Part 2, Chapter 3 of The Daisy Chain. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Nancy Cochran-Gergen, Gilbert, Arizona. The Daisy Chain by Charlotte Mary Young. Part 2, Chapter 3. Any silk, any thread, any toys for your head, Of the newest and finest wearer, Come to the peddler, money's a meddler, That doth utter all men's wearer, winter's tale. This one day, and it will be over, And we shall be rational again, thought Ethel, as she awoke. Flora was sleeping at the Grange to be ready for action in the morning, And Ethel was to go early with Mary and Blanche, who were frantic to have a share in the selling.  The doctor would be bound by no rules. It was a patterned day, bright, clear, warm, and not oppressive, perfect for an out-of-door fit. And Ethel had made up her mind to fulfill her promised Margaret of enjoying herself. In the brilliant sunshine, and between two such happy sisters, it would have been certainly, indeed, Not to enter into the spirit of the day, And Ethel laughed gaily with them, and at their schemes and hopes, Blanche's heart being especially set on knowing the fate of a watchguard of her own construction. Hearing that the ladies were in the gardens, they repaired thither at once. The broad, smooth bowl and green lay before them. A marquee almost converted into a bower, bounding it on either side, While in the midst arose gorgeous and delicious a pyramid of flowers, Contributions from all the hot houses in the neighborhood, to be sold for the benefit of the bazaar. Their freshness and fragrance gave a brightness to the whole scene, While shrinking from such light, as only the beauty's works of nature could bear, Was the array accomplished by female fingers. Under the wreath canopies were the stalls, piled up with bright colors, most artistically arranged. Ethel, with her over minute knowledge of every article, Could hardly believe that yonder glowing eastern pattern of scarlet, black, and blue was, In fact, a judicious mosaic of pen wipers that she remembered, as shreds begged from the tailor, That the delicate lacework consisted of Miss Bracey's perpetual anti-massacres, And that the Poti Ciamani could look so dignified and Etruscan. Here you are, cried Meta Rivers, springing to meet them. Good girls to come early! Where's my little Daisy? Coming in good time, said Ethel, how pretty it all looks. But where's Flora? Where's my watchguard? Anxiously asked Blanche. She was here just now, said Meta, looking round. What a genius she is, Ethel! She worked wonders all yesterday, and let the Miss Hoxton's think it was all their own doing, And she was out before six this morning, putting finishing touches. Is this your stall, said Ethel? Yes, but it will not bear a comparison with hers. It has a lady's maid looked by the side of hers. In fact, Bel-Air's and my aunt's maid did it chiefly, For Papa was rather ailing yesterday, and I could not be out much. How is he now? Better, he will walk round by and by. I hope it will not be too much for him. Oh, what beautiful things, cried Mary in ecstasy, At what she was forced to express by the vague substantive, For her imagination had never stretched to the marvels she beheld. Hi, we have been lazy, you see, And so Aunt Leonora brought down all these smart concerns. It is rather like Howell and James, isn't it? In fact, Lady Leonora's marquee was filled with costly knick-knacks, Which, as Maida Justley said, had not had the grace and appropriate air That rain where Flora had arranged, and where Margaret had worked, With the peculiar freshness and finish that distinguished everything To which she set her hand. Miss Cleveland's counter was not ill set out, But it wanted the air of ease and simplicity, Which was even more noticeable than the perfect taste of Flora's wares. If there had been nothing facetious, the effect would have been better, But there was nothing to regret, and the whole was very bright and gay. Blanche could hardly look, so anxious was she for Flora To tell her the locality of her treasure. There she is, said Mida, at last. George is fixing that branch of evergreen for her. Flora! I did not know her, cried each sister, amazed. While Mary added, Oh, how nice she looks! It was the first time seeing her in the white muslim and broadship hat, Which all the younger saleswomen of the bazaar had agreed to wear. It was a most becoming dress, and she did, indeed, Look strikingly elegant and well dressed. It occurred to Ethel, for the first time, That Flora was decidedly the reigning beauty of the bazaar. No one but Mida Rivers could be compared to her. And that little lady was on so small a scale of perfect finish, That she seemed fit to act the fairy, where Flora was the enchanted princess.  