Verna, however, was invincible even to this argument.
“There are a great many other things to think of to-day,” she said. “Now, just remember what I say to you. They can’t change what you are to have, because that will be settled by Mr. Heriot’s will; but if you don’t behave yourself as you ought, they can put you under trustees, or something, who will pay you out so much a month, or so much a year, and make you do exactly what they please. That’s what you have to be afraid of. If they think you look as if you could ever enjoy yourself again, be sure that’s what they will do. I know them. If a woman looks as if she had not the heart to do a single thing, then they let her have her own way.”
“Do you really think so?” cried Matilda, stopping short suddenly in her tears, and looking up to her sister with round eyes, staggered by this new suggestion.
“I am certain of it,” said Verna. “And then, you know, poor Charlie’s will leaves that old uncle guardian along with you. If you want to have any freedom, you must look as if you cared for nothing of the sort. And, Matty, I have just one other word to say. If you hear anything to surprise you, whatever it is, don’t appear to take any notice. Now, recollect what I tell you. Don’t jump up, or cry out, or make a fuss, if you hear that you are either better off or worse off than you thought. If you are left better off than you expect, you’ll see these men will try to get the upper hand, and take away your freedom, unless you look as insensible as possible; and if you are left worse off, there are always ways of working upon them with a heartbroken widow. I don’t want you to be clever and understand, for you can’t; but you can cry. Here’s a lovely handkerchief I got for you expressly. It is just a little too pretty. There is a row of beautiful small work above the hemstitch—too small for other people to notice much—and it will be a comfort to you.”
“Well, it is a beauty,” said the disconsolate widow. “But all the same,” she added, after a moment’s pause, “I don’t see why I should not understand my own business as well as you.”
“Do you?” said Verna, turning round upon her, with flashing eyes.
Matilda quailed, and fell back.
“Don’t look as if you were going to bite me,” she cried. “Did I ever say I did? But that is not my fault. You never will let me manage anything; even Charlie wouldn’t. But he did not tell me I was a fool, as you do. He said, ‘I won’t have my darling bothered!’ Oh! dear Charlie! what I lost when I lost you!”
“That was a pleasanter way of putting it,” said Verna, grimly; and then she, too, softened, and a glimmer of moisture came into the eyes which would have been fine eyes had they not been somewhat hard and beady. “He was a fool, too,” she said; “a fool about you, as men are; but he was a dear fellow. You pink-and-white creatures have all the luck; you get men to be fond of you that are far too good for you, while people who could understand them—”
Matilda interrupted her with a low laugh.