CHAPTER XXVI.
REVIEWING THE MATTER.
“That alters the case,” Mrs. Dainty spoke suggestively, raising her eyes from the floor, and looking at her husband. It was nearly five minutes after Uncle John had left the library.
“Yes, that alters the case,” was the half-dreamy response of Mr. Dainty. “That alters the case,” he repeated, and then relapsed into silence.
So far they were agreed.
“That artful girl——”
Mrs. Dainty paused, for she was not entirely certain in regard to her husband’s present estimate of Miss Harper.
“Do you think her artful?” inquired Mr. Dainty looking at his wife.
“See what influence she has gained over Uncle John.”
“That may be explained on other grounds,” said Mr. Dainty.
“What are they?”
“He has himself referred to them.”
“I thought he had forgotten Florence Williams years ago, or that, if he remembered her at all, it was with indifference or dislike. She jilted him meanly. But I was always glad of it.”
“Madeline,” said Mr. Dainty, speaking in a decided way, “we cannot change the present condition of things: that each of us may see at a glance. And the question for us to ponder is, can we afford to let our feelings rule, and so break with Uncle John? There is no use in beating around the bush. No use in fretting ourselves. The horns of our dilemma are visible as the sun at noonday, and we must make our election. Uncle John has made his: that is certain.”
“And do you really think he will give us and our children up for that girl?” said Mrs. Dainty.
“I am sure of it. Did you not see how he was moved when he said that he loved her as if she were his own child? I marked it well. I have seen him disturbed a hundred times in my life, but never as he was this evening.”
Mrs. Dainty sighed deeply.
“We shall have to humor him,” said Mr. Dainty.
“And let that upstart triumph over me!” Mrs. Dainty burst into tears. Pride could not endure the thought.
“Are you not prejudiced against her, Madeline? She has never seemed to me presuming.”
Before Mrs. Dainty could reply, the library-door was pushed open, and Madeline came gliding in. From her manner it was plain that she had come to make a request, and also plain that she was in doubt as to its reception.
“Mother,” she said, as she paused a few steps from Mrs. Dainty.
“Well, dear?”
“Can’t I——” The child hesitated, and her face colored.
“Say on, dear.”
“Can’t I sleep with Miss Harper?”
A strongly-uttered negative was on the lip of Mrs. Dainty, when a warning look and gesture from her husband forced her to keep silence.
“Can’t I, mother?” urged the child. “Say yes. Do, mother!”
Madeline was unusually earnest.
“Why do you wish to sleep with Miss Harper?” asked her father.
“Oh, because she is good, and I love her.”
“Don’t you love sister Agnes?”
“Yes, I love her.” The tone of Madeline’s voice fell.
“Isn’t she good?”
“Not like Miss Harper.”
“Not like Miss Harper?”
“No.”
“What is the difference, darling?” And Mr. Dainty, interested in spite of himself, drew an arm around Madeline and pressed her to his side.
“God has made her good,” said the child, speaking low and reverently.
This answer sent a strange thrill through the heart of Mrs. Dainty. The father asked no other question.
“Can’t I sleep with her to-night, mother? Say yes, just for to-night.”
“Yes, for to-night,” answered Mrs. Dainty, speaking as one constrained.
Madeline threw her arms around her mother’s neck, and, kissing her, said, in a light, fluttering voice,—
“Oh, I’m so glad!” Then she flew away, like a happy bird in the warm spring sunshine.
“There is one thing very certain, Madeline,” said Mr. Dainty, as the child vanished from the room: “Miss Harper’s influence upon the children is good, and for their sakes, if no other considerations were urged, we had better let Uncle John have his way. We can tolerate her.”
Mrs. Dainty shook her head.
“Toleration is not going to do,” she answered. “Entire social equality is demanded; and nothing less will satisfy either of them.”
“I am not sure that Miss Harper has demanded any thing. Uncle John said she had not, and that she was here only upon his strong solicitation. It is barely possible, Madeline, that you have misunderstood her from the beginning. At least, one thing is now certain. Her social position will be changed by Uncle John’s formal adoption. She will be lifted to our level, and society will recognise her. So far we will be all right with the world.”
“There is something in that,” said Mrs. Dainty, a trifle softened. “But will she remain as governess to the children?”
“We can sink the word ‘governess.’ Let her be their companion and instructor.”
“Only another name for the same thing,” remarked Mrs. Dainty. “The position is menial.”
“I have thought differently, since Uncle John’s remarks a little while ago,” said Mr. Dainty. “They struck me as having great force.”
“What did he say? I was so excited and outraged that I scarcely comprehended him.”
“He said that the teacher, guide, and companion of our children must be socially equal, or she cannot lift them up to our level. And he asked, with to me startling emphasis, ‘Can the coarse, unskilled hands of an inferior mould into forms of spiritual beauty the ductile elements of a child’s mind,—that sublime creation over which angels bend in silent wonder?’ ‘Choose,’ he added, ‘the wisest and the best; and give her the place of honor in your household.’ There is force in that view of the question, Madeline,—great force; and our sad experience with Mrs. Jeckyl should be felt as a solemn warning. If menials and inferiors are to be instructors of our children, will they not deprave their tastes instead of elevating them? Can an impure fountain send forth sweet waters? We cannot gather grapes of thorns, nor figs of thistles.”
