“The idea shows so much elegance, so much refinement of taste,” replied Arabella, with satirical emphasis, “that it will doubtless be instantly carried out by Mrs. Effingham.”
There was something in the tone in which the name was pronounced which stung the old sailor as no personal rudeness to himself could have done. As a single word will sometimes suffice to rouse a whole train of associations, startle a host of ideas into life, the name “Mrs. Effingham,” so pronounced by her step-daughter, conjured up before the warm-hearted old man a picture coloured indeed, by fancy, but not without an outline of truth. His sweet Clemence was not loved and valued in her home; she, his darling, his heart’s delight, was looked down upon by those who should have deemed it an honour to sun themselves in her smile! Such was the suspicion which flashed out into words of sudden indignation.
“Mrs. Effingham! and pray who may she be? I see here my niece, your father’s wife, your mother by marriage; but no one whom you or I can either speak or think of as ‘Mrs. Effingham!’”
The most insolent in temper are usually those who have least courage to back their insolence. Those who delight in wounding the sensitive and brow-beating the timid, when they find their weapon crossed by another, when they become aware that their shafts may be returned on themselves, often are the first to draw back from the contest so wantonly provoked. Arabella was startled into a momentary confusion; and her opponent, who carried “anger as the flint bears fire,” at once recovered his usual temper. The captain was aware that he had given way to a burst that had been scarcely called for by anything actually uttered; he had, perhaps, been too ready to imagine an affront where no such thing was intended.
“Forgive an old man’s vehemence,” he said frankly; “I got my ideas in the last century, and they may by this time be quite old-fashioned. There are many, I take it, who scarcely know what to call a step-mother at first, especially one so young. For once I think that the French have hit on a better title than our own. It must sound odd enough applied to many; but here is a case where belle-mère is quite appropriate,”—he glanced fondly at his niece; then added, bowing gallantly to Louisa, “and also the title of belle-fille.”
The thunder-cloud only gathered blacker on the brow of Arabella, but Louisa tittered and gaily replied, “I have often wondered why our French neighbours should make such a spell of marriage—to turn connections on both sides into beauties, brothers, old fathers, and all! I’ll ask mademoiselle for the derivation of the term. By-the-by,” added Louisa, addressing Clemence, “on what day does mademoiselle come back?”
It was an unfortunate question at that moment. The flush which rose to the cheek of Clemence, her little pause before she replied, fixed every eye upon her. The young wife felt like one about to fire a train, when she answered, “Mademoiselle is not coming back at all.”
“Not coming back!” exclaimed both girls at once. “Not coming back!” echoed Lady Selina, in accents of unfeigned surprise. Clemence knew that some explanation was required, and she gave it, in a tone as firm as she could command. “Mr. Effingham and I have, after due reflection, decided on making a change. We have very sufficient reasons, and I trust—”
But the train had been fired indeed, and before Clemence could finish her sentence there was an unmistakable explosion! Not that the governess had in reality attached to herself any one present, or that her pupils actually looked upon her dismissal as a personal misfortune; but a good handle was suddenly offered to the hand of malice,—“the war of independence” had required its watchword and its martyr, and the maligned, persecuted mademoiselle served at once for both. Arabella’s smothered indignation could now creditably boil over in wrath, and a torrent of invective burst forth, swelled by Louisa’s passionate exclamations. But most formidable was the awful dignity with which Lady Selina rose from her seat, adding her broken sentences of calm indignation: “Strange, mysterious, incomprehensible proceeding!”—“Personal insult to myself!”—“One who had selected that lady on the highest recommendations, who for years had reposed the utmost confidence in that lady, and who had ever found her more than justify that trust, not to be consulted on a step so important!” The very dress of Lady Selina seemed to rustle and tremble with offended pride. How could the timid, sensitive Clemence stand her ground against such an overwhelming avalanche of opposition?
She had but one ally present, and her dread was lest he should come to her aid. The veins on the captain’s forehead were growing very large and his cheek very red; he glanced hurriedly, and almost fiercely, from one assailant to the other, as a lion might when encompassed by the hounds, only doubting in which quarter to make his spring. But none of the enemy awaited the attack; Lady Selina and her nieces all quitted the apartment, to excite each other to fiercer wrath against the household tyrant, who had dared, by such an unwarrantable act of independence, to bid defiance to the clique!