‘Miss Charlecote is like a person ten years younger,’ observed Bertha to Phœbe, when she came with the rest to ‘quite a family party,’ at Albury-street. Robert alone was absent, it being what Augusta called ‘a fast or something;’ i.e. a meeting of St. Wulstan’s Young Men’s Institute. Bertha heartily wished she could call herself a young man, for her morbid sense of disgrace always recurred with those whom she knew to be cognizant of her escapade. However, this evening made a change in her ladyship’s views, or rather she had found Phœbe no longer the mere submissive handmaid of schoolroom days, but a young woman accustomed to liberty of action and independence of judgment; and though perfectly obliging and unselfish, never admitting Augusta’s claims on her time to the exclusion of those of others of the family, and quietly but decidedly carrying out her intentions. Bertha’s shrinking silence and meekness of demeanour persuaded her sister that she would be more comfortable, and her womanly appearance not only rendered the notion of school ridiculous, but inspired the desire of bringing her out. Phœbe might dedicate herself to Maria if she pleased; Bertha should shine through the season under her sister’s patronage.
Not since the adventure with the Hyères peasants had Bertha’s tongue been so unmanageable, as when she tried to protest against going into society; and when Mervyn came to her help, Augusta owned that such hesitation was indeed an
objection, but it might easily be cured by good management; cordials would prevent nervousness, and, after all, no one would care when a girl had such a fortune. Poor Bertha crept away, feeling as if she could never open her mouth again.
Meanwhile Mervyn and Augusta amicably agreed on the excellence of Hiltonbury parsonage as a home for the girls, the latter only regretting what Robert had sunk on his fancies at Whittingtonia. ‘I don’t know that,’ returned Mervyn; ‘all I regret is, that we never took our share. It is a different thing now, I assure you, to see the turn out from the distillery since the lads have come under his teaching! I only hope his successor may do as well!’
‘Well, I don’t understand about such things,’ said Augusta, crossly. ‘Poor papa never made such a rout about the hands. It would not have been thought good taste to bring them forward.’
‘If you wish to understand,’ said Mervyn, maliciously, ‘you had better come and see. Robert would be very glad of your advice for the kitchen he is setting going—sick cookery and cheap dinners.’
‘And pray who pays for them? Robert has made himself a beggar. Is it you?’
‘No; those who eat. It is to be self-supporting. I do nothing but lend the house. You don’t remember it. It is the palace at the corner of Richard Alley.’
‘It is no concern of mine, I know; but what is to become of the business if you go giving away the houses?’
‘Oh! I am getting into the foreign and exportation line. It is infinitely less bother.’