Mr. and Mrs. Dainty and Uncle John sat alone in the library, into which they had passed from the tea-table. Uncle John referred to the remark of his niece about the children eating with inferiors. He spoke with unusual sobriety of manner, and in a voice subdued far below its ordinary tone; for Mr. Fleetwood was not only a man of quick feelings, but one who rarely took special trouble in the way of concealment.
“In what respect, Madeline,” he asked, in opening the conversation, “do you think the children will suffer injury by sitting at the same table with Miss Harper? Don’t be annoyed at the question. Don’t let feeling obscure your mind. There is much of vital importance involved in this matter. Let us come to its consideration moved solely by a desire to see what is right. You are the mother of these children, and your interest in them should be higher than your regard for any social usage or for any mere prejudice. You spoke just now of Florence as an inferior and a dependant.”
Uncle John paused.
“Well, is she not?” Mrs. Dainty looked steadily into the eyes of Mr. Fleetwood, with an expression that said, My question settles that proposition.
“In what is she inferior?” asked Uncle John.
“Your question is absurd, and annoys me,” replied Mrs. Dainty, with sudden feeling.
“Let us put all excitement away, Madeline,” said the old man. “It dims perception; and too much is involved just now for either reason or perception to be under a cloud. My question is not absurd, but one upon the right answer to which hang, just now, momentous things. In what, then, is Florence inferior to your children? Is her mind less pure, her intellect of a lower range, her tastes less cultivated, her accomplishments defective in comparison, her love of truth, her honor, her sense of religious duty, below that of your children?”
“She belongs to a lower grade in society,” answered Mrs. Dainty. “And she is, in this family, only as a hireling.”
“Madeline!” (Uncle John’s feelings betrayed him into more excitement than he wished to exhibit,) “if you had the wealth of a Rothschild, you could not buy her services! I No money-consideration has led her back to this house; and I question much whether she will accept pay for any service she renders.”
“Then,” said Mr. Dainty, speaking for the first time, “she cannot remain. I will have no one’s labor as a gratuity. We are not paupers!”
“If you can supply her place to the children,” was Uncle John’s reply, “she will step aside, pleased, I am sure, to retire from a position in which she is so poorly appreciated.”
“I value her in her place,” said Mr. Dainty,—“value her beyond all price. Amount of compensation need be no barrier to her remaining with the children. But if she demand an equality of position with us the case is settled at once.”
“You put my own thoughts into words,” said Mrs. Dainty.
“She has demanded nothing,” replied Uncle John,—”suggested nothing, intimated nothing. I saw her, and told her of our trouble. She came, at my solicitation, to help us; and her services can never be repaid. Her presence in the house seemed like the presence of an angel. You asked her to remain, and she consented, but without stipulation. And now, in the beginning of this restored relationship, it is for us to consider well the subject and to define her position. The higher we lift her, so far as external things are concerned, the greater power for good will she possess. The teacher, guide, and daily companion of our children should be our social equal. How else can the governess, to whom so high an office is delegated, lift them up to our level? An inferior the companion and instructor of our children! Think of it. Can the coarse, unskilled hands of an inferior mould into forms of spiritual beauty the yielding and impressible elements of a child’s mind,—that sublime structure over which angels bend in silent wonder? An inferior for this work! God forbid! Choose, rather, the wisest and the best, and give her the place of honor in your household. Honor her for her gifts and graces; and your children, honoring her also, will be drawn within the circle of her heavenly attractions. Edward! Madeline! There is an angel in your house to-day. You cannot hold her by the rough hands of gain; she will not be bribed to stay: let me beg of you, then, to reach out to her the right hand of a glad welcome. Agnes, George, and Madeline have already perceived her true quality. Confirm their perceptions by your free acknowledgment, and her influence over them will be immeasurably increased.”
“What do you mean, Uncle John? Speak out in plain words,” said Mrs. Dainty.
“Put her upon a social equality with yourself.”
“How?”
“If she were your sister, what then?”
“She is not.”
“But if she were? Then she would sit with you at table; she would meet your friends; she would be a trusted companion.”
“She is not my sister,” answered Mrs. Dainty.
“Suppose she were the daughter, or adopted daughter, of a valued friend or wealthy citizen?”
“That would alter the case. But she is not.”
