“I assure you, sir, as I’m proud to see you in my house,” he said, with a duck of his head, and an ingratiating but uncomfortable smile. “Your father, I hope, as he’s well, sir, and all the family? We are a kind of neighbours now; not as we’d think of taking anything upon us on account of living in Grange Lane. But Phoebe here—Phoebe, junior, as we call’s her—she’s a cut above us, and I’m proud to see any of her friends in my ’umble ’ouse. My good lady, sir,” added Tozer, with another duck, indicating with a wave of his hand his wife, who had already once risen, wheezy, but knowing her manners, to make a kind of half-bow, half-curtsey from her chair.
“You are very kind,” said Reginald, feeling himself blush furiously, and not knowing what to say. The other young man stood with his back to the fire, and a sneer, which he intended to look like a smile, on his face.
And as for Phoebe, it must be allowed that, notwithstanding all her resources, even she was exquisitely uncomfortable for a minute or two. The young people all felt this, but to Tozer it seemed that he had managed everything beautifully, and a sense of elation stole over him. To be visited in this manner by the gentry, “making free,” and “quite in a friendly way,” was an honour he had never looked for. He turned to Northcote with great affability and friendliness.
“Well,” he said, “Mr. Northcote, sir, it can’t be denied as this is a strange meeting; you and Mr. May, as mightn’t be, perhaps, just the best of friends, to meet quite comfortable over a cup of tea. But ain’t it the very best thing that could happen? Men has their public opinions, sir, as everyone should speak up bold for, and stick to; that’s my way of thinking. But I wouldn’t bring it no farther; not, as might be said, into the domestic circle. I’m clean against that. You say your say in public, whatever you may think on a subject, but you don’t bear no malice; it ain’t a personal question; them’s my sentiments. And I don’t know nothing more elevatin’, nothing more consolin’, than for two public opponents, as you may say, to meet like this quite cozy and comfortable over a cup o’ tea.”
“It is a pleasure, I assure you, which I appreciate highly,” said Reginald, finding his voice.
“And which fills me with delight and satisfaction,” said Northcote. Those stag-beetles which Phoebe, so to speak, had carried in in her handkerchief, were only too ready to fight.
“You had better have some tea first,” she said breathless, “before you talk so much of its good effects. Sit down, grandpapa, and have your muffin while it is hot; I know that is what you like. Do you care about china, Mr. May? but everyone cares for china nowadays. Look at that cup, and fancy grandmamma having this old service in use without knowing how valuable it is. Cream Wedgwood! You may fancy how I stared when I saw it; and in everyday use! most people put it up on brackets, when they are so lucky as to possess any. Tell Mr. May, grandmamma, how you picked it up. Mr. Northcote, there is an article in this review that I want you to look at. Papa sent it to me. It is too metaphysical for me, but I know you are great in metaphysics—”
“I am greater in china; may not I look at the Wedgwood first?”
“Perhaps you will turn over the literature to me,” said Reginald, “reviews are more in my way than teacups, though I say it with confusion. I know how much I am behind my age.”
“And I too,” whispered Phoebe, behind the book which she had taken up. “Don’t tell anyone. It is rare, I know; and everybody likes to have something that is rare; but I don’t really care for it the least in the world. I have seen some bits of Italian faience indeed—but English pottery is not like Italian, any more than English skies.”
“You have the advantage of me, Miss Beecham, both as regards the pottery and the skies.”
“Ah, if it is an advantage; bringing poetry down to prose is not always an advantage, is it? Italy is such a dream—so long as one has never been there.”
“Yes, it is a dream,” said Reginald, with enthusiasm, “to everybody, I think; but when one has little money and much work all one’s life—poverty stands in the way of all kinds of enjoyment.”
“Poverty is a nice friendly sort of thing; a ground we can all meet on,” said Phoebe. “But don’t let us say that to grandpapa. How odd people are! he knows you are not Croesus, but still he has a sort of feeling that you are a young prince, and do him the greatest honour in coming to his house; and yet, all the same, he thinks that money is the very grandest thing in existence. See what prejudice is! He would not allow that he had any class-reverence, and yet he can no more get rid of it—”
“Miss Beecham, it is very difficult for me to say anything on such a subject.”
“Very difficult, and you show your delicacy by not saying anything. But you know, apart from this, which is not gratifying, I am rather proud of grandpapa’s way of looking at some things. About saying out your opinions in public, and yet bearing no malice, for instance. Now, Mr. Northcote is the very Antipodes to you; therefore you ought to know him and find out what he means. It would
