“Ah, yes; I understand. And so Master Walter got thrown once. His wrath in such matters never lasts very long. Here we are at Bragg’s End. I’ve been so glad to have you with me; and I hope I may take you again with me somewhere before long. Remember me kindly to your mother. There she is at the door waiting for you.” Then Rachel jumped out of the carriage, and ran across the little gravel-path into the house.
Mrs. Ray had been waiting up for her daughter, and had been listening eagerly for the wheels of the carriage. It was not yet two o’clock, and by ball-going people the hour of Rachel’s return would have been considered early; but to Mrs. Ray anything after midnight was very late. She was not, however, angry, or even vexed, but simply pleased that her girl had at last come back to her. “Oh, mamma, I’m afraid it has been very hard upon you, waiting for me!” said Rachel; “but I did come away as soon as I could.” Mrs. Ray declared that she had not found it all hard, and then—with a laudable curiosity, seeing how little she had known about balls—desired to have an immediate account of Rachel’s doings.
“And did you get anybody to dance with you?” asked the mother, feeling a mother’s ambition that her daughter should have been “respectit like the lave.”
“Oh, yes; plenty of people asked me to dance.”
“And did you find it come easy?”
“Quite easy. I was frightened about the waltzing, at first.”
“Do you mean that you waltzed, Rachel?”
“Yes, mamma. Everybody did it. Mrs. Cornbury said she always waltzed when she was a girl; and as the things turned out I could not help myself. I began with her cousin. I didn’t mean to do it, but I got so ashamed of myself that I couldn’t refuse.”
Mrs. Ray still was not angry; but she was surprised, and perhaps a little dismayed. “And did you like it?”
“Yes, mamma.”
“Were they all kind to you?”
“Yes, mamma.”
“You seem to have very little to say about it; but I suppose you’re tired.”
“I am tired, but it isn’t that. It seems that there is so much to think about. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow, when I get quiet again. Not that there is much to tell.”
“Then I’ll wish you good night, dear.”
“Good night, mamma. Mrs. Cornbury was so kind—you can have no idea how good-natured she is.”
“She always was a good creature.”
“If I’d been her sister she couldn’t have done more for me. I feel as though I were really quite fond of her. But she isn’t a bit like what I expected. She chooses to have her own way; but then she is so good-humoured! And when I got into any little trouble she—”
“Well, what else did she do; and what trouble had you?”
“I can’t quite describe what I mean. She seemed to make so much of me;—just as she might have done if I’d been some grand young lady down from London, or any, any;—you know what I mean.”
Mrs. Ray sat with her candle in her hand, receiving great comfort from the knowledge that her daughter had been “respectit.” She knew well what Rachel meant, and reflected, with perhaps a pardonable pride, that she herself had “come of decent people.” The Tappitts were higher than her in the world, and so were the Griggses. But she knew that her forbears had been gentlefolk, when there were, so to speak, no Griggses and no Tappitts in existence. It was pleasant to her to think that her daughter had been treated as a lady.
“And she did do me such a kindness. That horrid Mr. Griggs was going to dance with me, and she wouldn’t let him.”
“I don’t like that young man at all.”
“Poor Cherry! you should hear her talk of him! And she would have stayed ever so much longer if I had not pressed her to go; and then she has such a nice way of saying things.”
“She always had that, when she was quite a young girl.”
“I declare I feel that I quite love her. And there was such a grand supper. Champagne!”
“No!”
“I got some cold turkey. Mr. Rowan took me down to supper.” These last words were spoken very mildly, and Rachel, as she uttered them, did not dare to look into her mother’s face.
“Did you dance with him?”
“Yes, mamma, three times. I should have stayed later only I was engaged to dance with him twice more; and I didn’t choose to do so.”
“Was he—? Did he—?”
“Oh, mamma; I can’t tell you. I don’t know how to tell you. I wish you knew it all without my saying anything. He says he shall come here tomorrow if I don’t go up to the brewery; and I can’t possibly go there now, after that.”
“Did he say anything more than that, Rachel?”
“He calls me Rachel, and speaks—I can’t tell you how he speaks. If you think it wrong, mamma, I won’t ever see him again.”
Mrs. Ray didn’t know whether she ought to think it wrong or not. She was inclined to wish that it was right and to believe that it was wrong. A few minutes ago Rachel was unable to open her mouth, and was anxious to escape to bed; but, now that the ice was broken between her and her mother, they sat up for more than an hour talking about Luke Rowan.
“I wonder whether he will really come?” Rachel said to herself, as she laid her head upon her pillow—“and why does he want to come?”
IX
Mr. Prong at Home
Mrs. Tappitt’s ball was celebrated on a Tuesday, and on the preceding Monday Mrs. Prime moved herself off, bag and baggage, to Miss Pucker’s lodgings. Miss Pucker had been elated with a dismal joy when the proposition was first made to her. “Oh, yes; it was very dreadful. She would do anything;—of course she would give up the front
