True to his Colours. Theodore P. Wilson
my dear Agnes, not if it is more convenient to yourself.”
“Why, the fact is, I’ve promised to meet a select committee of ladies this evening at seven o’clock, at Lady Strong’s.”
“What!—this evening!” exclaimed her husband. “Why, it’s Christmas-eve! Whatever can these good ladies want with one another to-night away from their own firesides?”
“Ah now, John, that’s a little hit at your poor wife. But a man with your high sense of duty ought not to say so. You know it must be ‘duty first, and pleasure afterwards.’ ”
“True, Agnes, where the duty is one plainly laid upon us, but not where it is of one’s own imposing. I can’t help thinking that a wife’s first and chief duties lie at home.”
“Oh, now, you mustn’t look grave like that, and scold me. I ordered a fly to call for me at a quarter to seven, and I shan’t be gone much more than an hour, I daresay. And you can have a good long snooze by the dining-room fire while I’m away. I know how you enjoy a snooze.”
William now appearing with the tray, she passed the tea to her husband, and took the glass of sherry herself. A cloud settled for a moment on the doctor’s brow. He wished that the constant drain on his wife’s energies, physical and mental, could be restored by something less perilous than these stimulants, resorted to, he could see, with increasing frequency. But she always assured him that nothing so reinvigorated her as just one glass of sherry.
“And what are these good ladies going to meet about?” he asked, when the tray had been removed.
“Oh, you’ll laugh, I daresay, when I tell you,” she replied; “but I assure you that they are all good and earnest workers. We are going to discuss the best way of improving the homes of the working-classes.”
“Well,” said the doctor, laughing, but with a touch of mingled sarcasm and bitterness in his voice, “I think your committee can’t do better than advise the working-women of England generally to make their homes more attractive to their husbands, and to lead the way yourselves.”
“My dearest John,” exclaimed his wife, a little taken aback, “you are cruelly hard upon us poor ladies. I declare you’re getting positively spiteful. I think we’d better change the subject.—How did you leave our dear friends the Johnsons? And what are they doing in the north about the ‘strikes’ and ‘trades-unions’?”
“Really,” he replied wearily, “I must leave the ‘strikes’ and such things to take care of themselves just now. The Johnsons send their love. They were all well, and most kind and hospitable. But, my dearest wife, I feel concerned about yourself; you look fagged and pale. Come, sit down for a few minutes, and tell me all about it. There, the fire’s burning up a bit; and now that I have got you for a while, I must not let you slip through my fingers. Just lay your bonnet down; you’ll have plenty of time to dress for dinner. I don’t like these evening meetings. I am sure they are good for neither mind nor body. You’ll wear yourself out.”
“Oh, nonsense, dear John; I never was better than I am now—only a little tired now and then. But surely we are put into this world to do good; and it is better to wear out than to rust out.”
“Not a doubt of it, my dearest Agnes; but it is quite possible to keep the rust away without wearing yourself out at all; and, still more, without wearing yourself out prematurely. At the rate you are going on now, you will finish up your usefulness in a few years at the farthest, instead of extending it, please God, over a long and peaceful life.”
Mrs. Prosser was silent for a few moments, and then she said: “Are you not a little unreasonable, dear John? What would you have me give up? If all were of your mind, what would become of society?”
“Why, in that case, I believe that society would find itself on a much safer foundation, and surrounded by a much healthier atmosphere. But come, now, tell me, what are your engagements for next week?”
“Why, not so many. To-morrow is Christmas-day, you know, and the next day is Sunday, so that I shall have quite a holiday, and a fine time for recruiting.”
“Good! And what on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etcetera?”
“Let me see, John. On Monday and Thursday mornings Clara Thompson and her sister come here, and we read French, German, and Italian together; and on Monday evening we meet at Clara’s mother’s to practise for the amateur concert. On Tuesday morning I have promised to help poor Miss Danvers.”
“Miss Danvers! Why, what help can she need from you?”
“Come, dearest John, don’t be unfeeling; she is over head and ears in debt, and—”
“And do you mean that you are going to take her liabilities upon yourself?”
“Nonsense, John; you are laughing at me; it isn’t kind. I had not finished my sentence. She is overwhelmed with letter-debts, poor thing; and I promised to go and help her with her correspondence. You know we are told in the Bible to ‘bear one another’s burdens.’ ”
“True, my dearest wife; but the same high authority, if I remember rightly, bids us do our own business first. But what has entailed such an enormous amount of correspondence on Miss Danvers?”
“Only her anxiety to do good. She is secretary to some half-dozen ladies’ societies for meeting all sorts of wants and troubles.—Ah! I see that cruel smile again on your face; but positively you must not laugh at me nor her. I am sure she is one of the noblest women I know.”
“I won’t question it for a moment, but I wish she could contrive to keep her benevolence within such reasonable limits as would allow her to transact her own business without taxing her friends. Anything more on Tuesday?”
“Nothing more, dearest, on Tuesday, away from home; but of course you know that I have to work hard at my essay, my music, my drawing, and my little poem. I see you shrug your shoulders, but you must not be hard upon me. Why was I taught all these things if I am to make no use of them?”
“Why, indeed?” were the words which rose to the doctor’s lips, but he did not utter them. He only smiled sadly, and asked, “What of Wednesday?”
“There, John, perhaps you had better look for yourself,” she said, rather piqued at his manner, and taking a little card from her pocket-book, she handed it to him.
Pressing her left hand lovingly in his own, he took the card from her, and read:—
“ ‘Engagements. Wednesday, 11 a.m. Meet the professor at Mrs. Maskelyne’s.’—Mrs. Maskelyne! That’s your strong-minded friend who goes in for muscular Christianity and vivisection! I’m very glad we don’t keep a pet terrier or spaniel!”—“Ah, John, you may laugh, but she’s a wonderful woman!”—“ ‘Wonderful!’ perhaps so, dear Agnes—an ‘awful’ woman, I should say; that’s only a term expressive of a different kind of admiration.—‘Concert in the evening.’
“Now for Thursday. ‘At 12 o’clock, visit the hospital. Jews’ meeting in the evening.’
“ ‘Friday, 10 a.m. Club. Afternoon, district visiting.’
“ ‘Saturday, 3 p.m. Mothers’ meeting.’—Why, this mothers’ meeting is something quite new. I thought the vicar’s wife took that.”—“So she does, John; but, poor thing, she is so overworked, that I could not refuse when she asked me to take it for her during the next three months.”
“And is this sort of thing to go on perpetually?” asked the doctor in a despairing voice.
“Why should it not, dearest husband? You would not have your wife a drone in these days, when the world all round us is full of workers?”
“Certainly not; but I very much question if we have not gone mad on this subject of work—at any rate as regards female workers.”
“And