“Are you sure?” Uncle John’s voice fell to a lower tone, and had in it a quiver of feeling.
“I am sure,” said Mrs. Dainty, with confidence.
Uncle John let his eyes sink to the floor. It was plain that there was something held back in his thoughts.
“I wish,” he said at length, almost sadly, “that I could help you to see below the surface of things,—that you were able to tell gold from tinsel, worth from its counterfeit. All true value lies in quality. You know the quality of Florence Harper. Honor the good, then. Be independent in your sphere of life. Set the noble example of being just. You can afford to do so. Let it be seen as a new thing, and worthy of emulation, that in choosing a companion and instructor for your children you take one worthy to sit by your side and share your favor and confidence. You cannot see into the mind of an inferior and a dependant as you can into the mind of one who is regarded as an equal.”
But Uncle John could not lift the minds of Mr. and Mrs. Dainty up into the clear-seeing region that his own occupied.
“It is all in vain to press that view,” said his niece. “There are certain social distinctions that must be maintained. As to Miss Harper, if her presence as a governess in our family is to be at the cost of your constant interference in the matter of position, I shall be driven to the necessity of dismissing her from my service.”
The little head of Mrs. Dainty balanced itself firmly, and she looked dignified and composed. But she was not prepared for the change that instantly appeared in Uncle John’s manner. He stood up very erect, with a firm, decided manner, and said, like a man in earnest,—
“You will not, I presume, reverse your present decision?”
“I will not,” replied the lady.
“Then Florence cannot remain.” Mr. Fleetwood spoke as by authority.
“I can’t see,” said Mrs. Dainty, “that you have any right to control her movements.”
“The time is coming, mayhap, when you will see. For the sake of your dear children,”—the old man’s voice became unsteady,—“whom I love, with all their faults, almost as well as if they were my own, I consented to let Florence take a position in your family that you regard as an inferior one——“
”You consented!” interrupted the niece, with some asperity and some surprise.
“Yes, I consented,—or rather, constrained her to the act.”
“You! What is the meaning of this, Uncle John? What did you know of Florence Harper before she came into this house?”
“Enough to make me class her with the best and noblest of women! And her conduct here has only confirmed this estimate of her character.”
“I wish you would speak out more plainly, Uncle John.” The haughty manner of Mrs. Dainty was breaking down.
“Her mother’s maiden name was Florence Williams,” said the old man, in a low, quiet voice.
Mrs. Dainty’s face showed a slight pallor.
“You remember her?”
“Yes.”
“The daughter is as pure and true, as refined and accomplished, as was her mother. Now you understand me. In heart, she is my next akin. If I were her father, I could not love her more. The indignities she has suffered in this house, and at your hands, Madeline, have cut me sharply, and they pain, even now, like freshly-opened wounds. It will be hard for me either to forget or forgive them, for they struck like arrows, in tenderest places.”
Mrs. Dainty was speechless with surprise, and the pallor of her countenance increased. Mr. Dainty ventured no remark.
“I did not wish to make this revelation now,” said Mr. Fleetwood. “But you have forced it upon me. My hope was that you would be clear-seeing enough to comprehend her true character, and give her a place by your side because she was worthy to sit there. I thought that you would be able to comprehend the force of what I said just now about the importance of making your children’s trusted companion and instructor your social equal, in order that she might all the while be lifting them up toward the elevated position you desired them to occupy. But pride obscured true perception. And so I have been forced to an earlier declaration than I desired of my adopted daughter’s true relation.”
“Adopted daughter!” Mrs. Dainty looked confounded.
“Even so, Madeline. Even so! And, as I have said, if she were my own child I could not love her more tenderly. True, wise, noble-hearted, self-abnegating girl! To me it is a cause of wonder that your eyes were not able to see the angel in your house.”
“I am bewildered, Uncle John,” said Mrs. Dainty, greatly subdued. “Leave me now, that I may collect my thoughts.”
“As you collect them,” replied Mr. Fleetwood, “I pray you to examine each with the closest care. Only true thoughts lead to right actions. Let there be no error in your summing up,—no fatal defect in your conclusions. There are two paths diverging before you: Madeline, spoiled child of a dear sister! beware, lest you take the wrong one!”
And he went, in evident agitation, from the room.