“I knew you would laugh,” said Miss Marjoribanks, “but I cannot help it. If it had been impressed upon your mind like that, you would have been different. And, of course, I like Mr. Cavendish much the best. I am so glad I have no vote,” said Lucilla; “it does not matter to anybody what I think; but if I had anything to do with it, you know I could not stand up for Mr. Cavendish, even though I am fond of him, when I felt sure that Mr. Ashburton is the man for Carlingford—nobody could ask me to do that.”
There followed a pause upon this declaration; for Miss Marjoribanks, though she had no vote, was a person of undoubted influence, and such a conviction on her part was not to be laughed at. Even Colonel Chiley, who was undecided in his own mind, was moved by it a little. “What does the Doctor think?” he asked. “Ashburton doesn’t say a word about his principles that I can see; and the other, you know—”
“Dear Colonel Chiley,” cried Lucilla, “he is not going to be Prime Minister; and I have always heard you say, as long as I can remember, that it was not opinions, you know, but a good man that people wanted. I have heard people talking politics for hours, and I always remember you saying that, and thinking it was the only sensible thing that was said; but, of course, I don’t understand politics,” Lucilla added, with humility. As for the Colonel, he took up the poker, perhaps to hide a little pleasant confusion, and again drew near the fire.
“By George! I believe Lucilla is in the right,” he said, with a certain agreeable consciousness. Perhaps he did not quite recollect at what moment of his life he had originated that sentiment, but he thought he could recollect having said it; and it was with the view of carrying off the bashfulness of genius, and not because the coals had any need of it, that he took up the poker—a proceeding which was always regarded with alarm and suspicion by his wife.
“The fire is very nice,” said Mrs. Chiley. “I hate to have the fire poked when it does not want it. Lucilla, if you make him go over to that Mr. Ashburton’s side, you will have a great deal to answer for, and I will never forgive you. My dear, you must be dreaming—a man that is as dry as a stick, and not one-hundredth nor one-thousandth part so nice—”
“I shan’t say another word,” said Lucilla; “I shan’t stay any longer, for I can’t help it, and you would be angry with me. People can’t help what they believe, you know. There is poor little Oswald Brown, who has doubts, and can’t go into the Church, and will ruin all his prospects, and nobody can help it—”
“If I were his mother I should help it!” cried Mrs. Chiley. “I promise you he should not talk of his doubts to me! A bit of a lad; and what is good enough for all the bishops, and everybody in their senses, is not good enough for him! If that is the kind of example you are going to follow, Lucilla—”
“Dear Mrs. Chiley,” said Miss Marjoribanks, “everybody knows what my Church principles are; and perhaps you will come round to think with me; but I am not going to say any more about it now. I am so glad your rheumatism is better this morning; but you must wrap up well, for it is so cold, oh, so cold, out of doors!”
When Lucilla had thus dismissed the subject, she came to her old friend’s side and bent over her in her sealskin cloak, to say goodbye. Mrs. Chiley took her by both hands as she thus stood with her back to the old Colonel, and drew her down close, and looked searchingly into her eyes. “If you have any particular reason, Lucilla, you ought to tell me—that would make such a difference,” said the old lady. “I always tell you everything,” said Miss Marjoribanks, with evasive fondness, as she kissed the soft old withered cheek; and naturally, with the Colonel behind, who was standing up before the fire shadowing over them both, and quite unaware of this little whispered episode, it would have been impossible to say more had there been ever so much to say. But it had been a close encounter in its way, and Lucilla was rather glad to get off without any further damage. She did not feel quite successful as she went out; but still she had left a very wholesome commotion behind her; for Colonel Chiley could not but feel that the sentiment which she had quoted from himself was a very just sentiment. “By George! Lucilla was in the right of it,” he said again, after she was gone; and in fact went through a process very similar to that which had modified the sentiments of Dr. Marjoribanks on the previous night. Mr. Cavendish was a young fellow who had rushed off among a set of Frenchmen, because Lucilla Marjoribanks would not have him, or because he could not marry Barbara Lake in addition, or at least somehow because he failed of having his own way. It was all very well for him to come back and make a commotion, and be sentimental about it. But what if, after all, Ashburton, who had the Firs, and lived there, and spent his money like a Christian, was the man for Carlingford? The Colonel’s mind still wavered and veered about; yet it had received an impulse which was by no means unworthy of consideration.
As for Mrs. Chiley, she laid back her head upon her pillows and painfully questioned with herself whether Lucilla could have
