‘I vented my ill-humour in being late for the Bullock’s dinner. There were one or two clerks, towards whom Mr. Bullock was patronising and pressing. Mrs. Bullock was decked out in extraordinary finery. Miss Bullock looked plainer than ever; but she had on some old gown or other, I think, for I heard Mrs. Bullock tell her she was always making a figure of herself. I began today to suspect that the mother would not be sorry if I took a fancy to the step-daughter. I was again placed near her at dinner, and, when the little ones came in to dessert, I was made to notice how fond of children she was — and, indeed, when one of them nestled to her, her face did brighten; but, the moment she caught this loud-whispered remark, the gloom came back again, with something even of anger in her look; and she was quite sullen and obstinate when urged to sing in the drawing-room. Mrs. Bullock turned to me:
‘“Some young ladies won’t sing unless they are asked by gentlemen.” She spoke very crossly. “If you ask Jemima, she will probably sing. To oblige me, it is evident she will not.”
‘I thought the singing, when we got it, would probably be a great bore; however, I did as I was bid, and went with my request to the young lady, who was sitting a little apart. She looked up at me with eyes full of tears, and said, in a decided tone (which, if I had not seen her eyes, I should have said was as cross as her mamma’s ), “No, sir, I will not.” She got up, and left the room. I expected to hear Mrs. Bullock abuse her for her obstinacy. Instead of that, she began to tell me of the money that had been spent on her education; of what each separate accomplishment had cost. “She was timid,” she said, “but very musical. Wherever her future home might be, there would be no want of music.” She went on praising her till I hated her. If they thought I was going to marry that great lubberly girl, they were mistaken. Mr. Bullock and the clerks came up. He brought out Liebig, and called me to him.
‘“I can understand a good deal of this agricultural chemistry,” said he, “and have put it in practice — without much success, hitherto, I confess. But these unconnected letters puzzle rue a little. I suppose they have some meaning, or else I should say it was mere book-making to put them in.”
‘“I think they give the page a very ragged appearance,” said Mrs. Bullock, who had joined us. “I inherit a little of my late father’s taste for books, and must say I like to see a good type, a broad margin, and all elegant binding. My father despised variety; how he could have held up his hands aghast at the cheap literature of these times! He did not require many books, but he would have twenty editions of those that he had; and he paid more for binding than he did for the books themselves. But elegance was everything with him. He would not have admitted your Liebig, Mr. Bullock; neither the nature of the subject, nor the common type, nor the common way in which your book is got up, would have suited him.”
‘“Go and make tea, my dear and leave Mr. Harrison and me to talk over a few of these manures.”
‘We settled to it; I explained the meaning of the symbols, and the doctrine of chemical equivalents. At last he said, “Doctor! you’re giving me too strong a dose of it at one time. Let’s have a small quantity taken ‘hodie’; that’s professional, as Mr. Morgan would call it. Come in and call, when you have leisure, and give me a lesson in my alphabet. Of all you’ve been telling me I can only remember that C means carbon and O oxygen; and I see one must know the meaning of all these confounded letters before one can do much good with Liebig.”
‘“We dine at three,” said Mrs. Bullock. “There will always be a knife and fork for Mr. Harrison. Bullock! don’t confine your invitation to the evening.”
‘“Why, you see, I’ve a nap always after dinner; so I could not be learning chemistry then.”
‘“Don’t be selfish, Mr. B. Think of the pleasure Jemima and I shall have in Mr. Harrison’s society.”
‘I put a stop to the discussion by saying I would come in in the evenings occasionally, and give Mr. Bullock a lesson, but that my professional duties occupied me invariably until that time.
‘I liked Mr. Bullock. He was simple and shrewd; and to be with a man was a relief, after all the feminine society I went through every day.
‘The next morning I met Miss Horsman.
‘“So you dined at Mr. Bullock’s yesterday, Mr. Harrison? Quite a family party, I hear. They are quite charmed with you, and your knowledge of chemistry. Mr. Bullock told me so, in Hodgson’s shop, just now. Miss Bullock is a nice girl, eh, Mr. Harrison?” She looked sharply at me. Of course, whatever I thought, I could do nothing but assent. “A nice little fortune, too — three thousand pounds, Consols, from her own mother.”
‘What did I care? She might have three millions for me. I had begun to think a good deal about money, though, but not in connection with her. I had been doing up our books ready to send out our Christmas bills, and had been wondering how far the Vicar would consider three hundred a year, with a prospect of increase, would justify me in thinking of Sophy, Think of her I could not help; and, the more I thought of how good, and sweet, and pretty she was, the more I felt that she ought to have far more than I could offer. Besides, my father was a shop-keeper, and I saw the Vicar had a sort of respect for family. I determined to try and be very attentive to my profession. I was as civil as could be to every one; and wore the nap off the brim of my hat by taking it off so often.
‘I had my eyes open to every glimpse of Sophy. I am overstocked with gloves now that I bought at that time, by way of making errands into the shops where I saw her black gown. I bought pounds upon pounds of arrowroot, till I was tired of the eternal arrowroot puddings Mrs. Rose gave me. I asked her if she could not make bread of it, but she seemed to think that would be expensive; so I took to soap as a safe purchase. I believe soap improves by keeping.
