And Hester went home, angry, yet somewhat soothed. It did not make her less indignant, less wrathful; but it gave an excuse which at least had to be taken into consideration. Before she got home, indeed, she taught herself to lay that offence too to the score of Catherine. She went home packed into the fly with her mother and Emma and the Miss Vernon-Ridgways, all together. Mr. Mildmay Vernon was mounted on the box, and the old white horse had the six people, besides his driver, to drag behind him. He took a great deal of time over the short bit of road, thinking probably that it was as well to take his time over one fare as to put it in the power of his oppressors to send him out with another, or perhaps compel him to kick his heels at the railway station waiting for the last train. The ladies were packed very close inside, but not too close to talk. The sisters immediately plunged into that “criticism of life” which could scarcely be called poetry, in their hands.
“What a blessing it is,” said one, “that we can’t be called upon to eat another Christmas dinner with Catherine for another year.”
“Dear Catherine!” said the other, “she always means so well. It is our own fault if we don’t carry out her intentions.”
“Indeed,” said Mrs. John, “she gave us a very nice dinner, and everything was very comfortable.”
“Dear Mrs. John! you are always so charitable,” said Miss Matilda, “as we all ought to be, I am sure. Did you ever see anything so insufferable as that little Ellen—like a picture out of a fashion-book—giving herself as many airs as if she were at the head of society? I never heard she had any society, except the vulgar young people on the Thursdays. I wonder she doesn’t ask her shop people.”
“Oh, hush, hush!” cried Mrs. John, alarmed.
“Perhaps she does ask the shop people,” said Miss Matilda, “it would be wise of her, for I should not think they’d ever see the colour of their money. The old Merridews can never keep up all that extravagance, and Algy is nothing more than a clerk in his father’s office. It is dreadful to see a young man dragged on to destruction like that.”
“Oh, I hope it is not so bad!” cried Mrs. John. “I am sure if I thought so, I should never let—”
“It is the talk of the town,” said Miss Matilda. “A thing must be very bad before it comes to us, who never hear any gossip.”
“Oh, everybody knows,” said Miss Martha.
It was happy that Hester’s mind was so fully occupied, and that the conversation passed harmlessly over her head. When they reached the Vernonry, Mr. Mildmay Vernon got down from the box where he had been seated wrapped up from head to foot, but which he protested against with a continuous volley of short coughs as he helped the ladies out one after another. He thought in his heart that if one of these strong young women had been put up on the box, who had no rheumatism, it would have been more appropriate.
“I hope you have enjoyed your evening, including your dinner,” he said. “I have made up my mind to rheumatism tomorrow; but what does that matter in comparison with such a delightful entertainment?”
“It was very nice,” said Mrs. John, dubious as to his meaning, as she always was.
“Nice!” he said, with a grimace, “a sort of little heaven on earth!”
“It is wicked to be so satirical,” said one sister, with a laugh; and “Dear Catherine! I am sure she meant everything that was kind,” said the other.
And then there was a little flutter of good nights, the respective doors opening, and lights flashing out into the dark.
This entertainment was followed very shortly after by the larger gathering which Catherine had announced her intention of giving some time before, and to which all Redborough was convoked besides the immediate family. The period between these two parties was the climax of Hester’s hostility to Catherine Vernon. She had never been so actively indignant, so angry, nor so impotent against her old and wealthy cousin as in these wintry days. Catherine was a kind of impersonation of injustice and unkindness to Hester. She felt not only that she herself was oppressed and injured, but that the persecution of which she was the object was of a kind which was most petty and miserable, degrading to the author of it as well as to its victim. The attempt at interference with her movements was not only a kind of meddling most irritating to a high-spirited girl, but it was also the kind of assault which her very pride prevented her from resisting openly. Hester felt that she would have lowered her own pride, and wounded her own self-respect, had she uttered a word of reply or taken any notice of the small and petty attack upon her. The incident of the pearls, though so trifling, excited her almost as much as the other and more important grievance she had against Catherine. That Edward should be so cowed by this woman that he had to conceal his real sentiments, to offend the girl whom he loved, to compromise his own honour and dignity all because of Catherine’s watch upon him, and the subjection in which it held him, was such a miserable thought to Hester, that it was all she could do to restrain herself at all. It is terrible to be compelled to endure one who has harmed those who are dear to you; but to enter her house and
