The Choir Invisible [39]
turn of the conversation away from herself brought such relief that Mrs. Falconer replied even warmly.
"You have been a great pleasure to him and to me! The little I have done, you have repaid a thousand fold. Think of us at night without you! Your uncle on one side of the fireplace--me on the other, and you away! Think of us at the table--him at one end, me at the other, and you away! Think of me alone in the house all day, while he is in the fields! Child, I have depended on you--more than you will ever understand!" she added to herself.
"Aunt Jessica," observed Amy with the air of making a fine calculation, "perhaps uncle would think more of you if I were not in the house."
"Amy!"
"Perhaps you would think more of him!"
"Amy!" "Perhaps if neither of you had me to depend on, you might depend more on each other and be happier."
"You speak to me in this way--on a subject like this! You'd better go!"
"Aunt Jessica," replied Amy, never budging, "the time has been when I would have done so. But it is too late now for you ever to tell me to leave your presence. I am a woman! If I had not been, I shouldn't have said what I just have."
Mrs. Falconer looked at her in silence. This rare gentlewoman had too profound a knowledge of the human heart not to realize that she was completely vanquished. For where in this world is not refinement instantly beaten by coarseness, gentleness by rudeness, all delicacy by all that is indelicate? What can the finest consideration avail against no consideration? the sweetest forbearance against intrusiveness? the beak of the dove against the beak of the hawk? And yet all these may have their victory; for when the finer and the baser metal are forced to struggle with each other in the same field, the finer may always leave it.
With unruffled dignity and with a voice that Amy had never heard--a voice that brought the blood rushing into her cheeks--Mrs. Falconer replied:"Yes; it is true: you are a woman. This is the first day that you have ever made me feel this. For I have always known that as soon as you became one, you would begin to speak to me as you have spoken. I shall never again request you to leave my presence: when it becomes unavoidable, I shall leave yours."
She rose and was moving away. Amy started up and caught her.
"Aunt Jessica, I've something to tell you!" she cried, her face dyed scarlet with the sting.
Mrs. Falconer released herself gently and returned to her seat.
"You know what I mean by what I said?" inquired Amy, still confused but regaining self command rapidly.
"I believe I know: you are engaged to be married."
The words were very faint: they would have reached the subtlest ear with the suggestiveness of a light dreary wind blowing over a desolation.
"Yes; I am engaged to be married."
Amy affirmed it with a definite stress.
"It is this that has made you a woman?
"It is this that has made me a woman."
After the silence of a moment Mrs. Falconer inquired:
"You do not expect to ask my consent--my advice?"
"I certainly do not expect to ask your consent--your advice."
Amy was taking her revenge now--and she always took it as soon as possible.
"Nor your uncle's?"
"Nor my uncle's."
After another, longer silence:
"Do you care to tell me how long this engagement has lasted?"
"Certainly!--Since last night."
"Thank you for telling me that. I think I must go back to my work now."
She walked slowly away. Amy sat still, twirling her bonnet strings and smiling to herself.
This outburst of her new dignity--this initial assertion of her womanhood--had come almost as unexpectedly to herself as to her aunt. She had scarcely known it was in herself to do such a thing. Certain restrictions had been chafing her for a long time: she had not dreamed that they could so readily be set aside, that she had only to stamp her foot violently down on another foot and the other foot would be jerked out of the way. In the flush of elation, she thought of what had just taken place as her Declaration of Independence.
"You have been a great pleasure to him and to me! The little I have done, you have repaid a thousand fold. Think of us at night without you! Your uncle on one side of the fireplace--me on the other, and you away! Think of us at the table--him at one end, me at the other, and you away! Think of me alone in the house all day, while he is in the fields! Child, I have depended on you--more than you will ever understand!" she added to herself.
"Aunt Jessica," observed Amy with the air of making a fine calculation, "perhaps uncle would think more of you if I were not in the house."
"Amy!"
"Perhaps you would think more of him!"
"Amy!" "Perhaps if neither of you had me to depend on, you might depend more on each other and be happier."
"You speak to me in this way--on a subject like this! You'd better go!"
"Aunt Jessica," replied Amy, never budging, "the time has been when I would have done so. But it is too late now for you ever to tell me to leave your presence. I am a woman! If I had not been, I shouldn't have said what I just have."
Mrs. Falconer looked at her in silence. This rare gentlewoman had too profound a knowledge of the human heart not to realize that she was completely vanquished. For where in this world is not refinement instantly beaten by coarseness, gentleness by rudeness, all delicacy by all that is indelicate? What can the finest consideration avail against no consideration? the sweetest forbearance against intrusiveness? the beak of the dove against the beak of the hawk? And yet all these may have their victory; for when the finer and the baser metal are forced to struggle with each other in the same field, the finer may always leave it.
With unruffled dignity and with a voice that Amy had never heard--a voice that brought the blood rushing into her cheeks--Mrs. Falconer replied:"Yes; it is true: you are a woman. This is the first day that you have ever made me feel this. For I have always known that as soon as you became one, you would begin to speak to me as you have spoken. I shall never again request you to leave my presence: when it becomes unavoidable, I shall leave yours."
She rose and was moving away. Amy started up and caught her.
"Aunt Jessica, I've something to tell you!" she cried, her face dyed scarlet with the sting.
Mrs. Falconer released herself gently and returned to her seat.
"You know what I mean by what I said?" inquired Amy, still confused but regaining self command rapidly.
"I believe I know: you are engaged to be married."
The words were very faint: they would have reached the subtlest ear with the suggestiveness of a light dreary wind blowing over a desolation.
"Yes; I am engaged to be married."
Amy affirmed it with a definite stress.
"It is this that has made you a woman?
"It is this that has made me a woman."
After the silence of a moment Mrs. Falconer inquired:
"You do not expect to ask my consent--my advice?"
"I certainly do not expect to ask your consent--your advice."
Amy was taking her revenge now--and she always took it as soon as possible.
"Nor your uncle's?"
"Nor my uncle's."
After another, longer silence:
"Do you care to tell me how long this engagement has lasted?"
"Certainly!--Since last night."
"Thank you for telling me that. I think I must go back to my work now."
She walked slowly away. Amy sat still, twirling her bonnet strings and smiling to herself.
This outburst of her new dignity--this initial assertion of her womanhood--had come almost as unexpectedly to herself as to her aunt. She had scarcely known it was in herself to do such a thing. Certain restrictions had been chafing her for a long time: she had not dreamed that they could so readily be set aside, that she had only to stamp her foot violently down on another foot and the other foot would be jerked out of the way. In the flush of elation, she thought of what had just taken place as her Declaration of Independence.