Janet read the letter, and, with a blush for her weakness in yielding to her aunt's suggestions, she resolved to allow no pusillanimous fear of censure to degrade her father's daughter from the high station in which he had placed her. Mrs. Atwood was indignant at Mr. McLeod's answer.
"I never read anything with so little common sense or common feeling in it. I am sure he would not be willing to subject himself to all the annoyances to which he is exposing his poor young daughter, persuading her that she is in the path of duty, and that she ought to make a sacrifice of herself. I have no patience with him," and Mrs. Atwood, in her vexation, came very near giving Charley a superfluous whipping.
Meantime, the people in Westbridge were debating as to the expediency of calling on the new arrival. They were in great perplexity about it. As Mrs. Atwood's niece, Miss McLeod ought certainly to be visited; but as a Bloomer she ought to be frowned upon and discountenanced. The general opinion was decidedly against showing her any attention. One lady did call, but repented it afterwards, and atoned for her imprudent sociability by declining to recognize Miss McLeod when she met her in the street. There were very few invitations sent to Mrs. Atwood's during the winter, and those that came were very pointedly addressed to Mrs. and Miss Atwood. These they at first declined, with much inward reluctance on Jane's part; but Janet perceiving this, and divining that politeness to her was the cause of the refusals, insisted on being no restraint on her cousin's pleasure. She was willing to endure mortifications herself for what she considered her duty, but it would be a needless addition to her trials, she said, if those who did not approve of her course had to suffer for it.
It seems a pity that there should be such a superfluity of the martyr spirit in womankind, or that there were not something of more vital importance to wreak it upon than the rights and wrongs that are just now causing such an effervescence among them.
Meantime, Mr. Mainwaring had decided that, come in what shape she might, Mr. McLeod's daughter ought to receive from him all the attention that gratitude for her father's services might demand. Every morning he devoted an hour to giving her a lesson in Greek, and though for some time he continued to look upon her with suspicion and distrust as a femme forte, yet his urbane and polished manners prevented Janet from perceiving anything that might wound or offend her. She felt that the gentle cordiality with which she was at first inclined to receive him, as one whom her father loved and esteemed, met with no response, but she attributed it to his natural reserve. The first thing that lessened the cold disapproval with which Mr. Mainwaring regarded Janet was the discovery that study was to her a painful labor, and that she was not very fond of reading. There is a popular fallacy that a high cultivation of the intellect implies a corresponding deficiency in the affections, and profoundly sensible as Mr. Mainwaring was, he was, like most men, a firm believer in this erroneous opinion; and therefore he welcomed all Janet's mistakes as pledges that, though her judgment might be wrong, her heart was right.
And there was a yielding docility about her that was exceedingly pleasing to one accustomed, as Mr. Mainwaring was, to have his opinion regarded as law by most of those with whom he was thrown. It was not a mere inert softness either, but the pliability of a substance so finely tempered and wrought that it could be moulded by a master hand into any form without losing its native and inherent firmness and goodness. He began at last to understand her, and to perceive that she had one of those delicate and conscientious natures that, when once convinced of a duty, seize upon it with a grasp of iron, and would suffer to the death for it. With his admiration for Janet, his interest in her increased, and he became truly distressed to see her throwing away, as it seemed, her usefulness and her happiness in endeavoring to uphold a fantastic fashion.
The life of seclusion and study to which the resolute neglect of the people of Westbridge had condemned Janet was so unlike anything to which she had been accustomed, that, strong in constitution as she was, with all the vigor that a free country life gives, her health began at last to fail. The spring breezes sought in vain for the loses that the autumn winds had left upon her cheeks.
"It seems to me that you are looking rather pale, Miss McLeod," said Mr. Mainwaring, one day.
It was the first time that he had ever spoken to her on any subject unconnected with the lessons, and Miss McLeod colored slightly as she answered—
"I am quite well, I believe."