The Master of Greylands. Mrs. Henry Wood
the girl, passionately. "It's not your place to interfere with me: is it, mamma?"
"Certainly not, my sweet child."
Miss Flora had changed her place. Quitting the music-stool for the hearthrug, she took up the poker; and now stood brandishing it around, and looking daggers at Ethel. Ethel, her sweet face still flushed, went steadily on with her drawing.
"She's as ill-natured as she can be! She'd like--mamma, she'd like--to see me toiling at geography and French grammar all night as well as all day. Nasty thing!"
"I can believe anything of Ethel that is ill-natured," equably spoke Mrs. Castlemaine, turning her slipper. "But I have made up my mind that she shall teach you, Flo, my love, under--of course, entirely under--my superintendence. Miss Oldham used to resent interference."
"I do think, mamma, you must be joking!" cried Ethel, turning her flushed face and her beautiful eyes on her stepmother.
"When do I joke?" retorted Mrs. Castlemaine. "It will save the nuisance of a governess in the house: and you shall teach Flora."
"I'll give her all the trouble I can; she's a toad," cried Miss Flora, bringing the poker within an inch of her mother's nose. "And I'll learn just what I like, and let alone what I don't like. She's not going to be set up in authority over me, as Miss Oldham was. I'll kick you if you try it, Ethel."
"Stop, stop," spoke Ethel, firmness in her tone, decision on her pretty lips. "Mamma, pray understand me; I cannot attempt to do this. My life is not very pleasant now; it would be unbearable then. You know--you see--what Flora is: how can you ask me?"
Mrs. Castlemaine half rose, in her angry spirit. It was something new for Ethel to set her mandates at defiance. Her voice turned to a scream; her small light eyes dilated.
"Do you beard me in my own house, Ethel Reene? I say that you shall do this. I am mistress here----"
Mistress she might be, but Mr. Castlemaine was master and at that moment the door opened, and he came in. Disputes were not very unusual in his home, but this seemed to be a frantic one.
"What is the meaning of this?" he inquired, halting in astonishment, and taking in the scene with his keen dark eyes. His wife unusually angry, her voice high; Ethel in tears--for they had come unbidden; Flora brandishing the poker towards Ethel, and dancing to its movements.
Mrs. Castlemaine sat down to resume her wool-work, her ruffled feathers subdued to smoothness. She never cared to give way to unseemly temper, no, nor to injustice, in the presence of her husband; for she had the grace to feel that he would be ashamed of it--ashamed for her; and that it would still further weaken the little influence she retained over him.
"Were you speaking of a governess for Flora?" he asked, advancing and taking the poker from the young lady's hand. "What has Ethel to do with that?"
"I was observing that Ethel has a vast deal of leisure time, and that she might, rather than be idle, fill it up by teaching Flora," replied Mrs. Castlemaine, as softly as though her mouth were made of butter. "Especially as Ethel's French is so perfect. As a temporary thing, of course, if--if it did not answer."
"I do not find Ethel idle: she always seems to me to have some occupation on hand," observed Mr. Castlemaine. "As to her undertaking the teaching of Flora--would you like it, Ethel?"
"No, papa," was the brave answer, as she strove to hide her tears. "I have, I am sure, no talent for teaching; I dislike it very much: and Flora would never obey a word I said. It would make my life miserable--I was saying so when you came in."
"Then, my dear child, the task shall certainly not be put upon yon. Why need you have feared it would be? We have no more right to force Ethel to do what is distasteful to her, than we should have to force it on ourselves," he added, turning to his wife. "You must see that, Sophia."
"But----" began Mrs. Castlemaine.
"No buts, as to this," he interrupted. "You are well able to pay and keep a governess--and, as Ethel justly observes, she would not be able to do anything with Flora. Miss Oldham could not do it. My opinion is, no governess ever will do it, so long as you spoil the child."
"I don't spoil her, James."
Mr. Castlemaine lifted his dark eyebrows: the assertion was too palpably untrue to be worthy a refutation. "The better plan to adopt with Flora would be to send her to school, as Harry says----"
"That I will never do."
"Then look out for a successor to Miss Oldham. And, my strong advice to you, Sophia, is--let the governess, when she comes, hold entire control over Flora and be allowed to punish her when she deserves it. I shall not care to see her grow up the self-willed, unlovable child she seems to be now."
Mrs. Castlemaine folded up her slipper quietly and left the room; she was boiling over with rage, in spite of her apparent calmness. Flora, who stood in fear of her father, flew off to the kitchen, to demand bread and jam and worry the servants. Ethel was going on with her drawing; and Mr. Castlemaine, who had a taste for sketching himself, went and looked over her.
"Thank you, papa," she softly said, lifting to him for a moment her loving eyes. "It would have been bad both for Flora and for me."
"Of course it would," he replied: "Flora ought to have a good tight rein over her. What's this you are doing, Ethel? The Friar's Keep! Why, what a curious coincidence! Mary Ursula was filling in just the same thing last night."
"Was she, papa? It makes a nice sketch."
"You don't draw as well as Mary Ursula does, Ethel."
"I do nothing as well as she does, papa. I don't think anybody does."
"What are those figures in the foreground?"
"I meant them for two of the Grey Sisters. Their cloaks are not finished yet."
"Oh," said Mr. Castlemaine, rather shortly. "And that's a group of fishermen, I see: much the more sensible people of the two."
"What did Mary Ursula say last night, papa?"
"Say? Nothing particular. She sent her love to Ethel."
"Did she dine at table?"
"Why, of course not, child. Miss Mountsorrel spent the evening with her."
"And, papa," whispered Ethel, with a pretty little laugh and blush, "is it fixed yet?"
"Is what fixed?"
"The wedding-day."
"I don't think so--or you would have heard of it. I expect she will ask you to be her bridesmaid."
CHAPTER III.
AT THE DOLPHIN INN.
The Dolphin Inn, as already said, stood in the angle between the village street and the high road that branched off from the street to the open country. It faced the road, standing, like most of the dwellings in Greylands, somewhat back from it. A substantial, low-roofed house, painted yellow, with a flaming sign-board in front, bearing a dolphin with various hues and colours, and two low bow-windows on either side the door. Beyond lay a yard with out-houses and stables, and there was some good land behind. Along the wall, underneath the parlour windows and on either side of the entrance door, ran a bench on which wayfarers might sit; at right angles with it, near the yard, was a pump with a horse-trough beside it. Upon a pinch, the inn could supply a pair of post-horses: but they were seldom called for, as Stilborough was so near. It was the only inn of any kind at Greylands, and was frequented by the fishermen, as well as occasionally by more important guests. The landlord was John Bent. The place was his own, and had been his father's before him. He was considered to be a "warm" man; to be able to live at his ease, irrespective of custom. John Bent was independent in manner and speech, except to his wife. Mrs. Bent, a thrifty, bustling, talkative woman, had taken John's independence out of him at first setting off, so far as she was concerned; but they