“And to make the blunder pass off easily, Mrs. Cornbury was induced to take her?”
“Mrs. Cornbury happened to be staying with her father, in whose parish they had lived for many years, and it certainly was very kind of her. But it has been an unfortunate mistake altogether. The poor girl has for a moment been lifted out of her proper sphere, and—as you must have seen yourself—hardly knew how to behave herself. It made Mrs. Tappitt very unhappy.”
This was more than Luke Rowan was able to bear. His anger was not against his own mother, but against the mistress of the brewery. It was manifest that she had been maligning Rachel, and instigating his mother to take up the cudgels against her. And he was vexed also that his mother had not perceived that Rachel held, or was entitled to hold, among women a much higher position than could be fairly accorded to Mrs. Tappitt. “I do not care one straw for Mrs. Tappitt’s unhappiness,” he said; “and as to Miss Ray’s conduct at her house, I do not think that there was anything in it that did not become her. I do not know what you mean, the least in the world; and I think you would have no such idea yourself, if Mrs. Tappitt had not put it into your head.”
“You should not speak in that way to your mother, Luke.”
“I must speak strongly when I am defending my wife—as I hope she will be. I never heard of anything in my life so little as this woman’s conduct! It is mean, paltry jealousy, and nothing else. You, as my mother, may think it better that I should not marry.”
“But, my dear, I want you to marry.”
“Then I will do as you want. Or you may think that I should find someone with money, or with grand friends, or with a better connection. It is natural that you should think like this. But why should she want to belittle a young girl like Rachel Ray—a girl that her own daughters call their friend? I’ll tell you why, mother. Because Rachel Ray was admired and they were not.”
“Is there anybody in Baslehurst that will say that she is your equal?”
“I am not disposed to ask anyone in Baslehurst just at present; and I would not advise anyone in Baslehurst to volunteer an opinion to me on the subject. I intend that she shall be my equal—my equal in every respect, if I can make her so. I shall certainly ask her to be my wife; and, mother, as my mind is positively made up on that point—as nothing on earth will alter me—I hope you will teach yourself to think kindly of her. I should be very unhappy if my house could not be your home when you may choose to make it so.”
But Mrs. Rowan, much as she was accustomed to yield to her son, could not bring herself to yield in this matter—or, at least, not to yield with grace. She felt that the truth and wisdom all lay on her side in the argument, though she knew that she had lacked words in which to carry it on. She declared to herself that she was not at all inclined to despise anybody for living in a small cottage, or for being poor. She would have been delighted to be very civil to Mrs. Ray herself, and could have patronized Rachel quite as kindly, though perhaps not so graciously, as Mrs. Cornbury had done. But it was a different thing when her son came to think of making this young woman his wife! Old Mrs. Cornbury would have been very sorry to see either of her sons make such an alliance. When anything so serious as marriage was to be considered, it was only proper to remember that Mrs. Ray lived in a cottage, and that farmer Sturt was her friend and neighbour. But to all this prudence and wisdom Luke would not listen at all, and at last Mrs. Rowan left him in dudgeon. Foolish and hasty as he was, he could, as she felt, talk better than she could; and therefore she retreated, feeling that she had been worsted. “I have done my duty,” said she, going away. “I have warned you. Of course you are your own master and can do as you please.” Then she left him, refusing his escort, and in the last fading light of the long summer evening, made her way back to the brewery.
Luke’s first impulse was to start off instantly to the cottage, and settle the matter out of hand; but before he had taken up his hat for this purpose he remembered that he could not very well call at Bragg’s End on such a mission at eleven o’clock at night; so he threw himself back on the hotel sofa, and gave vent to his feelings against the Tappitt family. He would make them understand that they were not going to master him. He had come down there disposed to do them all manner of kindness—to the extent even of greatly improving their fortunes by improving the brewing business—and they had taken upon themselves to treat him as though he were a dependent. He did not tell himself that a plot had been made to catch him for one of the girls; but he accused them of jealousy, meanness, selfishness, and all those sins and abominations by which such a plot would be engendered. When, about an hour afterwards, he took himself off to bed, he was full of wrath, and determined to display his wrath early on the morrow. As he prayed for forgiveness on condition that he forgave others, his conscience troubled him; but he gulped it down, and went on with his angry feelings till sleep came upon him.
But in the morning some of this bitterness had worn away. His last resolve overnight had been to go to the brewery
