did not feel capable. But to Theodora herself, whenever she succeeded in engrossing Arthur, it seemed a victory of sisterly affection and sense over beauty and frivolity.
Arthur was anxious to know the family politics, and resumed the habit of depending on his sister for gathering intelligence from Mrs. Nesbit. On her he bestowed his complaints that his father would not see things as he wished, and with her talked over his projects. In truth, he could not bear to disclose to his wife the footing on which he stood,—looking on her as a mere child, sure to be satisfied, and not requiring to be consulted.
Theodora gave him tidings of the proposal that he should settle in the village, and finding him undecided, threw all her weight into the opposite scale. She sincerely believed she was consulting his happiness and the harmony of the family by speaking of the irksomeness of living there with nothing to do, and by assisting him in calculating how large an income would be necessary to enable him to keep hunters, go from home, &c., without which he declared it would be intolerable, and as there was little probability of his father allowing him so much, continuing in his profession was the only alternative.
Violet saw them in frequent consultation, and once John said something to her of his hopes of seeing her at Brogden; then, finding her in ignorance, drew back, but not till he had said enough to make her restless at hearing no more. She would, of course, have preferred living in the country; but when she figured to herself Arthur always with Theodora, and herself shut up in the little parlour she had seen in the rain, she grew extremely disconsolate.
One morning, unable to read or sit quiet under these anticipations, she went out to dispel them by a turn among the flowers, and a conversation with the peacock. At the corner of the lawn, she heard Arthur’s voice—‘Exactly so; two thousand is the very least. Ha, Violet!’ as he and Theodora emerged from a shady alley.
‘Oh, I did not mean to interrupt you,’ said Violet, confused; ‘I only came out for some fresh air.’
‘Unbonneted, too, do you want to get roasted brown?’ said Arthur.
‘I never am burnt,’ said Violet; ‘but I will not be in your way, I’ll go.’
‘Nonsense,’ said he, drawing her arm into his. ‘Come in good time,’ and he yawned, tired of the discussion. ‘Ha, Mr. Peacock, are you there?’
‘He always follows me,’ said Violet. ‘Miss Piper showed me where his food is kept, and I can almost get him to eat out of my hand.’
Theodora walked off, thinking there was an end of her brother’s sense, and Violet looked after her rather sadly, thinking, while exhibiting to Arthur her friendship with the peacock, ‘he consults her, he only plays with me. Perhaps it is all I am good for; but I wish we were at Winchester.’
As Theodora went up-stairs, she saw her eldest brother standing at the south window of the gallery. He called to her, saying, ‘Here’s a pretty picture, Theodora.’
In front of the sparkling crystal arches of the fountain stood Violet, bending forward, and holding out her hand full of grain to invite the beautiful bird, which now advanced, now withdrew its rich blue neck, as in condescension, then raised its crested head in sudden alarm, its train sweeping the ground in royal splendour. Arthur, no unpicturesque figure in his loose brown coat, stood by, leaning against the stand of one of the vases of plants, whose rich wreaths of brightly coloured blossoms hung down, making a setting for the group; and while Violet by her blandishments invited the peacock to approach, he now and then, with smiling slyness, made thrusts at it with her parasol, or excited Skylark to approach.
‘A pretty scene, is it not?’ said John.
‘Like a Sevres china cup,’ Theodora could not help saying.
‘Fountain and peacock, and parasol for shepherd’s crook, forming a French Arcadia,’ said John, smiling. ‘I suppose it would hardly make a picture. It is too bright.’
Theodora only answered by a sigh, and was turning away, when John added, ‘I am glad she has him at last, I was afraid she had a long solitary morning while you were out with him. I saw you walking up and down so long.’
‘He was talking over his plans,’ said Theodora, with an assumption of sullen dignity.
‘I have been wishing to speak to you about that very thing,’ said John. ‘I think you may be in danger of putting yourself between him and his wife.’
It was a new thing to her to hear that this was a danger, but, in an offended manner, she replied, ‘I can hardly be accused of that. He ceases all rational talk about his most important concerns to go to child’s play with her.’
‘But why keep her out of the rational talk?’
‘That is his concern. He knows what she is capable of, I suppose.’
‘I doubt whether he does,’ said John; ‘but I don’t want to interfere with his behaviour, only to give you a caution. It is natural that you should wish to have him what he was before. I knew his marriage was a great blow to you.’
‘I knew he would marry,’ said Theodora, coldly; for she could not bear compassion. ‘It is the common course of things.’
‘And that the wife should be first.’
‘Of course.’
‘Then would it not be better to bear that in mind, and make up your mind to it, rather than try to absorb his confidence?’
‘He is not bound to consult no one but that child. You would not drive him back to her if he came to you for advice.’
‘I should not pass her over; I should assume that her opinion was to be respected.’
‘I can’t be untrue.’
‘Then try to make it valuable.’
‘He wants no help of mine to make him fond of her!’ cried Theodora. ‘Does not he dote on her, and make himself quite foolish about her complexion and her dress!’
‘That is a different thing. She cannot be always a toy; and if you want to do the most inestimable service to Arthur, it would be by raising her.’
‘Trying to educate a married sister-in-law! No, thank you!’
‘I don’t see what is to become of them,’ said John, sadly. ‘He will be always under some influence or other, and a sensible wife might do everything for him. But she is a child; and he is not the man to form her character. He would have spoilt her already if she did not take his admiration, for mere affection; and just at the age when girls are most carefully watched, she is turned out into the world without a guide! If he ceases to be happy with her, what is before them? You think he will fall back on you; but I tell you he will not. If you once loosen the tie of home, and he seeks solace elsewhere, it will be in the pursuits that have done him harm enough already.’
‘He has given up his race-horses,’ said Theodora.
The luncheon-bell interrupted them; but as they were going down, John added, ‘I hope I have said nothing to vex you. Indeed, Theodora, I feel much for your loss.’
‘I am not vexed,’ was her haughty reply, little guessing how, in her pursuit of the brother who had escaped her, she was repelling and slighting one who would gladly have turned to her for sisterly friendship. His spirits were in that state of revival when a mutual alliance would have greatly added to the enjoyment of both; but Theodora had
