The Maidens' Lodge Part 26

"Well, my dear, if you have something you wish to say, I am ready to listen to it," said Madam, with an air of extreme benignity.

Phoebe felt her position the more difficult because of her grandmother's graciousness. She so evidently thought herself conferring a favour on a portionless and unattractive girl, that it became hard to say an opposing word.

"If you please, Madam, and asking your pardon, must I be married?"

"Must you be married, child!" repeated Madam in astonished tones, "Why, of course you must. The woman is created for the man. You would not die a maid?"

"I would rather, if you would allow me, Madam," faltered Phoebe.

"But, my dear, I cannot allow it. I should not be doing my duty by you if I did. The woman is made for the man," repeated Madam, sententiously.

"But--was every woman made for some man, if you please, Madam?" asked poor Phoebe, struggling against destiny in the person of her grandmother.

"Of course, child--no doubt of it," said Madam.

"Then, if you please, Madam, might I not wait till I find the man I was made for?" entreated Phoebe with unconscious humour.

"When you marry a man, my dear, he is the man you were made for,"

oracularly replied Madam.

Phoebe was silenced, but not at all convinced, which is a very different thing. She could remember a good many husbands and wives with whom she had met who so far as she could judge, did not appear to have been created for the benefit of one another.

"And I trust you will find him at Delawarr Court. At all events, you will look out. As to waiting, my dear, at your age, and in your station, you cannot afford to wait. One or two years is no matter for Rhoda; but 'twill not serve for you. I was married before I was your age, Phoebe."

Phoebe sighed, but did not venture to speak. She felt more than ever as if she were being led to the slaughter. There was just this uncomfortable difference, that the sacrificed sheep or goat did not feel anything when once it was over, and the parallel would not hold good there. She felt utterly helpless. Phoebe knew her mother too well to venture on any appeal to her, even had she fondly imagined that representations from Mrs Latrobe would have weight with Madam. Mrs Latrobe would have been totally unable to comprehend her. So Phoebe did what was better,--carried her trial and perplexity to her Father in Heaven, and asked Him to undertake for her. Naturally shy and timid, it was a terrible idea to Phoebe that she was to be handed over bodily in this style to some stranger. Rhoda would not have cared; a change was always welcome to her, and she thought a great deal about the superior position of a matron. But in Phoebe's eyes the position presented superior responsibility, a thing she dreaded; and superior notoriety, a thing she detested. She was a violet, born to blush unseen, yet believing that perfume shed upon the desert air is not necessarily wasted.

"Here you are, old Rattle-trap!" cried Molly, from the head of the stairs, as Rhoda and Phoebe were mounting them. "Brought that white rag? We're going. Mum says so. Turn your toes out,--here's Betty."

Rhoda's hand was clasped, and her cheek kissed, by a pleasant-spoken, rather good-looking girl, very little scarred from her recent illness.

"Phoebe Latrobe?" said Betty, turning kindly to her. "I know your name, you see. I trust you will be happy here. Your chamber is this way, Rhoda."

It was a long, narrow room, with a low whitewashed ceiling, across which ran two beams. A pot-pourri stood on the little table in the centre, and there were two beds, one single and one double.

"Who's to be here beside me?" inquired Rhoda.

"Oh, Mother would have given you and Phoebe a chamber to yourselves,"

replied Betty, "but we are so full of company, she felt herself obliged to put in some one, so Gatty is coming to you."

"Can't it be Molly?" rather uncivilly suggested Rhoda.

Phoebe privately hoped it could not.

"Will, I think not," answered Betty, smiling. "Lady Diana Middleham wants Molly. She's in great request."

"Who is,--me?" demanded Molly, appearing as if by magic in the doorway.

"Of course. I'm not going to sleep with you, Pug-nose. Not going to sleep at all. Spend the night in tickling the people I like, and running pins into those I don't. Fair warning!"

"I wonder whether it is better to be one you like, Molly, or one you don't like," said Rhoda, laughing.

"I hope you don't like me in that regard," said Betty, laughing too.

"Well, I don't particularly," was Molly's frank answer, "so you'll get the pins. Right about face! Stand--at--ease! Here comes Mum."

A very gorgeously dressed woman, all flounces and feathers as it seemed to Phoebe, sailed into the room, kissed Rhoda, told her that she was welcome, in a languis.h.i.+ng voice, desired Betty to see her made comfortable, informed Molly that her hair was out of curl, took no notice of Phoebe, and sailed away again.

"I'm off!" Molly announced to the world. "There's Mr What-do-you-call-him downstairs. Go and have some fun with him." And Molly vanished accordingly.

