The cheerful goddess who had brought Fritzing and his Princess safelyover from Kunitz was certainly standing by them well. She it was whohad driven Priscilla up on to the heath and into the acquaintance ofAugustus Shuttleworth, without whom a cottage in Symford would havebeen for ever unattainable. She it was who had sent the Morrisons,father and son, to drive Priscilla from the churchyard before Fritzinghad joined her, without which driving she would never have metAugustus. She it was who had used the trifling circumstance of amislaid sermon-book to take the vicar and Robin into the church at anunaccustomed time, without which sermon-book they would never have metPriscilla in the churchyard and driven her out of it. Thus are all ourdoings ruled by Chance; and it is a pleasant pastime for an idle hourto trace back big events to their original and sometimes absurdbeginnings. For myself I know that the larger lines of my life werelaid down once for all by--but what has this to do with Priscilla?Thus, I say, are all our doings ruled by Chance, who loves to usesmall means for the working of great wonders. And as for the gaygoddess's ugly sister, the lady of the shifty eye and lowering browcalled variously Misfortune and Ill Luck, she uses the same toolsexactly in her hammering out of lives, meanly taking little folliesand little weaknesses, so little and so amiable at first as hardly tobe distinguished from little virtues, and with them building up amighty mass that shall at last come down and crush our souls. Of thecrushing of souls, however, my story does not yet treat, and I willnot linger round subjects so awful. We who are nestling for the momentlike Priscilla beneath the warm wing of Good Fortune can dare to makewhat the children call a face at her grey sister as she limps scowlingpast. Shall we not too one day in our turn feel her claws? Let us whenwe do at least not wince; and he who feeling them can still make aface and laugh, shall be as the prince of the fairy tales,transforming the sour hag by his courage into a bright reward,striking his very griefs into a shining shower of blessing.
From this brief excursion into the realm of barren musings, whither Ilove above all things to wander and whence I have continually to fetchmyself back again by force, I will return to the story.
At Tussie's suggestion when the business part of their talk wasover--and it took exactly five minutes for Tussie to sell and Fritzingto buy the cottages, five minutes of the frothiest business talk evertalked, so profound was the ignorance of both parties as to what mostpeople demand of cottages--Fritzing drove to Minehead in thepostmistress's son's two-wheeled cart in order to purchase suitablefurniture and bring back persons who would paper and paint. Mineheadlies about twenty miles to the north of Symford, so Fritzing could notbe back before evening. By the time he was back, promised Tussie, theshoemaker and Mrs. Shaw should be cleared out and put into a place somuch better according to their views that they would probably make itvocal with their praises.
Fritzing quite loved Tussie. Here was a young man full of the noblestspirit of helpfulness, and who had besides the invaluable gift ofseeing no difficulties anywhere. Even Fritzing, airy optimist, sawmore than Tussie, and whenever he expressed a doubt it was at oncebrushed aside by the cheerfullest "Oh, that'll be all right." He wasthe most practical, businesslike, unaffected, energetic young man,thought Fritzing, that he had even seen. Tussie was surprised himselfat his own briskness, and putting the wonderful girl on the heath asmuch as possible out of his thoughts, told himself that it was thepatent food beginning at last to keep its promises.
He took Fritzing to the post-office and ordered the trap for him,cautioned the postmistress's son, who was going to drive, againstgoing too fast down the many hills, for the bare idea of the pricelessuncle being brought back in bits or in any state but absolutely wholeand happy turned him cold, told Fritzing which shops to go to andwhere to lunch, begged him to be careful what he ate, since hotelluncheons were good for neither body nor soul, ordered rugs and amackintosh covering to be put in, and behaved generally with theforethought of a mother. "I'd go with you myself," he said,--and thepostmistress, listening with both her ears, recognized that theBaker's Farm lodgers were no longer persons to be criticised--"but Ican be of more use to you here. I must see Dawson about clearing outthe cottages. Of course it is very important you shouldn't stay amoment longer than can be helped in uncomfortable lodgings."
Here was a young man! Sensible, practical, overflowing with kindness.Fritzing had not met any one he esteemed so much for years. They wentdown the village street together, for Tussie was bound for Mr. Dawsonwho was to be set to work at once, and Fritzing for the farm whitherthe trap was to follow him as soon as ready, and all Symford,curtseying to Tussie, recognized, as the postmistress had recognized,that Fritzing was now raised far above their questionings, seatedfirmly on the Shuttleworth rock.
