Phœbe’s words were interrupted by her feelings—she sank back into a seat when she had concluded, and put a handkerchief to her eyes. As for Tozer, he still drummed on the table. A certain human sympathy was in the mind of the butterman, but he deferred to the readier utterance of his indignant wife.
“I never said it was any concern of ours,” said Mrs. Tozer. “It ain’t our way to court nobody as doesn’t seek our company; but a minister as we’ve all done a deal to make comfortable, and took an interest in equal to a son, and has been made such a fuss about as I never see in our connection—it’s disappointing, I will say, to see him a-going off after worldly folks that don’t care no more about religion than I do about playing the piano. Not as Phœbe doesn’t play the piano better than most—but such things ain’t in my thoughts. I do say it’s disappointing, and gives folks a turn. If she’s pretty-lookin’—as she may be, for what I can tell—it ain’t none of the pastor’s business. Them designing ladies is the ruin of a young man; and when he deserts his flock, as are making sacrifices, and goes off after strangers, I don’t say if it’s right or wrong, but I say it’s disappointin’, and what wasn’t looked for at Mr. Vincent’s hands.”
Vincent had listened up to this point with moderate self-restraint—partially, perhaps, subdued by the alarmed expression of his mother’s face, who had fixed her anxious eyes upon him, and vainly tried to convey telegraphic warnings; but the name of Lady Western stung him. “What is all this about?” he asked, with assumed coldness. “Nobody supposes, surely, that I am to render an account of my private friends to the managers of the chapel. It is a mistake, if it has entered any imagination. I shall do nothing of the kind. There is enough of this. When I neglect my duties, I presume I shall hear of it more seriously. In the mean time, I have real business in hand.”
“But, Arthur dear, I daresay some one has misunderstood you,” said his mother; “it always turns out so. I came the day before yesterday, Mrs. Tozer. I left home very suddenly in great anxiety, and I was very much fatigued by the journey, and I must go back to-day. I have been very selfish, taking my son away from his usual occupations. Never mind me, Arthur dear; if you have any business, leave me to rest a little with Mrs. Tozer. I can take such a liberty here, because I know she is such a friend of yours. Don’t keep Mr. Tozer away from his business on my account. I know what it is when time is valuable. I will just stay a little with Mrs. Tozer, and you can let me know when it is time for the train. Yes, I came up very hurriedly,” said the gentle diplomatist, veiling her anxiety as she watched the gloomy countenances round her. “We had heard some bad news; I had to ask my son to go to town yesterday for me, and—and I must go home to-day without much comfort. I feel a good deal shaken, but I dare not stay away any longer from my dear child at home.”
“Dear, dear; I hope it’s nothing serious as has happened?” said Mrs. Tozer, slightly mollified.
“It is some bad news about the gentleman Susan was going to marry,” said Mrs. Vincent, with a rapid calculation of the necessities of the position; “and she does not know yet. Arthur, my dear boy, it would be a comfort to my mind to know about the train.”
“Oh, and you will be so fatigued!” said Phœbe. “I do so hope it’s nothing bad. I am so interested about Miss Vincent. Oh, Pa, do go down-stairs and look at the railway bill. Won’t you lie down on the sofa a little and rest? Fancy, mamma, taking two journeys in three days!—it would kill you; and, oh, I do so hope it is nothing very bad. I have so longed to see you and Mr. Vincent’s sister. He told me all about her one evening. Is the gentleman ill? But do lie down and rest after all your fatigue. Mamma, don’t you think it would do Mrs. Vincent good?”
“We’ll have a bit of dinner presently,” said Mrs. Tozer. “Phœbe, go and fetch the wine. There is one thing in trouble, that it makes folks find out their real friends. It wouldn’t be to Lady Western the minister would think of taking his mother. I ain’t saying anything, Tozer—nor Mr. Vincent needn’t think I am saying anything. If I speak my mind a bit, I don’t bear malice. Phœbe’s a deal too feelin’, Mrs. Vincent—she’s overcome, that’s what she is; and if I must speak the truth, it’s disappointing to see our pastor, as we’ve all made sacrifices for, following after the ungodly. I am a mother myself,” continued Mrs. Tozer, changing her seat, as her husband, followed by the indignant Vincent, went down-stairs, “and I know a mother’s feelin’s: but after what I heard from Mrs. Pigeon, and how it’s going through all the connection in Carlingford——”
Mrs. Vincent roused herself to listen. Her son’s cause was safe in her hands.
Meantime Vincent went angry and impetuous down-stairs. “I will not submit to any inquisition,” cried the young man. “I have done nothing I am ashamed of. If I dine with a friend, I will suffer no questioning on the subject. What do you mean? What right has any man in any connection to interfere with my actions? Why, you would not venture to attack your servant so! Am I the servant of this congregation? Am I their slave? Must I account to them for every accident of my life? Nobody in the world has a right to make such a demand upon me.”