Part 4 (1/2)
Mrs. Sandal had gone to her eldest daughter. She was in the habit of seeking Sophia's advice; or, more strictly speaking, she liked to discuss with her the things she had already determined to do. Sophia was sitting in the coolest and prettiest of gowns, working out with elaborate care a pencil drawing of Rydal Mount. She listened to her mother with the utmost respect and attention, and her fine color brightened slightly at the mention of Julius Sandal; but she never neglected once to change an F or an H pencil for a B at the precise stroke the change was necessary.
”And so you see, Sophia, we may have a strange young man in the house for weeks, and where to put him I can't decide. And I wanted to begin the preserving and the raspberry vinegar next week, but your father is as thoughtless as ever was; and I am sure if Julius is like _his_ father he'll be no blessing in a house, for I have heard your grandmother speak in such a way of her son Tom.”
”I thought uncle Tom was grandmother's favorite.”
”I mean of his high temper and fine ways, and his quarrels with his eldest brother Launcelot.”
”Oh! What did they quarrel about?”
”A good many things; among the rest, about the Latriggs. There was more than one pretty girl at Up-Hill then, and the young men all knew it. Tom and his mother were always finger and thumb. He was her youngest boy, and she fretted after him all her life.”
”And uncle Launcelot, did she not fret for him?”
”Not so much. Launcelot was the eldest, and very set in his own way: she couldn't order him around.”
”The eldest? Then father would not have been squire of Sandal-Side if Launcelot had lived?”
”No, indeed. Launcelot's death made a deal of difference to your father and me. Father was very solemn and set about his brother's rights; and even after grandfather died, he didn't like to be called 'squire' until every hope was long gone. But I would as soon have thought of poor Launcie coming back from the dead as of Tom's son visiting here; and it is inconvenient right now, exceedingly so; harvesting coming on, and preserving time, and none of the spare rooms opened since the spring cleaning.”
”It is trying for you, mother, but perhaps Julius may not be very much trouble. He'll be with father all the time, and he'll make a change.”
”Change! That is just what I dread. Young people are always for change.
They are certain that every change must be a gain. Old people know that changes mean loss of some kind or other. After one is forty years old, Sophia, the seasons bring change enough.”
”I dare say they do, mother. I don't care much for change, even at my age. Have you told Charlotte?”
”No, I haven't told her yet. I think she is off to Dalton. Father said he was going this morning, and he never would go without her.”
Indeed, the squire and his younger daughter were at that moment cantering down the valley, mid the fresh green of the fields, and the yellow of the ripening wheat, and the hazy purple of mountains holding the whole landscape in their solemn shelter except in front, where the road stretched to the sea, amid low hills overgrown with parsley-fern and stag's-horn-moss. They had not gone very far before they met Stephen Latrigg. He was well mounted and handsomely dressed; and, as he bowed to the squire and Charlotte, his happy face expressed a delight which Sandal in his present mood felt to be offensive. Evidently Steve intended to accompany them as far as their roads were identical; but the squire pointedly drew rein, and by the cool civility of his manner made the young man so sensible of his intrusion, that he had no alternative but to take the hint. He looked at Charlotte with eyes full of tender reproach, and she was too unprepared for such a speedy termination to their meeting to oppose it. So Stephen was galloping at headlong speed in advance, before she realized that he had been virtually refused their company.
”Father, why did you do that?”
”Do what, Charlotte? Eh? What?”
”Send Steve away. I am sure I do not know what to make of you doing such a thing. Poor Steve!”
”Well, then, I had my reason for it. Did you see the way he looked at you? Eh? What?”
”Dear me! A cat may look at a king. Did you send Steve away for a look?
You have put me about, father.”
”There's looks and other looks, my la.s.s. Cats don't look at kings the way Steve looked at you. Now, then, I want no love-making between you and Steve Latrigg.”
”What nonsense! Steve hasn't said a word of love-making, as you call it.”
”I thought you had all your woman-senses, Charlotte. Bethink you of the garden walk last night.”
”We were talking all the time of the sweetbrier and hollyhocks,--and things like that.”
”You might have talked of the days of the week or the multiplication-table: one kind of words was just as good as another. Any thing Steve said last night could have been spelled with four letters.”