‘The more I knew of Mrs. Rose, the better I liked her. She was sweet, and kind, and motherly, and we never had any rubs. I hurt her once or twice, I think, by cutting her short in her long stories about Mr. Rose. But I found out that when she had plenty to do she did not think of him quite so much; so I expressed a wish for Corazza shirts, and, in the puzzle of devising how they were to be cut out, she forgot Mr. Rose for some time. I was still more pleased by her way about some legacy her elder brother left her. I don’t know the amount, but it was something handsome, and she might have set up housekeeping for herself; but, instead, she told Mr. Morgan (who repeated it to me), that she should continue with me, as she had quite an elder sister’s interest in me.
‘The “county young lady,” Miss Tyrrell, returned to Miss Tomkinson’s after the holidays. She had an enlargement of the tonsils, which required to be frequently touched with caustic, so I often called to see her. Miss Caroline always received me, and kept me talking in her washed-out style, after I had seen my patient. One day she told me she thought she had a weakness about the heart, and would be glad if I would bring my stethoscope the next time, which I accordingly did! and, while I was on my knees listening to the pulsations, one of the young ladies came in. She said:
‘“Oh dear! I never! I beg your pardon, ma’am,” and scuttled out. There was not much the matter with Miss Caroline’s heart: a little feeble in action or so, a mere matter of weakness and general languor. When I went down I saw two or three of the girls peeping out of the half-closed schoolroom door, but they shut it immediately, and I heard them laughing. The next time I called, Miss Tomkinson was sitting in state to receive me.
‘“Miss Tyrrell’s throat does not seem to make much progress. Do you understand the case, Mr. Harrison, or should we have further advice. I think Mr. Morgan would probably know more about it.”
‘I assured her that it was the simplest thing in the world; that it always implied a little torpor in the constitution, and that we preferred working through the system, which of course was a slow process; and that the medicine the young lady was taking (iodide of iron) was sure to be successful, although the progress would not be rapid. She bent her head, and said, “It might be so; but she confessed she had more confidence in medicines which had some effect.”
‘She seemed to expect me to tell her something; but I had nothing to say, and accordingly I bade goodbye. Somehow, Miss Tomkinson always managed to make me feel very small, by a succession of snubbings; and, whenever I left her I had always to comfort myself under her contradictions by saying to myself, “Her saying it is so does not make it so.” Or I invented good retorts which I might have made to her brusque speeches, if I had but thought of them at the right time. But it was provoking that I had not had the presence of mind to recollect them just when they were wanted.
‘On the whole, things went on smoothly. Mr. Holden’s legacy came in just about this time; and I felt quite rich. Five hundred pounds would furnish the house, I thought, when Mrs. Rose left and Sophy came. I was delighted, too, to imagine that Sophy perceived the difference of my manner to her from what it was to any one else, and that she was embarrassed and shy in consequence, but not displeased with me for it. All was so flourishing that I went about on wings instead of feet. We were very busy, without having anxious cares. My legacy was paid into Mr. Bullock’s hands, who united a little banking business to his profession of law. In return for his advice about investments (which I never meant to take, having a more charming, if less profitable, mode in my head), I went pretty frequently to teach him his agricultural chemistry. I was so happy in Sophy’s blushes that I was universally benevolent, and desirous of giving pleasure to every one. I went, at Mrs. Bullock’s general invitation, to dinner there one day unexpectedly: but there was such a fuss of ill-concealed preparation consequent upon my coming, that I never went again. Her little boy came in, with an audibly given message from cook, to ask:
‘“If this was the gentleman as she was to send in the best dinner-service and dessert for?”
‘I looked deaf, but determined never to go again.
‘Miss Bullock and I, meanwhile, became rather friendly. We found out that we mutually disliked each other, and we’re contented with the discovery. If people are worth anything, this sort of non-liking is a very good beginning of friendship. Every good quality is revealed naturally and slowly, and is a pleasant surprise. I found out that Miss Bullock was sensible, and even sweet-tempered, when not irritated by her step-mother’s endeavours to show her off. But she would sulk for hours after Mrs. Bullock’s offensive praise of her good points. And I never saw such a black passion as she went into, when she suddenly came into the room when Mrs. Bullock was telling me of all the offers she had had.
‘My legacy made me feel up to extravagance. I scoured the country for a glorious nosegay of camellias, which I sent to Sophy on Valentine’s Day. I durst not add a line; but I wished the flowers could speak, and tell her how I loved her.
‘I called on Miss Tyrrell that day. Miss Caroline was more simpering and affected than ever, and full of allusions to the day.
‘“Do you affix much sincerity of meaning to the little gallantries of this day, Mr. Harrison?” asked she, in a languishing tone. I thought of my camellias, and how my heart had gone with them into Sophy’s keeping; and I told her I thought one might often take advantage of such a time to hint at feelings one dared not fully express.
‘I remembered afterwards the forced display she made, after Miss Tyrrell left the room, of a valentine. But I took no notice at the time; my head was full of Sophy.