Blanche reiterated inquiries for her watchguard. I don't know, said Flora, somewhere among the rest. Blanche was in despair. You may look for it, said Flora, who, however hurried, Never failed in kindness, if you will touch nothing. So Blanche ran from place to place in restless dismay, That caused Mr. George Rivers to ask what was the matter. The guards, the guards, cried Blanche, Whereupon he fell into a fit of laughter, Which disconcerted her, because she could not understand him, And made Ethel take an aversion to him on the spot. However, he was very good-natured. He took Blanche's reluctant hand, and conducted her all along the stall, Even proceeding to lift her up where she could not command a view of the whole, Thus exciting her extreme indignation.  She ought to have been flattered when the quest was successful, And he insisted on knowing which was a guard, And declared that he should buy it. She begged him to do no such thing, and he desired to know why, Insisting that he would give five shillings, fifteen, twenty-five for that one, Till she did not know whether he was in earnest, And she was doing an injury to the bazaar. Meantime the hour had struck, And Flora had placed Mrs. Hoxton in a sheltered spot, Where she could take as much or as little trouble as she pleased. Lady Leonora Miss Langdale came from the house, And, with the two ladies' maids in the background, Took up their station with Miss Rivers. Miss Cleveland called her party to order, And sounds of carriages were her approaching. Mary and Blanche dispersed the first money spent in the fancy fair, Mary on a blotting book for Harry, To be placed among the presents, To which she added on every birthday, While Blanche bought a six-penny gift for everyone, With more attention to the quantity than the quality. Then came a revival of her anxieties for the guards, And while Mary was simply desirous of the fun of being a shopwoman, And was made happy by Maida Rivers asking her help, Blanche was in despair till she had sidled up to their neighborhood, And her piteous looks had caused good-natured Mrs. Hoxton To invite her to assist, When she placed herself close to the precious object. A great fluttering of heart went to that maneuver, But still Felicity could not be complete. That great troublesome Mr. George Rivers Had actually threatened to buy nothing but that one-watch chain, And Blanche's eyes followed him everywhere with fear, Lest he should come that way. And there were many other gentlemen. What could they want but watchguards, And of them, what, save this paragon? Poor Blanche. What did she not undergo whenever anyone cast his eye over her range of goods? And this was not seldom, For there was an attraction in the pretty little eager girl, Glowing and smiling. One old gentleman actually stopped, Handled the guards themselves, And asked their price. Eighteen pints, said Blanche, Coloring and faltering as she held up one in preference. A, is not this the best? Said he, to the lady on his arm. Oh, please, take that instead. Exclined Blanche, in extremity. And why, as the gentleman amused, I made this, she answered. Is that the reason I must not have it? No, don't tease her, the lady said kindly, And the other was taken. I wonder for what it is reserved? The lady could not help saying as she walked away. Let us watch her for a minute or two. What an embellishment children are. Ha, don't you see? The little maid is fluttering and reddening. No, how pretty she looks. Ah, I see. Here's the favorite. Don't you see that fine, bronze lad? Eaton, one can see it at a glance. It is a little drama. They are pretending to be strangers. He is turning over the goods with an air. She trying to look equally careless. But what a pretty carnation it is. Ha, ha! He has come to it. He has it. Now the acting is over and they are having their laugh out. How joyously. What next? Oh, she bakes off from keeping shop.  I declare that is the prettiest sight in the whole fair.  