The Trial [160]
always with an effort that she wrote to Mary May. A rejected offer from a brother is a rock in a correspondence with a sister, and Averil had begun to feel greatly ashamed of the manner of her own response. Acceptance would have been impossible; but irritating as had been Tom May's behaviour, insulting as had been his explanation, and provoking, his pertinacity, she had begun to feel that the impulse had been too generous and disinterested to deserve such treatment, and that bitterness and ill-temper had made her lose all softness and dignity, so that he must think that his pitying affection had been bestowed on an ungrateful vixen, and be as much disgusted with the interview as she was herself. She did not wish him to love her; but she regretted the form of the antidote, above all, since he was of the few who appreciated Leonard; and the more she heard of Ella's narrations of his kindness, the more ashamed she grew. Every letter to or from Mary renewed the uncomfortable sense, and she would have dropped the correspondence had it not been her sole medium of communication with her imprisoned brother, since Henry would not permit letters to be posted with the Milbank address.
CHAPTER XX
A little hint to solace woe, A hint, a whisper breathing low, 'I may not speak of what I know.'--TENNYSON
At the pace at which rapid people walk alone, when they wish to devour both the way and their own sensations, Ethel May was mounting the hill out of the town in the premature heat assumed by May in compliment to Whitsun week, when a prolonged shout made her turn. At first she thought it was her father, but her glass showed her that it was the brother so like him in figure that the London-made coat, and the hair partaking of the sand instead of the salt, were often said to be the chief distinction. Moreover, the dainty steps over the puddles were little like the strides of the Doctor, and left no doubt that it was the one wedding guest who had been despaired of. 'O, Tom, I am glad you are come!' 'What a rate you were running away at! I thought you had done with your hurricane pace.' 'Hurricane because of desperate hurry. I'm afraid I can't turn back with you.' 'Where is all the world?' 'Blanche is helping Mary arrange the Hoxton--I mean her own drawing- room. Hector has brought a dog-cart to drive papa about in; Daisy is gone with Harry and Aubrey to the Grange for some camellias.' 'And Ethel rushing to Cocksmoor!' 'I can't help it, Tom,' she said, humbly; 'I wish I could.' 'What's this immense pannier you are carrying?' 'It is quite light. It is twelve of the hats for the children tomorrow. Mary was bent on trimming them all as usual, and I was deluded enough to believe she would, till last evening I found just one and a half done! I did as many as I could at night, till papa heard me rustling about and thumped. Those went early this morning; and these are the rest, which I have just finished.' 'Was there no one to send?' 'My dear Tom, is your experience of weddings so slight as to suppose there is an available being in the family the day before?' 'I'm sure I don't desire such experience. Why could not they be content without ferreting me down?' 'I am very glad you have come. It would have been a great mortification if you had stayed away. I never quite believed you would.' 'I had much rather see the operation I shall miss to-morrow morning. I shall go back by the two o'clock train.' 'To study their happiness all the way up to town?' 'Then by the mail--' 'I won't torment you to stay; but I think papa will want a talk with you.' 'The very thing I don't want. Why can't he dispose of his property like other people, and give Richard his rights?' 'You know Richard would only be encumbered.' 'No such thing; Richard is a reasonable being--he will marry some of these days--get the living after Wilmot, and--' 'But you know how papa would be grieved to separate the practice from the house.' 'Because he and his fathers were content to bury themselves in a hole, he expects me to do the same. Why, what should I do? The
CHAPTER XX
A little hint to solace woe, A hint, a whisper breathing low, 'I may not speak of what I know.'--TENNYSON
At the pace at which rapid people walk alone, when they wish to devour both the way and their own sensations, Ethel May was mounting the hill out of the town in the premature heat assumed by May in compliment to Whitsun week, when a prolonged shout made her turn. At first she thought it was her father, but her glass showed her that it was the brother so like him in figure that the London-made coat, and the hair partaking of the sand instead of the salt, were often said to be the chief distinction. Moreover, the dainty steps over the puddles were little like the strides of the Doctor, and left no doubt that it was the one wedding guest who had been despaired of. 'O, Tom, I am glad you are come!' 'What a rate you were running away at! I thought you had done with your hurricane pace.' 'Hurricane because of desperate hurry. I'm afraid I can't turn back with you.' 'Where is all the world?' 'Blanche is helping Mary arrange the Hoxton--I mean her own drawing- room. Hector has brought a dog-cart to drive papa about in; Daisy is gone with Harry and Aubrey to the Grange for some camellias.' 'And Ethel rushing to Cocksmoor!' 'I can't help it, Tom,' she said, humbly; 'I wish I could.' 'What's this immense pannier you are carrying?' 'It is quite light. It is twelve of the hats for the children tomorrow. Mary was bent on trimming them all as usual, and I was deluded enough to believe she would, till last evening I found just one and a half done! I did as many as I could at night, till papa heard me rustling about and thumped. Those went early this morning; and these are the rest, which I have just finished.' 'Was there no one to send?' 'My dear Tom, is your experience of weddings so slight as to suppose there is an available being in the family the day before?' 'I'm sure I don't desire such experience. Why could not they be content without ferreting me down?' 'I am very glad you have come. It would have been a great mortification if you had stayed away. I never quite believed you would.' 'I had much rather see the operation I shall miss to-morrow morning. I shall go back by the two o'clock train.' 'To study their happiness all the way up to town?' 'Then by the mail--' 'I won't torment you to stay; but I think papa will want a talk with you.' 'The very thing I don't want. Why can't he dispose of his property like other people, and give Richard his rights?' 'You know Richard would only be encumbered.' 'No such thing; Richard is a reasonable being--he will marry some of these days--get the living after Wilmot, and--' 'But you know how papa would be grieved to separate the practice from the house.' 'Because he and his fathers were content to bury themselves in a hole, he expects me to do the same. Why, what should I do? The