“You must tell me first,” she said, with a smile, “whether you know who I am. If you ask me after that, I shall come. I am old Mr. Tozer’s granddaughter, who had a shop in the High Street. My uncle has a shop there now. I do not like it myself,” said Phoebe, with the masterly candour that distinguished her, “and no one else can be expected to like it. If you did not know—”
“Oh, we heard directly,” cried Janey; “Mrs. Sam Hurst told us. She came shrieking, ‘Who is she?’ before your back was turned that day; for she wondered to see you with old Tozer—”
“Janey!” cried Ursula, with horror. “Of course we know; and please will you come? Every new person in Carlingford gets talked over, and if an angel were to walk about, Mrs. Sam Hurst would never rest till she had found out where he came from.”
“And, perhaps, whether he had a broken feather in his wing,” said Phoebe. “I am very glad you don’t mind. It will be very pleasant to come. I will run in and tell them, and then I will join you. Grandmamma is an invalid, and would like to know where I am.”
And the news made a considerable flutter in the dim room where Mrs. Tozer sat between the fire and the window, looking out upon the crocuses and regretting the High Street.
“But run and put on another dress, dear. What will they think of you in that everlasting brown frock as you’re so fond of? I’d like them to see as my grandchild could dress as nice as any lady in the land.”
“She’ll not see much finery there,” said Tozer; “they’re as poor as church mice, are them Mays, and never a penny to pay a bill when it’s wanted. I don’t think as Phoebe need mind her dressing to go there.”
“And you’ll send for me if you want me, grandmamma; you will be sure to send?”
But for the brown frock, Mrs. Tozer’s satisfaction would have been unalloyed as she watched her granddaughter walking across the garden.
“She’s at home among the quality, she is,” said the old woman; “maybe more so than she is with you and me; but there ain’t a better girl in all England, and that I’ll say for her, though if she would think a little more about her clothes, as is nat’ral at her age, it would be more pleasing to me.”
“The worst dress as Phoebe has is better than anything belonging to them Mays,” said Tozer.
He did not care for the parson at St. Roque; though he was pleased that his child should be among “the quality.” But it was on that evening that poor old Mrs. Tozer had one of her attacks, and Phoebe had to be summoned back at an early hour. The servant went down with an umbrella and a note, to bring her home; and that trifling incident had its influence upon after affairs, as the reader shall shortly see.
XXII
A Desperate Expedient
It was something of a comfort to Phoebe to find that the “tea” to which Ursula asked her was a family meal, such as Mr. and Mrs. Tozer indulged in, in Grange Lane, with no idea of dinner to follow, as in more refined circles. This, she said to herself benignly, must be “country fashion,” and she was naturally as bland and gracious at the Parsonage tea-table as anybody from town, knowing better, but desiring to make herself thoroughly agreeable, could be. She amused Mr. May very much, who felt the serene young princess, accepting her vulgar relations with gentle resignation, and supported by a feeling of her own innate dignity, to be something quite new to him. Phoebe had no objection to talk upon the subject, for, clever as she was, she was not so clever as to see through Mr. May’s amused show of interest in her trials, but believed ingenuously that he understood and felt for her, and was, perhaps, at last, the one noble, impartial, and generous Churchman who could see the difficulties of cultivated Dissenters, and enter into them sympathetically. Why Mr. May took the trouble to draw her out on this point it is more difficult to explain. Poor man, he was in a state of semi-distraction over Cotsdean’s bill. The ten days had shortened into three, and he was no nearer finding that hundred pounds than ever. Even while he smiled and talked to Phoebe, he was repeating over and over to himself the terrible fact which could not now be ignored. “17th, 18th, 19th, and Friday will be the 20th,” he was saying to himself. If that 20th came without any help, Cotsdean would be virtually made a bankrupt; for of course all his creditors would make a rush upon him, and all his affairs would be thrown open to the remorseless public gaze, if the bill, which had been so often renewed, had to be dishonoured at last. Mr. May had a conscience, though he was not careful of his money, and the fear of ruin to Cotsdean was a very terrible and real oppression to him. The recollection was upon him like a vulture in classic story, tearing and gnawing, as he sat there and smiled over the cup of tea Ursula gave him, feeling amused all the same at Phoebe’s talk. He could scarcely have told why he had permitted his daughter to pursue her acquaintance with Tozer’s granddaughter. Partly it was because of Clarence Copperhead; out of curiosity, as, being about to be brought in contact with some South Sea Islander or Fijian, one would naturally wish to see another who was thrown in one’s way by accident, and thus prepare one’s self for the permanent acquaintance. And she amused him. Her cleverness, her ease, her conversational powers, her woman of the world aspect, did not so much
