Woman’s at best a contradiction still;”
and thought that perhaps, when all was said and done, Phemie’s eccentricities were matters not of mind but of sex.
“I am not sure that it is good for women to have their own way,” he reflected; “for if they have the guiding of themselves they are never content with one road for two minutes together. Likely as not, she will want the bills posted again to-morrow, so I won’t have them taken down at any rate.”
“Do you not think it would be well for you to send a messenger, begging Mrs. Montague Stondon to come down here to receive her son?” he ventured to propose next morning.
“Am I mistress here now?” Phemie angrily retorted. “Is the house mine, to ask or to bid keep away? I ought to be out of Marshlands at this minute. I shall merely remain to touch hands with Basil, and bid him welcome home, and then go when he arrives. Let the luggage be sent over to Disley, and it will be ready for whatever train we choose to start by.”
“But I think it most improbable he will be here for some days; he will naturally remain in London to see his lawyers and his mother, and——”
“Basil Stondon will come straight on to Marshlands,” she interrupted. “He will not lose an hour in hastening to—to—take possession of his property.” And her heart fluttered like a bird’s as she spoke; while Mr. Aggland answered—
“That she seemed to have a high opinion of Mr. Basil Stondon and of his unselfishness. If he will feel no sorrow for your husband’s death, and only rejoice at your having to leave Marshlands, why do you remain to receive him, why can you not travel to Roundwood at once?”
“Because it would seem hard to him—no matter what he may be—for no creature to be here to say, ‘I am glad you are alive—God give you happiness as He has given you wealth.’”
“Well, suppose I stay here and say all that in your name?” suggested Mr. Aggland, who had an intuitive feeling his niece would be better away. “I can tell him all your wishes—how you desire that he shall retain the whole or any portion of the furniture—how the cows and horses, the sheep and the pigs are his to command, if he have any liking for any of them—how you have enough and to spare without stripping the house of its ornaments. I can say as well as you that ‘there is no winter’ in your generosity; can prove how good a steward you have been, spending your own money on another’s land. All that has occurred here since his departure I can relate for his benefit, and I can bring news to you at Roundwood where and how he has passed the time during which we have all thought him dead. Will you take my advice, Phemie, and go? The memories he will recall, the excitement of seeing a man risen from the grave, as one may say, will certainly prove too much for you. Will you go?”