Miss Mackenzie. Anthony Trollope
I ought to have returned your visit," said she.
"That was just as you like," said Miss Baker with her sweetest smile.
"Of course, I should have liked it, as I thought it so good of you to come. But as you came with Mrs. Stumfold, I was not quite sure whether it might be intended; and then I didn't know—did not exactly know—where you lived."
After this the two ladies got on very comfortably, so long as they were left sitting side by side. Miss Baker imparted to Miss Mackenzie her full address, and Miss Mackenzie, with that brightness in her eyes which they always assumed when she was eager, begged her new friend to come to her again.
"Indeed, I will," said Miss Baker. After that they were parted by a general return to the front room.
And now Miss Mackenzie found herself seated next to Mr. Maguire. She had been carried away in the crowd to a further corner, in which there were two chairs, and before she had been able to consider the merits or demerits of the position, Mr. Maguire was seated close beside her. He was seated close beside her in such a way as to make the two specially separated from all the world beyond, for in front of them stood a wall of crinoline—a wall of crinoline divided between four or five owners, among whom was shared the eloquence of Mr. Startup, who was carrying on an evangelical flirtation with the whole of them in a manner that was greatly pleasing to them, and enthusiastically delightful to him. Miss Mackenzie, when she found herself thus entrapped, looked into Mr. Maguire's eye with dismay. Had that look been sure to bring down upon her the hatred of that reverend gentleman, she could not have helped it. The eye fascinated her, as much as it frightened her. But Mr. Maguire was used to have his eye inspected, and did not hate her. He fixed it apparently on the corners of the wall, but in truth upon her, and then he began:
"I am so glad that you have come among us, Miss Mackenzie."
"I'm sure that I'm very much obliged."
"Well; you ought to be. You must not be surprised at my saying so, though it sounds uncivil. You ought to feel obliged, and the obligation should be mutual. I am not sure, that when all things are considered, you could find yourself in any better place in England, than in the drawing-room of my friend Stumfold; and, if you will allow me to say so, my friend Stumfold could hardly use his drawing-room better, than by entertaining you."
"Mr. Stumfold is very good, and so is she."
"Mr. Stumfold is very good; and as for Mrs. Stumfold, I look upon her as a very wonderful woman—quite a wonderful woman. For grasp of intellect, for depth of thought, for tenderness of sentiment—perhaps you mightn't have expected that, but there it is—for tenderness of sentiment, for strength of faith, for purity of life, for genial hospitality, and all the domestic duties, Mrs. Stumfold has no equal in Littlebath, and perhaps few superiors elsewhere."
Here Mr. Maguire paused, and Miss Mackenzie, finding herself obliged to speak, said that she did not at all doubt it.
"You need not doubt it, Miss Mackenzie. She is all that, I tell you; and more, too. Her manners may seem a little harsh to you at first. I know it is so sometimes with ladies before they know her well; but it is only skin-deep, Miss Mackenzie—only skin-deep. She is so much in earnest about her work, that she cannot bring herself to be light and playful as he is. Now, he is as full of play as a young lamb."
"He seems to be very pleasant."
"And he is always just the same. There are people, you know, who say that religion is austere and melancholy. They never could say that if they knew my friend Stumfold. His life is devoted to his clerical duties. I know no man who works harder in the vineyard than Stumfold. But he always works with a smile on his face. And why not, Miss Mackenzie? when you think of it, why not?"
"I dare say it's best not to be unhappy," said Miss Mackenzie. She did not speak till she perceived that he had paused for her answer.
"Of course we know that this world can make no one happy. What are we that we should dare to be happy here?"
Again he paused, but Miss Mackenzie feeling that she had been ill-treated and trapped into a difficulty at her last reply, resolutely remained silent.
"I defy any man or woman to be happy here," said Mr. Maguire, looking at her with one eye and at the corner of the wall with the other in a manner that was very terrible to her. "But we may be cheerful—we may go about our work singing psalms of praise instead of songs of sorrow. Don't you agree with me, Miss Mackenzie, that psalms of praise are better than songs of sorrow?"
"I don't sing at all, myself," said Miss Mackenzie.
"You sing in your heart, my friend; I am sure you sing in your heart. Don't you sing in your heart?" Here again he paused.
"Well; perhaps in my heart, yes."
"I know you do, loud psalms of praise upon a ten-stringed lute. But Stumfold is always singing aloud, and his lute has twenty strings." Here the voice of the twenty-stringed singer was heard across the large room asking the company a riddle.
"Why was Peter in prison like a little boy with his shoes off?"
"That's so like him," said Mr. Maguire.
All the ladies in the room were in a fever of expectation, and Mr. Stumfold asked the riddle again.
"He won't tell them till we meet again; but there isn't one here who won't study the life of St. Peter during the next week. And what they'll learn in that way they'll never forget."
"But why was he like a little boy with his shoes off?" asked Miss Mackenzie.
"Ah! that's Stumfold's riddle. You must ask Mr. Stumfold, and he won't tell you till next week. But some of the ladies will be sure to find it out before then. Have you come to settle yourself altogether at Littlebath, Miss Mackenzie?"
This question he asked very abruptly, but he had a way of looking at her when he asked a question, which made it impossible for her to avoid an answer.
"I suppose I shall stay here for some considerable time."
"Do, do," said he with energy. "Do; come and live among us, and be one of us; come and partake with us at the feast which we are making ready; come and eat of our crusts, and dip with us in the same dish; come and be of our flock, and go with us into the pleasant pastures, among the lanes and green hedges which appertain to the farm of the Lord. Come and walk with us through the Sabbath cornfields, and pluck the ears when you are a-hungered, disregarding the broad phylacteries. Come and sing with us songs of a joyful heart, and let us be glad together. What better can you do, Miss Mackenzie? I don't believe there is a more healthy place in the world than Littlebath, and, considering that the place is fashionable, things are really very reasonable."
He was rapid in his utterance, and so full of energy, that Miss Mackenzie did not quite follow him in his quick transitions. She hardly understood whether he was advising her to take up an abode in a terrestrial Eden or a celestial Paradise; but she presumed that he meant to be civil, so she thanked him and said she thought she would. It was a thousand pities that he should squint so frightfully, as in all other respects he was a good-looking man. Just at this moment there seemed to be a sudden breaking up of the party.
"We are all going away," said Mr. Maguire. "We always do when Mrs. Stumfold gets up from her seat. She does it when she sees that her father is nodding his head. You must let me out, because I've got to say a prayer. By-the-bye, you'll allow me to walk home with you, I hope. I shall be so happy to be useful."
Miss Mackenzie told him that the fly was coming for her, and then he scrambled away into the middle of the room.
"We always walk home from these parties," said Miss Baker, who had, however, on this occasion, consented to be taken away by Miss Mackenzie in the fly. "It makes it come so much cheaper, you know."
"Of course it does; and it's quite as nice if everybody does it. But you don't walk going there?"
"Not generally," said Miss Baker; "but there are some of them who do that. Miss Trotter always walks both ways, if it's ever so wet." Then there were a few