“That is what I want,” said Tom quickly, “but as for you, Lucilla, you shall do nothing but enjoy yourself and take care of yourself. The idea of you wanting something to do!”
Miss Marjoribanks regarded her betrothed with mild and affectionate contempt as he thus delivered himself of his foolish sentiments. “It is of no use trying to make him understand,” she said, with an air of resignation. “Do you know that I have always been doing something, and responsible for something, all my life?”
“Yes, my poor darling,” said Tom, “I know; but now you are in my hands I mean to take care of you, Lucilla; you shall have no more anxiety or trouble. What is the good of a man if he can’t save the woman he is fond of from all that?” cried the honest fellow—and Lucilla could not but cast a despairing glance round her, as if appealing to heaven and earth. What was to be done with a man who had so little understanding of her, and of himself, and of the eternal fitness of things?
“My dear Tom,” she said once more, mildly, “we may have lost some money, but we are very well off, and Providence has been very kind to us. And there are a great many poor people in the world who are not so well off. I have always tried to be of some use to my fellow-creatures,” said Lucilla, “and I don’t mean, whatever you may say, to give it up now.”
“My dearest Lucilla, if it was the poor you were thinking of—! I might have known it was something different from my stupid notions,” cried Tom. This kind of adoration was new to Lucilla, notwithstanding her many experiences. And he thought it so good of her to condescend to be good, that she could not help thinking a little better of herself than ordinary, though that, perhaps, was not absolutely needful; and then she proceeded with the elucidation of her views.
“I have been of some use to my fellow-creatures in my way,” said Miss Marjoribanks modestly, “but it has been hard work, and people are not always grateful, you know. And then things are a good deal changed in Carlingford. A woman may devote herself to putting some life into society, and give up years of her time, and—and even her opportunities and all that, and do a great deal of good; but yet if she is put aside for a moment, there is an end of it. I have been doing the best I could for Carlingford for ten years,” said Lucilla, with a little natural sadness, “and if anyone were to examine into it, where is it all now? They have only got into the way of looking to me; and I do believe if you were to go up and down from Elsworthy’s to St. Roque’s, though you might find people at dinner here and there, you would not find a shadow of what could really be called society in all Grange Lane!”
Lucilla paused, for naturally her feelings were moved, and while Tom bent over her with tender and respectful devotion, it was not to be wondered at if Miss Marjoribanks, in the emotion of her heart, should wipe away a tear.
“After working at it for ten years!” said Lucilla; “and now, since poor papa died, who was always full of discrimination—This is what will come of it, Tom,” she added solemnly—“they will go back to their old ridiculous parties, as if they had never seen anything better; and they will all break up into little cliques, and make their awful morning calls and freeze one another to death. That will be the end of it all, after one has slaved like a—like a woman in a mill,” said the disappointed reformer, “and given up ten years.”
“My poor darling!” cried Tom, who would have liked to go and challenge Carlingford for being so insensible to his Lucilla’s devotion and cherishing maternal care.
“But if it had been the poor,” said Miss Marjoribanks, recovering her spirits a little, “they could not help being the better for what one did for them. They might continue to be as stupid as ever, and ungrateful, and all that; but if they were warm and comfortable, instead of cold and hungry, it would always make a difference. Tom, I will tell you what you will do if you want to please me. You will take all our money and realise it, you know, whatever that means, and go off directly, as fast as the train can carry you, and buy an Estate.”
“An estate!” cried Tom, in consternation; and the magnitude of the word was such, and Lucilla was so entirely in earnest, that he jumped from his chair and gazed at her as if constrained, notwithstanding his amazement, to rush off instantly and obey.
“I did not mean just this moment,” said Lucilla; “sit down and we can talk it all over, Tom. You know it would be something for you to do; you cannot just go living on like this at your age; you could improve the land, you know, and do all that sort of thing, and the people you could leave to me.”
“But Lucilla,” said Tom, recovering a little from his consternation, “it is not so easy buying an estate. I mean all that I have to be settled upon you, in case of anything happening. Land may be a safe enough investment; but you know, very often, Lucilla—the fact is, it doesn’t pay.”
“We could make it pay,” said Miss Marjoribanks, with a benevolent smile, “and besides there are estates and estates. I don’t want you to go and throw away your money. It was in the Carlingford Gazette this morning, and I can’t help feeling it was a special providence. Of course you never looked at it in the paper, though I marked it for you. Tom, it is Marchbank that
