Mary, with an instinct that she was blamed, began to be very sorry, but broke off amid peals of merriment, and blushes that were less easily extinguished; and which caused Ethel to tell each of the young ones privately, that their sport was becoming boy and frog work, and she would have no more of it. The Daisy was inclined to be restive; but Ethel told her that many people thought this kind of fun could never be safe or delicate. ‘I have always said that it might be quite harmless, if people knew where to stop—now show me that I am right.’
And to Aubrey she put the question, whether he would like to encourage Daisy in being a nineteenth-century young lady without reticence?
However, as Mary heard no more of their mischievous wit, Ethel was quite willing to let them impute to herself a delusion that the schoolmaster was smitten with Mary, and to laugh with them in private over all the ridiculous things they chose to say.
At last Flora insisted on Ethel’s coming with her to make a distant call, and, as soon as they were in the carriage, said, ‘It was not only for the sake of Mrs. Copeland, though it is highly necessary you should go, but it is the only way of ever speaking to you, and I want to know what all this is about Mary?’
‘The children have not been talking their nonsense to you!’
‘No one ever talks nonsense to me—intentionally, I mean—not even you, Ethel; I wish you did. But I hear it is all over the town. George has been congratulated, and so have I, and one does not like contradicting only to eat it up again.’
‘You always did hear everything before it was true, Flora.’
‘Then is it going to be true?’
‘O, Flora, can it be possible?’ said Ethel, with a startled, astonished look.
‘Possible! Highly obvious and proper, as it seems to me. The only doubt in my mind was whether it were not too obvious to happen.’
‘He is always coming in,’ said Ethel, ‘but I never thought it was really for that mischief! The children only laugh about it as the most preposterous thing they can think of, for he never speaks to a woman if he can help it.’
‘That may not prevent him from wanting a good wife.’
‘Wanting a wife—ay, as he would want a housekeeper, just because he has got to the proper position for it; but is he to go and get our bonny Mary in that way, just for an appendage to the mastership?’
‘Well done, old Ethel! I’m glad to see you so like yourself. I remember when we thought Mrs. Hoxton’s position very sublime.’
‘I never thought of positions!’
‘Never! I know that very well; and I am not thinking of it now, except as an adjunct to a very worthy man, whom Mary will admire to the depths of her honest heart, and who will make her very happy.’
‘Yes, I suppose if she once begins to like him, that he will,’ said Ethel, slowly; ‘but I can’t bring myself to swallow it yet. She has never given in to his being a bore, but I thought that was her universal benevolence; and he says less to her than to any one.’
‘Depend upon it, he thinks he is proceeding selon les regles.’
‘Then he ought to be flogged! Has he any business to think of my Mary, without falling red-hot in love with her? Why, Hector was regularly crazy that last half-year; and dear old Polly is worth ever so much more than Blanche.’
‘I must say you have fulfilled my desire of hearing you talk nonsense, Ethel. Mary would never think of those transports.’
‘She deserves them all the more.’
‘Well, she is the party most concerned, though she will be a cruel loss to all of us.’
‘She will not go far, if—’
‘Yes, but she will be the worse loss. You simple Ethel, you don’t think that Charles Cheviot will let her be the dear family fag we have always made of her?’
‘Oh no—that always was wrong.’
‘And living close by, she will not come on a visit, all festal, to resume home habits. No, you must make up your mind, Ethel—_if,_ as you say, if—he will be a man for monopolies, and he will resent anything that he thinks management from you. I suspect it is a real sign of the love that you deny, that he has ventured on the sister of a clever woman, living close by, and a good deal looked up to.’
‘Flora, Flora, you should not make one wicked. If she is to be happy, why can’t you let me rejoice freely, and only have her drawn off from me bit by bit, in the right way of nature?’
‘I did not tell you to make you dislike it—of course not. Only I thought that a little tact, a little dexterity, might prevent Charles Cheviot from being so much afraid of you, as if he saw at once how really the head of the family you are.’
‘Nonsense, Flora, I am no such thing. If I am domineering, the sooner any one sees it and takes me down the better. If this does come, I will try to behave as I ought, and not to mind so Mary is happy; but I can’t act, except just as the moment leads me. I hope it will soon be over, now you have made me begin to believe in it. I am afraid it will spoil Harry’s pleasure at home! Poor dear Harry, what will he do?’
‘When does he come?’
‘Any day now; he could not quite tell when he could get away.
When they came back, and Dr. May ran out to say, ‘Can you come in. Flora? we want you,’ the sisters doubted whether his excitement were due to the crisis, or to the arrival. He hurried them into the study, and shut the door, exulting and perplexed. ‘You girls leave one no rest,’ he said. ‘Here I have had this young Cheviot telling me that the object of his attentions has been apparent. I’m sure I did not know if it were Mab or one of you. I thought he avoided all alike; and poor Mary was so taken by surprise that she will do nothing but cry, and say, “No, never;” and when I tell her she shall do as she pleases, she cries the more; or if I ask her if I am to say Yes, she goes into ecstasies of crying! I wish one of you would go up, and see if you can do anything with her.’
‘Is he about the house?’ asked Flora, preparing to obey.
‘No—I was obliged to tell him that she must have time, and he is gone home. I am glad he should have a little suspense—he seemed to make so certain of her. Did he think he was making love all the time he was boring me with his gas in the dormitories? I hope she will serve him out!’
‘He will not be the worse for not being a lady’s man,’ said Flora, at the door.
But in ten minutes, Flora returned with the same report of nothing but tears; and she was obliged to leave the party to their perplexity, and drive home; while Ethel went in her turn to use all manner of pleas to her sister to cheer up, know her own mind, and be sure that they only wished to guess what would make her happiest. To console or to scold were equally unsuccessful, and after attempting all varieties of treatment, bracing or tender, Ethel found that the only approach to calm was produced by the promise that she should be teased no more that evening, but be left quite alone to recover, and cool her burning eyes and aching head. So, lighting her fire, shaking up a much-neglected easy-chair, bathing her eves, desiring her not to come down to tea, and engaging both that Gertrude should not behold her, and that papa would not be angry, provided that she tried to know what she really wished, and be wiser on the morrow, Ethel left her. The present concern was absolutely more to persuade her to give an answer of some sort, than what that answer should be. Ethel would not wish; Dr. May had very little doubt; and Gertrude, from whom there was no concealing the state of affairs, observed, ‘If she cries so much the first time she has to know her own mind, it shows she can’t do without some one to do it for her.’