Volume I Part 9 (1/2)
”It is mamma,” whispered Lucy.
Margaret's countenance fell; she even frowned a little. Something unpleasant was going to happen, she felt sure.
”Let's blow out the lights and jump into bed,” suggested Lucy.
”No use,” said Margaret. ”Open the door and get it over as quickly as possible. I shan't say a word, and she will run herself out of breath the sooner.”
”Nonsense!” and Lucy blew out one of the candles as she spoke. ”She will forget about it in the morning if we fall asleep now. I don't want to have the feeling of a well-spent day spoilt by a lecture.”
The knock was repeated more peremptorily than before. It was too late to pretend unconsciousness now. Margaret went sullenly to the door and admitted her mother.
”What an uproar you two girls are making in here--din enough for a dozen--chattering like magpies, and laughing at this hour of the night, when decent people are in their beds! Nice complaints and remarks the people in adjoining rooms will make to-morrow!--though they may not venture to speak to _me_ about it,” she added grandly, as if she dared any one to take that liberty. ”But that makes it worse.
We cannot explain or set them right when they tattle behind our backs, and the stories will grow bigger and worse, till no one knows what they may come to.... You thoughtless pair! Lucy there speaking at the very tip of her voice. It will be a wonder if the people through the part.i.tions do not know every word she has been saying--something, most likely, which will do her no credit. Mrs Chickenpip, I may tell you, is your neighbour on that side, and she does not spare people who annoy her. For your own sakes you had better respect her slumbers. She pa.s.sed when I was hammering at your door, and she looked many things at me which good manners prevent people from saying; but she will find an opportunity of expressing them to some one else, or I am mistaken.”
”Tiresome old cat,” said Lucy. ”No one will mind her. She is too grim and proper. n.o.body heeds what childless old women say about young people.”
”Old women? She is younger than I am. Would you speak of your own mother----?”
”Oh no, mammy dear! n.o.body thinks of its own pretty mamma in that way;” and she threw her arms round her mother's neck.
”Have done, Lucy! I am in no mood for fooling, I a.s.sure you. Let me alone, and be quiet. It was you, Margaret, that I wanted to talk to.
We must come to an understanding at once. This kind of thing which has been going on down-stairs must come to an end. I have been inexpressibly shocked and pained. It is more than my poor health can stand. Would you bring my hair with sorrow to the grave?” ... ”Grey hairs with sorrow to the grave,” was the Scriptural quotation which had come into her mind; but even to make a rhetorical point, she felt that she could not afford to attribute greyness to her carefully tended braids. She put up her hand and stroked them tenderly, which disturbed the thread of her argument, and she came to a stop, with her eyes resting reproachfully on her elder daughter.
Margaret was aware that she had better let the lecture run itself down. Interruptions, she knew by experience, acted like winding up a clock, and set it off again, tick-tack, on a refreshed career. She bore the reproachful gaze in silence as long as she was able, but at last it grew too much for her, and rather sullenly she answered--
”What do you mean, mother?”
”You know very well what I mean. Have I not told you many times that that childish nonsense with young Blount must be given up?”
”Is it our engagement you mean?” Margaret answered, with heightened colour. She knew that she was unwise to speak, but her temper was rising. It always _would_ rise, she knew not how, when her mother spoke of ”young Blount.”
”Your what?” her mother cried, indignantly. ”I will not hear of such a thing. I have forbidden you to be engaged to him. You shan't be engaged to him; and now that you force me to it, I forbid you to speak to him. An abominable young man!--worming himself deceitfully into families where he is not wanted. Was there ever anything so ungentlemanlike as his sneaking down here after us, although he had been as good as forbidden the house at home? He had not the candour to come to me and say, 'Mrs Naylor, I am here;' but slyly waylays you in a crowded ball-room, to hold surrept.i.tious interviews. I never heard of anything so atrocious in my life. I could not have believed it. But it rewards me for my imprudence in taking up a stranger, merely to oblige your uncle Joseph, and being kind to him--warming a viper in my bosom, that he might turn and sting me!”
This was fine, and Mrs Naylor stopped for breath.
”You have no right to say such things, mother,” Margaret answered, hotly. ”Walter never was ungentlemanlike. He could not be, if he were to try. And he is no sneak. He is as brave and honest as the day; and I have heard you say as much yourself, formerly, when he used to visit us. You often said he was the nicest young man of your acquaintance.”
”And this is the reward of my ill-judged hospitality--having him come to me with your uncle, when you were both children! I see my imprudence now; but at least my daughter might spare me,” and Mrs Naylor put her handkerchief to her eyes. ”That a mother's solicitude should be taunted thus, by the very child she is trying to s.h.i.+eld from the effects of her injudicious good-nature! Oh, Margaret, you are cruel!”
Margaret felt shocked with herself. To think that she should bring tears to her mother's eyes! How hard and obdurate she must surely be!
She had never felt so wicked in all her life before. Yet how to mend it? She would gladly do anything to pacify and soothe her wounded mother--anything but give up Walter; and that was the only thing which would be of any avail. She forbore to say more in his defence, however--in fact she could not have trusted her voice to keep steady or say anything just then; and as she saw the handkerchief still at her mother's eyes, her own began to overflow. She was contrite, without attempting to particularise on what account, and very unhappy.
Mrs Naylor saw that her demonstration had told, and made haste to improve the advantage. She put her handkerchief back in her pocket and cleared her voice.
”It is for your own sake I am so solicitous, Margaret. It is you he is trying to marry. You can marry but once, remember. Think how momentous is this step you are so blindly eager to take. Your whole future life depends on it.”
”We are fond of one another, mother, and he is good and true. What more can a girl want?”