A True Friend Part 23

"It _is_ a large one," said Sir Philip, with conviction. "Shall I take any of the coal off for you? No? Well, as I was saying, I wished to speak to you about your friend, Miss Colwyn."

"She has lost her father lately, poor thing," said Margaret, conversationally. "She has been very unhappy."

"Yes, and for more reasons than one. You have not seen her, I conclude, since his death?"

"No, he died in August or September, did he not? It is close upon December now--what a long time we have been away! Poor Janetta!--how glad she will be to see me!"

"I am sure she will. But it would be just as well for you to hear beforehand that her father's death has brought great distress upon the family. I have had some talk with friends of his, and I find that he left very little money behind."

"How sad for them! But--they have not removed?--they are still at their old house: I thought everything was going on as usual," said Margaret, in a slightly puzzled tone.

"The house belongs to them, so they might as well live in it. Two or three of the family have got situations of some kind--one child is in a charitable inst.i.tution, I believe."

"Oh, how dreadful! Like Lady Ashley's Orphanage?" said Margaret, shrinking a little.

"No, no; nothing of that kind--an educational establishment, to which he has got a nomination. But the mother and the two or three children are still at home, and I believe that their income is not more than a hundred a year."

Sir Philip was considerably above the mark. But the mention of even a hundred a year, though not a large income, produced little impression upon Margaret.

"That is not very much, is it?" she said, gently.

"Much! I should think not," said Sir Philip, driven almost to discourtesy by the difficulty of making her understand. "Four or five people to live upon it and keep up a position! It is semi-starvation and misery."

"But, Sir Philip, does not Janetta give lessons? I should have thought she could make a perfect fortune by her music alone. Hasn't she tried to get something to do?"

"Yes, indeed, poor girl, she has. My mother has been making inquiries, and she finds that Miss Colwyn has advertised and done everything she could think of--with very little result. I myself met her three or four days ago, coming away from Miss Morrison's, with tears in her eyes. She had failed to get the post of music-teacher there."

"But why had she failed? She can sing and play beautifully!"

"Ah, I wanted you to ask me that! She failed--because Miss Morrison was a friend of Miss Polehampton's, and she had heard some garbled and distorted account of Miss Colwyn's dismissal from that school."

Sir Philip did not look at her as he spoke: he fancied that she would be at once struck with horror and even with shame, and he preferred to avert his eyes during the moment's silence that followed upon his account of Janetta's failure to get work. But, when Margaret spoke, a very slight tone of vexation was the only discoverable trace of any such emotion.

"Why did not Janetta explain?"

Sir Philip's lips moved, but he said nothing.

"That affair cannot be the reason why she has obtained so little work, of course?"

"I am afraid that to some extent it is."

"Janetta could so easily have explained it!"

"May I ask how she could explain it? Write a letter to the local paper, or pay a series of calls to declare that she had not been to blame? Do you think that any one would have believed her? Besides--you call her your friend: could she exculpate herself without blaming you; and do you think that she would do that?"

"Without blaming _me_?" repeated Margaret. She rose to her full height, letting the fan fall between her hands, and stood silently confronting him. "But," she said, slowly--"I--I was not to blame."

Sir Philip bowed.

"You think that I was to blame?"

"I think that you acted on impulse, without much consideration for Miss Colwyn's future. I think that you have done her an injury--which I am sure you will be only too willing to repair."

He began rather sternly, he ended almost tenderly--moved as he could not fail to be by the soft reproach of Margaret's eyes.

"I cannot see that I have done her any injury at all; and I really do not know how I can repair it," said the girl, with a cold stateliness which ought to have warned Sir Philip that he was in danger of offending. But Philip was rash and warm-hearted, and he had taken up Janetta's cause.

"Your best way of repairing it," he said, earnestly, "would be to call on Miss Morrison yourself and explain the matter to her, as Miss Colwyn cannot possibly do--unless she is a very different person from the one I take her for. And if that did not avail, go to Miss Polehampton and persuade her to write a letter----"

He stopped somewhat abruptly. The look of profound astonishment on Margaret's face recalled him to a sense of limitations. "Margaret!" he said, pleadingly, "won't you be generous? You can afford to do this thing for your friend!"

"Go to Miss Morrison and explain! _Persuade_ Miss Polehampton!--after the way she treated us! But really it is too ridiculous, Sir Philip. You do not know my friend, Miss Colwyn. She would be the last person to wish me to humiliate myself to Miss Polehampton!"

"I do not see that what she wishes has much to do with it," said Sir Philip, very stiffly. "Miss Colwyn is suffering under an injustice. I ask you to repair that injustice. I really do not see how you can refuse."

Margaret looked as if she were about to make some mutinous reply; then she compressed her lips and lowered her eyes for a few seconds.

"I will ask mamma what she thinks," she said at last, in her usual even tones.

"Why should you ask her?" said Sir Philip, impetuously. "What consultation is needed, when I simply beg you to be your own true self--that n.o.ble, generous self that I am sure you are! Margaret, don't disappoint me!"

"I didn't know," said the girl, with proud deliberateness, "that you had any special interest in the matter, Sir Philip."

"I have this interest--that I love you with all my heart, Margaret, and hope that you will let me call you my wife one day. It is this love, this hope, which makes me long to think of you as perfect--always n.o.ble and self-sacrificing and just! Margaret, you will not forbid me to hope?"

He had chosen a bad time for his declaration of love. He saw this, and his accent grew more and more supplicating, for he perceived that the look of repulsion, which he knew and hated, was already stealing into Margaret's lovely eyes. She stood as if turned into stone, and did not answer a word. And it was on this scene that Lady Caroline broke at that moment--a scene which, at first sight, gave the mother keen pleasure, for it had all the orthodox appearance of love-making: the girl, silent, downcast, embarra.s.sed; the man pa.s.sionate and earnest, with head bent towards her fair face, and hands outstretched in entreaty.

But poor Lady Caroline was soon to be undeceived, and her castle in the air to come tumbling down about her ears.

CHAPTER XVI.

SIR PHILIP'S OPINION.

"Is anything the matter?" said Lady Caroline, suavely.

She had been undecided for a minute as to whether she had not better withdraw unseen, but the distressed expression on her-daughter's face decided her to speak. She might at least prevent Margaret from saying anything foolish.

Sir Philip drew back a little. Margaret went--almost hurriedly--up to her mother, and put her hand into Lady Caroline's.

"Will you tell him? will you explain to him, please?" she said. "I do not want to hear any more: I would rather not. We could never understand each other, and I should be very unhappy."

Sir Philip made an eager gesture, but Lady Caroline silenced him by an entreating glance and then looked straight into her daughter's eyes.

Their limpid hazel depths were troubled now: tears were evidently very near, and Lady Caroline detested tears.