A Letter of Credit Part 44

"More than that."

"How came you to know him at all?"

"He came to see us?"

"Us? You and aunt Eunice? What made him go to see you? at first, I mean."

"How can I tell?" said Rotha, more and more displeased.

"Well, do you like him?"

The answer did not come suddenly.

"Do I like Mr. Digby?" Rotha said slowly. "I think I do."

"_We_ do. What sort of a carriage was he in when he was overturned?"

"A little phaeton."

"One-horse?"

"Yes."

"Was he alone?"

"No."

"What became of the other person?"

"Thrown out, like him."

"Hurt?"

"No."

"Do you know who it was?"

"Yes."

"Who was it?"

"It was I."

"_You?_" exclaimed Antoinette. "Were _you_ driving with Mr. Southwode?

How came you to be going with him?"

"Why should I not?"

"Why--" with a glance at Rotha's dress. Rotha saw and understood, but would not enlighten her.

"Did you ever go with him before?"

"Yes."

"How many times?"

But Rotha was getting amused now, and was mistress of the situation.

"Does it matter how many times?" she said quite unexcitedly.

"He never took _me_ anywhere," said Antoinette. "I declare, I'll make him. It isn't using me well. What makes you call him Mr. Digby?"

"I have been accustomed to call him so."

"Did he tell you to?"

"Yes."

"I wonder if he'd let me? I don't believe mamma would, though. She won't let you either do it any more. Digby is Mr. Southwode's first name. She would say it was too familiar, to call him by his first name, even with a 'Mr.' to it. Mamma's a little poky at times. But how did you come to know him first? you haven't told me."

"I suppose, the same way you came to know him," said Rotha slowly.

But the suggestion of anything similar in what concerned the social circ.u.mstances of her and her cousin, struck Antoinette with such a sense of novelty that, for a moment she was nonplussed. Then her eye fell upon the clock on the mantel-piece, and she started up.

"I must rush right off," she said; "it is time for my drawing lesson.

That's one thing I don't get in school. Have you ever been to school?"

"No."

"I suppose you don't know much, then. Won't you have to work, though! I am sorry I must go and leave you alone; but mamma will be in by and by."

While she was speaking, Antoinette had been putting on her wraps to go out; handsome, ample, and becoming they were. A dark green cloak of some figured, l.u.s.trous stuff; a little green hat with a coquettish leather; gloves fitting nicely; and finally a little embroidered pocket- handkerchief stuffed into an outer pocket of her cloak. Then taking her portfolio, Antoinette hurried away.

Rotha felt a sense of uneasiness growing upon her. She was not at home, and nothing promised her that she ever would be, in this house. For awhile she sat still where she was, looking and thinking; or rather feeling; for thought was scarcely organized. She was tired at last of the stillness, the ticking of the clock and the soft stir of the coals in the grate or falling of ashes into the pan. She went down to the parlour again, having a mind to become a little acquainted with her new surroundings while she could make her observations un.o.bserved; and besides, that parlour was a study to Rotha; she had seen nothing like it.

She went down and took her seat upon an ottoman, and surveyed things. How beautiful it all was, she thought; beyond imagination beautiful. The colours and figures in the carpet; the rich crimsons and soft drabs, and the thick, rich pile to the stuff, what a wonder they were to her. The window curtains, hanging in stately folds and draperies of drab, with broad bands of crimson satin shot through the tamer colour, how royal they were! And did anybody ever see anything so magnificent as the gla.s.s in the pier, which filled the s.p.a.ce from floor to ceiling between those royal draperies? The furniture was dark and polished, as to the wood; covers of striped drilling hid what might be the beauty of cus.h.i.+ons beneath, and Rotha was not one of the sort that can lift a corner to see what was hidden. There was enough not hidden, and she could wait. But as her eye roved from one thing to another, her heart gathered fuel for a fire that presently rivalled its more harmless neighbour in the grate; a fierce, steady, intense glow of wrath and indignation. This was how her mother's sister lived and had been living; and her mother in the poor little rooms in Jane Street. Magnificence and luxury here; and there toil and the bread of charity. And not a hand held out to help, nor love enough to be called upon for it. Rotha's heart fed its fire with dark displeasure. There was built up a barrier between her and her aunt, which threatened perpetual severance. Kindness might break it down; Rotha was open to kindness; but from this quarter she did not expect it. She bent her determination however on behaving herself so as Mr. Digby had wished.

She would not shew what she thought. She would be quiet and polite and unexcited, like him. Poor Rotha! The fire should burn in her, and yet she would keep cool!

She was studying the gas reading stand on the centre table, marvelling at the beauty of its marble shaft and the mystery of its cut gla.s.s shade, where bunches of grapes and vine leaves wandered about in somewhat stiff order; when the door of the room opened softly and Mrs. Busby came in.

Rotha divined immediately that it was her aunt; the lady wore still the bonnet and the shawl in which she had been abroad, and had the air of the mistress, indefinable but well to be recognized. Softly she shut the door behind her and came towards the fire. Rotha did not dislike her appearance. The features were good, the eyes keen, the manner quiet

"And this is my niece Rotha," she said with a not unkindly smile. "How do you do?" She took her hand and kissed her. Alas! the kiss was smooth ice.

Rotha remembered the last kiss that had touched her lips; how warm and soft and firm too it had been; it meant something. This means nothing but civility, thought Rotha to herself.

"You are all alone?" Mrs. Busby went on. "Antoinette had to go out. Shall we go up stairs, to my room? We never sit here in the morning."

Rotha followed her aunt up stairs, where Mrs. Busby laid off hat and shawl and made herself comfortable, calling a maid to take them and to brighten up the fire.

"I'll have luncheon up here, Lesbia," she said by the way. "Now Rotha, tell me all about yourself and your mother. I have heard nothing for a long while, unless from some third person."