Armadale

word, mind—every word!'

'I can only tell you, mamma, what papa told me.'

'When?'

'Saturday. I went in with papa's lunch to the workshop, and he said, 'I have just had a visit from Mr. Armadale; and I want to give you a caution while I think of it.' I didn't say anything, mamma; I only waited. Papa went on, and told me that Mr. Armadale had been speaking to him on the subject of Miss Gwilt, and that he had been asking a question about her which nobody in his position had a right to ask. Papa said he had been obliged, good-humoredly, to warn Mr. Armadale to be a little more delicate, and a little more careful next time. I didn't feel much interested, mamma; it didn't matter to me what Mr. Armadale said or did. Why should I care about it?'

'Never mind yourself,' interposed Mrs. Milroy, sharply. 'Go on with what your father said. What was he doing when he was talking about Miss Gwilt? How did he look?'

'Much as usual, mamma. He was walking up and down the workshop; and I took his arm and walked up and down with him.'

'I don't care what you were doing,' said Mrs. Milroy, more and more irritably. 'Did your father tell you what Mr. Armadale's question was, or did he not?'

'Yes, mamma. He said Mr. Armadale began by mentioning that he was very much interested in Miss Gwilt, and he then went on to ask whether papa could tell him anything about her family misfortunes—'

'What!' cried Mrs. Milroy. The word burst from her almost in a scream, and the white enamel on her face cracked in all directions. 'Mr. Armadale said that?' she went on, leaning out further and further over the side of the bed.

Neelie started up, and tried to put her mother back on the pillow.

'Mamma!' she exclaimed, 'are you in pain? Are you ill? You frighten me!'

'Nothing, nothing, nothing,' said Mrs. Milroy. She was too violently agitated to make any other than the commonest excuse. 'My nerves are bad this morning; don't notice it. I'll try the other side of the pillow. Go on! go on! I'm listening, though I'm not looking at you.' She turned her face to the wall, and clinched her trembling hands convulsively beneath the bedclothes. 'I've got her!' she whispered to herself, under her breath. 'I've got her at last!'

'I'm afraid I've been talking too much,' said Neelie. 'I'm afraid I've been stopping here too long. Shall I go downstairs, mamma, and come back later in the day?'

'Go on,' repeated Mrs. Milroy, mechanically. 'What did your father say next? Anything more about Mr. Armadale?'

'Nothing more, except how papa answered him,' replied Neelie. 'Papa repeated his own words when he told me about it. He said, 'In the absence of any confidence volunteered by the lady herself, Mr. Armadale, all I know or wish to know—and you must excuse me for saying, all any one else need know or wish to know—is that Miss Gwilt gave me a perfectly satisfactory reference before she entered my house.' Severe, mamma, wasn't it? I don't pity him in the least; he richly deserved it. The next thing was papa's caution to me. He told me to check Mr. Armadale's curiosity if he applied to me next. As if he was likely to apply to me! And as if I should listen to him if he did! That's all, mamma. You won't suppose, will you, that I have told you this because I want to hinder Mr. Armadale from marrying Miss Gwilt? Let him marry her if he pleases; I don't care!' said Neelie, in a voice that faltered a little, and with a face which was hardly composed enough to be in perfect harmony with a declaration of indifference. 'All I want is to be relieved from the misery of having Miss Gwilt for my governess. I'd rather go to school. I should like to go to school. My mind's quite changed about all that, only I haven't the heart to tell papa. I don't know what's come to me, I don't seem to have heart enough for anything now; and when papa takes me on his knee in the evening, and says, 'Let's have a talk, Neelie,' he makes me cry. Would you mind breaking it to him, mamma, that I've changed my mind, and I want to go to school?' The tears rose thickly in her eyes, and she failed to see that her mother never even turned on the pillow to look round at her.

'Yes, yes,' said Mrs. Milroy, vacantly. 'You're a good girl; you shall go to school.'

The cruel brevity of the reply, and the tone in which it was spoken, told Neelie plainly that her mother's attention had been wandering far away from her, and that it was useless and needless to prolong the interview. She turned aside quietly, without a word of remonstrance. It was nothing new in her experience to find herself shut out from her mother's sympathies. She looked at her eyes in the glass, and, pouring out some cold water, bathed her face. 'Miss Gwilt shan't see I've been crying!' thought Neelie, as she went back to the bedside to take her leave. 'I've tired you out, mamma,' she said, gently. 'Let me go now; and let me come back a little later when you have had some rest.'

'Yes,' repeated her mother, as mechanically as ever; 'a little later when I have had some rest.'

Neelie left the room. The minute after the door had closed on her, Mrs. Milroy rang the bell for her nurse. In the face of the narrative she had just heard, in the face of every reasonable estimate of probabilities, she held to her own jealous conclusions as firmly as ever. 'Mr. Armadale may believe her, and my daughter may believe her,' thought the furious woman. 'But I know the major; and she can't deceive me!'

The nurse came in. 'Prop me up,' said Mrs. Milroy. 'And give me my desk. I want to write.'

'You're excited,' replied the nurse. 'You're not fit to write.'

'Give me the desk,' reiterated Mrs. Milroy.

'Anything more?' asked Rachel, repeating her invariable formula as she placed the desk on the bed.

'Yes. Come back in half an hour. I shall want you to take a letter to the great house.'

The nurse's sardonic composure deserted her for once. 'Mercy on us!' she exclaimed, with an accent of genuine surprise. 'What next? You don't mean to say you're going to write—?'

'I am going to write to Mr. Armadale,' interposed Mrs. Milroy; 'and you are going to take the letter to him, and wait for an answer; and, mind this, not a living soul but our two selves must know of it in the house.'

'Why are you writing to Mr. Armadale?' asked Rachel. 'And why is nobody to know of it but our two selves?'

'Wait,' rejoined Mrs. Milroy, 'and you will see.'