The morning of the fourteenth came upon them at the Small House, as comes the morning of those special days which have been long considered, and which are to be long remembered. It brought with it a hard, bitter frost,—a black, biting frost,—such a frost as breaks the water-pipes, and binds the ground to the hardness of granite. Lily, queen as she was, had not yet been allowed to go back to her own chamber, but occupied the larger bed in her mother's room, her mother sleeping on a smaller one.
"Mamma," she said, "how cold they'll be!" Her mother had announced to her the fact of the black frost, and these were the first words she spoke.
"I fear their hearts will be cold also," said Mrs Dale. She ought not to have said so. She was transgressing the acknowledged rule of the house in saying any word that could be construed as being inimical to Crosbie or his bride. But her feeling on the matter was too strong, and she could not restrain herself.
"Why should their hearts be cold? Oh, mamma, that is a terrible thing to say. Why should their hearts be cold?"
"I hope it may not be so."
"Of course you do; of course we all hope it. He was not cold-hearted, at any rate. A man is not cold-hearted, because he does not know himself. Mamma, I want you to wish for their happiness."
Mrs Dale was silent for a minute or two before she answered this, but then she did answer it. "I think I do," said she. "I think I do wish for it."
"I am very sure that I do," said Lily.
At this time Lily had her breakfast upstairs, but went down into the drawing-room in the course of the morning.
"You must be very careful in wrapping yourself as you go downstairs," said Bell, who stood by the tray on which she had brought up the toast and tea. "The cold is what you would call awful."
"I should call it jolly," said Lily, "if I could get up and go out. Do you remember lecturing me about talking slang the day that he first came?"
"Did I, my pet?"
"Don't you remember, when I called him a swell? Ah, dear! so he was. That was the mistake, and it was all my own fault, as I had seen it from the first."
Bell for a moment turned her face away, and beat with her foot against the ground. Her anger was more difficult of restraint than was even her mother's,—and now, not restraining it, but wishing to hide it, she gave it vent in this way.
"I understand, Bell. I know what your foot means when it goes in that way; and you shan't do it. Come here, Bell, and let me teach you Christianity. I'm a fine sort of teacher, am I not? And I did not quite mean that."
"I wish I could learn it from some one," said Bell. "There are circumstances in which what we call Christianity seems to me to be hardly possible."
"When your foot goes in that way it is a very unchristian foot, and you ought to keep it still. It means anger against him, because he discovered before it was too late that he would not be happy,—that is, that he and I would not be happy together if we were married."
"Don't scrutinise my foot too closely, Lily."
"But your foot must bear scrutiny, and your eyes, and your voice. He was very foolish to fall in love with me. And so was I very foolish to let him love me, at a moment's notice,—without a thought as it were. I was so proud of having him, that I gave myself up to him all at once, without giving him a chance of thinking of it. In a week or two it was done. Who could expect that such an engagement should be lasting?"
"And why not? That is nonsense, Lily. But we will not talk about it."
"Ah, but I want to talk about it. It was as I have said, and if so, you shouldn't hate him because he did the only thing which he honestly could do when he found out his mistake."
"What; become engaged again within a week!"
"There had been a very old friendship, Bell; you must remember that. But I was speaking of his conduct to me, and not of his conduct to—" And then she remembered that that other lady might at this very moment possess the name which she had once been so proud to think that she would bear herself. "Bell," she said, stopping her other speech suddenly, "at what o'clock do people get married in London?"
"Oh, at all manner of hours,—any time before twelve. They will be fashionable, and will be married late."
"You don't think she's Mrs Crosbie yet, then?"
"Lady Alexandrina Crosbie," said Bell, shuddering.
"Yes, of course; I forgot. I should so like to see her. I feel such an interest about her. I wonder what coloured hair she has. I suppose she is a sort of Juno of a woman,—very tall and handsome. I'm sure she has not got a pug-nose like me. Do you know what I should really like, only of course it's not possible;—to be godmother to his first child."
"Oh, Lily!"
"I should. Don't you hear me say that I know it's not possible? I'm not going up to London to ask her. She'll have all manner of grandees for her godfathers and godmothers. I wonder what those grand people are really like."
"I don't think there's any difference. Look at Lady Julia."
"Oh, she's not a grand person. It isn't merely having a title. Don't you remember that he told us that Mr Palliser is about the grandest grandee of them all. I suppose people do learn to like them. He always used to say that he had been so long among people of that sort, that it would be very difficult for him to divide himself off from them. I should never have done for that kind of thing; should I?"
"There is nothing I despise so much as what you call that kind of thing."
"Do you? I don't. After all, think how much work they do. He used to tell me of that. They have all the governing in their hands, and get very little money for doing it."
"Worse luck for the country."
"The country seems to do pretty well. But you're a radical, Bell. My belief is, you wouldn't be a lady if you could help it."
"I'd sooner be an honest woman."
"And so you are,—my own dear, dearest, honest Bell,—and the fairest lady that I know. If I were a man, Bell, you are just the girl that I should worship."
"But you are not a man; so it's no good."
"But you mustn't let your foot go astray in that way; you mustn't, indeed. Somebody said, that whatever is, is right, and I declare I believe it."
"I'm sometimes inclined to think, that whatever is, is wrong."
"That's because you're a radical. I think I'll get up now, Bell; only it's so frightfully cold that I'm afraid."
"There's a beautiful fire," said Bell.
"Yes; I see. But the fire won't go all around me, like the bed does. I wish I could know the very moment when they're at the altar. It's only half-past ten yet."
"I shouldn't be at all surprised if it's over."
"Over! What a word that is! A thing like that is over, and then all the world cannot put it back again. What if he should be unhappy after all?"
"He must take his chance," said Bell, thinking within her own mind that that chance would be a very bad one.
"Of course he must take his chance. Well,—I'll get up now." And then she took her first step out into the cold world beyond her bed. "We must all take our chance. I have made up my mind that it will be at half-past eleven."
When half-past eleven came, she was seated in a large easy chair over the drawing-room fire, with a little table by her side, on which a novel was lying. She had not opened her book that morning, and had been sitting for some time perfectly silent, with her eyes closed, and her watch in her hand.
"Mamma," she said at last, "it is over now, I'm sure."
"What is over, my dear?"
"He has made that lady his wife. I hope God will bless them, and I pray that they may be happy." As she spoke these words, there was an unwonted solemnity in her tone which startled Mrs Dale and Bell.