They parted at Mr. Dawson's gate, Mrs. Dawson mildly watching theirwarmth over a wire blind. "When we are settled, young man," saidFritzing, after eloquent words of thanks and appreciation, "you mustcome in the evenings, and together we will roam across the splendidfields of English literature."
"Oh thanks" exclaimed Tussie, flushing with pleasure. He longed toask if the divine niece would roam too, but even if she did not, toroam at all would be a delight, and he would besides be doing it underthe very roof that sheltered that bright and beautiful head. "Ohthanks," cried Tussie, then, flushing.
His extreme joy surprised Fritzing. "Are you so great a friend ofliterature?" he inquired.
"I believe," said Tussie, "that without it I'd have drowned myselflong ago. And as for the poets--"
He stopped. No one knew what poetry had been to him in his sicklyexistence--the one supreme interest, the one thing he really cared tolive for.
Fritzing now loved him with all his heart. "Ach Gott, ja," heejaculated, clapping him on the shoulder, "the poets--ja,ja--'Blessings be with them and eternal praise,' what? Young man," headded enthusiastically, "I could wish that you had been my son. Icould indeed." And as he said it Robin Morrison coming down the streetand seeing the two together and the expression on Tussie's faceinstantly knew that Tussie had met the niece.
"Hullo, Tuss," he called across, hurrying past, for it would ratherupset his umbrella plan to be stopped and have to talk to the manNeumann thus prematurely. But Tussie neither saw nor heard him, and"By Jove, hasn't he just seen the niece though," said Robin tohimself, his eyes dancing as he strode nimbly along on long andbird-like legs. The conviction seized him that when he and hisumbrella should descend upon Baker's that afternoon Tussie wouldeither be there already or would come in immediately afterwards. "Whowould have thought old Fuss would be so enterprising?" he wondered,thinking of the extreme cordiality of Fritzing's face. "He's giventhem those cottages, I'll swear."
So Fritzing went to Minehead. I will not follow his painful footstepsas they ranged about that dreary place, nor will I dwell upon hispurchases, which resolved themselves at last, after an infinite andsoul-killing amount of walking and bewilderment, into a sofa, arevolving bookstand, and two beds. He forgot a bed for Annalisebecause he forgot Annalise; and he didn't buy things like sheetsbecause he forgot that beds want them. On the other hand he spentquite two hours in a delightful second-hand bookshop on his way to theplace where you buy crockery, and then forgot the crockery. He did,reminded and directed by Mr. Vickerton, the postmistress's son, get toa paperhanger's and order him and his men to come out in shoals toSymford the next morning at daybreak, making the paperhanger vow, whohad never seen them, that the cottages should be done by nightfall.Then, happening to come to the seashore, he stood for a momentrefreshing his nostrils with saltness, for he was desperately wornout, and what he did after that heaven knows. Anyhow young Vickertonfound him hours afterwards walking up and down the shingle in thedark, waving his arms about and crying--
"O, qui me gelidis convallibus Haemi Sistat et ingenti ramorum protegat umbra!"
"Talking German out loud to himself," said young Vickerton to hismother that night; and it is possible that he had been doing it allthe time.
And while he was doing these things Priscilla was having calls paidher. Nothing could exceed her astonishment when about four o'clock, asshe was sitting deep in thought and bored on the arm of a horsehairchair, Mrs. Pearce opened the door and without the least warning letin Mrs. Morrison. Priscilla had promised Fritzing for that one day tostay quietly at the farm, and for the last two hours, finding the farmof an intolerable dulness, she had been engaged in reflections of anextremely complex nature on subjects such as Duty, Will, andPersonality. Her morning in the Baker fields and by the banks of thatpart of the Sym that meanders through them had tuned her mind tomeditation. The food at one o'clock and the manner of its bringing inby Annalise--Priscilla had relieved Mrs. Pearce of that office--tunedit still more. The blended slipperiness and prickliness of all thethings she tried to sit on helped surprisingly; and if I knew how farit is allowable to write of linen I could explain much of her state ofmind by a description of the garments in which she was clothed thatday. They were new garments taken straight from the Gerstein box.They were not even linen,--how could they be for Fritzing's threehundred marks? And their newness had not yet been exposed to thesoftening influence of any wash-tub. Straight did they come, in alltheir crackling stiffness, out of the shop and on to the Princess.Annalise had been supposed to wash them or cause them to be washed theday before, but Annalise had been far too busy crying to do anythingof the sort; and by four o'clock Priscilla was goaded by them into acondition of mind so unworthy that she was thinking quite hard aboutthe Kunitz fine linen and other flesh-pots and actually finding therecollection sweet. It was a place, Priscilla mused, where her bodyhad been exquisitely cared for. Those delicate meals, served inspotlessness, surely they had been rather of the nature of poems?Those web-like garments, soft as a kiss, how beautiful they had beento touch and wear. True her soul had starved; yes, it had cruellystarved. But was it then--she started at her own thought--was it thenbeing fed at Baker's?
