“About Dissenters, you know,” she said; “of course, you must be aware that we are looked down upon in society. It does not matter, for when people have any sense, as soon as they know us they do us justice; but of course you must be aware that the prejudice exists.”
Clarence did know, and with some bitterness; for Mr. Copperhead, though he did not care much, perhaps, about religion, cared for his chapel, and stood by it with unswerving strictness. His son, who was an Oxford man, and respectful of all the prejudices of society, did not like this. But what could he do against the obstinate dissentership of his father? This, as much as anything else, had acted upon the crowd the night of the ball, and made them all nobodies. He hesitated to make any reply, and his face flushed with shame and displeasure. Phœbe felt that she had avenged upon Clarence his mother's haughty politeness. She had brought home to him a sense of the social inferiority which was common to them both. Having done this, she was satisfied, and proceeded to soften the blow.
“It cannot fall upon you, who are in so much better a position, as it does upon us,” said Phœbe. “We are the very head and front of the offending, a Dissenting minister's family!—Society and its charms are not for us. And I hope we know our place,” she said, with mock humility; “when people have any sense and come to know us it is different; and for the foolish ones I don't care. But you see from that, I am not likely to meet your cousins, am I?” she added with a laugh.
“If you mean that they are among the foolish ones——”
“Oh, no; I don't. But you can't suppose they will take the trouble to find me out. Why should they? People entirely out of my range, and that have nothing to do with me. So you may be quite sure I am right when I say we sha'n't meet.”
“Well,” said Clarence, piqued, “I am going to Easton, and I shall see you, if Mrs. Beecham will give me permission to call.”
“She will give you the address along with that; but till then, good-bye,” said Phœbe. To tell the truth, she had no desire to see Clarence Copperhead in Carlingford. Perhaps he meant something, perhaps he did not—at this stage of the proceedings it was a matter of indifference to Phœbe, who certainly had not allowed “her affections” to become engaged. If he did mean anything, was it likely that he could support unmoved the grandfather and grandmother who were, or had been, “in trade?” On the other hand, was it not better that he should know the worst? Phœbe was no husband-hunter. She contemplated the issue with calm and composure, however it might turn out.
“He asked me if he might call,” said Mrs. Beecham, in some excitement. “I don't care much to have you seen, my darling, out of your own father's house.”
“Just as you please, mamma—just as it suits best,” said Phœbe, dismissing the subject. She was not anxious. A good deal depended on whether he meant anything or nothing, but even that did not conclude the subject, for she had not made up her own mind.
“Why didn't you tell them about the Mays?” said Clarence, as the two ladies went out. “They live in Carlingford, and I should think it would be pleasant on both sides.”