Volume II Part 37 (1/2)
”Well certainly,” said Mrs. Powle with an accent of restrained despair, ”the present age is enterprising beyond what was ever known in my young days. What do you think, sister Caxton, of a young lady taking voyage five months long after her husband, instead of her husband taking it for her? He ought to be a grateful man, I think!”
”Certainly; but not too grateful,” Mrs. Caxton answered composedly; ”for in this case necessity alters the rule.”
”I do not understand such necessities,” said Mrs. Powle; ”at least if a thing cannot be done properly, I should say it was better not to do it at all. However, I suppose it is too late to speak now. I would not have my daughter hold herself so lightly as to confer such an honour on any man; but I gave her to you to dispose of, so no doubt it is all right. I hope Mr. What's-his-name is worthy of it.”
”Mamma, let me give you another cup of chocolate,” said Eleanor. And she served her with the chocolate and the toast and the hung beef, in a way that gave Mrs. Caxton's heart a feast. There was the beautiful calm and high grace with which Eleanor used to meet her social difficulties two years ago, and baffle both her trials and her tempters. Mrs. Caxton had never seen it called for. Her face shewed not the slightest embarra.s.sment at her mother's words; not a shade of rising colour did dishonour to Mr. Rhys by proving that she so much as even felt the slurs against him or the jealousy professed on her own behalf.
Eleanor's calm sweet face was an a.s.sertion both of his dignity and her own. Perhaps Mrs. Powle felt herself in a hopeless case.
”What do you expect to live on out there?” she said, changing her ground, as she dipped her toast into chocolate. ”You won't have this sort of thing.”
”I have never thought much about it,” said Eleanor smiling. ”Where other people live and grow strong, I suppose I can.”
”No, it does not follow at all,” replied her mother. ”You are accustomed to certain things, and you would feel the want of them. For instance, will you have bread like this out there? wheat bread?”
”I shall not want chocolate,” said Eleanor. ”The climate is too hot.”
”But bread?”
”Wheat flour is s.h.i.+pped for the use of the mission families,” said Mrs.
Caxton. ”It is known that many persons would suffer without it; and we do not wish unnecessary suffering should be undergone.”
”Have they cows there?”
”Mamma!” said Eleanor laughing.
”Well, have they? Because Miss Broadus or somebody was saying the other day, that in New Zealand they never had them till we sent them out. So I wondered directly whether they had in this place.”
”I fancy not, mamma. You will have to think of me as drinking my tea without cream.”
”So you will take tea there with you?”
”Why not?”
”I have got the impression,” said Mrs. Powle, ”somehow, that you would do nothing as other people do. You will drink tea, will you? I'll give you a box.”
”Thank you, mamma,” said Eleanor, but the colour flushed now to the roots of her hair,--”aunt Caxton has given me a great stock already.”
”And coffee?”
”Yes, mamma--for great occasions--and concentrated milk for that.”
”Do tell me what sort of a place it is, Eleanor.”
”It is a great many places, mamma. It is a great many islands, large and small, scattered over some hundreds of miles of ocean; but they are so many and near each other often, and so surrounded with interlacing coral reefs, that navigation there is in a kind of network of channels.
The islands are of many varieties, and of fairy-land beauty; rich in vegetation and in all sorts of natural stores.”
”Not cows.”
”No, ma'am. I meant, the things that grow out of the ground,” said Eleanor smiling again. ”Cows and sheep and horses are not among them.”