It certainly seemed a trifle unreasonable, but when his children next encountered the Vicar, which was at the dinner-table, his countenance wore an expression of settled melancholy, and it was plain that he derived no comfort from the young people’s cheerful conversation. A somewhat thoughtless enquiry from Margaret about the exact colour of the ribbons chosen for Arabella’s second-best ball dress provoked him to say that it seemed to him that amongst all his children only James was not wholly given over to levity and frivolity. Unsteadiness of character was what he perceived about him; when he considered that the mere prospect of a visit to London sent all his daughters fashion-mad he must ask himself whether he was not doing very wrong to permit Arabella to go.
A moment’s reflection would have convinced Arabella that this was the merest irritation of nerves, but her besetting sin, as her Mama had frequently told her, was the impetuosity which led her into so many scrapes. Alarm at the Vicar’s words for an instant suspended every faculty; then she exclaimed hotly: “Papa! You are unjust! It is too bad!”
The Vicar had never been a severe parent; indeed, he was thought by some to allow his children a shocking degree of licence; but such a speech as this went beyond the bounds of what he would tolerate. His face stiffened to an expression of queuing austerity; he replied in a voice of ice: “The unwarrantable language you have used, Arabella; the uncontrolled violence of your manner; the want of respect you have shown me—all these betray clearly how unfit you are to be sent into the world!”
Under the table, Sophia’s foot kicked Arabella’s ankle; across it, Mama’s eyes met hers in a warning, reproving look. The colour surged up into her cheeks; her eyes filled; and she stammered: “I beg your p-pardon, P-papa!”
He returned no answer. Mama broke the uneasy silence by calmly desiring Harry not to eat so fast; and then, just as though nothing untoward had occurred, began to talk to the Vicar about some parish business.
“What a dust you made!” Harry said presently, when the young people had fled to Mama’s dressing-room, and poured out the whole story to Bertram, who had had his dinner brought to him there, on the sofa.
“I am sick with apprehension!” Arabella said tragically. “He means to forbid me!”
“Fudge! It was only one of his scolds! Girls are such fools!”
“Ought I to go down and beg his pardon? Oh, no, I dare not! He has shut himself up in the study! What shall I do?”
“Leave it to Mama!” said Bertram, yawning. “She’s as shrewd as she can hold together, and if she means you to go to London, go you will!”