“I said it, therefore I must have meant it,” cried Nancy, with a flush of angry red. “If you sit and listen to what women are saying! But I never say anything I will not stand to. Yes: what door have you opened to me, Arthur? it was mother’s words first. Not your father and mother’s, which was the first to be thought of, nor any of your friends’; but mother’s has always been open to you.”
“Oh, hush, hush!” cried Mrs. Bates. “Oh, children, you don’t know what you’re doing. Why should you quarrel? Nancy, hold your tongue—you’ll be sorry after that you ever said a word.”
“Not I!” cried Nancy. “I am not one to bottle things up. I’ll say it out plain before you both, and you can be my witness, mother. When I knew Arthur first, I never thought what he was. Gentleman or poor man it was all one to me. He was my fancy, and that was all I thought of. When that man came, that Durant, then I began to see what I was bringing on me; but it was too late to draw back. And I said to myself, I’d let him see it wasn’t his money I wanted, and that I’d never kootoo to one of his grand friends. And I never have,” she cried, with angry energy, “and I never will. You’ve opened no doors to me—nor I don’t want you to; but you shan’t think that it’s been a grand thing for me to marry you, neither you nor anyone belonging to you. It hasn’t. You’d separate me from my own people if you could, and you don’t give me any other; and I say again, if girls only knew—”
“Mrs. Bates,” said Arthur, with trembling lips. “I do not think I have tried to separate your daughter from you. I may defend myself so far as this; and I had hoped that some time or other she would have gone with me to knock at that door which you upbraid me with not having opened. But what am I to do if, as she tells you, she never will? she never has shown the slightest inclination to do so, that is the truth indeed.”
“It was them that should have come to her—that’s what she thinks,” said Mrs. Bates, “and she’s hot-tempered. You know she’s hot-tempered. She don’t mean half of what she says. Oh, don’t now, don’t quarrel, children!” cried the mother. In the mêlée Sarah Jane thought she might as well take a part too.
“I don’t wonder that Nancy was affronted. That stuck up Miss Curtis coming with her ‘dear Arthur’s,’ and her ‘dear brother’s,’ and taking no notice, no more than if we were cabbages, of us; but as for Nancy not thinking of who he was, and that it was a grand marriage, oh, didn’t she just! You may tell that to those that will believe it, you had better not tell it to me.”
“You nasty, spiteful, tale-telling disagreeable thing!” cried Nancy, furious, turning upon her sister, who laughed in her face, and ran round in fright, which was half real, half pretended, to the other side of the round table. Arthur stood aghast while this playful episode, so much out of keeping with his feelings, went on. It was out of keeping to Nancy too. No smile came upon her face. “I thought it was a great marriage I was making, if you please,” she said, after she too had paused with the sense of a crisis, and stared at her sister’s pretended sportiveness. No smile relaxed the lips of either of the contending pair. “I thought so, you may say it. I thought I should be a lady, and mix with the best in the land; what’s come of it? Have I ever set foot among the folks you belong to, or their kind? No, I said the truth, there’s no door been open to me—the other way! You would shut mother’s door upon me if you could, you would keep me away from my own folks—the only friends I have. But you’ll never do it, Arthur, you may as well give it up at once. I’ll stick to them that’s good to me, and I won’t stir a step to court your people, nor to curry favour—no, not if you would ask me on your knees. I wrote to my lady, because I promised, but my lady wouldn’t make much of my letter; and never will I make myself so cheap again, never if I should live hundreds of years.”
“Nancy, Nancy, my child!” cried her mother, “you must not make rash vows. You don’t know what you’ll do till the time comes. She’s hot-tempered. That’s all about. And if Arthur will say he is sorry—”
“What shall I say I am sorry for, Mrs. Bates?”
“Oh, now this is too bad. Don’t you see it will please her? She always was a bit unreasonable and high-tempered. You can’t help your temper, it’s a thing that’s born with you. Say you’re sorry, and smooth her down a little, and she’ll soon come round and promise anything you like. I know my Nancy. She is hot-headed, and she’s contrairy, but her heart’s in the right place,” said the mother. Mrs. Bates was frightened by the contraction in Arthur’s face.