“I beg your pardon,” said Lottie; “I—don’t know what to say to you. We don’t know each other. I don’t understand—— Don’t you see,” she cried suddenly, unable to restrain herself, “that since you came into the house you have done nothing but—find fault with all my—arrangements—” (these mild words came with the utmost difficulty; but Lottie was too proud to quarrel). “You can’t think that I could like that. I have done my best, and if you try as I have done, you will find it is not so easy. But I don’t want to defend myself; that is why I don’t say anything. There can be no good in quarrelling, whether you think me a bad housekeeper or not.”
“I ain’t so sure of that,” said Polly. “Have a good flare-up, and be done with it, that’s my way. I don’t hold with your politeness, and keeping yourself to yourself. I’d rather quarrel than be always bursting with spite and envy, like some folks. It stands to reason as you must hate me, taking things out of your hands; and it stands to reason as I should think more of my own husband than of keeping up your brother and you in idleness. But for all that, and though we might fight now and then—everybody does, I don’t care nothing for a girl as is always the same—I don’t see why we shouldn’t get on neither. The Captain says as you’ve a very good chance of a husband yourself. And though I’m just about your own age, I’ve had a deal of experience. I know how to bring a man to the point, if he’s shilly-shallying, or won’t speak up like a man, as a girl has a right to expect.”
“Oh! stop, stop, stop!” cried Lottie, wild with horror. She cast a hurried glance round, to see what excuse she could make for getting away. Then she seized eagerly upon her music which lay on the old square piano. “I must go to my lesson,” she said.
“Your lesson! Are you having lessons too? Upon my word! Oh, my poor husband! my poor Captain! No wonder as he has nothing but cold beef to eat,” said Polly, with all the fervour of a deliverer, finding out one misery after another. “And if one might make so bold as to ask, Miss, who is it as has the honour to give lessons to you?”
“The Signor—Mr. Rossinetti,” Lottie added, after a moment. It seemed desecration to talk of any of the familiar figures within the Abbey precincts by their familiar title to this intruder.
“Oh! I’m not so ignorant as not to know who the Signor is. That will be half-a-guinea, or at the least seven-and-six a lesson!” she said, raising her hands in horror. “Oh, my poor ’usband! This is how his money goes! Miss,” said Polly, severely, “you can’t expect as I should put up with such goings on. I have your papa to think of, and I won’t see him robbed—no, not whatever you may do. For I call that robbery, just nothing else. Half-a-guinea a lesson, and encouraging Law to waste his time! I can’t think how you can do it: with that good, dear, sweet, confiding man letting you have your own way, and suspecting nothing,” cried Polly, clasping her hands. Then she got up suddenly. “I declare,” she cried, “church is near over, and me not ready to go out and meet him! I can’t go out a figure, in a common rag like this, and me a bride. I must put on my silk. Of course, he wants to show me off a bit before his friends. I’ll run and get ready, and we can talk of this another time.”
Thus Lottie escaped for the moment. She was asked a little later to see if Mrs. Despard’s collar was straight, and to pin on her veil. “Do I look nice?” said Polly triumphant, and at the same time mollified by the services which Lottie rendered without objection. She had put on her “blue silk” and the bonnet with the orange-blossoms, and neckties enough to stock a shop. “Perhaps, as there’s nothing ordered, and I mean to make a change with the tradespeople, the Captain and me won’t come back to dinner,” said Polly. “There’s your favourite cold beef, Miss, for Law and you.” Lottie felt that she began to breathe when, rustling and mincing, her strange companion swept out, in the face of all the people who were dispersing from matins, to meet her husband. Polly liked the wondering encounter of all their eyes. With her blue silk sweeping the pavement after her, and her pink parasol, and the orange-blossoms on her bonnet, her figure descending the Dean’s Walk alone, while all the others issued out of the Abbey doors, was conspicuous enough. She was delighted to find that everybody looked at her, and even that some stood still to watch her, looking darkly at her finery. These were the people who were jealous, envious of her fine clothes and her happiness, or jealous of her handsome husband, who met her presently, but who perhaps was not so much delighted to see her amidst all his fellow-Chevaliers as she thought. Captain Despard was not a man of very fine perceptions; but though his blooming young wife was a splendid object indeed beside the dark, little old figure of Mrs. Temple, he had seen enough to feel that the presence of the old lady brought out into larger prominence something which the younger lacked. But he met her with effusive delight, and drew her hand within his arm, and thus they disappeared together. Outside the Precincts there was no need to make any comparison, and Polly’s brilliancy filled all hearts with awe.
When Law returned, he found Lottie seated in her little chair, with her face hidden in her hands. It was not that she was crying, as he feared at first. The face she raised to him was crimson with excitement. “Oh, Law!” she said, “Law, Law!” Lottie had got beyond the range of words. After a while she told him all the events of the morning, which did not look half so important when they were told, and they tried to lay their heads together and think what was best to be done. But what could anyone do? Mary could scarcely put the remnants of the cold beef on the table, for her eagerness to tell that she had been to mother, and mother would not hear of her staying. “Places isn’t so hard to get as all that, for a girl with a good character,” she said. When she was gone, Lottie looked piteously at her brother.
“What kind of a place could I get?” she said. “What am I fit for? Oh, Law! I think it is a mistake to be brought up a lady. I never thought it before, but I do now. How can we go on living here? and where are we to go?”
“That’s what I always said,” said Law. He was horribly grave, but he had not a word to say except that he had got a match at football, and perhaps might stay and sup with the fellows afterwards. “I’m just as well out of the way, for what can I do for you? only make things worse,” he said. And though he had been so kind and sympathetic at first, Law stole away, glad to escape, and left Lottie alone, to bear it as she might. She had no lesson that day, though she had pretended to have one. She would not go to the Abbey, where the new member of the family meant to appear, she knew. Lottie stayed in the familiar room which was hers no longer, until the silence became too much for her, and she felt that any human voice would be a relief. She went out in the afternoon, when all seemed quiet, when everybody had gone to the Abbey for the evening service. There would be nobody about, and it seemed to Lottie that the shame was upon her, that it was she who must shrink from all eyes. Mrs. O’Shaughnessy, however, knocking on the window violently, instantly gave her to understand that this was impracticable. The girl tried to resist, being afraid of what she might say, and of what might be said to her. But as she hurried on, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy’s maid rushed after her. Lottie had to go to her old friend, though very reluctantly. Mrs. O’Shaughnessy had a bad cold. She was sitting wrapped up in a shawl, and a visitor with something to tell was beyond price to her. “Come and tell me all about it, then!” she cried, “me poor darlin’!” enveloping Lottie in her large embrace. “And tell the Major, Sally, and let nobody come in.” The Major came instantly to the call, and Lottie tried to tell her story to the kind couple who sat on either side of her, with many an exclamation.