Anne Hereford. Mrs. Henry Wood

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СКАЧАТЬ as a wrong, displacing her from her high post, and from the influence she had contrived to acquire over Mr. Edwin Barley. They were as intimate as brother and sister; and I believe he is the only living being she cares for in the whole world. When I took a high tone with her, it exasperated her all the more against me, there's no doubt of it; and she repays it by carrying petty tales of me to Mr. Edwin Barley."

      "And whose part did he take, Selina!"

      "MINE, of course--always?" she returned, with a forcible emphasis on the first word. "But it has never been open warfare between me and Miss Delves, Anne; you must understand that. Should anything of the sort supervene, she would have to quit the house. A bitter pill that would be, for she has no money, and would have to go out as housekeeper in reality, or something of the kind. My occupation would be gone then."

      "What occupation?"

      "The saying and doing all sorts of wild things to make her think ill of me. She goes and whispers them to Mr. Edwin Barley. He listens to her--I know he does, and that provokes me. Well, little pet, what are those honest brown eyes of yours longing to say?"

      "Why did you marry him, Selina?"

      "People say for money, Anne. I say it was fate."

      "He persuaded you, perhaps?"

      "He did. Persuaded, pressed, worried me. He was two years talking me into it. Better, perhaps, that he had given his great love elsewhere! Better for him, possibly, that he had married Charlotte Delves!"

      "But did he want to marry Charlotte Delves?"

      "Never. I don't believe that even the thought ever entered his head. The servants say she used to hope it; but they rattle nonsense at random. Edwin Barley never cared but for two things in the world: myself and money."

      "Money?"

      "Money, Anne. Pretty little pieces of gold and silver; new, crisp bank-notes; yellow old deeds of parchment, representing houses and lands. He cares for money almost as much as for me; and he'll care for it more than for me in time. Who's this?"

      It was Philip King. He came in, looking more cross, if possible, than he did the previous night. His face shone out sickly, too, in the bright morning sun. Selina spoke, but did not offer her hand.

      "Good morning, Mr. King; I hope you feel better to-day. You did not get down to breakfast, I understand. Neither did I?"

      "I did get down to breakfast," he answered, speaking as if something had very much put him out. "I took it with Mr. Edwin Barley in his study."

      "Leaving George Heneage to breakfast alone. You two polite men! Had I known that, I would have come down and breakfasted with him."

      That she said this in a spirit of mischief, in a manner most especially calculated to provoke him, I saw by the saucy look that shot from her bright blue eyes.

      "I think you and Heneage breakfast together quite often enough as it is, Mrs. Edwin Barley."

      "You do? Then, if I were you, sir, I would have the good manners to keep such thoughts to myself; or tell them to Mr. Edwin Barley, if you like. He might offer you a premium for them--who knows?"

      Philip King was getting into an angry heat.

      "I hope you have tolerably strong shoulders," she resumed, as if struck with some sudden thought.

      "Why so?"

      "George Heneage intends to try his cane upon them on the next convenient day."

      His lips turned white.

      "Mrs. Barley, what do you mean?"

      "Just what I say. You have taken to peep and pry after me--whether set on by any one, or from some worthy motive of your own, you best know. It will not serve you, Philip King. If there be one thing more detestable than another, it is that of spying. I happened to mention this new pastime of yours before Mr. Heneage, and he observed that he had a cane somewhere. That's all."

      The intense aggravation with which she said it was enough to rouse the ire of one less excitable than Philip King. He was breaking out in abuse of Mr. Heneage, when the latter happened to come in. A few menacing words, a dark look or two from either side, and then came the quarrel.

      A quarrel that terrified me. I ran out of the room; I ran back again; I don't know what I did. Mrs. Edwin Barley seemed nearly as excited as they were: it was not the first time I had seen her in a passion. She called out (taking the words from the old ballad, "Lord Thomas"), that she cared more for the little finger of George Heneage than for the whole body of ill-conditioned Philip King. I knew it was only one of her wild sayings: when in a passion she did not mind what she said, or whom she offended. I knew that this present quarrel was altogether Selina's fault--that her love of provocation had brought it on. Mr. Edwin Barley had gone over to his brother's; and it was well, perhaps, that it was so.

      Jemima appeared on the stairs, carrying up a pail--there was no back staircase to the house. "What is the matter, Miss Hereford?" she asked. "Goodness me! how you are trembling!"

      "They are quarrelling in there--Mr. Heneage and Mr. King. I am afraid they will fight."

      "Oh, it has come to that, has it?" said Jemima, carelessly. "I thought it would. Never mind them, Miss Hereford; they'll not hurt you."

      She tripped upstairs with the pail, as if a quarrel were the most natural event in the world, and I looked into the room again. Mr. Heneage held Philip King by the collar of the coat.

      "Mark me!" he was saying; "if I catch you dodging my movements again, if I hear of your being insolent to this lady, I'll shoot you with as little compunction as I would a partridge. There!"

      "What is Mrs. Edwin Barley to you, that you should interfere?" retorted Philip King, his voice raised to a shriek. "And she! Why does she set herself to provoke me every hour of my life?"

      "I interfere of right: by my long friendship with her, and by the respect I bear for her mother's memory. Now you know."

      Mr. Heneage gave a shake to the collar as he spoke, and I ran up to my room, there to sob out my fit of terror. My heart was beating, my breath catching itself in gasps. In my own peaceful home I had never seen or heard the faintest shadow of a quarrel.

      By-and-by Jemima came in search of me. Mrs. Edwin Barley was waiting for me to go out in the pony carriage. I washed my face and my red eyes, was dressed, and went down. At the door stood a low open basket-chaise, large and wide, drawn by a pony. Mrs. Edwin Barley was already in it, and Mr. Heneage stood waiting for me. He drove, and I sat on a stool at their feet. We went through green lanes, and over a pleasant common. Not a word was said about the recent quarrel; but part of the time they spoke together in an undertone, and I did not try to hear. We were away about two hours.

      "You can run about the grounds until your dinner's ready, if you like, Anne," Mrs. Barley said to me when we alighted. "I daresay you feel cramped, sitting so long on that low seat."

      She went in with Mr. Heneage, the footman saying that some ladies were waiting. I ran away amidst the trees, and presently lost myself. As I stood, wondering which way to take, Mr. Edwin Barley and Philip King came through, arm-in-arm, on their way home, talking together eagerly. I thought Philip King was telling about the quarrel.

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