"You, and I next, for ought I know."
Gertrude coloured, but did not speak, and Mrs. Ellis related that she had received orders to fit up Gertrude's room for some visitors who were expected. She was astonished to hear that Gertrude had not been consulted on the subject. Mrs. Graham had spoken so carelessly of her removal, and seemed to think it so agreeable for Emily to share her apartment with her young friend, that Mrs. Ellis concluded the matter had been pre-arranged.
Deeply wounded and vexed on her own and Emily's account, Gertrude stood for a moment silent. She then asked if Mrs. Ellis had spoken to Emily on the subject. She had not. Gertrude begged her to say nothing about it.
"I cannot bear," said she, "to let her know that the little sanctum she fitted up so carefully has been unceremoniously taken from me. I sleep in her room more than half the time, as you know; but she always likes to have me call this chamber mine, that I may be sure of a place where I can read and study. If you will let me remove my bureau into your room, Mrs. Ellis, and sleep on a couch there occasionally, we need not say anything about it to Emily."
Mrs. Ellis assented. She had grown strangely humble and compliant within a few months, and Gertrude had won her good-will, first by forbearance, and latterly by the frequent assistance she had rendered to the overburdened housekeeper. But, though yielding and considerate towards Gertrude, whom, with Emily and Mrs. Prime, she now considered members of the injured party to which she herself belonged, no words could express her indignation with regard to the late conduct of Mrs. Graham and Isabel. "It is all of a piece," said she, "with the rest of their conduct! Sometimes I almost feel thankful that Emily is blind; it would grieve her to see the goings-on. I should have liked to box Isabella's ears for taking your seat at the table so impudently as she did yesterday, and then neglecting to help Emily to anything at all; and there sat dear Emily, angel as she is! all unconscious of her shameful behaviour, and asking her for butter as sweetly as if it were by mere accident that you had been driven from the table, and she left to provide for herself. And all those strangers there, too! I saw it all from the china-closet! And then Emily's dresses and muslins!—there they laid in the press-drawer, till I thought they would mildew. I'm glad to see Bridget has been allowed to do them at last, for I began to think Emily would, one of these warm days, be without a clean gown in the world. But all I wish is, that they'd all go off to Europe, and leave us here to ourselves. You don't want to go, do you, Gertrude?"
"Yes, if Emily goes."
"Well, you're better than I am; I couldn't make such a martyr of myself even for her sake."
It is needless to detail the many petty annoyances to which Gertrude was daily subjected; nor with all the pains taken to prevent it, could Emily be long kept in ignorance of the light estimation in which both herself and Gertrude were regarded. Kitty, incensed at the incivility of her aunt and Isabel, and indifferent towards the visitors, hesitated not to express both to Emily and Gertrude her sense of the injuries they sustained. But Kitty was no formidable antagonist to Mrs. Graham and Belle, for her spirits were greatly subdued, and she no longer dared, as she would once have done, to stand between her friends and the indignities to which they were exposed.
But Mrs. Graham became at last entangled in difficulties of her own weaving. Her husband returned, and it now became necessary to set bounds to her own insolence, and, what was far more difficult, to that of Isabel. Mrs. Graham knew just how far her husband's forbearance would extend—just the point to which his perceptions might be blinded. But in his absence she permitted Belle to fill the house with her lively young acquaintances, and winked at the many flagrant violations of politeness manifested by the young people towards the daughter of their absent host, and their youthful friend and attendant. But now a check must be put to all indecorous proceedings; and, unfortunately for the execution of the wife's precautions, the head of the family returned unexpectedly, and under circumstances which forestalled any preparation. He arrived just at dusk, having come from town in an omnibus. It was a cool evening, the windows and doors were closed, and the drawing-room was so brilliantly lighted that he suspected that a large company was being entertained there. He felt vexed, for it was Saturday night, and, in accordance with New England customs, Mr. Graham loved to see his household quiet on that evening. He was also suffering from a violent headache, and, avoiding the drawing-room, passed on to the library, and then to the dining-room. He then went upstairs, walked through several rooms, glanced indignantly at their slovenly appearance, and finally gained Emily's chamber.
A bright wood fire burned upon the hearth; a couch was drawn up beside it, on which Emily was sitting; and Gertrude's little rocking-chair occupied the opposite corner. The peaceful face of Emily, and the radiant expression of Gertrude's countenance, as she saw the father of her blind friend looking pleasantly in upon them, proved such a charming contrast to the scenes presented in other parts of the house, that the old gentleman, warmed to more than usual satisfaction with both of the inmates, greeted his surprised daughter with a hearty paternal embrace, and gave Gertrude an equally affectionate greeting, exclaiming, as he took the arm-chair, "Now, girls, this looks pleasant and home-like! What in the world is going on downstairs?" Emily explained that there was company staying in the house.