The Last Chronicle of Barset [114]
from the tone of the voice that some letter had come, which by the very aspect of the handwriting had disturbing her mother. 'There is one for you, my dear,' said Mrs Dale, throwing a letter across the table Grace. 'And one for you, Lily, from Bell. The others are for me.' 'And whom are you yours from, mamma?' asked Lily. 'One is from Mrs Jones; and the other, I think, is a letter on business.' Then Lily said nothing further, but she observed that her mother only opened one of her letters at the breakfast-table. Lily was very patient;--not be nature, I think, but by exercise and practice. She had, once in her life, been too much in a hurry; and having then burned herself grievously, she now feared the fire. She did not therefore follow her mother after breakfast, but sat with Grace over the fire, hemming diligently at certain articles of clothing which were intended for use in the Hogglestock parsonage. The two girls were making a set of new shirts for Mr Crawley. 'But I know he will ask where they come from,' said Grace; 'and then mamma will be scolded.' 'But I hope he'll wear them,' said Lily. 'Sooner of later he will,' said Grace; 'because mamma manages generally to have her way at last.' Then they went on for an hour or so, talking about the home affairs at Hogglestock. But during the whole time Lily's mind was intent upon her mother's letter.
Nothing was said about it at lunch, and nothing when they walked out after lunch, for Lily was very patient. But during the walk Mrs Dale became aware that her daughter was uneasy. These two watched each other unconsciously with a closeness which hardly allowed a glance of the eye, certainly not a tone of the voice, to pass unobserved. To Mrs Dale it was everything in the world that her daughter should be, if not happy at heart, at least tranquil; and to Lily, who knew that her mother was always thinking of her, and of her alone, her mother was the only human divinity now worthy of adoration. But nothing was said about the letter during the walk.
When they came home it was nearly dusk, and it was their habit to sit up for a while without candles, talking, till the evening had in truth set in and the unmistakable and enforced idleness of remaining without candles was apparent. During this time, Lily, demanding patience of herself all the while, was thinking what she would do, or rather what she would say, about the letter. That nothing would be done or said in the presence of Grace Crawley was a matter of course, nor would she do or say anything to get rid of Grace. She would be very patient; but she would, at last, ask her mother about the letter.
And then, as luck would have it, Grace Crawley got up and left the room. Lily still waited for a few minutes, and, in order that he patience might be thoroughly exercised, she said a word or two about her sister Bell; how the eldest child's whooping-cough was nearly well, and how the baby was doing wonderful things with its first tooth. But as Mrs Dale had already seen Bell's letter, all this was not intensely interesting. At last Lily came to the point and asked her question. 'Mamma, from whom was that other letter which you got this morning?'
Our story will perhaps be best told by communicating the letter to the reader before it was discussed with Lily. The letter was as follows:-
'GENERAL COMMITTEE OFFICE,--January, 186-'
I should have said that Mrs Dale had not opened the letter till she had found herself in the solitude of her own bedroom; and that then, before doing so, she had examined the handwriting with anxious eyes. When she first received it she thought she knew the writer, but was not sure. Then she had glanced at the impression over the fastening, and had known at once from whom the letter had come. It was from Mr Crosbie, the man who had brought so much trouble into her house, who had jilted her daughter; the only man in the world whom she had a right to regard as a positive enemy to herself. She had not doubt about it, as she tore the envelope open; and yet, when the address given made her quite sure,
Nothing was said about it at lunch, and nothing when they walked out after lunch, for Lily was very patient. But during the walk Mrs Dale became aware that her daughter was uneasy. These two watched each other unconsciously with a closeness which hardly allowed a glance of the eye, certainly not a tone of the voice, to pass unobserved. To Mrs Dale it was everything in the world that her daughter should be, if not happy at heart, at least tranquil; and to Lily, who knew that her mother was always thinking of her, and of her alone, her mother was the only human divinity now worthy of adoration. But nothing was said about the letter during the walk.
When they came home it was nearly dusk, and it was their habit to sit up for a while without candles, talking, till the evening had in truth set in and the unmistakable and enforced idleness of remaining without candles was apparent. During this time, Lily, demanding patience of herself all the while, was thinking what she would do, or rather what she would say, about the letter. That nothing would be done or said in the presence of Grace Crawley was a matter of course, nor would she do or say anything to get rid of Grace. She would be very patient; but she would, at last, ask her mother about the letter.
And then, as luck would have it, Grace Crawley got up and left the room. Lily still waited for a few minutes, and, in order that he patience might be thoroughly exercised, she said a word or two about her sister Bell; how the eldest child's whooping-cough was nearly well, and how the baby was doing wonderful things with its first tooth. But as Mrs Dale had already seen Bell's letter, all this was not intensely interesting. At last Lily came to the point and asked her question. 'Mamma, from whom was that other letter which you got this morning?'
Our story will perhaps be best told by communicating the letter to the reader before it was discussed with Lily. The letter was as follows:-
'GENERAL COMMITTEE OFFICE,--January, 186-'
I should have said that Mrs Dale had not opened the letter till she had found herself in the solitude of her own bedroom; and that then, before doing so, she had examined the handwriting with anxious eyes. When she first received it she thought she knew the writer, but was not sure. Then she had glanced at the impression over the fastening, and had known at once from whom the letter had come. It was from Mr Crosbie, the man who had brought so much trouble into her house, who had jilted her daughter; the only man in the world whom she had a right to regard as a positive enemy to herself. She had not doubt about it, as she tore the envelope open; and yet, when the address given made her quite sure,