"She would be disreputable anywhere," said Mrs. Hilliard, shutting her eyes. "Don't force me to repeat these painful truths so often, child."
To argue seriously with poor Mrs. Hilliard on any subject, from the flavoring of her own calf's-foot jelly down to the future that might await a human soul beyond the grave, was fruitless. So next morning Katharine and the Squire went up to London: first to consult with Mrs. Deering, next to find the lodgings in which Dora was to bear the penalties of her want of character, or, if it should so happen, die alone. A good deal to Mr. Hilliard's astonishment, Mrs. Deering's opinions were in direct opposition to her mother's. The Squire, like many other simple-hearted people, was accustomed to paint character to himself in the blackest black, or whitest white. Arabella was a selfish woman of the world; had never liked Dora at the best of times; would be sure to go dead against her now in her hour of need. And now, in the hour of need, Arabella behaved with greater magnanimity than nineteen out of twenty stronger-hearted, weaker-minded women would have had moral courage to behave. The stupid, skin-deep worldliness that seeks to push unwelcome relationship out of sight (miracle as yet unaccomplished) was not Mrs. Deering's. As long as Dora merely vacillated on the brink of destruction in Paris, Mrs. Deering had remained quiescent. If Dora, in very fact, had eloped with Clarendon Whyte, Mrs. Deering would have bowed her head to the stroke with a decent dignity impossible for her friends to cavil at. In the present position—Dora, through poor Kate's Quixotism, rescued with singed wings from the burning—the manifest wisdom, nay, the duty, of every member of the family was, according to Mrs. Deering, to receive Steven Lawrence's wife as they would wish the world to receive her.
"What, what is relationship worth if it does not make us stand by each other in the dark hour?" she exclaimed, in a tone that made the Squire take out his pocket handkerchief and feel how much he had hitherto undervalued the sterling qualities of Arabella's heart. "For Dora to be alone in lodgings, and Katharine to visit her, as Katharine, dear child, would be sure to do, by stealth, would be simply to justify the worst suspicions of others. Steven Lawrence had chosen (on barest supposition—his wife and Grizelda Long chancing, on a country excursion, to be accompanied by Clarendon Whyte) to quarrel with poor Dora. Let Dora's family show in what light they regard this conduct." And not only was Mrs. Deering opposed to Dora being in lodgings alone—if the poor girl was really in such delicate health as to need a physician's care, why go into lodgings at all? The recent death of General Deering's brother must naturally prevent their entering into the world this season. It had been settled some weeks back that they were to pay a Spring visit, children and all, to old Miss Deering, down in Hampshire. Why should not Dora have the use of the house in Hertford Street, Katharine with her, in their absence? "Tell mamma, at least, that this is my proposal," Mrs. Deering finished. "Also, that as long as conscience tells me I am acting right, I will never be afraid of what the world can say of me! "
"In short, the whole of Arabella's virtues may be illustrated by one old French proverb," said Dot, when the good offer—accepted on the spot by poor, fickle Mrs. Hilliard—was repeated to her. "Rien ne ressemble mieux à un honnête homme qu' un fripon! See in Clithero how the good, honest old priests and Levites turn their heads aside when they meet me in the lanes, or coming out of church! Arabella, by the Christianity of worldliness, the elastic gospel of expediency, throws open her doors and shines forth a Samaritan!"
