Part 22 (1/2)
”How so, Mr. Brandon?”
”I believe, indeed I am sure, that you are of age?”
”Yes, I am. He meant that no one can really prevent my doing as I please; but Amelia wanted me to ignore the whole thing because she was so ashamed of him and his people.”
”He told John so.”
”And what did he answer?”
”Among other things, he said he was glad it was all over.”
”Yes,” said Laura, not in the least impressed by this hint, ”but what else?”
”He said, 'Joe, you ought to have been above wanting to marry any woman who was ashamed of you. I wouldn't do such a thing on any account.'”
”He said that?” cried Laura, rather startled.
”Yes, and I quite agreed with him--I told Joe that I did.”
”Did he say anything more?”
Brandon hesitated, and at length, finding that she would wait till he spoke, he said--
”He told Joe he ought to be thankful to have the thing over, and said that he had come out of it well, and the lady had not.”
”Amelia is not half so unkind as you are,” said Laura, when she had made him say this, and a quiet tear stole down her cheek and dropped on her hand.
”Pardon me! I think that for myself I have expressed no opinion but this one, that Joe Swan deserves your respect for the manly care he has taken to s.h.i.+eld you from blame, spare you anxiety, and terminate the matter properly.”
”Terminate!” repeated Laura; ”yes, that is where you are so unkind.”
”Am I expected to help her to bring it on again?” thought Brandon. ”No; I have a great respect for fools, and they must marry like other people; but oh, Joey, Joey Swan, if you are one, which I thought you the other day (and the soul of honour too!), I think if you still cared about it, you could soon get yourself mated with a greater one still! Laura Melcombe would be at least a fair match for you in that particular. But no, Joey, I decline to interfere any further.”
CHAPTER XIV.
EMILY.
”Not warp'd by pa.s.sion, awed by rumour, Not grave through pride, nor gay through folly, An equal mixture of good humour, And sensible, soft melancholy.
”'Has she no faults then,' Envy says, 'Sir?'
'Yes, she has one, I must aver; When all the world conspires to praise her The woman's deaf, and does not hear.'”
John Mortimer was sitting at breakfast the very morning after this conversation had taken place at Melcombe. No less than four of his children were waiting on him; Gladys was drying his limp newspaper at a bright fire, Barbara spreading b.u.t.ter on his toast, little Hugh kneeling on a chair, with his elbows on the table, was reading him a choice anecdote from a child's book of natural history, and Anastasia, while he poured out his coffee with one hand, had got hold of the other, which she was folding up industriously in her pinafore and frock, because she said it was cold. It was a windy, chilly, and exasperatingly bright spring morning; the suns.h.i.+ne appeared to p.r.i.c.k the traveller all over rather than to warm him. Not at all the morning for an early walk, but John, lifting up his eyes, saw a lady in the garden, and in another instant Mrs. Frederic Walker was shown in.
”What, Emily!” exclaimed John, starting up.
”Yes, John; but my soldier and my valuable infant are both quite well.