‘It was on that very day that John Brouncker, the gardener to all of us who had small gardens to keep in order, fell down and injured his wrist severely (I don’t give you the details of the case, because they would not interest you, being too technical; if you’ve any curiosity, you will find them in the Lancet of August in that year). We all liked John, and this accident was felt like a town’s misfortune. The gardens, too, just wanted doing up. Both Mr. Morgan and I went directly to him. It was a very awkward case, and his wife and children were crying sadly. He himself was in great distress at being thrown out of work. He begged us to do something that would cure him speedily, as he could not afford to be laid up, with six children depending on him for bread. We did not say much before him; but we both thought the arm would have to come off, and it was his right arm. We talked it over when we came out of the cottage. Mr. Morgan had no doubt of the necessity. I went back at dinner-time to see the poor fellow. He was feverish and anxious. He had caught up some expression of Mr. Morgan’s in the morning, and had guessed the measure we had in contemplation. He bade his wife leave the room, and spoke to me by myself.
‘“If you please, sir, I’d rather be done for at once than have my arm taken off, and be a burden to my family. I’m not afraid of dying; but I could not stand being a cripple for life, eating bread, and not able to earn it.”
‘The tears were in his eyes with earnestness. I had all along been more doubtful about the necessity of the amputation than Mr. Morgan. I knew the improved treatment in such cases. In his days there was much more of the rough and ready in surgical practice; so I gave the poor fellow some hope.
‘In the afternoon I met Mr. Bullock.
‘“So you’re to try your hand at an amputation, tomorrow, I hear. Poor John Brouncker! I used to tell him he was not careful enough about his ladders. Mr. Morgan is quite excited about it. He asked me to be present, and see how well a man from Guy’s could operate; he says he is sure you’ll do it beautifully. Pah! no such sights for me, thank you.
‘Ruddy Mr. Bullock went a shade or two paler at the thought.
‘“Curious, how professionally a man views these things! Here’s Mr. Morgan, who had been all along as proud of you as if you were his own son, absolutely rubbing his hands at the idea of this crowning glory, this feather in your cap! He told me just now he knew he had always been too nervous to be a good operator, and had therefore preferred sending for White from Chesterton. But now any one might have a serious accident who liked, for you would be always at hand.”
‘I told Mr. Bullock, I really thought we might avoid the amputation; but his mind was preoccupied with the idea of it, and he did not care to listen to me. The whole town was full of it. That is a charm in a little town, everybody is so sympathetically full of the same events. Even Miss Horsman stopped me to ask after John Brouncker with interest; but she threw cold water upon my intention of saving the arm.
‘“As for the wife and family, we’ll take care of them. Think what a fine opportunity you have of showing off, Mr. Harrison!”
‘That was just like her. Always ready with her suggestions of ill-natured or interested motives.
‘Mr. Morgan heard my proposal of a mode of treatment by which I thought it possible that the arm might be saved.
‘“I differ from you, Mr. Harrison,” said he. “I regret it; but I differ in toto from you. Your kind heart deceives you in this instance. There is no doubt that amputation must take place — not later than tomorrow morning, I should say. I have made myself at liberty to attend upon you, sir; I shall be happy to officiate as your assistant. Time was when I should have been proud to be principal; but a little trembling in my arm incapacitates me.”
‘I urged my reasons upon him again; but he was obstinate. He had, in fact, boasted so much of my acquirements as an operator that he was unwilling I should lose this opportunity of displaying my skill. He could not see that there would be greater skill evinced in saving the arm; nor did I think of this at the time. I grew angry at his old-fashioned narrow-mindedness, as I thought it; and I became dogged in my resolution to adhere to my own course. We parted very coolly; and I went straight off to John Brouncker to tell him I believed that I could save the arm, if he would refuse to have it amputated. When I calmed myself a little, before going in and speaking to him, I could not help acknowledging that we should run some risk of lock-jaw; but, on the whole, and after giving some earnest conscientious thought to the case, I was sure that my mode of treatment would be best.
‘He was a sensible man. I told him the difference of opinion that existed between Mr. Morgan and myself. I said that there might be some little risk attending the non-amputation, but that I should guard against it; and I trusted that I should be able to preserve his arm.
‘“Under God’s blessing,” said he reverently. I bowed my head. I don’t like to talk too frequently of the dependence which I always felt on that holy blessing, as to the result of my efforts; but I was glad to hear that speech of John’s, because it showed a calm and faithful heart; and I had almost certain hopes of him from that time.
‘We agreed that he should tell Mr. Morgan the reason of his objections to the amputation, and his reliance on my opinion. I determined to recur to every book I had relating to such case, and to convince Mr. Morgan, if I could, of my wisdom. Unluckily, I found out afterwards that he had met Miss Horsman in the time that intervened before I saw him again at his own house that evening; and she had more than hinted that I shrunk from performing the operation, “for very good reasons no doubt. She had heard that the medical students in London were a bad set, and were not remarkable for regular attendance in the hospitals. She might be mistaken; but she thought it was, perhaps, quite as well poor John Brouncker had not his arm cut off by —. Was there not such a thing as mortification coming on after a clumsy operation? It was, perhaps, only a choice of deaths!”
‘Mr. Morgan had been stung at all this. Perhaps I did not speak quite respectfully enough: I was a good deal excited. We only got more and more angry with each other; though he, to do him justice, was as civil as could be all the time, thinking that thereby he concealed his vexation and disappointment. He did not try to conceal his anxiety about poor John. I went home weary and dispirited. I made up and took the necessary applications to John; and, promising to return with the dawn of day (I would fain have stayed, but I did not wish him to be alarmed about himself), I went home, and resolved to sit up and study the treatment of similar cases.