And into the middle of this question, a tremendous one to be asked onthe very threshold of the new life, walked Mrs. Morrison.
"How d'y do," said Mrs. Morrison. "The vicar asked me to come and seeyou. I hope the Pearces make you comfortable."
"Well I never," thought Mrs. Pearce, lingering as was her custom onthe door-mat, and shaking her head in sorrow rather than in anger.
Priscilla sat for a moment staring at her visitor.
"You are Miss Schultz, are you not?" asked Mrs. Morrison rathernervously.
Priscilla said she was,--her name, that is, was Neumann-Schultz--andgot up. She had the vaguest notion as to how Miss Schultz would behaveunder these trying circumstances, but imagined she would begin bygetting up. So she got up, and the sofa being a low one and hermovements leisurely, Mrs. Morrison told her husband afterwards thereseemed to be no end to the girl. The girl certainly was long, and whenat last unfolded and quite straightened out she towered over Mrs.Morrison, who looked up uneasily at the grave young face. Why, Mrs.Morrison asked herself, didn't the girl smile? It was the duty of aMiss Schultz called upon by the vicar's wife to smile; so profound agravity on such an occasion was surely almost rude. Priscilla offeredher hand and hoped it was all right to do so, but still she did notsmile. "Are you Mrs. Morrison?" she asked.
"Yes," said Mrs. Morrison with an immense reserve in her voice.
Then Priscilla suggested she should sit down. Mrs. Morrison wasalready doing it; and Priscilla sank on to her sofa again and wonderedwhat she had better say next. She wondered so much that she becamelost in mazes of wonder, and there was so long a silence that Mrs.Pearce outside the door deplored an inconsiderateness that could keepher there for nothing.
"I didn't know you had a double name," said Mrs. Morrison, staring atPriscilla and trying to decide whether this was not a case for theapplication of leaflets and instant departure. The girl was reallyquite offensively pretty. She herself had been pretty--she thankedheaven that she still was so--but never, never pretty--she thankedheaven again--in this glaringly conspicuous fashion.
"My name is Ethel Maria-Theresa Neumann-Schultz," said Priscilla, veryclearly and slowly; and though she was, as we know, absolutelyimpervious to the steadiest staring, she did wonder whether this goodlady could have seen her photograph anywhere in some paper, her starewas so very round and bright and piercing.
"What a long name," said Mrs. Morrison.
"Yes," said Priscilla; and as another silence seemed imminent sheadded, "I have two hyphens."
"Two what?" said Mrs. Morrison, startled; and so full was her head ofdoubt and distrust that for one dreadful moment she thought the girlhad said two husbands. "Oh, hyphens. Yes. Germans have them a gooddeal, I believe."
"That sounds as if we were talking about diseases," said Priscilla, afaint smile dawning far away somewhere in the depths of her eyes.
"Yes," said Mrs. Morrison, fidgeting.
Odd that Robin should have said nothing about the girl's face. Anyhowshe should be kept off Netta. Better keep her off the parish-roomTuesdays as well. What in the world was she doing in Symford? She wasquite the sort of girl to turn the heads of silly boys. And sounfortunate, just as Augustus Shuttleworth had taken to giving Nettalittle volumes of Browning.
"Is your uncle out?" she asked, some of the sharpness of her thoughtsgetting into her voice.
"He's gone to Minehead, to see about things for my cottage."
"Your cottage? Have you got Mrs. Shaw's, then?"
"Yes. She is being moved out to-day."
"Dear me," said Mrs. Morrison, greatly struck.
"Is it surprising?"
"Most. So unlike Lady Shuttleworth."
"She has been very kind."
"Do you know her?"
"No; but my uncle was there this morning."
"And managed to persuade her?"
"He is very eloquent," said Priscilla, with a demure downward sweep ofher eyelashes.
