But Miss Jillgall was too eagerly bent on setting forth the merits of her friend to notice this. I now heard that Mrs. T.‘s marriage had turned out badly, and that she had been reduced to earn her own bread. Her manner of doing this was something quite new to me. She went about, from one place to another, curing people of all sorts of painful maladies, by a way she had of rubbing them with her hands. In Belgium she was called a “Masseuse.” When I asked what this meant in English, I was told, “Medical Rubber,” and that the fame of Mrs. T.‘s wonderful cures had reached some of the medical newspapers published in London.
After listening (I must say for myself) very patiently, I was bold enough to own that my interest in what I had just heard was not quite so plain to me as I could have wished it to be.
Miss Jillgall looked shocked at my stupidity. She reminded me that there was a mystery in Mrs. Tenbruggen’s letter and a mystery in papa’s strange conduct toward Philip. “Put two and two together, darling,” she said; “and, one of these days, they may make four.”
If this meant anything, it meant that the reason which made papa keep Helena’s age and my age unknown to everybody but himself, was also the reason why he seemed to be so strangely unwilling to let me be Philip’s wife. I really could not endure to take such a view of it as that, and begged Miss Jillgall to drop the subject. She was as kind as ever.
“With all my heart, dear. But don’t deceive yourself—the subject will turn up again when we least expect it.”
CHAPTER XXIII. EUNICE’S DIARY.
Only two days now, before we give our little dinner-party, and Philip finds his opportunity of speaking to papa. Oh, how I wish that day had come and gone!
I try not to take gloomy views of things; but I am not quite so happy as I had expected to be when my dear was in the same town with me. If papa had encouraged him to call again, we might have had some precious time to ourselves. As it is, we can only meet in the different show-places in the town—with Helena on one side, and Miss Jillgall on the other, to take care of us. I do call it cruel not to let two young people love each other, without setting third persons to watch them. If I was Queen of England, I would have pretty private bowers made for lovers, in the summer, and nice warm little rooms to hold two, in the winter. Why not? What harm could come of it, I should like to know?
The cathedral is the place of meeting which we find most convenient, under the circumstances. There are delightful nooks and corners about this celebrated building in which lovers can lag behind. If we had been in papa’s chapel I should have hesitated to turn it to such a profane use as this; the cathedral doesn’t so much matter.