Then Rhoda's unpacking had to be seen to by herself and Phoebe; that is to say, Phoebe did it, and Rhoda sat and watched her, Betty flitted about, talking to Rhoda, and helping Phoebe, till her name was called from below, and away she went to respond to it. Phoebe, at least, missed her, and thought her pleasant company. Whatever else she might be, she was good-natured. When the unpacking was finished to her satisfaction, Rhoda declared that she was peris.h.i.+ng for hunger, and must have something before she could dress. Before she could make up her mind what to do, a rap came on the door, and a neat maid-servant entered with a tray.

"An't please you, Madam, Mrs Betty bade me bring you a dish of tea,"

said she; "for she said 'twas yet two good hours ere supper, and you should be the better of a snack after your journey. Here is both tea and chocolate, bread and b.u.t.ter, and shortcake." And setting down the tray, she left them to enjoy its contents.

"Long life to Betty!" said Rhoda. "Here, Phoebe! pour me a dish of chocolate. I never get any at home. Madam has a notion it makes people fat."

"But does she not like you to take it?" asked Phoebe, pausing, with the silver chocolatiere in her hand.

"Oh, pother! go on!" exclaimed Rhoda. "Give it me, if your tender conscience won't let you. I say, Phoebe, you'll be a regular prig and prude, if you don't mind."

"I don't know what those are," replied Phoebe, furtively engaged in rubbing her hand where Rhoda had pinched it as she seized the handle of the chocolate pot.

"Oh, don't you?" answered Rhoda. "I do, for I've got you to look at. A prig is a stuck-up silly creature, and a prude is always thinking everything wicked. And that's what you are."

Phoebe wisely made no reply. Tea finished, Rhoda condescended to be dressed and have her hair curled and powdered, gave Phoebe very few minutes for changing her own dress, and then, followed by her cousin and handmaid, she descended to the drawing-room. To Phoebe's consternation, it seemed full of young ladies and gentlemen, in fas.h.i.+onable array; and the consternation was not relieved by a glimpse of Mr Marcus Welles, radiant in blue and gold, through a vista of plumes, lace lappets, and fans. Betty was there, making herself generally useful and agreeable; and Molly, making herself the reverse of both. Phoebe scanned the brilliant crowd earnestly for Gatty. But Gatty was nowhere to be seen.

Rhoda went forward, and plunged into the crowd, kissing and courtesying to all the girls she recognised. She was soon the gayest of the gay among them. No one noticed Phoebe but Betty, and she gave her a kindly nod in pa.s.sing, and said, "Pray divert yourself." Phoebe's diversion was to retire into a corner, and from her "loop-hole of retreat, to peep at such a world."

A very young world it was, whose oldest inhabitant at that moment was under twenty-five. But the boys and girls--for they were little more-- put on the most courtier-like and grown-up airs. The ladies sat round the room, fluttering their fans, or laughing behind them: in some cases gliding about with long trains sweeping the waxed oak floor. The gentlemen stood before them, paying compliments, cracking jokes, and uttering airy nothings. Both parties took occasional pinches of snuff.

For a few minutes the scene struck Phoebe as pretty and amusing; but this impression was quickly followed by a sensation of sadness. A number of rational and immortal beings were gathered together, and all they could find to do was to look pretty and be amusing. Why, a bird, a dog, or a monkey, could have done as much, and more.

And a few words came into Phoebe's mind, practically denied by the ma.s.s of mankind then as now, "Thou hast created all things, and _for Thy pleasure_ they are."

How apt man is to think that every creature and thing around him was created for _his_ pleasure! or, at least, for his use and benefit. The natural result is, that he considers himself at liberty to use them just as he pleases, quite regardless of their feelings, especially when any particular advantage may be expected to accrue to himself.

But "the Lord hath made all things for Himself," and "He cometh to judge the earth."

CHAPTER EIGHT.

RHODA IS TAKEN IN THE TRAP.

"That busy hive, the world, And all its thousand stings."

Phoebe sat still for a while in her corner, watching the various members of the party as they flitted in and out: for the scene was now becoming diversified by the addition of elder persons. Ere long, two gentlemen in evening costume, engaged in conversation, came and stood close by her. One of them, as she soon discovered, was Sir Richard Delawarr.

"'Tis really true, then," demanded the other--a round-faced man, with brilliant eyes, who was attired as a dignitary of the Church--"'tis really true, Sir, that the Queen did forbid the visit of the Elector?"

"_I_ had it from an excellent hand, I a.s.sure you," returned Sir Richard.