"Just a little more," thought Mrs. Morrison, watching their duskygolden curve, "and the girl would have had scarlet hair andwhite-eyebrows and masses of freckles and been frightful." And shesighed an impatient sigh, which, if translated into verse, wouldundoubtedly have come out--
"Oh the little more and how much it is, And the little less and what worlds away!"
"And poor old Mrs. Shaw--how does she like being turned out?"
"I believe she is being put into something that will seem to her apalace."
"Dear me, your uncle must really be very eloquent."
"I assure you that he is," said Priscilla earnestly.
There was a short pause, during which Mrs. Morrison staring straightinto those unfathomable pools, Priscilla's eyes, was very angry withthem for being so evidently lovely. "You are very young," she said,"so you will not mind my questions--"
"Don't the young mind questions?" asked Priscilla, for a momentsupposing it to be a characteristic of the young of England.
"Not, surely, from experienced and--and married ladies," said Mrs.Morrison tartly.
"Please go on then."
"Oh, I haven't anything particular to go on about," said Mrs.Morrison, offended. "I assure you curiosity is not one of my faults."
"No?" said Priscilla, whose attention had begun to wander.
"Being human I have no doubt many failings, but I'm thankful to saycuriosity isn't one of them."
"My uncle says that's just the difference between men and women. Hesays women might achieve just as much as men if only they were curiousabout things. But they're not. A man will ask a thousand questions,and never rest till he's found out as much as he can about anything hesees, and a woman is content hardly even to see it."
"I hope your uncle is a Churchman," was Mrs. Morrison's unexpectedreply.
Priscilla's mind could not leap like this, and she hesitated a momentand smiled. ("It's the first time she's looked pleasant," thought Mrs.Morrison, "and now it's in the wrong place.")
"He was born, of course, in the Lutheran faith," said Priscilla.
"Oh, a horrid faith. Excuse me, but it really is. I hope he isn'tgoing to upset Symford?"
"Upset Symford?"
"New people holding wrong tenets coming to such a small place dosometimes, you know, and you say he is eloquent. And we are such asimple and God-fearing little community. A few years ago we had agreat bother with a Dissenting family that came here. The cottagersquite lost their heads."
"I think I can promise that my uncle will not try to convert anybody,"said Priscilla.
"Of course you mean pervert. It would be a pity if he did. It wouldn'tlast, but it would give us a lot of trouble. We are very goodChurchmen here. The vicar, and my son too when he's at home, setbeautiful examples. My son is going into the Church himself. It hasbeen his dearest wish from a child. He thinks of nothing else--ofnothing else at all," she repeated, fixing her eyes on Priscilla witha look of defiance.
"Really?" said Priscilla, very willing to believe it.
"I assure you it's wonderful how absorbed he is in his studies for it.He reads Church history every spare moment, and he's got it socompletely on his mind that I've noticed even when he whistles it's'The Church's One Foundation.'"
"What is that?" inquired Priscilla.
"Mr. Robin Morrison," announced Mrs. Pearce.
The sitting-room at Baker's was a small, straightforward place, withno screens, no big furniture, no plants in pots, nothing that couldfor a moment conceal the persons already in it from the persons comingin, and Robin entering jauntily with the umbrella under his arm fellstraight as it were into his mother's angry gaze. "Hullo mater, youhere?" he exclaimed genially, his face broadening with apparentsatisfaction.
"Yes, Robin, I am here," she said, drawing herself up.
"How do you do, Miss Schultz. I seem to have got shown into the wrongroom. It's a Mr. Neumann I've come to see; doesn't he live here?"
Priscilla looked at him from her sofa seat and wondered what she haddone that she should be scourged in this manner by Morrisons.
"You know my son, I believe?" said Mrs. Morrison in the stiffestvoice; for the girl's face showed neither recognition nor pleasure,and though she would have been angry if she had looked unduly pleasedshe was still angrier that she should look indifferent.
"Yes. I met him yesterday. Did you want my uncle? His name is Neumann.Neumann-Schultz. He's out."
"I only wanted to give him this umbrella," said Robin, with a swiftglance at his mother as he drew it from under his arm. Would sherecognize it? He had chosen one of the most ancient; the one mostappropriate, as he thought, to the general appearance of the manNeumann.
