Anne Hereford. Mrs. Henry Wood
the world should say you had not done your best to prevent it; for you know you are a dear lover of money, Barley."
There may have been a great deal more said, but I did not hear. My head had sought the wall for its resting-place, and sleep stole over me.
What I felt most glad of, the next morning, was to get my purse. There were twenty-seven shillings in it; and old Betty had caused it to be put in one of the boxes, vexing me. "People in the train might rob me of it," she said.
Jemima waited on me at dressing, and I had breakfast in Miss Delves's parlour. Afterwards I went up to Mrs. Edwin Barley in the drawing-room. She was in mourning, deep as mine.
"I had been tempted to put it off for a cool dress yesterday evening," she said to me. "What with the dinner, and the fire they will have, though I am sure it is not weather for it, I feel melted in black. The fire is kept large to please Philip King. So Miss Delves informed me when I remonstrated against it the other day. He must be of a chilly nature."
Remembering what I had heard said the previous night, I thought he might be. But the words had afforded the opportunity for a question that I was longing, in my curiosity, to put.
"Selina, who is Miss Delves? Is she a lady or a servant?"
"You had better not call her a servant, Anne; she would never forgive it," answered Selina, with a laugh. "She is a relative of Mr. Edwin Barley's."
"Then, why does she not sit with you, and dine at table?"
"Because I do not choose that she shall sit with me, and dine at table," was the resentful, haughty retort; and I could see that there had been some past unpleasantness in regard to Miss Delves. "When Mr. Edwin Barley's mother died, who used to live with him, Charlotte Delves came here as mistress of the house. That was all very well so long as there was no legitimate mistress, but ages went on, and I came to it. She assumed a great deal; I found she was planted down at table with us, and made herself my companion in the drawing-room at will. I did not like it; and one day I told my husband so in her presence. I said that I must be the sole mistress in my own house, and quitted the room, leaving them to settle it. Since then she has taken the parlour for her sitting-room, and looks to the household, as she did before. In short, Miss Delves is housekeeper. I have no objection to that; it saves me trouble, and I know nothing of domestic management. Now and then I invite her to take tea with us, or to a drive with me in the pony carriage, and we are vastly polite to each other always."
"But if you do not like her----"
"Like her!" interrupted Selina. "My dear child, we hate each other like poison. It was not in human nature, you know, for her not to feel my entrance to the house as a wrong, displacing her from her high post, and from the influence she had contrived to acquire over Mr. Edwin Barley. They were as intimate as brother and sister; and I believe he is the only living being she cares for in the whole world. When I took a high tone with her, it exasperated her all the more against me, there's no doubt of it; and she repays it by carrying petty tales of me to Mr. Edwin Barley."
"And whose part did he take, Selina!"
"MINE, of course--always?" she returned, with a forcible emphasis on the first word. "But it has never been open warfare between me and Miss Delves, Anne; you must understand that. Should anything of the sort supervene, she would have to quit the house. A bitter pill that would be, for she has no money, and would have to go out as housekeeper in reality, or something of the kind. My occupation would be gone then."
"What occupation?"
"The saying and doing all sorts of wild things to make her think ill of me. She goes and whispers them to Mr. Edwin Barley. He listens to her--I know he does, and that provokes me. Well, little pet, what are those honest brown eyes of yours longing to say?"
"Why did you marry him, Selina?"
"People say for money, Anne. I say it was fate."
"He persuaded you, perhaps?"
"He did. Persuaded, pressed, worried me. He was two years talking me into it. Better, perhaps, that he had given his great love elsewhere! Better for him, possibly, that he had married Charlotte Delves!"
"But did he want to marry Charlotte Delves?"
"Never. I don't believe that even the thought ever entered his head. The servants say she used to hope it; but they rattle nonsense at random. Edwin Barley never cared but for two things in the world: myself and money."
"Money?"
"Money, Anne. Pretty little pieces of gold and silver; new, crisp bank-notes; yellow old deeds of parchment, representing houses and lands. He cares for money almost as much as for me; and he'll care for it more than for me in time. Who's this?"
It was Philip King. He came in, looking more cross, if possible, than he did the previous night. His face shone out sickly, too, in the bright morning sun. Selina spoke, but did not offer her hand.
"Good morning, Mr. King; I hope you feel better to-day. You did not get down to breakfast, I understand. Neither did I?"
"I did get down to breakfast," he answered, speaking as if something had very much put him out. "I took it with Mr. Edwin Barley in his study."
"Leaving George Heneage to breakfast alone. You two polite men! Had I known that, I would have come down and breakfasted with him."
That she said this in a spirit of mischief, in a manner most especially calculated to provoke him, I saw by the saucy look that shot from her bright blue eyes.
"I think you and Heneage breakfast together quite often enough as it is, Mrs. Edwin Barley."
"You do? Then, if I were you, sir, I would have the good manners to keep such thoughts to myself; or tell them to Mr. Edwin Barley, if you like. He might offer you a premium for them--who knows?"
Philip King was getting into an angry heat.
"I hope you have tolerably strong shoulders," she resumed, as if struck with some sudden thought.
"Why so?"
"George Heneage intends to try his cane upon them on the next convenient day."
His lips turned white.
"Mrs. Barley, what do you mean?"
"Just what I say. You have taken to peep and pry after me--whether set on by any one, or from some worthy motive of your own, you best know. It will not serve you, Philip King. If there be one thing more detestable than another, it is that of spying. I happened to mention this new pastime of yours before Mr. Heneage, and he observed that he had a cane somewhere. That's all."
The intense aggravation with which she said it was enough to rouse the ire of one less excitable than Philip King. He was breaking out in abuse of Mr. Heneage, when the latter happened to come in. A few menacing words, a dark look or two from either side, and then came the quarrel.
A quarrel that terrified me. I ran out of the room; I ran back again; I don't know what I did. Mrs. Edwin Barley seemed nearly as excited as they were: it was not the first time I had seen her in a passion. She called out (taking the words from the old ballad, "Lord Thomas"), that she cared more for the little finger of George Heneage than for the whole body of ill-conditioned Philip King. I knew it was only one of her wild sayings: when in a passion she did not mind what she said, or whom she offended. I knew that this present quarrel was altogether Selina's fault--that her love of provocation had brought it on. Mr. Edwin Barley had gone over to his brother's; and it was well, perhaps, that it was so.
Jemima appeared on the stairs, carrying up a pail--there was no back staircase to the house. "What is the matter, Miss Hereford?" she asked. "Goodness me! how you are trembling!"
"They are quarrelling in there--Mr. Heneage and Mr. King. I am afraid they will fight."
"Oh, it has come to that, has it?" said Jemima, carelessly. "I thought it would. Never mind them, Miss Hereford; they'll not hurt you."
She tripped upstairs with