“Why not now? There is more reason than ever now, it appears to me.”
“Oh!” cried Janet again—that stock English monosyllable expressing a whole gamut of dissatisfaction and surprise. “I thought that would only be because he thought his people would object, and didn’t know what we—I—would say. He would rather go than be separated—rather than lose—us; it is easy to understand. But when he’s been and told, and when his mother has come here, and when it’s all in the way of being settled—Oh!” cried Janet again, with natural vehemence, “what in all the world should he go for now? Would any one go that could help it? and him that has everything he can set his face to, and sure to come into a fortune, and all made easy for him. What in all the world should he go for now?”
Spears stood and looked at her with a confusion that was almost stupidity. He was indeed stupefied by this extraordinary speech. Was it really what it seemed to be, a revelation of an unknown character, a new creation altogether—or was it merely the silly babble of a child?
“My girl,” he said, with a tone of severity, yet still keeping the half of his smile, so confused and uncertain was he, not knowing what to think; “what is this you are saying? It is not like a child of mine. What if I were to say—as I have a good right—he shall come to Queensland or he shall not have you?”
“You would not have any right to say such a thing,” said Janet, with decision. “Don’t you tell us we’ve all got the right, both men and girls, to do what is best for ourselves and to judge for ourselves? and would you be the tyrant to take that from us? Oh, no, father, no! I never would have said a word but for this. Many a one has said to me, ‘What are you going for? I wouldn’t go a step in your place. I’d take a situation, and stay where all my friends are.’ That’s been said to me—times and times; and I’ve always said ‘No. Where father goes I must go.’ But, all the same, I always hated going. For one thing, I know I should be ill all the way. I hate a ship; and I hate living in the country, where you would never see so much as a street-lamp, nor hear anything but cows mooing, and sheep baaing; but I would have gone and never said a word. Only now,” cried Janet, with rising vehemence, “what would be the good of me going, or of him going? If I was married I shouldn’t be of no use to you; and what in all the world should take him there, if it wasn’t following after me?”
Her father stood and gazed at her stupefied. His very jaw dropped with wonder. She had never made so long a speech in her life; but now that she had spoken, it was all as clear, as definitely settled and arranged, as pitiless in its reasonableness, as if, instead of a girl of twenty, she had been a philosopher laying down the law. All her timidity was gone. She looked him full in the face while she ended her lengthened argument. As for Spears, the very power of speech seemed to be taken from him. A sound like a laugh, harsh and jarring, came from him when she ended.
“So that’s how it is?” he said, and turned and went back to his bench like a man who did not know what he was doing. Janet was glad enough to be thus released. She who had known her own sentiments all along was not startled by them as he was; but she felt that it was best now she had uttered them to let them have time and quiet to work their necessary effect. She turned to the eight-day clock, which had been ticking solemnly all this time in the corner, with a half shriek.
“Good gracious!” she cried, “it’s past nine, and me still here. Whatever will Miss Stichel say?”
CHAPTER XV.
Lady Markham walked away quickly, tingling in every nerve. She felt herself insulted and betrayed. She had gone to this poor man as if he had been a gentleman, with full confidence in him, and he had not justified her faith. A poor gentleman would have felt the impossibility, would have seen that a girl of no importance, without money, or rank, or connections, could not expect to marry Paul Markham, the heir of all the family honours. A person of any cultivation would have felt this, had there been the best blood in England in his veins. But this clown did not feel it; this common workman, wood-carver, tradesman, he did not see it. He ventured to look her in the face and tell her that they must make up their minds to it.