The great event of the day was over now with Blanche, and she greatly enjoyed wondering about with Hector and Tom. There was a post office at Miss Claflinstall, where, on paying six pence, a letter could be obtained to the address of the inquirer. Blanche had been very anxious to try, but Flora had pronounced it nonsense. However, Hector declared that Flora was not his master, tapped at the sliding panel, and charmed Blanche by what she thought a most witty parody of his name as Achilles Lyonsrock, Esquire. When the answer came from within, ship letter, sir, double postage, they thought it almost uncanny, and Hector's shilling was requited by something so like a real ship letter that they had some idea that the real post had somehow transported itself thither. The interior was decidedly oracular, consisting of this one line, I counsel you to persevere in your laudable undertaking. Hector said he wished he had any laudable undertaking, and Blanche tried to persuade Tom to try his fortune, but he pronounced that he did not care to hear Harvey Anderson's trash. He knew his writing, though disguised, and had detected his shining boots below the counter. There Mr. George Rivers came up, and began to tease Blanche about the guards, asking her to take his fifteen shillings, or five and twenty, and who had got that one, which alone he wanted, till the poor child, after standing perplexed for some moments, looked up with spirit and said, you have no business to ask, and running away to refuge in the back of Mrs. Hoxton's marquee, where she found Ethel packing up for Miss Hoxton's purchasers, and confiding to her that Mr. George Rivers was a horrid man, she ventured no more from her protection. She did indeed emerge, when told that Papa was coming with Aubrey and Daisy and Miss Bracey, and she had the pleasure of selling to them some of her wares, Dr. May bargaining with her to her infinite satisfaction, and little Gertrude's blue eyes open to their full width, not understanding what could have befallen her sisters. And what is Ethel doing, asked the doctor. Packing up parcels, Papa, and Ethel's face was raised, looking very merry. Packing parcels? How long will they last hide up? said Dr. May, laughing. Lasting is the concern of nothing in the fair, Papa, answered she, in the same tongue. For Ethel was noted as the worst packer in the house, but, having offered to wrap up a pen-cushion, sold by a hurried Miss Hoxton, she became involved in the office for the rest of the day, the same which Belair's and her companion performed at the Langdale counter. Flora was too ready and dexterous to need any such aid, but the Mrs. Hoxton were glad to be spared the trouble, and Blanche, whose fingers were far neater than Ethel's, made the task much easier, and was kept constant to it by her dread of the dark mustache, which was often visible near their tent, searching, she thought, for her. Their humble employment was no sinecure, for this was the favorite stall with the purchaseurs of better style, since the articles were, in general, tasteful and fairly worth the moderate price set on them. At Miss Cleveland's counter, there was much noisy laughter, many jocular cheats, tricks for gaining money, and refusals to give change, and it seemed to be very popular with the stone-borrow people, and to carry on a brisk trade. The only langer was in Lady Leonora's quarter, the articles were too costly, and hung on hand, nor were the ladies sufficiently well-known, nor active enough to gain custom, excepting Meta, who drove a gay traffic at her end of the stall, which somewhat redeemed the general langer. Her eyes were, all the time, watching for her father, and, suddenly perceiving him, she left her trade in charge of the delighted and important Mary, and hastened to walk round with him and show him the humors of the fair. Mary, in her absence, had the supreme happiness of obtaining Norman as a customer. He wanted a picture for his rooms at Oxford, and watercolor drawings were, as Tom had observed, suitable staple commodities for Miss Rivers. Mary tried to make him choose a brightly colored pheasant with a pencil background, and, then, a fine-foaming sea-piece by some unknown lady Adelaide that much dazzled her imagination, but nothing would serve him in a sketch of an old cedar tree with stone-burrow minster in the distance and the Welsh hills beyond, which Mary thought a remarkable piece of bad taste, since, could he not see it all that any day of his life, and was it worthwhile to give fourteen shillings and six pence for it? But he said it was all for the good of Coxmore, and Mary was only too glad to add to her hoard of coin, so she only marveled at his extravagance and offered to take care of it for him, but with this he would not consent. He made her pack it up for him and had just put the whitey-brown parcel under his arm when Mr. Rivers and his daughter came up before he was aware. Mary proudly advertised media that she had sold something for her. Indeed, what was it? Your great picture of stone-burrow, said Mary. Is that gone? I am sorry you have parted with that, my dear. It was one of your best, said Mr. Rivers, in a soft, sleepy, gentle tone. Oh, Papa, I can do another, but I wonder. I put that extortionate price on it, thinking no one would give it, and so that I should keep it for you. Who has it, Mary? Norman, there. He would have