Miss Mackenzie. Anthony Trollope

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СКАЧАТЬ what I thought; and he's not at all like old Mr. Rubb. Old Mr. Rubb, when he comes to drink tea in Gower Street, puts his handkerchief over his knees to catch the crumbs."

      "There's no great harm in that, Susanna."

      "I don't suppose there's any harm in it. It's not wicked. It's not wicked to eat gravy with your knife."

      "And does old Mr. Rubb do that?"

      "Always. We used to laugh at him, because he is so clever at it. He never spills any; and his knife seems to be quite as good as a spoon. But this Mr. Rubb doesn't do things of that sort."

      "He's younger, my dear."

      "But being younger doesn't make people more ladylike of itself."

      "I did not know that Mr. Rubb was exactly ladylike."

      "That's taking me up unfairly; isn't it, aunt? You know what I meant; and only fancy that the man should go out and buy me a work-box. That's more than old Mr. Rubb ever did for any of us, since the first day he knew us. And, then, didn't you think that young Mr. Rubb is a handsome man, aunt?"

      "He's all very well, my dear."

      "Oh; I think he is downright handsome; I do, indeed. Miss Dumpus—that's Mrs. Crammer's sister—told us the other day, that I was wrong to talk about a man being handsome; but that must be nonsense, aunt?"

      "I don't see that at all, my dear. If she told you so, you ought to believe that it is not nonsense."

      "Come, aunt; you don't mean to tell me that you would believe all that Miss Dumpus says. Miss Dumpus says that girls should never laugh above their breath when they are more than fourteen years old. How can you make a change in your laughing just when you come to be fourteen? And why shouldn't you say a man's handsome, if he is handsome?"

      "You'd better go to bed, Susanna."

      "That won't make Mr. Rubb ugly. I wish you had asked him to come and dine here on Sunday, so that we might have seen whether he eats his gravy with his knife. I looked very hard to see whether he'd catch his crumbs in his handkerchief."

      Then Susanna went to her bed, and Miss Mackenzie was left alone to think over the perfections and imperfections of Mr. Samuel Rubb, junior.

      From that time up to Christmas she saw no more of Mr. Rubb; but she heard from him twice. His letters, however, had reference solely to business, and were not of a nature to produce either anger or admiration. She had also heard more than once from her lawyer; and a question had arisen as to which she was called upon to trust to her own judgment for a decision. Messrs Rubb and Mackenzie had wanted the money at once, whereas the papers for the mortgage were not ready. Would Miss Mackenzie allow Messrs Rubb and Mackenzie to have the money under these circumstances? To this inquiry from her lawyer she made a rejoinder asking for advice. Her lawyer told her that he could not recommend her, in the ordinary way of business, to make any advance of money without positive security; but, as this was a matter between friends and near relatives, she might perhaps be willing to do it; and he added that, as far as his own opinion went, he did not think that there would be any great risk. But then it all depended on this:—did she want to oblige her friends and near relatives? In answer to this question she told herself that she certainly did wish to do so; and she declared—also to herself—that she was willing to advance the money to her brother, even though there might be some risk. The upshot of all this was that Messrs Rubb and Mackenzie got the money some time in October, but that the mortgage was not completed when Christmas came. It was on this matter that Mr. Rubb, junior, had written to Miss Mackenzie, and his letter had been of a nature to give her a feeling of perfect security in the transaction. With her brother she had had no further correspondence; but this did not surprise her, as her brother was a man much less facile in his modes of expression than his younger partner.

      As the autumn had progressed at Littlebath, she had become more and more intimate with Miss Baker, till she had almost taught herself to regard that lady as a dear friend. She had fallen into the habit of going to Mrs. Stumfold's tea-parties every fortnight, and was now regarded as a regular Stumfoldian by all those who interested themselves in such matters. She had begun a system of district visiting and Bible reading with Miss Baker, which had at first been very agreeable to her. But Mrs. Stumfold had on one occasion called upon her and taken her to task—as Miss Mackenzie had thought, rather abruptly—with reference to some lack of energy or indiscreet omission of which she had been judged to be guilty by that highly-gifted lady. Against this Miss Mackenzie had rebelled mildly, and since that things had not gone quite so pleasantly with her. She had still been honoured with Mrs. Stumfold's card of invitation, and had still gone to the tea-parties on Miss Baker's strenuously-urged advice; but Mrs. Stumfold had frowned, and Miss Mackenzie had felt the frown; Mrs. Stumfold had frowned, and the retired coachbuilder's wife had at once snubbed the culprit, and Mr. Maguire had openly expressed himself to be uneasy.

      "Dearest Miss Mackenzie," he had said, with charitable zeal, "if there has been anything wrong, just beg her pardon, and you will find that everything has been forgotten at once; a more forgiving woman than Mrs. Stumfold never lived."

      "But suppose I have done nothing to be forgiven," urged Miss Mackenzie.

      Mr. Maguire looked at her, and shook his head, the exact meaning of the look she could not understand, as the peculiarity of his eyes created confusion; but when he repeated twice to her the same words, "The heart of man is exceeding treacherous," she understood that he meant to condemn her.

      "So it is, Mr. Maguire, but that is no reason why Mrs. Stumfold should scold me."

      Then he got up and left her, and did not speak to her again that evening, but he called on her the next day, and was very affectionate in his manner. In Mr. Stumfold's mode of treating her she had found no difference.

      With Miss Todd, whom she met constantly in the street, and who always nodded to her very kindly, she had had one very remarkable interview.

      "I think we had better give it up, my dear," Miss Todd had said to her. This had been in Miss Baker's drawing-room.

      "Give what up?" Miss Mackenzie had asked.

      "Any idea of our knowing each other. I'm sure it never can come to anything, though for my part I should have been so glad. You see you can't serve God and Mammon, and it is settled beyond all doubt that I'm Mammon. Isn't it, Mary?"

      Miss Baker, to whom this appeal was made, answered it only by a sigh.

      "You see," continued Miss Todd, "that Miss Baker is allowed to know me, though I am Mammon, for the sake of auld lang syne. There have been so many things between us that it wouldn't do for us to drop each other. We have had the same lovers; and you know, Mary, that you've been very near coming over to Mammon yourself. There's a sort of understanding that Miss Baker is not to be required to cut me. But they would not allow that sort of liberty to a new comer; they wouldn't, indeed."

      "I don't know that anybody would be likely to interfere with me," said Miss Mackenzie.

      "Yes, they would, my dear. You didn't quite know yourself which way it was to be when you first came here, and if it had been my way, I should have been most happy to have made myself civil. You have chosen now, and I don't doubt but what you have chosen right. I always tell Mary Baker that it does very well for her, and I dare say it will do very well for you too. There's a great deal in it, and only that some of them do tell such lies I think I should have tried it myself. But, my dear Miss Mackenzie, you can't do both."

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