'It is Flora--the Grange carriage,' whispered Mary, as the two sisters made a precipitate retreat into the drawing-room.
Meanwhile, Dr. May had been in the schoolroom. Miss Bracy had ceased her tears before he came--they had been her retort on Ethel, and she had not intended the world to know of them. Half disconcerted, half angry, she heard the doctor approach. She was a gentle, tearful woman, one of those who are often called meek, under an erroneous idea that meekness consists in making herself exceedingly miserable under every kind of grievance; and she now had a sort of melancholy satisfaction in believing that the young ladies had fabricated an exaggerated complaint of her temper, and that she was going to become injured innocence. To think herself accused of a great wrong, excused her from perceiving herself guilty of a lesser one.
'Miss Bracy,' said Dr. May, entering with his frank, sweet look, 'I am concerned that I vexed you by taking the children to walk with me yesterday. I thought such little brats would be troublesome to any but their spoiling papa, but they would have been in safer hands with you. You would not have been as weak as I was, in regard to sugar- plums.' Such amends as these confused Miss Bracy, who found it pleasanter to be lamentable with Ethel, than to receive a full apology for her imagined offence from the master of the house. Feeling both small and absurd, she murmured something of 'oh, no,' and 'being sure,' and hoped he was going, so that she might sit down to pity herself, for those girls having made her appear so ridiculous.
No such thing! Dr. May put a chair for her, and sat down himself, saying, with a smile, 'You see, you must trust us sometimes, and overlook it, if we are less considerate than we might be. We have rough, careless habits with each other, and forget that all are not used to them.'
Miss Bracy exclaimed, 'Oh, no, never, they were most kind.'
'We wish to be,' said Dr. May, 'but there are little neglects--or you think there are. I will not say there are none, for that would be answering too much for human nature, or that they are fanciful--for that would be as little comfort as to tell a patient that the pain is only nervous--'
Miss Bracy smiled, for she could remember instances when, after suffering much at the time, she had found the affront imaginary.
He was glad of that smile, and proceeded. 'You will let me speak to you, as to one of my own girls? To them, I should say, use the only true cure. Don't brood over vexations, small or great, but think of them as trials that, borne bravely, become blessings.'
'Oh! but Dr. May!' she exclaimed, shocked; 'nothing in your house could call for such feelings.'
'I hope we are not very savage,' he said, smiling; 'but, indeed, I still say it is the safest rule. It would be the only one if you were really among unkind people; and, if you take so much to heart an unlucky neglect of mine, what would you do if the slight were a true one?'
'You are right; but my feelings were always over-sensitive;' and this she said with a sort of complacency.
'Well, we must try to brace them,' said Dr. May, much as if prescribing for her. 'Will not you believe in our confidence and esteem, and harden yourself against any outward unintentional piece of incivility?'
She felt as if she could at that moment.
'Or at least, try to forgive and forget them. Talking them over only deepens the sense of them, and discussions do no good to any one. My daughters are anxious to be your best friends, as I hope you know.'
'Oh! they are most kind--'
'But, you see, I must say this,' added Dr. May, somewhat hesitating, 'as they have no mother to--to spare all this,' and then, growing clearer, he proceeded, 'I must beg you to be forbearing with them, and not perplex yourself and them with arguing on what cannot be helped. They have not the experience that could enable them to finish such a discussion without unkindness; and it can only waste the spirits, and raise fresh subjects of regret. I must leave you--I hear myself called.'
Miss Bracy began to be sensible that she had somewhat abused Ethel's patience; and the unfortunate speech about the source of her sensitiveness did not appear to her so direfully cruel as at first. She hoped every one would forget all about it, and resolved not to take umbrage so easily another time, or else be silent about it, but she was not a person of much resolution.
The doctor found that Meta Rivers and her brother had brought Flora home, and were in the drawing-room, where Margaret was hearing another edition of the history of the fair, and a by-play was going on, of teasing Blanche about the chain.
George Rivers was trying to persuade her to make one for him; and her refusal came out at last, in an almost passionate key, in the midst of the other conversation-- 'No! I say-no!'
'Another no, and that will be yes.'
'No! I won't! I don't like you well enough!'
Margaret gravely sent Blanche and the other children away to take their walk, and the brother and sister soon after took leave, when Flora called Ethel to hasten to the Ladies' Committee, that they might arrange the disposal of the one hundred and fifty pounds, the amount of their gains.
'To see the fate of Cocksmoor,' said Ethel.
'Do you think I cannot manage the Stoneborough folk?' said Flora, looking radiant with good humour, and conscious of power. 'Poor Ethel! I am doing you good against your will! Never mind, here is wherewith to build the school, and the management will be too happy to fall into our hands. Do you think every one is as ready as you are, to walk three miles and back continually?'
There was sense in this; there always was sense in what Flora said, but it jarred on Ethel; and it seemed almost unsympathising in her to be so gay, when the rest were wearied or perturbed. Ethel would have been very glad of a short space to recollect herself, and recover her good temper; but it was late, and Flora hurried her to put on her bonnet, and come to the committee. 'I'll take care of your interests,' she said, as they set out. 'You look as doleful as if you thought you should be robbed of Cocksmoor; but that is the last thing that will happen, you will see.'
'It would not be acting fairly to let them build for us, and then for us to put them out of the management,' said Ethel.
'My dear, they want importance, not action. They will leave the real power to us of themselves.'
'You like to build Cocksmoor with such instruments,' said Ethel, whose ruffled condition made her forget her resolution not to argue with Flora.
'Bricks are made of clay!' said Flora. 'There, that was said like Norman himself! On your plan, we might have gone on for forty years, saving seven shillings a year, and spending six, whenever there was an illness in the place.'
'You, who used to dislike these people more than even I did!' said Ethel.
'That was when I was an infant, my dear, and did not know how to deal with them. I will take care--I will even save Cherry Elwood for you, if I can. Alan Ernescliffe's ten pounds is a noble weapon.'
'You always mean to manage everything, and then you have no time!' said Ethel, sensible all the time of her own ill-humour, and of her sister's patience and amiability, yet propelled to speak the unpleasant truths that in her better moods were held back.
Still Flora was good-tempered, though Ethel would almost have preferred her being provoked; 'I know,' she said, 'I have been using you ill, and leaving the world on your shoulders, but it was all in your service and Cocksmoor's; and now we shall begin to be reasonable and useful again.'
'I hope so,' said Ethel.
'Really, Ethel, to comfort you, I think I shall send you with Norman to dine at Abbotstoke Grange on Wednesday. Mr. Rivers begged us to come; he is so anxious to make it lively for his son.'
'Thank you, I do not think Mr. George Rivers and I should be likely to get on together. What a bad style of wit! You heard what Mary said about him? and Ethel repeated the doubt between hating and detesting.
'Young men never know how to talk to little girls,' was Flora's reply.
At this moment they came up with one of the Miss Andersons, and Flora began to exchange civilities, and talk over yesterday's events with great animation. Her notice always gave pleasure, brightened as it was by the peculiarly engaging address which she had inherited from her father, and which, therefore, was perfectly easy and natural. Fanny Anderson was flattered and gratified, rather by the manner than the words, and, on excellent terms, they entered the committee-room, namely, the schoolmistress's parlour.
There were nine ladies on the committee--nine muses, as the doctor called them, because they produced anything but harmony. Mrs. Ledwich was in the chair; Miss Rich was secretary, and had her pen and ink, and
