Volume Ii Part 74 (1/2)
”Well it would not be much comfort to me,” said Miss Essie. ”When a woman marries, she naturally expects her husband to belong to her;--but a minister belongs to everybody else!”
”I see I have not studied the subject,” said Mr. Linden. ”Miss Essie, you are giving me most important information. Is this so inevitable that I ought in conscience to warn the lady beforehand?”
Miss Essie smiled graciously. ”It would be no use,--she wouldn't believe you. _I_ might warn her. I have seen it.”
”What have you seen?”
”Why that!--that a woman who marries a minister needn't expect to have any more of her husband than his clothes to mend.”
”Melancholy statement!” said Mr. Linden.
”It's of no use to tell it to a man!” said Miss Essie. ”But I have seen it.”
”Not in my house.”
”I shall see it in your house, if you ever let me in there--but it will be too late to warn then. Very likely _you_ will not see it.”
Faith sat with one hand s.h.i.+elding her face from this speaker, though by that means it was more fully revealed to the other. Her other hand, and her eyes as far as possible, were lost in the bunch of cowslips; her colour had long ceased to be varying. She sat still as a mouse.
”No, I shall not see it. To what end would your warnings be directed, if they could reach her in time?”
”To keep her from taking such a trying position.”
”Oh--” said Mr. Linden. ”Have you no feeling for me, Miss Essie? It is very plain why you scrupled to eat salt with me this morning!”
”I'll eat salt with you as a single man,” said Miss Essie,--”but if you are going to be a minister, be generous, and let your wife go! Any other woman will tell you so.”
”Let her go where? With me?--that is just what I intend.”
”Yes,” said Miss Essie,--”and then--you'll never know it--but she will sit alone up stairs and sew while you are writing your sermons, and she'll sit down stairs and sew while you're riding about the country or walking about the town; and she'll go out alone of your errands when you have a cold that keeps you at home; and the only time she hears you speak will be when you speak in the pulpit! And if you ask her whether she is happy, she will say yes!--”
Despite all her desperate contusion, the one visible corner of Faith's mouth shewed rebellion against order. Mr. Linden laughed with most unterrified amus.e.m.e.nt.
”If she says that, it will be so, Miss Essie--my wife will be a most uncompromising truth-teller. But in your picture _I_ am the one to be pitied. Will she never sit on the same floor with me under _any_ circ.u.mstances?”
”More than you deserve!” said Miss Essie. ”You to be pitied, indeed!
You know the man has the stir, and the talk, and the going from place to place, and the being looked up to, and the having everybody at his feet; and what has she?”
Mr. Linden did not answer, even with his eyes, which were looking down; and the smile which came at Miss Essie's last words, was clearly not meant for her. His wife would have something--so it said and a.s.serted,--and his wife was not an indefinite, imaginary person,--it said that too. And she was worth all that could be laid at her feet.
How much he had to lay there--what homage _his_ homage was--even of this the face gave unconscious token. Miss Essie looked, and read it or at least felt it, much more than she could well have put into words.
Then taking in review Faith's bowed head, she turned and spoke in quite a different tone.
”There is no use in talking to people, Mrs. Derrick. After all, mayn't I have Faith?”
”To spend the day? Oh no, Miss Essie!--she's not strong enough,” said Mrs. Derrick, rising from the table and beginning to put the cups together. Faith left the party and went to the fire, which in the advanced state of the May morning needed no tending.
”Yet she must spend the day somewhere,” said Miss Essie wheeling round.
”Faith!--what are you going to do with yourself?”