‘Mrs. Rose knocked at the door.
‘“Come in!” said I sharply.
‘“She said she had seen I had something on my mind all day, and she could not go to bed without asking if there was nothing she could do. She was good and kind; and I could not help telling her a little of the truth. She listened pleasantly; and I shook her warmly by the hand, thinking that though she might not be very wise, her good heart made her worth a dozen keen, sharp hard people, like Miss Horsman.
‘When I went at daybreak, I saw John’s wife for a few minutes outside the door. She seemed to wish her husband had been in Mr. Morgan’s hands rather than mine; but she gave me as good an account as I dared to hope for of the manner in which her husband had passed the night. This was confirmed by my own examination.
‘When Mr. Morgan and I visited him together later on in the day, John said what we had agreed upon the day before; and I told Mr. Morgan openly that it was by my advice that amputation was declined. He did not speak to me till we had left the house. Then he said — “Now, sir, from this time, I consider this case entirely in your hands. Only remember the poor fellow has a wife and six children. In case you conic round to my opinion, remember that Mr. White could come over, as he has done before, for the operation.”
‘So Mr. Morgan believed I declined operating because I felt myself incapable! Very well! I was much mortified.
‘An hour after we parted, I received a note to this effect:
‘“DEAR SIR, — I will take the long round today, to leave you at liberty to attend to Brouncker’s case, which I feel to be a very responsible one.
‘“J. MORGAN”
‘This was kindly done. I went back, as soon as I could, to John’s cottage. While I was in the inner room with him, I heard the Miss Tomkinsons’ voices outside. They had called to inquire. Miss Tomkinson came in, and evidently was poking and snuffing about. (Mrs. Brouncker told her that I was within; and within I resolved to be till they had gone.)
‘“What is this close smell?” asked she. “I am afraid you are not cleanly. Cheese! — cheese in this cupboard! No wonder there is an unpleasant smell. Don’t you know how particular you should be about being clean when there is illness about?”
‘Mrs. Brouncker was exquisitely clean in general, and was piqued at these remarks.
‘“If you please, ma’am, I could not leave John yesterday to do any housework, and Jenny put the dinner things away. She is but eight years old.”
‘But this did not satisfy Miss Tomkinson, who was evidently pursuing the course of her observations.
‘“Fresh butter, I declare! Well now, Mrs. Brouncker, do you know I don’t allow myself fresh butter at this time of the year? How can you save, indeed, with such extravagance!”
‘“Please, ma’am,” answered Mrs. Brouncker, “you’d think it strange, if I was to take such liberties in your house as you’re taking here.”
‘I expected to hear a sharp answer. No! Miss Tomkinson liked plain-speaking. The only person in whom she would tolerate round-about ways of talking was her sister.
‘“Well, that’s true,” she said. “Still, you must not be above taking advice. Fresh butter is extravagant at this time of the year. However, you’re a good kind of woman, and I’ve a great respect for John. Send Jenny for some broth as soon as he can take it. Come, Caroline, we have got to go on to Williams’s .”
‘But Miss Caroline said that she was tired, and would rest where she was till Miss Tomkinson came back. I was a prisoner for some time, I found. When she was alone with Mrs. Brouncker, she said:
‘“You must not be hurt by my sister’s abrupt manner. She means well. She has not much imagination or sympathy, and cannot understand the distraction of mind produced by the illness of a worshipped husband.” I could hear the loud sigh of commiseration which followed this speech. Mrs. Brouncker said:
‘“Please, ma’am, I don’t worship my husband. I would not be so wicked.”
‘“Goodness! You don’t think it wicked, do you? For my part, if . . . I should worship, I should adore him.” I thought she need not imagine such improbable cases. But sturdy Mrs. Brouncker said again:
‘“I hope I know my duty better. I’ve not learned my Commandments for nothing. I know Whom I ought to worship.”
‘Just then the children came in, dirty and unwashed, I have no doubt. And now Miss Caroline’s real nature peeped out. She spoke sharply to them, and asked them if they had no manners, little pigs as they were, to come brushing against her silk gown in that way? She sweetened herself again, and was as sugary as love when Miss Tomkinson returned to her, accompanied by one whose voice, “like winds in summer sighing,” I knew to be my dear Sophy’s .
‘She did not say much; but what she did say, and the manner in which she spoke, was tender and compassionate in the highest degree; and she came to take the four little ones back with her to the vicarage, in order that they might be out of their mother’s way; the older two might help at home. She offered to wash their hands and faces; and when I emerged from my inner chamber, after the Miss Tomkinsons had left, I found her with a chubby child on her knees, bubbling and spluttering against her white wet hand, with a face bright, rosy, and merry under the operation. Just as I came in, she said to him, “There, Jemmy, now I can kiss you with this nice clean face.”
‘She coloured when she saw me. I liked her speaking, and I liked her silence. She was silent now, and I “lo’ed her a’ the better.” I gave my directions to Mrs. Brouncker, and hastened to overtake Sophy and the children; but they had gone round by the lanes, I suppose, for I saw nothing of them.
