Janet's Love and Service

by Margaret M. Robertson

The extent to which “mamma’s twaddle” and other matters “put Graeme about” at this time she concealed quite, as far as Arthur was concerned. The best was to be made of things now; and though she could not help wishing that his eyes might be more useful to him on some occasions, she knew that it would not have mended matters could he have been induced to make use of her clearer vision, and so her doubts and fears were kept to herself, and they did not grow fewer or less painful as time went on.

But her feelings changed somewhat. She did not cease to grieve in secret over what she could not but call Arthur’s mistake in the choice he had made. But now, sometimes anger, and sometimes a little bitter amusement mingled with her sorrow. There seemed at times something ludicrous in bestowing her pity on one so content with the lot he had chosen. She was quite sure that Arthur would have smiled at the little follies and inconsistencies of Miss Grove, had he seen them in any one else. She remembered that at their first acquaintance he had smiled at them in her. Now how blind he was! All her little defects of character, so painfully apparent to his sisters were quite invisible to him. She was very amiable and charming in his eyes. There were times when one might have supposed that he looked upon her as the wisest and most sensible of women; and he began to listen to her small views and assent to her small opinions, in a way, and to an extent that would have been amusing if it had not been painful and irritating to those looking on.

Graeme tried to believe that she was glad of all this—that it was better so. If it was so that these two were to pass their lives together, it was well that they should be blind to each other’s faults. Somehow married people seemed to get on together, even when their tastes, and talents, and tempers differed. If they loved one another that was enough, she supposed; there must be something about it that she did not understand. At any rate, there was no use vexing herself about Arthur now. If he was content, why should not she be so? Her brother’s happiness might be safer than she feared, but whether or not, nothing could be changed now.

But as her fears for her brother were put from her, the thought of what the future might bring to Rose and her, came oftener, and with a sadder doubt. She called herself foolish and faithless—selfish even, and scolded herself vigorously many a time; but she could not drive away her fears, or make herself cheerful or hopeful in looking forward. When Arthur should come quite to see with Fanny’s eyes, and hear with her ears, and rely upon her judgment, would they all live as happily together as they had hitherto done? Fanny, kept to themselves, she thought she would not fear, but influenced by her stepmother, whose principles and practice were so different from all they had been taught to consider right, how might their lives be changed!

And so the wedding-day was drawing nigh. As a part of her marriage-portion, Mr Grove was to present to his daughter one of the handsome new houses in the neighbourhood of Columbus Square, and there the young lady’s married-life was to commence. The house was quite a little fortune in itself, Mrs Grove said, and she could neither understand nor approve of the manner in which her triumphant announcement of its destination was received by the Elliotts. It is just possible that Arthur’s intimate knowledge of the state of his future father-in-law’s affairs, might have had something to do with his gravity on the occasion. The troubles in the mercantile world, that had not left untouched the long-established house of Elphinstone & Company, had been felt more seriously still by Mr Grove, and a doubt as to whether he could, with justice to all concerned, withdraw so large an amount from his business, in order to invest it for his daughter’s benefit, could not but suggest itself to Arthur. He was not mercenary; it would not be true to say he had not felt a certain degree of satisfaction in knowing that his bride would not be altogether undowered. But the state of Mr Grove’s affairs, was, to say the least, not such as to warrant a present withdrawal of capital from his business, and Arthur might well look grave.

Not that he troubled himself about it, however. He had never felt so greatly elated at the prospect of marrying an heiress, as to feel much disappointed when the prospect became doubtful. He knew that Miss Grove had a right to something which she had inherited from her mother, but he said to himself that her right should be set aside, rather than that there should be any defilement of hands in the transfer. So, if to Mrs Grove’s surprise and disgust, he remained silent when she made known the munificent intentions of Fanny’s father, it was not for a reason that he chose to discuss with her. His remarks were reserved for Mr Grove’s private ear, and to him they were made with sufficient plainness.

As for Graeme, she could not but see that their anticipated change of residence might help to make certainties of all her doubts and fears for their future. If she had dreaded changes in their manner of life before, how much more were they to be dreaded now? They might have fallen back, after a time, into their old, quiet routine, when Fanny had quite become one of them, had they been to remain still in the home where they had all been so happy together. But there seemed little hope of anything so pleasant as that now, for Fanny’s handsome house was in quite a fashionable neighbourhood, away from their old friends, and that would make a sad difference in many ways, she thought; and all this added much to her misgivings for the future.

“Fanny’s house!” could it ever seem like home to them? Her thoughts flew back to Janet and Merleville, and for a little, notwithstanding all the pain she knew the thought would give her brother, it seemed possible—nay best and wisest, for her and Rose to go away.

“However, we must wait a while; we must have patience. Things may adjust themselves in a way that I cannot see just now.”

In the lesson, which with tears and prayers and a good-will Graeme had set herself to learn, she had got no farther than this, “We must wait—we must have patience.” And she had more cause to be content with the progress she had made than she thought; for, amid all the cures for the ills of life, which wisdom remembers, and which folly forgets, what better, what more effectual than “patient waiting?”