Part 40 (1/2)
”Mr. Southwode, I cannot allow that for a moment,” Mrs. Busby said with energy. ”_I_ am the proper person to take charge of my sister's child, and if you please I will a.s.sume the charge immediately. Where is she? She ought to be under my roof.”
”It occurred to me, that if you were so inclined, your house would be the safest place for her; for the present at least.”
”For the present and for always,” said the lady decidedly. ”Who else should take care of her? Where can I find her, Mr. Southwode?”
”Nowhere. I will bring her to you, if you will allow me.”
”Do you know the girl? do you know much of her, I mean?”
”Something--” Mr. Digby easily a.s.sented.
”And what is she, if you can tell?”
”I do not know that I _can_ tell, what you will find her. Do you not think, Mrs. Busby, that a human character of any richness shews different sides of itself to different persons, as varying affinities call out corresponding developments?”
”Then you call hers, a character of some richness?”
”I suppose I implied as much.”
”And will you tell me what you have found her?”
”Pardon me; that would be an injustice to her. You would naturally look to verify my impressions, and perhaps could not do it. It is unkind to praise or blame anybody beforehand to third persons. You make it impossible for the balance of judgment to swing clear.”
”She ought to come here at once. Will you bring her to-morrow?”
”I think not to-morrow.”
”Why not? When, then?”
”This is Thursday? Suppose we say, next week?”
”Next week! That is waiting very long. Where is she? I will go to see her.”
”Quite unnecessary,” said Mr. Digby rising. ”As soon as she is ready, and I am ready, I will bring her; but not before Monday or Tuesday.”
”Mr. Southwode,” said Mrs. Busby, with a mixture of suspicion and raillery in her look, which was but indifferently compounded, ”if my niece were a few years older, I should begin to suspect that you had _reasons_ for being unwilling to put her out of your care.”
The young man met her eyes with the grave, careless composure which was habitual with him.
”I _have_ reasons,” he said. ”And I am not going to put her 'out of my care.' I am only purposing to allow you, for the time being, a share in the care, Mrs. Busby. A trust that is given to me, I do not resign.”
The lady shut her lips a little tight.
”What school is your daughter attending?” Mr. Southwode went on.
”I am not sure where I shall send her this year. She has been going-- But I am thinking of making a change. I do not know yet where she will be.”
The gentleman remarked, that could be talked of another time; and took his leave. Every trace of smiles disappeared from Mrs. Busby's face as he closed the door behind him. She stepped to the window and drew down the linen shade where the sun was coming too brightly in; and then she stood for some minutes upon the hearth rug, grave and thoughtful, one eyebrow arched in meditation as society never saw it arched. Her concluding thought might be summed up thus:--”When she is under my care, my young gentleman, I think she will _not_ be under yours. Preposterous!”
Mr. Digby had his thoughts too as he drove homeward. They will never get on together, he said to himself. It will not be happy for Rotha, nor easy. And yet--it is the best thing I can do for her just now. She must have a woman's care; and whose could be so proper as her aunt's? Besides, I shall see her frequently; I shall know all that concerns her, for Rotha will tell me; and if things go wrong, I can at any time put in my hand and set them straight. I am sorry--but this is the thing to do; and there is no help for it.