‘I was very anxious about the case. At night I went again. Miss Horsman had been there; I believe she was really kind among the poor, but she could not help leaving a sting behind her everywhere. She had been frightening Mrs. Brouncker about her husband, and been, I have no doubt, expressing her doubts of my skill; for Mrs. Brouncker began:
‘“Oh, please, sir, if you’ll only let Mr. Morgan take off his arm, I will never think the worse of you for not being able to do it.”
‘I told her it was from no doubt of my own competency to perform the operation that I wished to save the arm; but that he himself was anxious to have it spared.
‘“Ay, bless him! he frets about not earning enough to keep us, if he’s crippled; but, sir, I don’t care about that. I would work my fingers to the bone, and so would the children; I’m sure we’d be proud to do for him, and keep him; God bless him! it would be far better to have him only with one arm, than to have him in the churchyard, Miss Horsman says
‘“Confound Miss Horsman!” said I.
‘“Thank you, Mr. Harrison,” said her well-known voice behind me. She had come out, dark as it was, to bring some old linen to Mrs. Brouncker; for, as I said before, she was very kind to all the poor people of Duncombe.
‘“I beg your pardon”; for I really was sorry for my speech — or rather that she had heard it.
‘“There is no occasion for any apology,” she replied, drawing herself up, and pinching her lips into a very venomous shape.
‘John was doing pretty well; but of course the danger of lock-jaw was not over. Before I left, his wife entreated me to take off the arm; she wrung her hands in her passionate entreaty. “Spare him to me, Mr. Harrison,” she implored. Miss Horsman stood by. It was mortifying enough; but I thought of the power which was in my hands, as I firmly believed, of saving the limb; and I was inflexible.
‘You cannot think how pleasantly Mrs. Rose’s sympathy came in on my return. To be sure she did not understand one word of the case, which I detailed to her; but she listened with interest, and, as long as she held her tongue, I thought she was really taking it in; but her first remark was as mal àpropos as could be.
‘“You are anxious to save the tibia — I see completely how difficult that will be. My late husband had a case exactly similar, and I remember his anxiety; but you must not distress yourself too much, my dear Mr. Harrison; I have no doubt it will end well,”
‘I knew she had no grounds for this assurance, and yet it comforted me.
‘However, as it happened, John did fully as well as I could have hoped for; of course, he was long in rallying his strength; and, indeed, sea-air was evidently so necessary for his complete restoration, that I accepted with gratitude Mrs. Rose’s proposal of sending him to Highport for a fortnight or three weeks. Her kind generosity in this matter made me more desirous than ever of paying her every mark of respect and attention.
‘About this time there was a sale at Ashmeadow, a pretty house in the neighbourhood of Duncombe. It was likewise an easy walk, and the spring days tempted many people thither, who had no intention of buying anything, but who liked the idea of rambling through the woods, gay with early primroses and wild daffodils, and of seeing the gardens and house, which till now had been shut up from the ingress of the townspeople. Mrs. Rose had planned to go, but an unlucky cold prevented her. She begged me to bring her a very particular account, saying she delighted in details, and always questioned Mr. Rose as to the side-dishes of the dinners to which he went. The late Mr. Rose’s conduct was always held up as a model to me, by the way. I walked to Ashmeadow, pausing or loitering with different parties of townspeople, all bound in the same direction. At last I found the Vicar and Sophy, and with them I stayed. I sat by Sophy and talked and listened. A sale is a very pleasant gathering after all. The auctioneer, in a country place, is privileged to joke from his rostrum, and, having a personal knowledge of most of the people, can sometimes make a very keen hit at their circumstances, and turn the laugh against them. For instance, on the present occasion, there was a farmer present, with his wife, who was notoriously the grey mare. The auctioneer was selling some horse-cloths, and called out to recommend the article to her, telling her, with a knowing look at the company, that they would make her a dashing pair of trousers, if she was in want of such an article. She drew herself up with dignity, and said, “Come, John, we’ve had enough of this.” Whereupon there was a burst of laughter, and in the midst of it John meekly followed his wife out of the place. The furniture in the sitting-rooms was, I believe, very beautiful, but I did not notice it much. Suddenly I heard the auctioneer speaking to me, “Mr. Harrison, won’t you give me a bid for this table?”
‘It was a very pretty little table of walnut-wood. I thought it would go into my study very well, so I gave him a bid. I saw Miss Horsman bidding against me, so I went off with a full force, and at last it was knocked down to me. The auctioneer smiled, and congratulated me.
‘“A most useful present for Mrs. Harrison, when that lady comes.
‘Everybody laughed. They like a joke about marriage; it is so easy to comprehend. But the table which I had thought was for writing, turned out to be a work-table, scissors and thimble complete. No wonder I looked foolish. Sophy was not looking at me, that was one comfort. She was busy arranging a nosegay of wood-anemone and wild sorrel.
‘Miss Horsman came up, with her curious eyes.
‘“I had no idea things were far enough advanced for you to be purchasing a work-table, Mr. Harrison.
‘I laughed off my awkwardness.
‘” Did not you, Miss Horsman? You are very much behindhand. You have not heard of my piano, then?”
‘“No, indeed,” she said, half uncertain whether I was serious or not. “Then it seems there is nothing wanting but the lady.”
‘“Perhaps she may not be wanting either,” said I; for I wished to perplex her keen curiosity.
