Part 19 (1/2)
Politics was precisely the subject which had been occupying them, for when Tyrrel entered the dining-room, the Squire, Judge Rawdon, and Mr. Nicholas Rawdon were all standing, evidently just finis.h.i.+ng a Conservative argument against the Radical opinions of John Thomas. The young man was still sitting, but he rose with smiling good-humor as Tyrrel entered.
”Here is Cousin Tyrrel,” he cried; ”he will tell you that you may call a government anything you like radical, conservative, republican, democratic, socialistic, but if it isn't a CHEAP government, it isn't a good government; and there won't be a cheap government in England till poor men have a deal to say about making laws and voting taxes.”
”Is that the kind of stuff you talk to our hands, John Thomas? No wonder they are neither to hold nor to bind.”
They were in the hall as John Thomas finished his political creed, and in a few minutes the adieux were said, and the wonderful day was over.
It had been a wonderful day for all, but perhaps no one was sorry for a pause in life--a pause in which they might rest and try to realize what it had brought and what it had taken away. The Squire went at once to his room, and Ethel looked at Ruth inquiringly. She seemed exhausted, and was out of sympathy with all her surroundings.
”What enormous vitality these Yorks.h.i.+re women must have!” she said almost crossly. ”Mrs. Rawdon has been talking incessantly for six hours.
She has felt all she said. She has frequently risen and walked about.
She has used all sorts of actions to emphasize her words, and she is as fresh as if she had just taken her morning bath. How do the men stand them?”
”Because they are just as vital. John Thomas will overlook and scold and order his thousand hands all day, talk even his mother down while he eats his dinner, and then lecture or lead his Musical Union, or conduct a poor man's concert, or go to 'the Weaver's Union,' and what he calls 'threep them' for two or three hours that labor is ruining capital, and killing the goose that lays golden eggs for them. Oh, they are a wonderful race, Ruth!”
”I really can't discuss them now, Ethel.”
”Don't you want to know what Tyrrel said to me this afternoon?”
”My dear, I know. Lovers have said such things before, and lovers will say them evermore. You shall tell me in the morning. I thought he looked distrait and bored with our company.”
Indeed, Tyrrel was so remarkably quiet that John Thomas also noticed his mood, and as they sat smoking in Tyrrel's room, he resolved to find out the reason, and with his usual directness asked:
”What do you think of Ethel Rawdon, Tyrrel.”
”I think she is the most beautiful woman I ever saw. She has also the most sincere nature, and her high spirit is sweetly tempered by her affectionate heart.”
”I am glad you know so much about her. Look here, Cousin Tyrrel, I fancied to-night you were a bit jealous of me. It is easy to see you are in love, and I've no doubt you were thinking of the days when you would be thousands of miles away, and I should have the ground clear and so on, eh?”
”Suppose I was, cousin, what then?”
”You would be worrying for nothing. I don't want to marry Ethel Rawdon.
If I did, you would have to be on the ground all the time, and then I should best you; but I picked out my wife two years ago, and if we are both alive and well, we are going to be married next Christmas.”
”I am delighted. I----”
”I thought you would be.”
”Who is the young lady?”
”Miss Lucy Watson. Her father is the Independent minister. He is a gentleman, though his salary is less than we give our overseer. And he is a great scholar. So is Lucy. She finished her course at college this summer, and with high honors. Bless you, Tyrrel, she knows far more than I do about everything but warps and looms and such like. I admire a clever woman, and I'm proud of Lucy.”
”Where is she now?”
”Well, she was a bit done up with so much study, and so she went to Scarborough for a few weeks. She has an aunt there. The sea breezes and salt water soon made her fit for anything. She may be home very soon now. Then, Tyrrel, you'll see a beauty--face like a rose, hair brown as a nut, eyes that make your heart go galloping, the most enticing mouth, the prettiest figure, and she loves me with all her heart. When she says 'John Thomas, dear one,' I tremble with pleasure, and when she lets me kiss her sweet mouth, I really don't know where I am. What would you say if a girl whispered, 'I love you, and n.o.body but you,' and gave you a kiss that was like--like wine and roses? Now what would you say?”
”I know as little as you do what I would say. It's a situation to make a man coin new words. I suppose your family are pleased.”
”Well, I never thought about my family till I had Lucy's word. Then I told mother. She knew Lucy all through. Mother has a great respect for Independents, and though father sulked a bit at first, mother had it out with him one night, and when mother has father quiet in their room father comes to see things just as she wants him. I suppose that's the way with wives. Lucy will be just like that. She's got a sharp little temper, too. She'll let me have a bit of it, no doubt, now and then.”