Miss Mackenzie Part 20

"He is my brother's partner in business," said Miss Mackenzie.

"Oh, indeed. A very worthy man, no doubt. Is he staying with--with you, Miss Mackenzie?"

Then Miss Mackenzie had to explain that Mr Rubb was not staying with her,--that he had come down about business, and that he was staying at some inn.

"An excellent man of business; I'm sure," said Mr Maguire.

"By-the-bye, Miss Mackenzie, if it be not improper to ask, have you any share in the business?"

Miss Mackenzie explained that she had no share in the business; and then blundered on, saying how Mr Rubb had come down to Littlebath about money transactions between her and her brother.

"Oh, indeed," said Mr Maguire; and before he had done, he knew very well that Mr Rubb had borrowed money of Miss Mackenzie.

"Now, Mrs Fuzzybell, what are we to do?" said Miss Todd, as soon as the tea-things were gone.

"We shall do very well," said Mrs Fuzzybell; "we'll have a little conversation."

"If we could all banish decorum, like Mr Rubb, and amuse ourselves, wouldn't it be nice? I quite agree with you, Mr Rubb; decorum is a great bore; it prevents our playing cards to-night."

"As for cards, I never play cards myself," said Mr Rubb.

"Then, when I throw decorum overboard, it sha'n't be in company with you, Mr Rubb."

"We were always taught to think that cards were objectionable."

"You were told they were the devil's books, I suppose," said Miss Todd.

"Mother always objected to have them in the house," said Mr Rubb.

"Your mother was quite right," said Mr Maguire; "and I hope that you will never forget or neglect your parent's precepts. I'm not meaning to judge you, Miss Todd--"

"But that's just what you are meaning to do, Mr Maguire."

"Not at all; very far from it. We've all got our wickednesses and imperfections."

"No, no, not you, Mr Maguire. Mrs Fuzzybell, you don't think that Mr Maguire has any wickednesses and imperfections?"

"I'm sure I don't know," said Mrs Fuzzybell, tossing her head.

"Miss Todd," said Mr Maguire, "when I look into my own heart, I see well how black it is. It is full of iniquity; it is a grievous sore that is ever running, and will not be purified."

"Gracious me, how unpleasant!" said Miss Todd.

"I trust that there is no one here who has not a sense of her own wickedness."

"Or of his," said Miss Todd.

"Or of his," and Mr Maguire looked very hard at Mr Fuzzybell. Mr Fuzzybell was a quiet, tame old gentleman, who followed his wife's heels about wherever she went; but even he, when attacked in this way, became very fierce, and looked back at Mr Maguire quite as severely as Mr Maguire looked at him.

"Or of his," continued Mr Maguire; "and therefore far be it from me to think hardly of the amus.e.m.e.nts of other people. But when this gentleman tells me that his excellent parent warned him against the fascination of cards, I cannot but ask him to remember those precepts to his dying bed."

"I won't say what I may do later in life," said Mr Rubb.

"When he becomes like you and me, Mrs Fuzzybell," said Miss Todd.

"When one does get older," said Mr Rubb.

"And has succeeded in throwing off all decorum," said Miss Todd.

"How can you say such things?" asked Miss Baker, who was shocked by the tenor of the conversation.

"It isn't I, my dear; it's Mr Rubb and Mr Maguire, between them. One says he has thrown off all decorum and the other declares himself to be a ma.s.s of iniquity. What are two poor old ladies like you and I to do in such company?"

Miss Mackenzie, when she heard Mr Maguire declare himself to be a running sore, was even more angry with him than with Mr Rubb. He, at any rate, should have known better. After all, was not Mr Ball better than either of them, though his head was bald and his face worn with that solemn, sad look of care which always pervaded him?

In the course of the evening she found herself seated apart from the general company, with Mr Maguire beside her. The eye that did not squint was towards her, and he made an effort to be agreeable to her that was not altogether ineffectual.

"Does not society sometimes make you very sad?" he said.

Society had made her sad to-night, and she answered him in the affirmative.

"It seems that people are so little desirous to make other people happy," she replied.

"It was just that idea that was pa.s.sing through my own mind. Men and women are anxious to give you the best they have, but it is in order that you may admire their wealth or their taste; and they strive to be witty, amusing, and sarcastic! but that, again, is for the eclat they are to gain. How few really struggle to make those around them comfortable!"

"It comes, I suppose, from people having such different tastes," said Miss Mackenzie, who, on looking round the room, thought that the people a.s.sembled there were peculiarly ill-a.s.sorted.

"As for happiness," continued Mr Maguire, "that is not to be looked for from society. They who expect their social hours to be happy hours will be grievously disappointed."

"Are you not happy at Mrs Stumfold's?"

"At Mrs Stumfold's? Yes;--sometimes, that is; but even there I always seem to want something. Miss Mackenzie, has it never occurred to you that the one thing necessary in this life, the one thing--beyond a hope for the next, you know, the one thing is--ah, Miss Mackenzie, what is it?"

"Perhaps you mean a competence," said Miss Mackenzie.

"I mean some one to love," said Mr Maguire.

As he spoke he looked with all the poetic vigour of his better eye full into Miss Mackenzie's face, and Miss Mackenzie, who then could see nothing of the other eye, felt the effect of the glance somewhat as he intended that she should feel it. When a lady who is thinking about getting married is asked by a gentleman who is frequently in her thoughts whether she does not want some one to love, it is natural that she should presume that he means to be particular; and it is natural also that she should be in some sort gratified by that particularity. Miss Mackenzie was, I think, gratified, but she did not express any such feeling.

"Is not that your idea also?" said he,--"some one to love; is not that the great desideratum here below!" And the tone in which he repeated the last words was by no means ineffective.

"I hope everybody has that," said she.

"I fear not; not anyone to love with a perfect love. Who does Miss Todd love?"

"Miss Baker."

"Does she? And yet they live apart, and rarely see each other. They think differently on all subjects. That is not the love of which I am speaking. And you, Miss Mackenzie, are you sure that you love anyone with that perfect all-trusting, love?"