‘When I got home from my round, I found Mrs. Rose in some sorrow.
‘“Miss Horsman called after you left,” said she. “Have you heard how John Brouncker is at Highport?”
‘“Very well,” replied I. “I called on his wife just now, and she had just got a letter from him. She had been anxious about him, for she had not heard for a week. However, all’s right now; and she has pretty well enough of work, at Mrs. Munton’s, as her servant is ill. Oh, they’ll do, never fear.”
‘“At Mrs. Munton’s? Oh, that accounts for it, then. She is so deaf, and makes such blunders.
‘“Accounts for what?” said I.
‘“Oh, perhaps I had better not tell you,” hesitated Mrs. Rose.
‘“Yes, tell me at once. I beg your pardon, but I hate mysteries.”
‘“You are so like my poor dear Mr. Rose. He used to speak to me just in that sharp, cross way. It is only that Miss Horsman called. She had been making a collection for John Brouncker’s widow and — ”
‘“But the man’s alive!” said I.
‘“So it seems. But Mrs. Munton had told her that he was dead. And she has got Mr. Morgan’s name down at the head of the list, and Mr. Bullock’s .”
‘Mr. Morgan and I had got into a short, cool way of speaking to each other ever since we had differed so much about the treatment of Brouncker’s arm; and I had heard once or twice of his shakes of the head over John’s case. He would not have spoken against my method for the world, and fancied that he concealed his fears.
‘“Miss Horsman is very ill-natured, I think,” sighed forth Mrs. Rose.
‘I saw that something had been said of which I had not heard, for the mere fact of collecting money for the widow was good-natured, whoever did it; so I asked, quietly, what she had said.
‘“Oh, I don’t know if I should tell you. I only know she made me cry; for I’m not well, and I can’t bear to hear any one that I live with abused.”
‘Come! this was pretty plain.
‘“What did Miss Horsman say of me?” asked I, half laughing, for I knew there was no love lost between us.
‘“Oh, she only said she wondered you could go to sales, and spend your money there, when your ignorance had made Jane Brouncker a widow, and her children fatherless.”
‘“Pooh! pooh! John’s alive, and likely to live as long as you or I, thanks to you, Mrs. Rose.”
‘When my work-table came home, Mrs. Rose was so struck with its beauty and completeness, and I was so much obliged to her for her identification of my interests with hers, and the kindness of her whole conduct about John, that I begged her to accept of it. She seemed very much pleased; and, after a few apologies, she consented to take it, and placed it in the most conspicuous part of the front parlour, where she usually sat. There was a good deal of morning calling in Duncombe after the sale, and during this time the fact of John being alive was established to the conviction of all except Miss Horsman, who, I believe, still doubted. I myself told Mr. Morgan, who immediately went to reclaim his money; saying to me that he was thankful for the information; he was truly glad to hear it; and he shook me warmly by the hand for the first time for a month.
‘A few days after the sale, I was in the consulting-room. The servant must have left the folding-doors a little ajar, I think. Mrs. Munton came to call on Mrs. Rose; and the former being deaf, I heard all the speeches of the latter lady, as she was obliged to speak very loud in order to be heard. She began:
‘“This is a great pleasure, Mrs. Munton, so seldom as you are well enough to go out.”
‘Mumble, mumble, mumble, through the door.
‘“Oh, very well, thank you. Take this seat, and then you can admire my new work-table, ma’am; a present from Mr. Harrison.”
‘Mumble, mumble.
‘“Who could have told you, ma’am? Miss Horsman? Oh, yes, I showed it Miss Horsman.”
‘Mumble, mumble.
‘“I don’t quite understand you, ma’am.”
‘Mumble, mumble.
‘“I’m not blushing, I believe. I really am quite in the dark as to what you mean.”
‘Mumble, mumble.
‘“Oh, yes, Mr. Harrison and I are most comfortable together. He reminds me so of my dear Mr. Rose — just as fidgety and anxious in his profession.”
‘Mumble, mumble.
‘“I’m sure you are joking now, ma’am” Then I heard a pretty loud:
‘“Oh, no;” mumble, mumble, mumble, for a long time.
‘“Did he really? Well, I’m sure I don’t know. I should be sorry to think he was doomed to be unfortunate in so serious an affair; but you know my undying regard for the late Mr. Rose.”
‘Another long mumble.
‘“You’re very kind, I’m sure. Mr. Rose always thought more of my happiness than his own” — a little crying — “but the turtle-dove has always been my ideal, ma’am”
‘Mumble, mumble.
‘“No one could have been happier than I. As you say, it is a compliment to matrimony.”
‘Mumble.
‘“Oh, but you must not repeat such a thing! Mr. Harrison would not like it. He can’t bear to have his affairs spoken about.”
‘Then there was a change of subject; an inquiry after some poor person, I imagine. I heard Mrs. Rose say:
‘“She has got a mucous membrane, I’m afraid, ma’am.”
‘A commiserating mumble.
‘“Not always fatal. I believe Mr. Rose knew some cases that lived for years after it was discovered that they had a mucous membrane.” A pause. Then Mrs. Rose spoke in a different tone.
‘“Are you sure, ma’am, there is no mistake about what he said?”
‘Mumble,
‘“Pray don’t be so observant, Mrs. Munton; you find out too much. One can have no little secrets.”
