A vagrant wife

by Florence Warden

The meals, at which the bright young girl had once set the talk going, were once more the most solemn of ceremonies. The Reverend Mr. Mainwaring wished that that unlucky kiss had been ignored; he saw in fancy her inevitable successor, the usual under-bred, old-young governess, without an idea, but with a fund of chirpy small-talk, of the kind which he had suffered before the advent of Miss Lane. He knew she must be blameless in this matter; but he was not a man given to interference in domestic affairs, and, as his wife had decreed that she should go, he made a half-hearted remonstrance, forbade her being sent away before the end of the quarter, and submitted.

Joan and Betty, especially the latter, would have liked to show their resentment more openly had they dared; but it was not easy in face of their victim’s well-judged conduct. She was so grave, so matter-of-fact, so painstaking with them in school-hours, put it so plainly before them that their heads could find out for themselves as much as she could tell them—which was far from being the case—that they could not but treat her with respect in the schoolroom; while out of it she scarcely spoke to them more than was absolutely necessary. But it was a dull life for her; and, shut out thus from the world around her, she found a resource in writing. This little creature was full of fiery ambitions, and one of them was to make a name some day as an author. So, when tea was over, and she could throw off the Mainwarings for the day, she hurried through the garden to her cottage, and spent the last hours of the day, half in quiet study for self-improvement, half with pen, paper, and her own fancy.

So the weeks went on toward the time of her departure; and meanwhile she saw no more of the Braithwaites, except when one or other of the brothers would ride past her and the children in their morning walks.

But George was interested enough in the pretty little governess to find out, without apparent curiosity, that she was going to leave; and he kept this discovery to himself. He did not neglect to warn Harry not to force himself into the girl’s society again; but he resolved to have a farewell interview with her himself. The chance came in the third week in June, when a grand flower-show, held just outside Beckham, had brought all the scattered neighborhood together.

It was a showery day, and the festivities suffered. Showily-dressed and sometimes well-dressed women made their way over sodden grass and slippery earth from one dripping tent to another under the umbrellas of men who were only looking out for a chance of slipping away for a cigar, and did not care a straw for the roses which their companions told them were “lovely,” and were roused only to a limp enthusiasm by some uninteresting patent invention in the “agricultural implement” tent.

The Mainwarings were all there. Gardening was a hobby with the elders; they knew, and called all flowers by their Latin names, and Mrs. Mainwaring’s happiest hours were spent, with dress tucked up, hands hugely gloved, and face glowing with enthusiasm, bedding out geraniums, or collecting and carrying off for destruction myriads of slugs which threatened her favorite plants. Joan and Betty did not care much for flowers; but they were glad of an opportunity to wear new and particularly tasteless dull-green gowns trimmed with many little bits of fringe of a different shade, and their appearance might chance to get them an invitation to a dance or a garden-party. The children had begged to go, to get a holiday, and Miss Lane went to look after them.

So that, when George Braithwaite came on to the ground, in dutiful attendance upon his mother and sister, a rapid inspection of the tents soon convinced him that his opportunity was come. He knew better than to set to work with Harry’s clumsiness. He went up to the Mainwaring children, talked to them a little while without taking any notice of the governess beyond raising his hat to her, and then drew Mrs. Mainwaring’s attention to a plant which he said had a strange history, which she must ask the owner to tell her, insinuated a compliment to lean pink-eyed Joan, and talked to mother and daughters for some time in what he considered his best manner. And then he told Bertram, whose hand he held all the while, that there was “a grand gentleman” making a speech in another of the tents, and asked him if he would not like to see him, and then asked the two younger girls if they would not like to go too; and they all thought they should like to go anywhere with this nice, kind gentleman, and they all said, “Yes.” Then Mr. Braithwaite was afraid he could not take them all three across without their getting wet, but said to the elder of the two small girls:

“Ask your governess to take you under one umbrella, and I will take care of these two little ones.”

And the nice, kind gentleman ran off with Bertram and Marian, directing Miss Lane to follow with Ellen. But when, through the rain, they reached the long, damp tent where the people were crowding round a narrow deal-table to listen to the speech which an insignificant-looking little gentleman, standing in the mud, was delivering in a very low, monotonous voice, the little ones were disappointed; and Bertram said he did not look grand at all, in a voice much louder than the speaker’s. But George still pushed him benevolently forward through the crowd, until, by civil words and strong shoulders, he had managed to get all three children quite close to the table, where they could “hear Lord Ben Nevis distinctly” as he whispered. Then he dropped unselfishly into the back row of the crowd himself, and joined the governess.

“You will get your feet wet standing in all this slush,” said he.