Mrs. Dainty sat with her eyes cast down, and a thoughtful, sober expression on her face.
“For the sake of our children,” she said, looking up, after the lapse of some moments, “I ought to be willing to do almost any thing. But this is a hard requirement.”
“I do not believe,” answered Mr. Dainty, “that Miss Harper will ever intrude herself offensively upon us. In no instance since she has been in our house have I observed the slightest tendency in that direction.”
“I have had better opportunities for observation,” was the reply, “and read her deportment somewhat differently. Why, if she were to the very manor born, she could not bear herself with greater ease nor show a higher self-possession. There is the tone and carriage about her of one who acknowledges no superior. It is this in the girl that has always annoyed me.”
“You may have looked through a distorting medium,” said Mr. Dainty.
“It is possible,” was answered, in a subdued voice. And then another long silence followed. It was broken in upon by the entrance of Agnes, their oldest daughter. She pushed the door open quietly, and, seeing her father and mother alone, was about retiring, when the former said,—
“Come in, daughter.”
“I only wanted a book,” remarked Agnes.
“Come and sit down here. I have something to say to you about Miss Harper,” added Mr. Dainty.
Agnes looked curiously at her father.
“What about Miss Harper?” she asked, as she drew a chair to his side.
“You like her?” Mr. Dainty spoke in a tone of inquiry.
“Oh, yes, father.” The answer was warmly uttered.
“Why?”
“Because she is kind and good.”
“Do you wish her to remain here?”
“I wouldn’t have her go away for all the world!” said Agnes, speaking with strong emphasis.
“Why not?”
“What would become of Madeline?” was the earnestly-spoken inquiry.
“Of Madeline?” Both Mr. and Mrs. Dainty looked with surprise at Agnes.
“Yes: that dreadful woman would get her again. Maddy would steal off, as she did before. Oh, father, don’t let Miss Harper go away! she’s the only one who can get along with sister now. She is so wise, so good, so loving, and so patient. I looked at her a little while ago, as she sat reading in the Bible to Madeline, and thought her face shone like that of an angel. I wished then that she were my sister, instead of only our governess. Dear father, I think Miss Harper must have been born a true lady.”
“Agnes,” said Mr. Dainty, after musing for some moments, “Uncle John knew her mother.”
“Did he?” The face of Agnes brightened.
“Yes: he knew her a great many years ago.”
“Then he had seen Miss Harper before she came here?”
“Yes; and it was because he had faith in her goodness and intelligence that he was so desirous to have her remain as your governess. We had no knowledge of all this when she came here, but he told us about it this evening. And now she is going to be one of us; that is, she will be as our daughter and your elder sister.”
“How glad I am! how glad I am!” exclaimed Agnes, striking her hands together, while tears filled her eyes. “But, mother, you don’t say any thing!” And she stood up and looked earnestly into her mother’s face.
“Can you accept her as an equal?” asked Mrs. Dainty, almost coldly.
“She is wiser and better than I am,” replied Agnes, humbly. “If she will accept me as a sister, my heart will yield to her joyfully. Dear mother, take her into favor and love, for she is worthy.”
“Leave us now, daughter,” said Mrs. Dainty, in a softened voice. “We will talk about this another time.”
And Agnes, after kissing her mother affectionately, withdrew from the library.
“The thing is inevitable.” Mrs. Dainty was not by any means reconciled, as both tone and manner indicated.
“But easy.”
“Easy?”
“Yes, and may be accepted gracefully. Let us be thankful that Miss Harper is not a proud, selfish, designing girl, whose first effort would be to produce alienation between us and Mr. Fleetwood.”
The thoughts of Mrs. Dainty reverted at once to the insolent manner in which she had conducted herself toward Miss Harper, and her efforts to degrade her in the family; and a wave of apprehension swept across her selfish heart.
“But,” continued Mr. Dainty, “of this I do not imagine there is any thing to fear. Miss Harper I regard as above suspicion. There is no doubt of her being able to influence your uncle against us if she should be so inclined. Let us act wisely, and not produce in her that inclination. Madeline, you see as clearly as I do the doubtful position we now occupy. The tables are suddenly turned upon us, and we are to-day in the power of an obscure young girl upon whom we have looked down as the humble governess of our children. It is no use to strive against the inevitable. We must either accept or reject her. If the former, it will have to be done heartily. Neither coldness nor reserve will answer. Miss Harper is clear-seeing, sensitive, and high-spirited. Her relation to Mr. Fleetwood gives her a position of equality, and any attempt on your part to degrade her, in even the slightest thing, will be felt and resented by both.”
“I see; I see,” answered Mrs. Dainty, moodily. “But, when a thing has to be done, only fools hesitate. I will discipline my feelings to-night, and to-morrow put on toward this usurping girl a new exterior. Don’t fear but that I shall play my part.”
“It may cost you a struggle,” said her husband, “but the strife will soon be over. I hope much from her gentle nature, and much from her clear perception of right. She will not, I am sure, take a mean advantage of this great diversion in her favor.”
“Time will show,” was the almost sullen response.