Can You Forgive Her? Part 30

"And he do admire you both so much," said Jeannette.

"Of course I don't want to offend him for many reasons," said the aunt, looking knowingly at her niece.

"I don't know anything about your reasons, aunt, but if I were you, I should leave the basket just as it is till he comes in the afternoon."

"Would you mind seeing him yourself, Kate, and explaining to him that it won't do to get on in this way. Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling him that if he'll promise not to bring any more, you won't object to take this one."

"Indeed, aunt, I can't do that. They're not brought to me."

"Oh, Kate!"

"Nonsense, aunt;--I won't have you say so;--before Jeannette, too."

"I think it's for both, ma'am; I do indeed. And there certainly ain't any cream to be bought like it in Norwich:--nor yet eggs."

"I wonder what there is in the basket." And the widow lifted up the corner of the cloth. "I declare if there isn't a turkey poult already."

"My!" said Jeannette. "A turkey poult! Why, that's worth ten and sixpence in the market if it's worth a penny."

"It's out of the question that I should take upon myself to say anything to him about it," said Kate.

"Upon my word I don't see why you shouldn't, as well as I," said Mrs.

Greenow.

"I'll tell you what, ma'am," said Jeannette: "let me just ask him who they're for;--he'll tell me anything."

"Don't do anything of the kind, Jeannette," said Kate. "Of course, aunt, they're brought for you. There's no doubt about that. A gentleman doesn't bring cream and turkeys to-- I've never heard of such a thing!"

"I don't see why a gentleman shouldn't bring cream and turkeys to you just as well as to me. Indeed, he told me once as much himself."

"Then, if they're for me, I'll leave them down outside the front door, and he may find his provisions there." And Kate proceeded to lift the basket off the table.

"Leave it alone, Kate," said Mrs. Greenow, with a voice that was rather solemn; and which had, too, something of sadness in its tone.

"Leave it alone. I'll see Mr. Cheesacre myself."

"And I do hope you won't mention my name. It's the most absurd thing in the world. The man never spoke two dozen words to me in his life."

"He speaks to me, though," said Mrs. Greenow.

"I dare say he does," said Kate.

"And about you, too, my dear."

"He doesn't come here with those big flowers in his b.u.t.ton-hole for nothing," said Jeannette,--"not if I knows what a gentleman means."

"Of course he doesn't," said Mrs. Greenow.

"If you don't object, aunt," said Kate, "I will write to grandpapa and tell him that I will return home at once."

"What!--because of Mr. Cheesacre?" said Mrs. Greenow. "I don't think you'll be so silly as that, my dear."

On the present occasion Mrs. Greenow undertook that she would see the generous gentleman, and endeavour to stop the supplies from his farmyard. It was well understood that he would call about four o'clock, when his business in the town would be over; and that he would bring with him a little boy, who would carry away the basket.

At that hour Kate of course was absent, and the widow received Mr. Cheesacre alone. The basket and cloth were there, in the sitting-room, and on the table were laid out the rich things which it had contained;--the turkey poult first, on a dish provided in the lodging-house, then a dozen fresh eggs in a soup plate, then the cream in a little tin can, which, for the last fortnight, had pa.s.sed regularly between Oileymead and the house in the Close, and as to which Mr. Cheesacre was very pointed in his inquiries with Jeannette.

Then behind the cream there were two or three heads of broccoli, and a stick of celery as thick as a man's wrist. Altogether the tribute was a very comfortable a.s.sistance to the housekeeping of a lady living in a small way in lodgings.

Mr. Cheesacre, when he saw the array on the long sofa-table, knew that he was to prepare himself for some resistance; but that resistance would give him, he thought, an opportunity of saying a few words that he was desirous of speaking, and he did not altogether regret it. "I just called in," he said, "to see how you were."

"We are not likely to starve," said Mrs. Greenow, pointing to the delicacies from Oileymead.

"Just a few trifles that my old woman asked me to bring in," said Cheesacre. "She insisted on putting them up."

"But your old woman is by far too magnificent," said Mrs. Greenow.

"She really frightens Kate and me out of our wits."

Mr. Cheesacre had no wish that Miss Vavasor's name should be brought into play upon the occasion. "Dear Mrs. Greenow," said he, "there is no cause for you to be alarmed, I can a.s.sure you. Mere trifles;--light as air, you know. I don't think anything of such things as these."

"But I and Kate think a great deal of them,--a very great deal, I can a.s.sure you. Do you know, we had a long debate this morning whether or no we would return them to Oileymead?"

"Return them, Mrs. Greenow!"

"Yes, indeed: what are women, situated as we are, to do under such circ.u.mstances? When gentlemen will be too liberal, their liberality must be repressed."

"And have I been too liberal, Mrs. Greenow? What is a young turkey and a stick of celery when a man is willing to give everything that he has in the world?"

"You've got a great deal more in the world, Mr. Cheesacre, than you'd like to part with. But we won't talk of that, now."

"When shall we talk of it?"

"If you really have anything to say, you had by far better speak to Kate herself."

"Mrs. Greenow, you mistake me. Indeed, you mistake me." Just at this moment, as he was drawing close to the widow, she heard, or fancied that she heard, Jeannette's step, and, going to the sitting-room door, called to her maid. Jeannette did not hear her, but the bell was rung, and then Jeannette came. "You may take these things down, Jeannette," she said. "Mr. Cheesacre has promised that no more shall come."

"But I haven't promised," said Mr. Cheesacre.

"You will oblige me and Kate, I know;--and, Jeannette, tell Miss Vavasor that I am ready to walk with her."

Then Mr. Cheesacre knew that he could not say those few words on that occasion; and as the hour of his train was near, he took his departure, and went out of the Close, followed by the little boy, carrying the basket, the cloth, and the tin can.

CHAPTER XX.

Which Shall It Be?

The next day was Sunday, and it was well known at the lodging-house in the Close that Mr. Cheesacre would not be seen there then. Mrs.

Greenow had specially warned him that she was not fond of Sunday visitors, fearing that otherwise he might find it convenient to give them too much of his society on that idle day. In the morning the aunt and niece both went to the Cathedral, and then at three o'clock they dined. But on this occasion they did not dine alone. Charlie Fairstairs, who, with her family, had come home from Yarmouth, had been asked to join them; and in order that Charlie might not feel it dull, Mrs. Greenow had, with her usual good-nature, invited Captain Bellfield. A very nice little dinner they had. The captain carved the turkey, giving due honour to Mr. Cheesacre as he did so; and when he nibbled his celery with his cheese, he was prettily jocose about the richness of the farmyard at Oileymead.