‘The interest which the head of a great foundry can take in one of his apprentices is not much to rely upon. We preferred that he should not go.’
‘Then there is nothing to be said, I suppose,’ said Mrs. Egerton, with something like indignation.
It seemed so extraordinary that the Sandfords, or any people in their position, should not pause, and weigh what she might have to say. It was ridiculous, besides.
‘Nothing, I think,’ said this Emily, quite seriously. ‘We have gone over it carefully, and our minds are quite made up.’
She stood in the passage, without any regret or apology, without any sign of yielding, not impatient, and yet, perhaps, a little tired, as might be seen in her eyes, of being thus stopped as she came into the house.
‘Then, perhaps, there is nothing better for me to do than to take my leave,’ said Mrs. Egerton, smiling as best she could, yet feeling, if truth must be told, very little inclination to smile.
Emily made no protest, nor any effort to detain the visitor. She turned round politely, and, opening the door, made room for the lady in her satin draperies to pass. And presently the rector’s sister, the chief personage in Edgeley, found herself in the street again, feeling, she knew not how, that old Sandford’s daughter, the matron of a hospital, a woman with a mystery about her, a stranger unknown in the place, had overcome and proved herself the better woman. Mrs. Egerton felt angry, humiliated, astonished. She felt, too, which was more remarkable, that she was herself in fault, that her attempted interference had been an unjustifiable intrusion, that she had no right to thrust herself into their house and dictate to them what they should do. Old Sandford was a lonely old man, over whom it might have been easy enough to domineer, but was it possible that she had really tried to do it? She was angry, first with them, then with herself. She met Mrs. Box’s perambulator again, with the baby hanging out of it, in imminent risk of dislocating its neck; but Mrs. Egerton was so subdued that she let the little unfortunate pass, and never said a word. Finally, she met the curate, whose undoubting faith in her was her best consolation at such a moment.
‘I have been beaten,’ she said to him, ‘horse and foot—defeated all along the line.’
Meanwhile, Emily went into the parlour where her father sat, a little tremulous, glad to be out of it, leaving the women to struggle, if they pleased. The voices had been quite soft, and all had passed with the perfect decorum of good breeding, notwithstanding that Mrs. Egerton had been so conscious of her defeat. Mr. Sandford, though he had been listening anxiously, had heard no sound of any quarrel. He gave Emily a questioning look as she came in.
‘I hope she was not uncivil to you, my dear? She seems to think I want taking care of, now my poor dear’s gone. She’s a good woman, and a kind woman, Emily, and I’m glad you said nothing that was disagreeable to her, my dear.’