Anne Hereford. Mrs. Henry Wood
is ready."
I soon went down. There was no one in the drawing-room then, and I was looking at some of the books on the centre table, when a gentleman entered: he was tall, bright, handsome; a far more gentlemanly man than any I had seen at Mr. Edwin Barley's, more so than even George Heneage. I wondered who he could be.
"My dear little girl, I am glad you have arrived in safety," he said, cordially taking my hand. "It was a long way for them to send you alone."
It was Mr. Hemson. How could they have prejudiced me against him? was the first thought that struck me. I had yet to learn that people in our Keppe-Carew class of life estimate tradespeople not by themselves but by their callings. The appearance of Mrs. Hemson had surprised me; how much more, then, did that of her husband! Mrs. Jones's husband was a little mean man, who carried out the parcels, and was given, people said, to cheat. Since Selina mentioned Mr. Hemson's trade to me, I had associated the two in my mind. Well educated, good and kind, respected in his native town, and making money fast by fair dealing, Mr. Hemson, to my ignorance, was a world's wonder.
"Is she not like Ursula, Frederick!" exclaimed Mrs. Hemson, holding up my chin. "You remember her?"
He looked at me with a smile. "I scarcely remember her. I don't think Ursula ever had eyes like these. They are worth a king's ransom; and they are honest and true."
We went into the other room to dinner--a plain dinner of roast veal and ham, and a damson tart, all nicely cooked and served, with a well-dressed maid-servant to wait upon us. Altogether the house seemed thoroughly well conducted; a pleasant, plentiful home, and where they certainly lived as quiet gentlepeople, not for show, but for comfort. Mr. Hemson went downstairs after dinner, and we returned to the drawing-room.
"Anne," Mrs. Hemson said, smiling at me, "you have appeared all amaze since you came into the house. What is the reason?"
I coloured very much; but she pressed the question.
"It is--a better house than I expected, ma'am."
"What! did they prejudice you against me?" she laughed. "Did your mamma do that?"
"Mamma told me nothing. It was my Aunt Selina. She said you had raised a barrier between--between----"
"Between myself and the Carews," she interrupted, filling up the pause. "They say I lost caste in marrying Mr. Hemson. And so I did. But--do you like him, Anne?"
"Very, very much. He seems quite a gentleman."
"He is a gentleman in all respects save one; but that is one which people cannot get over, rendering it impossible for them to meet him as an equal. Anne, when I became acquainted with Mr. Hemson, I did not know he was in trade. Not that he intentionally deceived me, you must understand; he is a man of nice honour, incapable of deceit; but it fell out so. We were in a strange place, both far away from home, and what our relative position might be at home never happened to be alluded to by either of us. By the time I heard who and what he was, a silk-mercer and linendraper, I had learnt to value him above all else in the world. After that, he asked me to be his wife."
"And you agreed?"
"My dear, I first of all sat down and counted the cost. Before giving my answer, I calculated which I could best give up, my position in society as a gentlewoman and a gentleman's daughter of long pedigree, or Frederick Hemson. I knew that constant slights--not intentional ones, but what I should feel as such--would be my portion if I married him; that I should descend for ever in the scale of society--must leap the great gulf which separates the gentlewoman from the tradesman's wife. But I believed that I should find my compensation in him: and I tried it. I have never repented the step; I find more certainly, year by year, that if I threw away the shadow, I grasped the substance."
"Oh, but surely you are still a gentlewoman!"
"My dear, such is not my position: I have put myself beyond the pale of what the world calls society. But I counted all that beforehand, I tell you, and I put it from me bravely. I weighed the cost well; it has not been more than I bargained for."
"But indeed you are a gentlewoman," I said, earnestly, the tears rising to my eyes at what I thought injustice; "I can see you are."
"Granted, Anne. But what if others do not accord me the place? I cannot visit gentlepeople or be visited by them. I am the wife of Mr. Hemson, a retail trader. This is a cathedral town, too; and, in such, the distinctions of society are bowed to in an ultra degree."
"But is it right?"
"Quite right; perfectly right; as you will find when you are older. If you have been gathering from my words that I rebel at existing things, you are in error. The world would not get along without its social distinctive marks, though France once had a try at it."
"Yes, I know."
"I repeat, that I sat down and counted the cost; and I grow more willing to pay it year by year. But, Anne dear." and she laid her hand impressively on my arm, "I would not recommend my plan of action to others. It has answered in my case, for Mr. Hemson is a man in a thousand; and I have dug a grave and buried my pride; but in nine cases out of ten it would bring unhappiness, repentance, bickering. Nothing can be more productive of misery generally, than an unequal marriage."
I did not quite understand. She had said that she was paying off the cost year by year.
"Yes, Anne. One part of the cost must always remain----a weighty incubus. It is not only that I have put myself beyond the pale of my own sphere, but I have entailed it on my children. My girls must grow up in the state to which they are born: let them be ever so refined, ever so well educated, a barrier lies across their path: in visiting, they must be confined to their father's class; they can never expect to be sought in marriage by gentlemen. Wealthy tradespeople, professional men, they may stand a chance of; but gentlemen, in the strict sense of the term, never."
"Will they feel it?"
"No, oh no. That part of the cost is alone mine. I have taken care not to bring them up to views above their father's station. There are moments when I wish I had never had children. We cannot put away our prejudices entirely, we Keppe-Carews, you see, Anne," she added, with a light laugh.
"I don't think anybody can," I said, with a wise shake of the head.
"And now, Anne--to change the subject--what were the details of that dreadful tragedy at Mr. Edwin Barley's?"
"I cannot tell them," I answered, with a rushing colour, remembering Mr. Edwin Barley's caution as to secrecy. Mrs. Hemson misunderstood the refusal.
"Poor child! I suppose they kept particulars from you: and it was right to do so. Could they not save Selina?"
"No--for she died. Mr. Edwin Barley says he knows she was treated wrongly."
"Ill-fated Selina! Were you with her when she died, Anne?"
"I was with her the night before. We thought she was getting better, and she thought it. She had forgotten all about the warning, saying it must be a dream."
"About the what?" interrupted Mrs. Hemson.
"While Selina was ill, she saw mamma. She said the Keppe-Carews always had these warnings."
"Child, be silent!" imperatively spoke Mrs. Hemson. "How could they think of imbuing you with their superstitions. It is all fancy."
"Mamma had the same warning, Mrs. Hemson. She said papa called her."
"Be quiet, I say, child!" she repeated, in a tone of emotion. "These subjects are totally unfit for you. Mind, Anne, that you do not allude to them before my little girls; and forget them yourself."
"They do not frighten me. But I should not speak of them to any one but you, Mrs. Hemson."
"Frances and Mary will be home from school at five, and be delighted to make acquaintance with you. You are going to school yourself next week. Have you heard that?"
"To a school in Dashleigh?"
"In