it, though I told him it was very dear. Norman, pressed near them by the crowd, had been unable to escape and stood blushing, hesitating and doubting whether he ought to restore the prize, which he had watched so long and obtained so eagerly. Oh, it is you, said Mr. Rivers politely. Oh, no, do not think of exchanging it. I am rejoiced that one should have it who can appreciate it. It was his falling into the hands of a stranger that I disliked. You think with me that it is one of her best drawings? Yes, I do, said Norman, still rather hesitating. She did that with sea when he was here last year. He taught her very well. Have you that other here that you took with him, my dear? The view from the gate, I mean. No, dear Papa, you told me not to sell that. Ah, I remember, that is right. But there are some very pretty copies from Prop here. While he was seeking them, Meta contrived to whisper, If you could persuade him to go indoors, this confusion of people is so bad for him, and I must not come away. I was in hopes of Dr. May, but he is with the little ones. Norman signed comprehension, and Meta said, Those copies are not worth seeing, but you know, Papa, you have the originals in the library. Mr. Rivers looked pleased, but was certain that Norman could not prefer the sketches to this gay scene. However, it took very little persuasion to induce him to do what he wished, and he took Norman's arm, crossed the lawn, and arrived in his own study, where it was a great treat to him to catch anyone who would admire his accumulation of prints, drawings, coins, etc., and his young friend was both very well amused and pleased to be setting Miss Rivers' minded ease on her father's account. It was not till half past four that Dr. May knocked at the door and stood surprised at finding his son there. Mr. Rivers spoke warmly of the young oxonian's kindness in leaving the fair for an old man and praised Norman's taste in art. Norman rose to take leave, but still thought it incumbent on him to offer to give up the picture if Mr. Rivers set in a special value on it. But Mr. Rivers went to the length of being very glad that it was in his possession and added to it a very pretty drawing of the same size by a noted master, which had been in the watercolor exhibition, and, while Norman walked away, well pleased Mr. Rivers began to extol him to his father as a very superior and sensible young man of great promise and began to wish George had the same turn. Norman, on returning to the fancy fair, found the world in all the ardor of raffles. Lady Leonora's contributions were the chief prizes which attracted everyone, and, of course, the result was delightfully incongruous. Poor Ethel, who had been persuaded to venture a shilling to please Blanche, who had spent all her own, obtained the two jars and put each money, and was regarding them with a face worth painting. Harvey Anderson had a doll, George Rivers a wooden monkey that jumped over a stick, and, if Hector Ernst Cliff was enchanted at winning a beautiful mother-of-pearl inlay workbox which he had vainly wished to buy for Margaret, Flora only gained a matchbox of her own, well known always to misfire, but which had been decided to be good enough for the bazaar. By fair means or foul, the commodities were cleared off, and, while the sunbeams faded from the trodden grass, the crowds disappeared and the vague compliment of very good bazaar was exchanged between the lingering sellers and their friends. Flora was again to sleep with the Grange and return the next day for a committee to be held over the gains which were not yet fully ascertained. So Dr. May gathered his flock together and packed them, boys and all, into the two conveyances, and Ethel Bade made a good night, almost wondering to hear her merry voice say, It has been a delightful day, has it not? It was so kind of your brother to take care of Papa. Oh, it was delightful, echoed Mary, and I took one pound, fifteen, and six pence. I hope it will do great good to Coxmore, added Meadah.  