport or earnest according as the occasion served there was a certain air of gratitude and tenderness in his face which sent Lucila's active mind a wandering. He is thinking of the music stand she said to herself and then went on with what she was saying for though Miss March Banks had a very good opinion of herself it had not occurred to her that Mr. Cavendish was very deeply in love with her at all events. Ah yes not only for the flirting you know which of itself is a dreadful loss but then you were so good in keeping the gentleman to their duty I missed you dreadfully there has been nobody at all to help me said Lucila her tone was so genuinely plaintive that Mr. Cavendish grew more and more moved he put down his hat he cleared his throat he got up and walked to the window evidently he was getting up his courage for the last step but I heard you had some distinguished strangers here he said coming back to his seat without having as it appeared made up his mind my sister wrote that is to say I heard I really don't remember how I got the news a dean or bishop or something oh yes Mr. Archdeacon Beverly he came precisely the night you went away said Lucila didn't you see him I thought you stayed till after he came into the room a nice clergyman is very nice you know but after all a man who has some experience in society and we have had no music to speak of since you went away poor dear Barbara has had such a bad cold in short we have all been at sixes and sevens and the Archdeacon oh never mind the Archdeacon said Mr. Cavendish and Miss Marchbanks felt that he had not winced at the name though he did glance up at her in spite of himself with a little gleam from his eyes when she mentioned Barbara Lake perhaps this was because he knew nothing about the Archdeacon perhaps because he was prepared to hear the Archdeacon named Lucila did not give him all the benefit of the uncertainty for she began to get a little impatient and to wonder if the man had come to propose as appearances suggested why did he not do it and get done with it which was a very reasonable question this time however it certainly was coming I don't like nice clergyman said Mr. Cavendish especially not when you think them nice if I could really flatter myself that you had missed me we all did said Lucila there is no compliment about it and poor dear Barbara has had such a cold ah! said the unfortunate aspirant and once more he gave a doubtful glance at Lucila decidedly the name of Barbara had more effect upon him than that of the Archdeacon it seemed to damp his fire and smother the words on his lips and he had to take another promenade to the window to recover himself after that however he came back evidently wound up and determined and his eyes as he returned to Miss Marchbanks' side fell upon the music stand by means of which she had covered his fright and flight if it was not a mere hallucination on Lucila's part that he had been frightened and had fled on the night he left Carlingford he came back with the air of a man who means to delay and deliberate no more if I could flatter myself that you had missed me he said you not anyone else I might have the courage to ask it was at that precise moment of all moments that Mrs. Chiley whom they had not heard coming upstairs though she was sufficiently audible suddenly opened the door Mr. Cavendish as was natural broke off in a moment with a face which had turned crimson and even Lucila herself felt a little annoyed and put out when as in duty bound she got up to meet and welcome her old friend one thing was fortunate as Miss Marchbanks afterwards reflected that since it was to be interrupted it had been interrupted so early before he could have put himself in any ridiculous attitude for example for at such moments it is well known that some men go down upon their knees or at least such is the inter- eradicable belief of woman kind if Mr. Cavendish had been on his knees though to tell the truth he was not a very likely subject the position would have been much more embarrassing but as it was there was an end he turned back again to the window biting his glove in the most frantic way and taking up his hat while she always mistress of the position advanced to the newcomer without stretched hands I know you have come to have lunch with me said Lucila you are always so nice just when I wanted you for of course I dared not have asked Mr. Cavendish to go downstairs if I had been all alone Mr. Cavendish cried the old lady with a little scream so he has really come back I am so glad to see you I can't tell you how glad I am to see you and I declare with a beard oh you need not blush for what I say I am old enough to be both your grandmothers and I am so glad to see you together again said Mrs. Charlie with an imprudent effusion of sentiment and it may be imagined what the effect of this utterance was upon the suitor whose love making if he was really going to make love was thus cut short in the bud he coughed more than ever when he shook hands with the newcomer and kept fast hold of his hat with that desperate grasp which is common to men in trouble and then he kept looking at the door as if he expected someone else to come in or wanted to escape and so far from following up his interrupted address by any explanatory or regretful glances he never even looked at Lucila which to be sure struck her is odd enough Miss March Banks is very good he said and I am very glad to see you so soon after my return Mrs. Charlie though of course I should have called but I may have to go away in a day or two and I am afraid I cannot have the pleasure of staying to lunch oh yes you must stay said Mrs. Charlie I want to hear all about it go away again in a day or two if I were Lucila I would not let you go away she is queen now in carlingford you know and then poor old Mr. Chiltern is so ill I hope you won't think of going away they all said it was such a pity tell me where you have been and what you've been doing all this time we have missed you so dreadfully and now you look quite like a military man with that beard I have been nursing a sick friend on the continent said Mr. Cavendish not very cheerful work I am sorry about Mr. Chiltern but I cannot help it I have doubts now whether even if he were to die I should offer myself I couldn't give pledges to all the shopkeepers about my opinions said the embarrassed man and as he spoke he put his hat against his breasts like a buckler I must not detain you from your lunch goodbye Miss March Banks I am very sorry I can't stay but dear me stop a minute don't run away from us said Mrs. Chiley come and