"What umbrella is that, Robin?" asked his mother suspiciously. Really,it was more than odd that Robin, whom she had left immersed in study,should have got into Baker's Farm so quickly. Could he have beenexpected? And had Providence, in its care for the righteous cause ofmothers, brought her here just in time to save him from this girl'stoils? The girl's indifference could not be real; and if it was not,her good acting only betrayed the depths of her experience andbalefulness. "What umbrella is that?" asked Mrs. Morrison.
"It's his," said Robin, throwing his head back and looking at hismother as he laid it with elaborate care on the table.
"My uncle's?" said Priscilla. "Had he lost it? Oh thank you--he wouldhave been dreadfully unhappy. Sit down." And she indicated with herhead the chair she would allow him to sit on.
"The way she tells us to sit down!" thought Mrs. Morrison indignantly."As though she were a queen." Aloud she said, "You could have sentJoyce round with it"--Joyce being that gardener whose baby'sperambulator was wheeled by another Ethel--"and need not haveinterrupted your work."
"So I could," said Robin, as though much struck by the suggestion."But it was a pleasure," he added to Priscilla, "to be able to returnit myself. It's a frightful bore losing one's umbrella--especially ifit's an old friend."
"Uncle Fritzi's looks as if it were a very old friend," saidPriscilla, smiling at it.
Mrs. Morrison glanced at it too, and then glanced again. When sheglanced a third time and her glance turned into a look that lingeredRobin jumped up and inquired if he should not put it in the passage."It's in the way here," he explained; though in whose way it could bewas not apparent, the table being perfectly empty.
Priscilla made no objection, and he at once removed it beyond thereach of his mother's eye, propping it up in a dark corner of thepassage and telling Mrs. Pearce, whom he found there that it was Mr.Neumann's umbrella.
"No it ain't," said Mrs. Pearce.
"Yes it is," said Robin.
"No it ain't. He's took his to Minehead," said Mrs. Pearce.
"It is, and he has not," said Robin.
"I see him take it," said Mrs. Pearce.
"You did not," said Robin.
This would have been the moment, Mrs. Morrison felt, for her to go andto carry off Robin with her, but she was held in her seat by thecertainty that Robin would not let himself be carried off; and soonerthan say good-bye and then find he was staying on alone she would sitthere all night. Thus do mothers sacrifice themselves for theirchildren, thought Mrs. Morrison, for their all too frequentlythankless children. But though she would do it to any extent in orderto guard her boy she need not, she said to herself, be pleasantbesides,--she need not, so to speak, be the primroses on his path ofdalliance. Accordingly she behaved as little like a primrose aspossible, sitting in stony silence while he skirmished in the passagewith Mrs. Pearce, and the instant he came in again asked him where hehad found the umbrella.
"I found it--not far from the church," said Robin, desiring to betruthful as long as he could. "But mater, bother the umbrella. Itisn't so very noble to bring a man back his own. Did you get yourcottages?" he asked, turning quickly to Priscilla.
"Robin, are you sure it is his own?" said his mother.
"My dear mother, I'm never sure of anything. Nor are you. Nor is MissSchultz. Nor is anybody who is really intelligent. But I found thething, and Mr. Neumann--"
"The name to-day is Neumann-Schultz," said Mrs. Morrison, in a voiceheavy with implications.
"Mr. Neumann-Schultz, then, had been that way just before, and so Ifelt somehow it must be his."
"Your Uncle Cox had one just like it when he stayed with us lasttime," remarked Mrs. Morrison.
"Had he? I say, mater, what an eye you must have for an umbrella. Thatmust be five years ago."
"Oh, he left it behind, and I see it in the stand every time I gothrough the hall."
"No! Do you?" said Robin, who was hurled by this statement into thecorner where his wits ended and where he probably would have stayedignominiously, for Miss Schultz seemed hardly to be listening andreally almost looked--he couldn't believe it, no girl had ever done itin his presence yet, but she did undoubtedly almost look--bored, ifMrs. Pearce had not flung open the door, and holding the torn portionsof her apron bunched together in her hands, nervously announced LadyShuttleworth.
"Oh," thought Priscilla, "what a day I'm having." But she got up andwas gracious, for Fritzing had praised this lady as kind andsensible; and the moment Lady Shuttleworth set her eyes on her themystery of her son's behaviour flashed into clearness. "Tussie's seenher!" she exclaimed inwardly; instantly adding "Upon my word I can'tblame the boy."
"My dear," she said, holding Priscilla's hand, "I've come to makefriends with you. See what a wise old woman I am. Frankly, I didn'twant you in those cottages, but now that my son has sold them I loseno time in making friends. Isn't that true wisdom?"
"It's true niceness," said Priscilla, smiling down at the little oldlady whose eyes were twinkling all over her. "I don't think you'llfind us in any way a nuisance. All we want is to be quiet."
Mrs. Morrison sniffed.
"Do you really?" said Lady Shuttleworth. "Then we shall get oncapitally. It's what I like best myself. And you've come too," shewent on, turning to Mrs. Morrison, "to make friends with your newparishioner? Why, Robin, and you too?"
"Oh, I'm only accidental," said Robin quickly. "Only a restorer oflost property. And I'm just going," he added, beginning to make hastyadieux; for Lady Shuttleworth invariably produced a conviction in himthat his clothes didn't fit and wanted brushing badly, and no youngman so attentive to his appearance as Robin could be expected to enjoythat. He fled therefore, feeling that even Miss Schultz's lovelinesswould not make up for Lady Shuttleworth's eyes; and in the passage,from whence Mrs. Pearce had retreated, removing herself as far asmight be from the awful lady to whom her father-in-law owed rent andwho saw every hole, Robin pounced on his Uncle Cox's umbrella, tuckedis once more beneath his arm, and bore it swiftly back to the standwhere it had spent five peaceful years. "Really old women are ratherterrible things," he thought as he dropped it in again. "I wonder whatthey're here for."
"Ah, it's there, I see," remarked his mother that night as she passedthrough the hall on her way to dinner.
"What is?" inquired Robin who was just behind her.
"Your Uncle Cox's umbrella."
"Dear mater, why this extreme interest in my Uncle Cox's umbrella?"
"I'm glad to see it back again, that's all. One gets so used tothings."
Lady Shuttleworth and his mother--I shudder to think that it ispossible Robin included his mother in the reflection about old women,but on the other hand one never can tell--had stayed on at the farmfor another twenty minutes after he left. They would have stayedlonger, for Lady Shuttleworth was more interested in Priscilla thanshe had ever been in any girl before, and Mrs. Morrison, who saw thisinterest and heard the kind speeches, had changed altogether from iceto amiability, crushing her leaflets in her hand and more than onceexpressing hopes that Miss Neumann-Schultz would soon come up to teaand learn to know and like Netta--I repeat, they would have stayedmuch longer, but that an extremely odd thing happened.
Priscilla had been charming; chatting with what seemed absolutefrankness about her future life in the cottages, answering littlequestionings of Lady Shuttleworth's with a discretion and plausibilitythat would have warmed Fritzing's anxious heart, dwelling most, forhere the ground was safest, on her uncle, his work, his gifts andcharacter, and Lady Shuttleworth, completely fascinated, had offeredher help of every sort, help in the arranging of her little home, inthe planting of its garden, even in the building of those bathroomsabout which Tussie had been told by Mr. Dawson. She thought the desirefor many bathrooms entirely praiseworthy, and only a sign of lunacy inpersons of small means. Fritzing had assured Tussie that he had moneyenough for the bathrooms; and if his poetic niece liked everybodyabout her to be nicely washed was not that a taste to be applauded?Perhaps Lady Shuttleworth expatiated on plans and probablebuilding-costs longer than Priscilla was able to be interested;perhaps she was over-explanatory of practical details; anyhowPriscilla's attention began to wander, and she gradually became verytired of her callers. She answered in monosyllables, and her smilegrew vague. Then suddenly, at the first full stop Lady Shuttleworthreached in a sentence about sanitation--the entire paragraph was neverfinished--she got up with her usual deliberate grace, and held out herhand.
"It has been very kind of you to come and see me," she said to theastounded lady, with a little gracious smile. "I hope you will bothcome again another time."
For an instant Lady Shuttleworth thought she was mad. Then to her ownamazement she found her body rising obediently and letting its hand betaken.
Mrs. Morrison did the same. Both had their hands slightly pressed,both were smiled upon, and both went out at once and speechless.Priscilla stood calmly while they walked to the door, with the littlesmile fixed on her face.
"Is it possible we've been insulted?" burst out Mrs. Morrison whenthey got outside.
"I don't know," said Lady Shuttleworth, who looked extremelythoughtful.
"Do you think it can possibly be the barbarous German custom?"
"I don't know," said Lady Shuttleworth again.
And all the way to the vicarage, whither she drove Mrs. Morrison, shewas very silent, and no exclamations and conjectures of that indignantlady's could get a word out of her.