Ethel smiled but hurried her departure for she saw Blanche again tormented by Mr. George Rivers to know what had become of the guard, telling her that, if she would not say, he would be furiously jealous. Blanche hit her face on Ethel's arm when they were in the carriage and almost cried with indignant shamefastness. That long-desired day had not been one of un-mixed happiness to her, poor child, and Ethel doubted whether it had been so to anyone, except, indeed, to Mary, whose desires never soared so high, but that they were easily fulfilled, and whose plastic content was not easily wounded. All she was wishing now was that Harry were at home to receive her paper case. The return to Margaret was real pleasure. The narration of all that had passed was an event to her. She was so charmed with her presence of every degree. Things, unpleasant at the time, could, by drollery in the relating, be made birthful fun ever after. Dr. May and the boys were so comical in their observations. Mary's wonder and simplicity came in so amazingly, and there was such merriment at Ethel's two precious jars, that she could hardly wish they had not come to her. On one hand they were all agreed, in dislike of George Rivers, whom Mary pronounced to be a detestable man, and, when gently called to order by Margaret, defended it by saying that Miss Bracey said it was better to detest than to hate, while Blanche colored up to the ears and hid herself behind the arm chair. And Dr. May qualified the censor by saying, he believed there was no great harm in the youth, that he was shallow-brain and extravagant, and, having been born in the days since Mr. Rivers had been working himself up in the world, had not had so good an education as his little half-sister. Well, what are you thinking of? Said her father, laying his hand on Ethel's arm, as she was weirdly and pensively putting together the scattered purchases before going up to bed. I was thinking, Papa, that there was a great deal of trouble taken in this world for a very little pleasure. The trouble is a pleasure, in most cases. Most myths and tropical myths. Yes, that is true. But, if so, why cannot it be taken for some good? They meant it to be good, said Dr. May. Come, I cannot have you severe and ungrateful. So I have been telling myself, Papa, all along. But, now that the day has come, and I have seen what jealousies and competitions and vanities and disappointments it has produced, not even poor little Blanche allowed any comfort, I am almost sick at heart with thinking Coxmore was the excuse. Spectators are more philosophical than actors, Ethel. Others have not been tying parcels all day. I had rather do that than... But that is the fox and the grapes, said Ethel, smiling. What I mean is that the real gladness in life is not in these great occasions of pleasure, but in the little sidelights that come in the midst of one's work. Don't they, Papa? Why is it worthwhile to go and search for a day's pleasuring? Ethel, my child, I don't like to hear you talk so, said Dr. May, looking anxiously at her. It may be too true, but it is not youthful nor hopeful. It is not as your mother or I felt in our young days when a treat was a treat to us and gladden our hearts long before and after. I am afraid you have been too much saddened with loss and care. Oh, no, Papa, said Ethel, rousing herself, though speaking huskily. You know I am your merry Ethel. You know I can be happy enough. Only at home. And Ethel, though she had tried to be cheerful, leaned against his arm and shed a few tears. The fact is she is tired out, said Dr. May soothingly, yet half laughing. She is not a beauty or grace, and she is thoughtful and quiet, and so she moralizes, instead of enjoying, as the world goes by. I dare say a nice rest will make all the difference in the world. Ah, but there is more to come. That ladies' committee at Coxmore. They are not there yet, Ethel. Good night, you tired little cynic. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Nancy Cochran-Gergen, Gilbert, Arizona. The Daisy Chain, by Charlotte Mary Young. Part 2, Chapter 4. Back then, Complainer, Go to the world return, nor fear to cast thy bread upon the waters. Sure at last, enjoy to find it after many days. Christian year. The next day Ethel had hoped for a return to reason. But behold, the world was cross. The reaction of the long excitement was felt. Gertrude fretted and was unwell. Aubrey was petished at his lessons, and Mary and Blanche were weary, yawning and inattentive. Every straw was a burden, and Miss Bracey had feelings. Ethel had been holding an interminable conversation with her in the schoolroom, interrupted at last by a summons to speak to a coxmore woman at the back door, and she was returning from the kitchen when the doctor called her into his study. Ethel, what is all this? Mary has found Miss Bracey in fleas of tears in the schoolroom because she says you told her she was ill-tempered. I am sure you will be quite as much surprised, said Ethel, somewhat exasperated, when you hear that you lacerated her feelings yesterday. I? Why, what did I do? exclaimed Dr. May. You showed your evident want of confidence in her. I? What can I have done? You met Aubrey and Gertrude in her charge, and you took them away at once to walk with you. Well, that was it. She saw you had no confidence in her. Ethel, what on earth can you mean? I saw the two children dragging on her and I thought she would see nothing that was going on and would be glad to be released and I wanted them to go with me and see Mita's gold pheasants. That was the offense. She has been breaking her heart all this time because she was sure, from your manner, that you were displeased to see them alone with her, eating bonbons, I believe, and therefore took them away. Daisy is the worst for her bonbons, I believe, but the overdose of them rests on my shoulders. I do not know how to believe you, Ethel.  