Part 21 (1/2)
”And, perhaps, whether he had a broken feather in his wing,” said Phoebe.
”I am very glad you don't mind. It will be very pleasant to come. I will run in and tell them, and then I will join you. Grandmamma is an invalid, and would like to know where I am.”
And the news made a considerable flutter in the dim room where Mrs.
Tozer sat between the fire and the window, looking out upon the crocuses and regretting the High Street.
”But run and put on another dress, dear. What will they think of you in that everlasting brown frock as you're so fond of? I'd like them to see as my grandchild could dress as nice as any lady in the land.”
”She'll not see much finery there,” said Tozer; ”they're as poor as church mice, are them Mays, and never a penny to pay a bill when it's wanted. I don't think as Phoebe need mind her dressing to go there.”
”And you'll send for me if you want me, grandmamma; you will be sure to send?”
But for the brown frock, Mrs. Tozer's satisfaction would have been unalloyed as she watched her granddaughter walking across the garden.
”She's at home among the quality, she is,” said the old woman; ”maybe more so than she is with you and me; but there ain't a better girl in all England, and that I'll say for her, though if she would think a little more about her clothes, as is nat'ral at her age, it would be more pleasing to me.”
”The worst dress as Phoebe has is better than anything belonging to them Mays,” said Tozer.
He did not care for the parson at St. Roque; though he was pleased that his child should be among ”the quality.” But it was on that evening that poor old Mrs. Tozer had one of her attacks, and Phoebe had to be summoned back at an early hour. The servant went down with an umbrella and a note, to bring her home; and that trifling incident had its influence upon after affairs, as the reader shall shortly see.
CHAPTER XXII.
A DESPERATE EXPEDIENT.
It was something of a comfort to Phoebe to find that the ”tea” to which Ursula asked her was a family meal, such as Mr. and Mrs. Tozer indulged in, in Grange Lane, with no idea of dinner to follow, as in more refined circles. This, she said to herself benignly, must be ”country fas.h.i.+on,”
and she was naturally as bland and gracious at the Parsonage tea-table as anybody from town, knowing better, but desiring to make herself thoroughly agreeable, could be. She amused Mr. May very much, who felt the serene young princess, accepting her vulgar relations with gentle resignation, and supported by a feeling of her own innate dignity, to be something quite new to him. Phoebe had no objection to talk upon the subject, for, clever as she was, she was not so clever as to see through Mr. May's amused show of interest in her trials, but believed ingenuously that he understood and felt for her, and was, perhaps, at last, the one n.o.ble, impartial, and generous Churchman who could see the difficulties of cultivated Dissenters, and enter into them sympathetically. Why Mr. May took the trouble to draw her out on this point it is more difficult to explain. Poor man, he was in a state of semi-distraction over Cotsdean's bill. The ten days had shortened into three, and he was no nearer finding that hundred pounds than ever. Even while he smiled and talked to Phoebe, he was repeating over and over to himself the terrible fact which could not now be ignored. ”17th, 18th, 19th, and Friday will be the 20th,” he was saying to himself. If that 20th came without any help, Cotsdean would be virtually made a bankrupt; for of course all his creditors would make a rush upon him, and all his affairs would be thrown open to the remorseless public gaze, if the bill, which had been so often renewed, had to be dishonoured at last.
Mr. May had a conscience, though he was not careful of his money, and the fear of ruin to Cotsdean was a very terrible and real oppression to him. The recollection was upon him like a vulture in cla.s.sic story, tearing and gnawing, as he sat there and smiled over the cup of tea Ursula gave him, feeling amused all the same at Phoebe's talk. He could scarcely have told why he had permitted his daughter to pursue her acquaintance with Tozer's granddaughter. Partly it was because of Clarence Copperhead; out of curiosity, as, being about to be brought in contact with some South Sea Islander or Fijian, one would naturally wish to see another who was thrown in one's way by accident, and thus prepare one's self for the permanent acquaintance. And she amused him. Her cleverness, her ease, her conversational powers, her woman of the world aspect, did not so much impress him, perhaps, as they did others; but the complacency and innocent confidence of youth that were in her, and her own enjoyment of the situation, notwithstanding the mortifications incurred--all this amused Mr. May. He listened to her talk, sometimes feeling himself almost unable to bear it, for the misery of those words, which kept themselves ringing in a dismal chorus in his own mind, and yet deriving a kind of amus.e.m.e.nt and distraction from it all the same.
”One of your friends was very hard upon my son--and myself--at your Meeting the other night, Miss Beecham.”
”He was very injudicious,” said Phoebe, shaking her head. ”Indeed I did not approve. Personalities never advance any cause. I said so to him.
Don't you think the Church has herself to blame for those political Dissenters, Mr. May? You sneer at us, and look down upon us--”
”I? I don't sneer at anybody.”
”I don't mean you individually; but Churchmen do. They treat us as if we were some strange kind of creatures, from the heart of Africa perhaps. They don't think we are just like themselves: as well educated; meaning as well; with as much right to our own ideas.”
Mr. May could scarcely restrain a laugh. ”Just like themselves.” The idea of a Dissenter setting up to be as well educated, and as capable of forming an opinion, as a cultivated Anglican, an Oxford man, and a beneficed clergyman, was too novel and too foolish not to be somewhat startling as well. Mr. May was aware that human nature is strangely blind to its own deficiencies, but was it possible that any delusion could go so far as this? He did laugh a little--just the ghost of a laugh--at the idea. But what is the use of making any serious opposition to such a statement? The very fact of contesting the a.s.sumption seemed to give it a certain weight.
”Whenever this is done,” said Phoebe, with serene philosophy, ”I think you may expect a revulsion of feeling. The cla.s.s to which papa belongs is very friendly to the Established Church, and wishes to do her every honour.”
”Is it indeed? We ought to be much gratified,” said Mr. May.
Phoebe gave him a quick glance, but he composed his face and met her look meekly. It actually diverted him from his pre-occupation, and that is a great deal to say.
”We would willingly do her any honour; we would willingly be friends, even look up to her, if that would please her,” added Phoebe, very gravely, conscious of the importance of what she was saying; ”but when we see clergymen, and common persons also, who have never had one rational thought on the subject, always setting us down as ignorant and uncultured, because we are Dissenters----”
”But no one does that,” said Ursula, soothingly, eager to save her new friend's feelings. She paused in the act of pouring out the children's second cup of tea, and looked up at her with eyes full of caressing and flattering meaning. ”No one, at least, I am sure,” she added, faltering, remembering suddenly things she had heard said of Dissenters, ”who knows _you_.”
”It is not I that ought to be thought of, it is the general question.