‘The call broke up; and I heard Mrs. Munton say in the passage, “I wish you joy, ma’am, with all my heart. There’s no use denying it; for I’ve seen all along what would happen.”
‘When I went in to dinner, I said to Mrs. Rose:
‘“You’ve had Mrs. Munton here, I think. Did she bring any news?” To my surprise, she bridled and simpered, and replied, “Oh, you must not ask, Mr. Harrison; such foolish reports.”
‘I did not ask, as she seemed to wish me not, and I knew there were silly reports always about. Then I think she was vexed that I did not ask. Altogether she went on so strangely that I could not help looking at her; and then she took up a hand-screen, and held it between me and her. I really felt rather anxious.
‘“Are you not feeling well?” said I innocently.
‘“Oh, thank you, I believe I’m quite well; only the room is rather warm, is it not?”
‘“Let me put the blinds down for you? the sun begins to have a good deal of power.” I drew down the blinds.
‘“You are so attentive, Mr. Harrison. Mr. Rose himself never did more for my little wishes than you do.”
‘“I wish I could do more — I wish I could show you how much I feel” — her kindness to John Brouncker, I was going on to say; but I was just then called out to a patient. Before I went I turned back, and said:
‘“Take care of yourself, my dear Mrs. Rose; you had better rest a little.”
‘“For your sake, I will,” said she tenderly.
‘I did not care for whose sake she did it. Only I really thought she was not quite well, and required rest. I thought she was more affected than usual at tea-time; and could have been angry with her nonsensical ways once or twice, but that I knew the real goodness of her heart. She said she wished she had the power to sweeten my life as she could my tea. I told her what a comfort she had been during my late time of anxiety; and then I stole out to try if I could hear the evening singing at the vicarage, by standing close to the garden-wall.
‘The next morning I met Mr. Bullock by appointment to talk a little about the legacy which was paid into his hands. As I was leaving his office, feeling full of my riches, I met Miss Horsman. She smiled rather grimly, and said:
‘“Oh, Mr. Harrison, I must congratulate you, I believe. I don’t know whether I ought to have known, but as I do, I must wish you joy. A very nice little sum, too. I always said you would have money.”
‘So she had found out my legacy, had she? Well, it was no secret, and one likes the reputation of being a person of property. Accordingly I smiled, and said I was much obliged to her; and, if I could alter the figures to my liking, she might congratulate me still more.
‘She said, “Oh, Mr. Harrison, you can’t have everything. It would be better the other way, certainly. Money is the great thing, as you’ve found out. The relation died most opportunely, I must say.”
‘“He was no relative,” said I; “only an intimate friend.”
‘“Dear-ah-me! I thought it bad been a brother! Well, at any rate, the legacy is safe.”
‘I wished her good morning, and passed on. Before long I was sent for to Miss Tomkinson’s .
‘Miss Tomkinson sat in severe state to receive me. I went in with an air of ease, because I always felt so uncomfortable.
‘“Is this true that I bear?” asked she, in an inquisitorial manner.
‘I thought she alluded to my five hundred pounds; so I smiled, and said that I believed it was.
‘“Can money be so great an object with you, Mr. Harrison?” she asked again.
‘“I said I had never cared much for money, except as an assistance to any plan of settling in life; and then, as I did not like her severe way of treating the subject, I said that I hoped every one was well; though of course I expected some one was ill, or I should not have been sent for.
‘Miss Tomkinson looked very grave and sad. Then she answered: “Caroline is very poorly — the old palpitations at the heart; but of course that is nothing to you.”.
‘I said I was sorry. She had a weakness there, I knew. Could I see her? I might be able to order something for her.
‘I thought I heard Miss Tomkinson say something in a low voice about my being a heartless deceiver. Then she spoke up. “I was always distrustful of you, Mr. Harrison. I never liked your looks. I begged Caroline again and again not to confide in you. I foresaw how it would end. And now I fear her precious life will be a sacrifice.”
‘I begged her not to distress herself, for in all probability there was very little the matter with her sister. Might I see her?
‘“No!” she said shortly, standing up as if to dismiss me. “There has been too much of this seeing and calling. By my consent, you shall never see her again.”
‘I bowed. I was annoyed, of course. Such a dismissal might injure my practice just when I was most anxious to increase it.
‘“Have you no apology, no excuse to offer?”
‘I said I had done my best; I did not feel that there was any reason to offer ail apology. I wished her good morning. Suddenly she came forwards,
‘“Oh, Mr. Harrison,” said she, “if you have really loved Caroline, do not let a little paltry money make you desert her for another.”
‘I was struck dumb. Loved Miss Caroline! I loved Miss Tomkinson a great deal better, and yet I disliked her. She went on:
‘“I have saved nearly three thousand pounds. If you think you are too poor to marry without money, I will give it all to Caroline. I am strong, and can go on working; but she is weak, and this disappointment will kill her.” She sat down suddenly, and covered her face with her hands. Then she looked up.
‘“You are unwilling, I see. Don’t suppose I would have urged you if it had been for myself; but she has had so much sorrow.” And now she fairly cried aloud. I tried to explain; but she would not listen, but kept saying, “Leave the house, sir! leave the house!” But I would be heard.
