“It is no trifle,” said Hester, trying to command her voice; “it can never be a trifle to me that any one shows disrespect to you. I shall never be able to keep terms with any one who does.”
Margaret believed that nothing would be easier than to put a stop to any such attempts—if indeed they were serious. Mrs Grey was so fond of Hester that she would permit anything from her; and it would be easy for Hester to say that, not wishing to receive any exclusively private letters, she had shown Mrs Grey’s to her husband, though to no one else: and that it was to be the principle of the family not to interfere, more or less, with Mr Hope’s professional affairs.
“Or, better still, take no notice of the matter in any way whatever, this time,” said Mr Hope. “We can let her have her way while we keep our own, cannot we? So, let us put the mysterious epistle into the fire—shall we? I wait your leave,” said he, laughing, as he held the letter over the flame.
“It is your property.”
Hester signed to have it burned; but she could not forget it. She recurred to Mrs Grey, again and again. “So near as they lived,” she said—“so much as they must be together.”
“The nearer we all live, and the more we must be with our neighbours,” said her husband, “the more important it is that we should allow each other our own ways. You will soon find what it is to live in a village, my love; and then you will not mind these little trifles.”
“If they would meddle only with me,” said Hester, “I should not mind. I hope you do not think I should care so much for anything they could say or do about me. If they only would let you alone—”
“That is the last thing we can expect,” said Margaret. “Do they let any public man alone? Dr Levitt, or Mr James?”
“Or the parish clerk?” added Mr Hope. “It was reported lately that steps were to be taken to intimate to Owen, that it was a constant habit of his to cough as he took his seat in the desk. I was told once myself, that it was remarked throughout Deerbrook that I seemed to be half whistling as I walked up the street in the mornings; and that it was considered a practice too undignified for my profession.”
Hester’s colour rose again. Margaret laughed, and asked: