A Letter of Credit Part 42

"But--do I know how?"

"I will give you an unfailing recipe," said Mr. Digby smiling.

"'Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them'; and for details, study the 13th chapter of the first epistle to the Corinthians."

"Is that the chapter about charity?"

"About love. The word means love, not charity."

"Mr. Digby, it is very hard to act as if you loved people, when you do not."

"True," said he smiling. "That is what the world means by good manners.

But what Christians should mean by that term is the real thing."

"And I do not think I can," Rotha went on.

"Do not try to make believe anything. But the courtesy of good manners you can give to everybody."

"If I do not lose command of myself," said Rotha. "I will try, Mr.

Digby."

"I think you can do, pretty nearly, Rotha, whatever you try."

This declaration was a source of great comfort to the girl, and a great help towards its own justification; as Mr. Digby probably guessed.

Nevertheless Rotha grieved, deeply and silently, through the days that followed. Her friend saw it, and with serious disquiet. That pa.s.sion of pain and dismay with which she had greeted the first news of what was before her was no transient gust, leaving the air as clear as it had been previously. True, the storm was over. Rotha obtruded her feelings in no way upon his notice; she was quiet and docile as usual. But the happiness was gone. There were rings round her eyes, which told of watching or of weeping; her brow was clouded; and now and then Mr. Digby saw a tear or two come which she made good efforts to get rid of unseen. She was mourning, and it troubled him; but, as he said to himself over and over again, "there was no help for it." He was unselfish about it; for to himself personally there was no doubt but to have Rotha safely lodged with her aunt would be a great relief. He had other business to attend to.

CHAPTER XII.

MRS. BUSBY'S HOUSE.

By the beginning of the week Rotha had recovered command of herself, externally at least; and on the Monday Mr. Digby and his charge were to go to Mrs. Busby's. It was the first of November; dull, cloudy and cold; getting ready for snow, Mr. Digby said, to judge by the sky. From the clouds his eye came down to Rotha, who had just entered the room dressed for her departure.

"Rotha," said he, "what is that you have on?"

"My brown lawn, Mr. Digby."

"Lawn? on such a day as this? You want a warmer dress, my child."

Rotha hesitated and coloured.

"My warm dresses--are not very nice," she said with some difficulty. "I thought I must look as well as I could."

"And I have forgotten that the season was changing! and left you without proper provision. You see, Rotha, I never had the charge of a young lady before. Never mind, dear; that will soon be made right. But put on something warm, no matter how it looks. You will take cold with that thin dress."

Rotha hesitated.

"I don't think you will like it, if I put on my old winter frock," she said.

"I would like it better than your getting sick. Change your dress by all means."

When Rotha came in again, she was a different figure. She had put on an old grey merino, which had once belonged to her mother and had been made over for her. At the time she had rejoiced much over it; now Rotha had got a new standard for judging of dresses, and she seemed to herself very "mean" looking. Truly, the old grey gown had been made a good while ago; the fas.h.i.+on had changed, and Rotha had grown; it was scant now and had lost even a distant conformity with prevailing modes. Moreover it was worn, and it was faded, and it was not even very clean. Rotha thought Mr.

Digby would hardly endure it; she herself endured it only under stress of authority. He looked at her a little gravely.

"That's the best you have, is it? Never mind, Rotha; it is I who am to blame. I am very much ashamed of myself, for forgetting that winter was corning."

He had never known what it was, in all his life, to want a thick coat or a thin coat and not find it in his wardrobe; and that makes people forget.

"This will not do, do you think it will, Mr. Digby?" said Rotha tentatively.

"Better than to have you get sick. It will keep you warm, will it not?

and we will soon have you fitted up with better supplies."

It was not time quite for the carriage to be at the door, and Mr. Digby sat down to a bit of drawing; he was making a copy for Rotha. Rotha stood by, doubtful and thoughtful.

"Mr. Digby," she said at last shyly, "there is something I should like very much to ask."

"Ask it, Rotha."

"But I do not know whether you would like it--and yet I cannot know without asking--"

"Naturally. What is it, Rotha?"

"Mr. Digby, my mother hadn't anything at all, had she? Money, I mean."

"Of late? No, Rotha, I believe not."

The girl hesitated and struggled with herself.

"I thought so," she said. "And while it was you, I didn't mind. But now,--how will it be, Mr. Digby?"

Mr. Digby got at the sense of this by some intuition.

"Who will be at the charge of your schooling, you mean? and other things?

Certainly I, Rotha, unless your aunt wishes very decidedly that it should be herself."

"She will not wish that," said the girl. "Then, Mr. Digby, when I am done with school--what am I to do? What do you want me to do? Because if I knew, I might work better to get ready for it."

"Well," said Mr. Digby, making some easy strokes with his pencil, every one of which however meant something,--"there is generally something for everybody to do in this world; but we cannot always tell what, till the time comes. The best way is to prepare yourself, as far as possible, for everything."

"But I cannot do that," said Rotha, with the nearest approach to a laugh that she had made since the previous Friday.

"Yes, you can. First, be a good woman; and then, get all the knowledge and all the accomplishments, and all the acquirements, that come in your way. Drawing, certainly, for you have a true love for that. How is it with music? Are you fond of it?"

"I don't know," Rotha said low. "Mr. Digby, can I not--some time--do something for you?"

"Yes," said he, looking up at her with a laughing glance, "you can do all these things for me. I want you to be as good a woman, and as wise a woman, and as accomplished a woman, as you are able to become."