‘“I have never had any feeling warmer than respect for Miss Caroline, and I have never shown any different feeling. I never for an instant thought of making her my wife, and she has had no cause in my behaviour to imagine I entertained any such intention.”
‘“This is adding insult to injury,” said she. “Leave the house, sir, this instant!”
‘I went, and sadly enough. In a small town such an occurrence is sure to be talked about, and to make a great deal of mischief. When I went home to dinner I was so full of it, and foresaw so clearly that I should need some advocate soon to set the case in its right light, that I determined on making a confidante of good Mrs. Rose. I could not eat. She watched rite tenderly, and sighed when she saw my want of appetite.
‘“I am sure you have something on Your mind, Mr. Harrison. Would it be — would it not be — a relief to impart it to some sympathising friend?”
‘It was just what I wanted to do.
‘“My dear, kind Mrs. Rose”, said I, “I must tell you, if you will listen.”
‘She took up the fire-screen, and held it, as yesterday, between me and her.
‘“The most unfortunate misunderstanding has taken place. Miss Tomkinson thinks that I have been paying attentions to Miss Caroline; when, in fact — may I tell you, Mrs. Rose? — my affections are placed elsewhere. Perhaps you have found it out already?” for indeed I thought I had been too much in love to conceal my attachment to Sophy from any one who knew my movements as well as Mrs. Rose.
‘She hung down her head, and said she believed she had found out my secret.
‘“Then only think how miserably I am situated. If I have any hope — oh, Mrs. Rose, do you think I have any hope — ”
‘She put the hand-screen still more before her face, and after some hesitation she said she thought, “If I persevered — in time — I might have hope.” And then she suddenly got up, and left the room.
‘That afternoon I met Mr. Bullock in the street. My mind was so full of the affair with Miss Tomkinson that I should have passed him without notice, if he had not stopped me short, and said that he must speak to me; about my wonderful five hundred pounds, I supposed. But I did not care for that now.
‘“What is this I hear,” said he severely, “about your engagement with Mrs. Rose?”
‘“With Mrs. Rose!” said I, almost laughing, although my heart was heavy enough,
‘“Yes! with Mrs. Rose!” said he sternly.
‘“I’m not engaged to Mrs. Rose,” I replied. “There is some mistake.”
‘“I’m glad to hear it, sir,” he answered, “very glad. It requires some explanation, however. Mrs. Rose has been congratulated, and has acknowledged the truth of the report. It is confirmed by many facts. The work-table you bought, confessing your intention of giving it to your future wife, is given to her. How do you account for these things, sir?”
‘I said I did not pretend to account for them. At present a good deal was inexplicable; and, when I could give an explanation, I did not think that I should feel myself called upon to give it to him.
‘“Very well, sir; very well,” replied he, growing very red. “I shall take care and let Mr. Morgan know the opinion I entertain of you. What do you think that man deserves to be called who enters a family under the plea of friendship, and takes advantage of his intimacy to win the affections of the daughter, and then engages himself to another woman?”
‘I thought he referred to Miss Caroline. I simply said I could only say that I was not engaged; and that Miss Tomkinson had been quite mistaken in supposing I had been paying any attentions to her sister beyond those dictated by mere civility.
‘“Miss Tomkinson! Miss Caroline! I don’t understand to what you refer. Is there another victim to your perfidy? What I allude to are the attentions you have paid to my daughter, Miss Bullock.”
‘Another! I could but disclaim, as I had done in the case of Miss Caroline; but I began to be in despair. Would Miss Horsman, too, come forward as a victim to my tender affections? It was all Mr. Morgan’s doing, who had lectured me into this tenderly deferential manner. But, on the score of Miss Bullock, I was brave in my innocence. I had positively disliked her; and so I told her father, though in more civil and measured terms, adding that I was sure the feeling was reciprocal.
‘He looked as if he would like to horsewhip me. I longed to call him out.
‘“I hope my daughter has had sense enough to despise you; I hope she has, that’s all, I trust my wife may be mistaken as to her feelings.”
‘So, he had heard all through the medium of his wife. That explained something, and rather calmed me. I begged he would ask Miss Bullock if she had ever thought I had any ulterior object in my intercourse with her, beyond mere friendliness (and not so much of that, I might have added). I would refer it to her.
‘“Girls,” said Mr. Bullock, a little more quietly, “do not like to acknowledge that they have been deceived and disappointed. I consider my wife’s testimony as likely to be nearer the truth than my daughter’s, for that reason. And she tells me she never doubted but that, if not absolutely engaged, you understood each other perfectly. She is sure Jemima is deeply wounded by your engagement to Mrs. Rose.”
‘“Once for all, I am not engaged to anybody. Till you have seen your daughter, and learnt the truth from her, I will wish you farewell.”
‘I bowed in a stiff, haughty manner, and walked off homewards. But when I got to my own door, I remembered Mrs. Rose, and all that Mr. Bullock had said about her acknowledging the truth of the report of my engagement to her. Where could I go to be safe? Mrs. Rose, Miss Bullock, Miss Caroline — they lived as it were at the three points of an equilateral triangle; here was I in the centre. I would go to Mr. Morgan’s, and drink tea with him. There, at any rate, I was secure from any one wanting to marry me; and I might be as professionally bland as I liked, without being misunderstood. But there, too, a contretemps awaited me.