talk it all over with the colonel there's a dear and don't do anything rash goodbye if you will go said the old lady she sat with a look of consternation in her face looking at Miss March Banks as he made his way downstairs did I come at a wrong time Lucilla said Mrs. Chiley in distress have you refused him my dear what is the matter I am so dreadfully afraid I came in at the wrong time Dear Mrs. Chiley said Lucilla sweetly you can never come in at a wrong time and it is just as well on the whole that he didn't for I was not prepared to give him any answer I am sure on the contrary it was quite providential Miss March Banks said but it may be doubted whether Lucilla's mind perfectly corresponded to her words on this occasion though she was so amiable about it as Mrs. Chiley afterwards said for even when a woman has not her answer ready she has always a certain curiosity about a proposal and then when such a delicate matter is crushed in the bud like this who can tell if it will ever blossom again and find full expression Miss March Banks could not be said to be disappointed but unquestionably she regretted a little that he had not been permitted to say out his say as for Mrs. Chiley when she understood all the rights of it she was afflicted beyond measure and could not forgive herself for the unlucky part she had played if you had only said you were engaged the old lady exclaimed or not at home or anything Lucilla you know you never stand on ceremony with me no wonder he looked as if he could eat me poor fellow and I dare say he has gone away with his heart full said Mrs. Chiley with the tenderest sympathy she could not get over it nor eat any lunch nor think of anything else poor dear boy he need not have been so put out with an old woman like me he might have known if he had given me the least hint or even a look I would have gone away said the kind old woman but you must be all the kinder to him when he comes back Lucilla and my dear if I were you I would stay in this afternoon he is sure to come back and I would not keep him in pain I don't think he will come back Lucilla could not help saying for she had a conviction that nothing more would come of it but nevertheless she did stay in that afternoon and received several visits but saw nothing more of Mr. Cavendish it was rather vexatious to tell the truth for to see a man so near the point and not even to have the satisfaction of refusing him is naturally aggravating to a woman but Miss March Banks had far too much philosophy as well as good sense to be vexed on that account with Mrs. Chiley who could not forgive herself and to make up for the consequences of her unlucky entry would have done anything in the world the old lady herself returned in the afternoon to know the result and was doubly vexed and distressed to hear that he had not come back I ought to be on the Archdeacon side Lucilla she said with tears in her eyes I know I ought when it was I that brought him here but I can't help feeling for the other my dear he always was so nice a great deal nicer to my way of thinking the Mr. Beverly not to say but that the Archdeacon is very agreeable Mrs. Chiley added recollecting herself for in matters of that description a woman of experience is aware that she cannot be too particular about what she says and supposing that Mr. Cavendish did not come back it would never do to prejudice Lucilla against the other candidate I never blamed Mr. Cavendish about that late girl the old lady continued it was not his fault poor young man I know he was always devoted to you in his heart and to think you should come here the very first place as soon as he returned I only wish I had had one of my headaches this morning my dear to keep me indoors for an old malaprop I do indeed Lucilla it would have served me right and I should not have minded the pain but indeed I don't wish anything of the sort said Ms. March Banks I would not have the best man in the world at the cost of one of those dreadful headaches of yours it is so good of you to say so but you know very well it is not that sort of thing I am thinking of if I were to go off and marry just now after all that has been done to the drawing room and everything I should feel as if I were swindling papa and it is the object of my life to be a comfort to him yes my dear said mrs. charlie but we must not neglect your own interests for all that I think it is most likely he will come this evening he has just come from the continent you know where people do make calls in the evening I meant to have asked you to come down to us as we shall be all alone all alone then where is the arch deacon asked lucilla he has gone out to sir johns for a day or two my dear said mrs. charlie and she could not understand the little gleam of intelligence that shot into lucilla's eye he left word with me for you that he would be sure to be back before thursday but seeing mrs. cavendish when I came in made me forget all about it he would be quite distressed poor man if he thought I had forgotten to give you his message I won't ask you now to come down and cheer me up a little lucilla I think poor mrs. cavendish is sure to come this evening and I will not stand in his way again but my dear you must send me a little note after he has been now promise I shall be quite in suspense all night dear mrs. charlie I don't think he will come said mrs. marchbanks for my part I think it was providential you're coming today for I am sure I don't know what I should have said to him and it is so odd the arch deacon should be away just at this moment I feel quite sure he will not come tonight it was for today he was asked you know that is simple enough if you are sure that you prefer the arch deacon my dear the old lady added with an anxious look but lucilla cut short the inquiry which was becoming too serious by bringing her kind visitor a cup of tea I hope you don't think I prefer any of them said the injured maiden if I had been thinking of that sort of thing you know I need never have come home if they would only let one do one's duty in peace and quiet said lucilla with a sigh and to tell the truth both ladies had occasion on that trying afternoon for the consolation of their cup of tea but while they were thus refreshing themselves a conversation of a very different kind yet affecting the same interest was being carried on not very far off under the shelter of a little flowery arbor in another of the empowered gardens of grange lane where the subject was just then being discussed from the other side end of chapter 20 recording by Michelle Crandall Fremont California February 2011