said Mrs Greenow, astounded, as though there must have been some hidden marriage of which she had not heard. “But that’s nonsense. Of course you’re not settled; and how are you to be, if I allow you to shut yourself up in such a place as this,—just where a girl has a chance?”
It was in vain that Kate tried to stop her. It was not easy to stop Mrs Greenow when she was supported by the full assurance of being mistress of the place and of the occasion. “No, my dear; I know very well what I owe to you, and I shall do my duty. As I said before, society can have no charms now for such a one as I am. All that social intercourse could ever do for me lies buried in my darling’s grave. My heart is desolate, and must remain so. But I’m not going to immolate you on the altars of my grief. I shall force myself to go out for your sake, Kate.”
“But, dear aunt, the world will think it so odd, just at present.”
“I don’t care twopence for the world. What can the world do to me? I’m not dependent on the world,—thanks to the care of that sainted lamb. I can hold my own; and as long as I can do that the world won’t hurt me. No, Kate, if I think a thing’s right I shall do it. I mean to make the place pleasant for you if I can, and the world may object if it likes.”
Mrs Greenow was probably right in her appreciation of the value of her independence. Remarks may perhaps have been made by the world of Yarmouth as to her early return to society. People, no doubt, did remind each other that old Greenow was hardly yet four months buried. Mrs Jones and Jeannette probably had their little jokes downstairs. But this did not hurt Mrs Greenow. What was said, was not said in her hearing, Mrs Jones’s bills were paid every Saturday with admirable punctuality; and as long as this was done everybody about the house treated the lady with that deference which was due to the respectability of her possessions. When a recently bereaved widow attempts to enjoy her freedom without money, then it behoves the world to speak aloud;—and the world does its duty.
Numerous people came to call at Montpelier Parade, and Kate was astonished to find that her aunt had so many friends. She was indeed so bewildered by these strangers that she could hardly ascertain whom her aunt had really known before, and whom she now saw for the first time. Somebody had known somebody who had known somebody else, and that was allowed to be a sufficient introduction,—always presuming that the existing somebody was backed by some known advantages of money or position. Mrs Greenow could smile from beneath her widow’s cap in a most bewitching way. “Upon my word then she is really handsome,” Kate wrote one day to Alice. But she could also frown, and knew well how to put aside, or, if need be, to reprobate any attempt at familiarity from those whose worldly circumstances were supposed to be disadvantageous.
“My dear aunt,” said Kate one morning after their walk upon the pier, “how you did snub that Captain Bellfield!”
“Captain Bellfield, indeed! I don’t believe he’s a captain at all. At any rate he has sold out, and the tradesmen have had a scramble for the money. He was only a lieutenant when the 97th were in Manchester, and I’m sure he’s never had a shilling to purchase since that.”
“But everybody here seems to know him.”
“Perhaps they do not know so much of him as I do. The idea of his having the impudence to tell me I was looking very well! Nothing can be so mean as men who go about in that way when they haven’t money enough in their pockets to pay their washerwomen.”
“But how do you know, aunt, that Captain Bellfield hasn’t paid his washerwoman?”
“I know more than you think, my dear. It’s my business. How could I tell whose attentions you should receive and whose you shouldn’t, if I didn’t inquire into these things?”
It was in vain that Kate rebelled, or attempted to rebel against this more than maternal care. She told her aunt that she was now nearly thirty, and that she had managed her own affairs, at any rate with safety, for the last ten years;—but it was to no purpose. Kate would get angry; but Mrs Greenow never became angry. Kate would be quite in earnest; but Mrs Greenow would push aside all that her niece said as though it were worth nothing. Kate was an unmarried woman with a very small fortune, and therefore, of course, was desirous of being married with as little delay as possible. It was natural that she should deny that it was so, especially at this early date in their mutual acquaintance. When the niece came to know her aunt more intimately, there might be confidence between them, and then they would do better. But Mrs Greenow would spare neither herself nor her purse on Kate’s behalf, and she would be a dragon of watchfulness in protecting her from the evil desires of such useless men as Captain Bellfield.
“I declare, Kate, I don’t understand you,” she said one morning to her niece as they sat together over a late breakfast. They had fallen into luxurious habits, and I am afraid it was past eleven o’clock, although the breakfast things were still on the table. Kate would usually bathe before breakfast, but Mrs Greenow was never out of her room till half-past ten. “I like the morning for contemplation,” she once said. “When a woman has gone through all that I have suffered she has a great deal to think of.” “And it is so much more comfortable to be athinking when one’s in bed,” said Jeannette, who was present at the time. “Child, hold your tongue,” said the widow. “Yes, ma’am,” said Jeannette. But we’ll return to the scene at the breakfast-table.
“What don’t you understand, aunt?”
“You only danced twice last night, and once you stood up with Captain Bellfield.”
“On purpose to ask after that poor woman who washes his clothes without getting paid for it.”
“Nonsense, Kate; you didn’t ask him anything of the kind, I’m sure. It’s very provoking. It is indeed.”
“But what harm can Captain Bellfield do me?”
“What good can he do you? That’s the question. You see, my dear, years will go by. I don’t mean to say you ain’t quite as young as ever you were, and nothing can be nicer and fresher than you are;—especially since you took to bathing.”
“Oh, aunt, don’t!”
“My dear, the truth must be spoken. I declare I don’t think I ever saw a young woman so improvident as you are. When are you to begin to think about getting married if you don’t do it now?”
“I shall never begin to think about it, till I buy my wedding clothes.”
“That’s nonsense,—sheer nonsense. How are you to get wedding clothes if you have never thought about getting a husband? Didn’t I see Mr Cheesacre ask you for a dance last night?”
“Yes, he did; while you were talking to Captain Bellfield yourself, aunt.”
“Captain Bellfield can’t hurt me, my dear. And why didn’t you dance with Mr Cheesacre?”
“He’s a fat Norfolk farmer, with not an idea beyond the virtues of stall-feeding.”
“My dear, every acre of it is his own land,—every acre! And he bought another farm for thirteen thousand pounds only last autumn. They’re better than the squires,—some of those gentlemen farmers; they are indeed. And of all men in the world they’re the easiest managed.”
“That’s a recommendation, no doubt.”
“Of course it is;—a great recommendation.”
Mrs
