“The match—shall never be,” said Lady Frogmore, in that voice which proceeded out of her boots, waving her arm, which was made majestic by the lace and jet of her cloak.
“It shall never be!” cried Letitia. “Never! My husband has already taken steps——”
“My son—has taken steps—the family will not allow it. They will never allow it.”
“Never!” said Letitia, raising her voice until it was almost a scream. “Never! if we should carry it into every court in the land.”
The ladies of the vicarage were very much startled. They lived out of the world. They did not know what privileges might remain with the nobility, for whom such excellent people have an almost superstitious regard, and the boldness of an assertion, whatever it was, had at all times a great effect upon them. For the moment Mrs. Hill could only stare, and did not know what to reply. She reflected that she might do harm if she spoke too boldly, and that it might be wiser to temporize. And she also reflected that the sight of a man was apt to daunt feminine visitors who might be going too far. She said, therefore, after that stare of consternation, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Tisch, nor how you can put a stop to a marriage; but perhaps the vicar may understand. Agnes, tell your father to come here. I am sorry you did not take this lady to the drawing-room, Tisch, you who know the house so well. This is the room we sit in in the morning, where we do all our little household jobs. Agnes is making me my dress for the ceremony, and everything is in confusion. Dress-making always does make a mess,” said Mrs. Hill, rising with dignity to arrange, yet with a quick fling of the long breadths of the silk spread out on the sofa to dazzle the spectators with a glimpse of the dress which she was to wear at the ceremony. She then addressed herself to Mary, who still stood shivering in the window. “My dear,” she said, “you’ll get your cold a great deal worse, standing there. Yes, I see Tisch has got your chair—but come here to the corner of the fire—she’ll make a little room for you. It’s a pity she should have such a bad cold just on the eve—Oh, here is the vicar. This is Lady Frogmore, my dear. What did you say, Mary? The Dowager Lady Frogmore? Yes, to be sure. And this is my husband, Mr. Hill. As for the other lady, you know very well, my dear, who she is.”
“Why, it’s Tisch!” said the vicar, “my little Tisch! Who would have thought it? Why we ought to have the bells ringing, for you haven’t been here, have you, since you were married, Tisch? and cheated me out of that too, which was unkind. Anyhow, you are very welcome, my dear.” He took her hand in both of his and swung her by it, which was the vicar’s way. He was a large flabby old man, with much bonhommie of manner, and ended off everything he said with a laugh. Letitia had not been able to avoid the paternal greeting. But she pulled her hand away as soon as that was possible. All these references to her absence and to her marriage were gall and wormwood to Mrs. Parke.
The vicar looked around after this, much discomfited by finding himself ousted from his usual chair. He wavered for a moment not knowing where to go, but finally planted himself in front of the fire, leaning his shoulders against the mantel-piece. He had an old coat on, very much glazed and shabby, and a large limp white neckcloth, fully deserving of that name, loosely tied. He looked round him amiable and a little unctuous, not perceiving, for his faculties were not very alert, the storm in the air. “Well, ladies,” he said, “I suppose you’ve come to talk things over, and all the fal-lals and things for the wedding, eh? It’s astonishing what interest ladies always take in anything of this kind, though they can’t be called, can they, on this occasion, the young couple?” He chuckled in his limp good humor, as he stood and warmed himself. “Only six years, I’ll give you my word for it, younger than myself—and going to be my son-in-law—but Mary there doesn’t seem to mind.”
His laugh had the most curious effect in that atmosphere charged with fiery elements. It was so easy, so devoid of any alarm or possibility of disturbance. Tisch, who knew very well that all that could be done was to frighten these simple people if possible, had too much sense not to see that her mission would be a failure furious as she was—but the dowager had not this saving salt. She held out her arm again with all the lace and jet. “We’ve come to put a stop to it,” she said.
“Eh?” said the vicar. His chuckle was a little different now, and he repeated it at the end of his ejaculation, which was scarcely a question.
“They’ve come,” said Mrs. Hill, raising her voice, “to put a stop to Mary’s marriage. Don’t you know? They won’t have it, they won’t allow it—they say a noble family—Mr. Hill, don’t you hear?”