“Or until you write and desire that any such communication may be made,” said Mrs. Berry.
“That is not probable, my dear Mrs. Berry,” said Lygon.
“I am a slave to my promises,”replied Mrs. Berry, “and therefore I prefer to have them properly guarded and fenced before I enter into them.”
“Quite right,” said Arthur, in no mood to discuss anything just then.
“I will drive you over to the station,” said Mr. Berry. “The next train will be there in an hour and a half from this moment.”
“I thought I saw that a train arrived in half an hour.”
“It does not stop here.”
“But it stops at Hareton, and I could get over there in the time.”
“Impossible.”
“That is an answer, from you,” said Lygon, “but it is vexatious to have to throw away an hour when it may be so valuable at the other end of the journey.”
“That thought should remind you of a more solemn one, Arthur,” said Mrs. Berry, “and lead you to recollect the folly of throwing away one hour, when we are in health and strength, and having to look back upon such waste when we are on our dying beds.”
The remark was unexceptionable, if not cheerful, and Mr. Lygon did not care to oppose it. Mr. Berry, however, made more allowance for his friend’s feelings than his wife’s, and observed, with some asperity:
“Oh, bother.”
“Nay,” said Arthur, “Mrs. Berry is perfectly right, and we do not always think of these things.”
For he was so thankful for the revelation that had taken place, and for the removal of so much weight from his mind, that he could not speak with unkindness even towards a person whom he had hated, and to whom a sort of false reconciliation had not made him draw with any closeness of regard.
“Do not think of speaking in my behalf, Mr. Lygon,” she said, with the wronged woman’s look this time very strong upon her. “It is our duty to submit to insult. I might almost say that it is our privilege.”
“Nobody thinks of insulting you, Marion,” said Mr. Berry; “but you must own that when a man’s mind is intensely set upon an object dear to his heart, that’s a bad minute to select for preaching him a sermon on dying beds.”
“When I became aware,” said Mrs. Berry, mournfully, “that we are enjoined to watch until it shall be pleasant to our fellow-creatures to hear what we are commanded to tell them, I shall, I trust, obey the injunction. Meantime, I cannot but remember that we are to be instant in season and out of season.”
“Yes, but you are always out of season,” said her husband, irreverently, and in some irritation walking away from the breakfast-room, muttering something about ordering the chaise.
“Clara has promised to be an excessively good girl while I am away, Mrs. Berry,” said Arthur, taking the child’s hand; “and she, like yourself, always keeps her promises.”
“We will endeavour to aid her in fulfilling it, at all events,” said Mrs. Berry, almost kindly. “We will not talk about being excessively good, because that would be a presumptuous expression; but we will endeavour to avoid such faults as guardianship and advice can save us from.”
‘It will not be for long, my pet,’ thought Arthur, after the excellent lady had paraded her dictionary words.
“And as for lessons,” continued Mrs. Berry, “I dare say that we can contrive not to be retrograde.”
“O, suppose we give her a holiday, Mrs. Berry; she will be less trouble to you, and I dare say that she will have no objection.”
“I dare say not,” said Mrs. Berry; “we are all unfortunately prone to prefer our pleasures to our duties. But the beautiful little hymn says:
That I may give for every day
Some good account at last.
Those are the words, Mr. Lygon. Every day. Not every day except the day when I happened to be in the country, and thought I should like to play about the garden.”
“It says healthful play,” said Clara, colouring. “Books, or works, or healthful play.”
“So it does, little lady,” said her papa, smiling. “You see that we have taught her something, Mrs. Berry.”
“I fear that it is better not to know, than to use our knowledge wrongly,” said the lady, who had for once been tripped up by the memory of the child, but who was satisfied with the mildest form of defence. But for something that was in Mrs. Berry’s head just then, Clara might not have been the gainer in comfort by this little victory. Mrs. Berry, however, looked at her quite gently for Mrs. Berry, and continued, “Healthful play, my dear, means play at such hours as those who have the care of your health prescribe for your relaxation. We will not forget the play, but papa will also allow us to remember the work.”
“Clara will do as she is bid,” said Mr. Lygon, though not much pleased.
The hour passed, and Mr. Berry, who had kept himself out of the way, came in to say that the chaise would be at the gate in five minutes.
“Why not at the porch?” said Mrs. Berry.
“Because it will be at the gate,” said her husband, doggedly. He was in anything but an amiable temper, and snapped this reply in a way quite unusual with the good-natured old gentleman.
“I regret that in Clara’s presence such an example of politeness should be afforded,” said Mrs. Berry to Lygon; “but she should know that big folks often do and say things which little folks must not imitate.”
Her husband’s glance at her was a downright savage one, almost evil.
“If Clara learns nothing worse in this house