Miss Marjoribanks

white muslin, and of some old women, as he irreverently called them, who were less pleasant, but not more imposing. He was an Archdeacon, and a leading man of his party, whose name alone would have conferred importance upon any “movement,” and whom his bishop himself⁠—not to speak of the clergy whom he charged in his visitation addresses like a regiment of cavalry⁠—stood a little in awe of. Yet such are the beneficial restraints of society, that he dared not follow his natural impulses, nor even do what he felt to be his duty, for fear of Miss Marjoribanks, which was about the highest testimony to the value of social influence that could be given. At the same time, it was but natural that under such circumstances the Archdeacon should feel a certain savage wrath at the bond that confined him, and be more indignant than usual at the false and tyrannical conventionalism called society. And it was at this moment, of all times in the world, that General Travers, like a half-educated brute as (according to Mr. Beverley’s ideas) he was, took the liberty of calling his attention to what the soldier called “a lot of pretty girls.” “And everything admirably got up, by Jove!” he added; not having the remotest idea what effect so simple an observation might produce.

“Yes, it is admirably got up,” said the Archdeacon, with a snarl of concealed ferocity. “You never said anything more profoundly true. It is all got up, the women, and the decorations, and the gaiety, and all this specious seeming. And these are creatures made in the image of God!” said the Broad-Churchman⁠—“the future wives and mothers of England. It is enough to make the devils laugh and the angels weep!”

It may be supposed that everybody was stricken with utter amazement by this unlooked-for remark. Dr. Marjoribanks, for his part, took a pinch of snuff, which, as a general rule, he only did at consultations, or in the face of a difficulty; and as for the unlucky soldier who had called it forth, there can be no doubt that a certain terror filled his manly bosom; for he naturally felt as if he must have said something extraordinary to call forth such a response.

“I never was accused before of saying anything profoundly true,” the General said, and he grew pale. “I didn’t mean it, I’m sure, if that is any justification. Where has Cavendish vanished to, I wonder?” the soldier added, looking round him, scared and nervous⁠—for it was evident that his only policy was to escape from society in which he was thus liable to commit himself without knowing how.

“Female education is a monstrous mistake,” said Mr. Beverley⁠—“always has been, and, so far as I can see, always will be. Why should we do our best to make our women idiots? They are bad enough by nature. Instead of counterbalancing their native frivolity by some real instruction⁠—good heavens!” The critic paused. It was not that his emotions were too much for him; it was because the crowd opened a moment, and afforded him a glimpse of a figure in black silk, with the lace for which Miss Marjoribanks had stipulated falling softly over a head which had not quite lost its youthful grace. He gave a glance round him to see if the coast was clear. Lucilla was out of the way at the other end of the room, and he was free. He made but one stride through the unconscious assembly which he had been criticising so severely, and all but knocked down little Rose Lake, who was not looking at the Archdeacon, though she stood straight in his way. He might have stepped over her head without knowing it, so much was he moved. All the gay crowd gave way before him with a cry and flutter; and Lucilla, for her part, was out of the way!

But there are moments when to be out of the way is the highest proof of genius. Miss Marjoribanks had just had a cup of tea brought her, of which she had great need, and her face was turned in the other direction, but yet she was aware that the Archdeacon had passed like a Berserker through those ranks which were not the ranks of his enemies. She felt without seeing it that the “wind of his going” agitated his own large coat tails and heavy locks, and made a perfect hurricane among the white muslin. Lucilla’s heart beat quicker, and she put down her tea, though she had so much need of it. She could not swallow the cordial at such a moment of excitement. But she never once turned her head, nor left off her conversation, nor betrayed the anxiety she felt. Up to this time she had managed everything herself, which was comparatively easy; but she felt by instinct that now was the moment to make a high effort and leave things alone. And it may be added that nothing but an inherent sense of doing the right thing under the circumstances could have inspired Miss Marjoribanks to the crowning achievement of keeping out of the way.

When Mr. Beverley arrived in front of the two people who were seated together in the recess of the window, he made no assault upon them, as his manner might have suggested. On the contrary, he placed himself in front of them, with his back to the company, creating thus a most effectual moral and physical barrier between the little nook where his own private vengeance and fate were about to be enacted, and the conventional world which he had just been denouncing. The Archdeacon shut the two culprits off from all succour, and looked down upon them, casting them into profound shade. “I don’t know what combination of circumstances has produced this meeting,” he said, “but the time was ripe for it, and I am glad it has happened,” and it was with dry lips and the calmness of passion that