To her surprise, Aunt Hessy did not immediately lift her voice in comforting assurance of the impossibility of such a calamity. She only raised her hand, as if to remind her that silence had been enjoined. Seeing that this was not enough, or moved by compassion for the distress which shone through Madge’s amazement, she said:
‘We shall see about that, by-and-by.’
But Madge could not be so easily satisfied; for something in her aunt’s manner suggested that there might be truth in Philip’s assertion of the view her guardians would take of the position. He had said they would hold it as contrary to common-sense that a man who had been disinherited by his father and ruined by speculation should keep a girl bound to wait for him till he had retrieved his fortune, or to marry him and share—or rather increase his poverty. That was a cruel kind of practical reason which she could neither understand nor appreciate. If they really intended to insist upon such a monstrous interpretation of the engagement she had entered into with Philip, then she must try to explain how differently she regarded it. The moment of misfortune was the moment in which she ought to step forward and say: ‘Philip, I am ready to help you with all my strength—with all my love.’
Only Philip had the right to say: ‘No; you shall not do this.’
And there the poor heart sank again, for he had in effect said this: he had told her that he wished the bond to be cancelled. That was a very bitter memory, even when she made allowance for his conviction that her guardians expected him in honour bound to make such a declaration. Now, however, she recognised self-sacrifice in his act; and feeling sure that it was love for her which prompted it, took comfort.
Her first idea, then, was to find out what her guardians were to do, and she was about to rise, with the intention of asking her aunt to go with her to the oak parlour, when she was interrupted.
There was first a banging of doors below; next there was a deep voice from the middle of the staircase:
‘I say, missus, art up there?’
Before any answer could be given, Uncle Dick presented himself with as near an approach to a frown as his broad honest face was capable of forming.
‘So you are here, Madge. Thought as much. I told the missus you could take care of yourself; but a rare fuss you have been making among us, running about here, there, and anyhow, when you know the day for Smithfield is nigh, and ever so many things to do that you ought to do for me. I say that ain’t like you, and I’m not pleased.’