“I see how it is,” she said. “Poor Jem is right. He complains that you have had your head turned by the young men who were here in the autumn. He says you have never had a good word for him since the coming of that particularly worldly and frivolous young man who calls himself Clifford King.”
Nell drew herself up.
“Miss Theodora,” she said, very quietly, “I know you will not say anything more about Mr. King, when I tell you that I—I—that if it were not for the misfortune which hangs over us now, I should be his wife some day.”
But poor Miss Bostal was horror-struck at this disclosure, and she proceeded to read the girl such a lecture on the evils of marrying above one’s station, and, above all, of marrying a man of the exact type of Clifford King, that, although she did not succeed in convincing Nell, she sent her home very unhappy and on the verge of tears.
The worst of it was that the sentimental little old maid, under the pretext of curing her protégée of her unfortunate attachment, by diverting her thoughts to a more appropriate channel, took Jem Stickels in hand herself, promised him every assistance with Nell if he would promise to reform, and encouraged the fisherman to persecute Nell more than ever. It was she who persuaded Jem to woo with a less arrogant air, with offers to “turn over a new leaf” for her sake, and other similar blandishments.
And although Nell guessed who it was that had inspired this alteration, the girl was obliged to take a different attitude to her unwelcome wooer in consequence. It is easy to be haughty and studiously frigid to a presumptuous person; but when that person becomes meek and almost servile in his endeavors to make himself useful, even in the humblest capacity, when he insists upon chopping your wood and carrying your water, then it is difficult to maintain a properly freezing attitude.
The climax came one afternoon when Nell was invited to tea by Miss Bostal, and was let in on her arrival by the detested Jem.
Nell looked quite shocked when, on entering the house, she learned from the young man’s lips that he had been invited, too.
The young girl turned to the door of the dining-room, where a small fire burned in honor of the occasion, to go in search of her hostess. Jem, who was in his Sunday clothes, in which he presented a stronger contrast than ever to the refined, delicate-handed girl, said awkwardly that Miss Bostal would be down directly. As Nell, taking no notice of this intimation, was about to leave the room, he suddenly found courage to place himself before the door.
“It’s done a-purpose; she done it a-purpose,” he explained, growing more rustic than usual in his speech under pressure of his excitement, “so I might have a chance of speaking to you.”