“My dear,” he had said, “there is no necessity for anything of the kind. I and your mother are only anxious for your welfare. I think that you should take your uncle’s money, if not for your own sake, then for the sake of him to whom we all hope that you will soon be married. But putting that aside you are as well entitled to remain here as your sisters, and, until you are married, here will be your home.”
There was comfort in this, some small comfort, but it did not tend to create pleasant intercourse between Isabel and her stepmother. Mrs. Brodrick was a woman who submitted herself habitually to her husband, and intended to obey him, but one who nevertheless would not be deterred from her own little purposes. She felt herself to be ill-used by Isabel’s presence in the house. Many years ago Isabel had been taken away, and she had been given to understand that Isabel was removed forever. There was to be no more expense, no more trouble—there should be no more jealousies in regard to Isabel. The old uncle had promised to do everything, and that sore had been removed from her life. Now Isabel had come back again, and insisted on remaining there—so unnecessarily! Now again there were those boots to be bought at Jackson’s, and all those other increased expenditures which another back, another head, another mouth, and another pair of feet must create. And then it was so palpable that Hereford thought much of Isabel, but thought little or nothing of her own girls. Such a one as Mrs. Brodrick was sure to make herself unpleasant in circumstances such as these.
“Isabel,” she said to her one day, “I didn’t say anything about you being turned out of the house.”
“Who has said that you did, mother?”
“You shouldn’t have gone to your father and talked about going out as a housemaid.”
“I told papa that if he thought it right, I would endeavour to earn my bread.”
“You told him that I had complained about you being here.”
“So you did. I had to tell him so, or I could not explain my purpose. Of course I am a burden. Every human being who eats and wears clothes and earns nothing is a burden. And I know that this is thought of the more because it had been felt that I had been—been disposed of.”
“You could be disposed of now, as you call it, if you pleased.”
“But I do not please. That is a matter on which I will listen to no dictation. Therefore it is that I wish that I could go away and earn my own bread. I choose to be independent in that matter, and therefore I ought to suffer for it. It is reasonable enough that I should be felt to be a burden.”
Then the other girls came in, and nothing more was said till, after an hour or two, Mrs. Brodrick and Isabel were again alone together.
“I do think it very odd that you cannot take that money; I certainly do,” said Mrs. Brodrick.
“What is the use of going on about it? I shall not be made to take it.”
“And all those people at Carmarthen so sure that you are entitled to ever so much more! I say nothing about burdens, but I cannot conceive how you can reconcile it to your conscience when your poor papa has got so many things to pay, and is so little able to pay them.”
Then she paused, but as Isabel would not be enticed into any further declaration of independence, she continued, “It certainly is a setting up of your own judgment against people who must know better. As for Mr. Owen, of course it will drive him to look for someone else. The young man wants a wife, and of course he will find one. Then that chance will be lost.”
In this way Isabel did not pass her time comfortably at Hereford.
XVII
Mr. Cheekey
A month had been left for Cousin Henry to consider what he would do—a month from the day in which he had been forced to accede to Mr. Apjohn’s proposal up to that on which he would have to stand before the barrister at Carmarthen, should he be brave enough at last to undergo the ordeal. He had in truth resolved that he would not undergo the ordeal. He was quite sure of himself that nothing short of cart-ropes or of the police would drag him into the witness-box. But still there was the month. There were various thoughts filling his mind. A great expense was being incurred—most uselessly, if he intended to retreat before the day came—and who would pay the money? There was hardly a hope left in his bosom that the property would remain in his hands. His hopes indeed now ran in altogether another direction. In what way might he best get rid of the property? How most readily might he take himself off from Llanfeare and have nothing more to do with the tenants and their rents? But still it was he who would be responsible for this terrible expense. It had been explained to him by the lawyer, that he might either indict the proprietor of the newspaper on a criminal charge or bring a civil action against him for damages. Mr. Apjohn had very strongly recommended the former proceeding. It would be cheaper, he had said, and would show that the man who brought it had simply wished to vindicate his own character. It would be cheaper in the long-run—because, as the lawyer explained, it would not be so much his object to get a verdict as