I told her so over and over again, as I have done forty times before, but her feelings are always being hurt. Poor thing, poor thing! No doubt it is a trying situation and she is sensitive. Surely you are all for bearing with her. I hope you are, said Ethel, but how can we tell what vexes her? And what is this? Are you telling her she was ill-tempered? asked Doctor May incredulously. Well, Papa, said Ethel, softened, yet wounded by his thinking it's so impossible. I had often thought I ought to tell her that these sensitive feelings of hers were nothing but temper, and perhaps, indeed I know I do, I partake of the general fractiousness of the house today where it's so patiently as usual. I did say that I thought it wrong to foster her fancies, for if she looked at them coolly she would find they were only a form of pride and temper. It did not come well for you, Ethel, said the Doctor, looking vexed. No, I know it did not, said Ethel meagly, but oh, to have these jangolings once a week and to see no end to them. Once a week? It is really as often or more often, said Ethel. If any of us criticize anything the girls have done, if there is a change in any arrangement, if she thinks herself neglected, I can't tell you what little matter suffice. She will catch me and argue with me till oh, till we are both half-dead and yet cannot stop ourselves. Why do you argue? If I could only help it. Bad management, said the Doctor, in a low, musing tone. You want a head? And he sighed. Oh, Papa, I did not mean to distress you. I would not have told you if I had remembered, but I am worried today and off my guard. Ethel, I thought you were the one on whom I could depend for bearing everything. These were such nonsense. What may seem nonsense to you is not the same to her. You must be for bearing Ethel. Remember that dependence is prone to morbid sensitiveness, especially in those who have a humble estimate of themselves. It seems to me that touchiness is more pride than humility, said Ethel, whose temper, already not in the smoothest state, found it hard that, after having long borne patiently with these constant arguments, she should find Miss Bracey made the chief object of compassion. Dr. May's chivalrous feeling caused him to take the part of the week, and he answered, You know nothing about it. Among our own, with and can we can afford to pass over slides, because we are sure the heart is right. We do not know what it is to be among strangers, uncertain of any claim to their esteem or kindness. Sad, sad, he continued, as the picture wrought on him. Each trifle seems a token one way or the other. I am very sorry I grieved the poor thing yesterday. I must go and tell her so at once. He put Ethel aside and knocked at the schoolroom door, while Ethel stood, mortified. He thinks I have been neglecting or speaking harshly to her for fifty times that I have borne with her, wandering. I have at last once told her the truth, and for that I am accused of want of forbearance. Now he will go and make much of her and pity her, till she will think herself an injured heroine and be worse than ever, and he will do away with all the good of my advice and want me to ask her pardon for it, but that I never will. It is only the truth and I will stick to it. Ethel cried Mary running up to her, then slackening her pace and whispering, you did not tell Miss Bracey she was ill-tempered. No, not exactly. How could you tell Papa I did? She said so. She was crying and I asked what was the matter, and she said my sister Ethel said she was ill-tempered. She made a great exaggeration then, said Ethel. I am sure she was very cross all day, said Mary. Well that is no business of yours, said Ethel, pettishly. What now? Mary, don't look out the street window. It is Flora. The grange carriage, whispered Mary, as the two sisters made a precipitate retreat into the drying-room. Meanwhile, Doctor May had been in the school room. Miss Bracey had seized her cares before he came. They had been her retort on Ethel, and she had not intended the world to know of them. Half disconcerted, half angry, she heard the doctor approach. She was a gentle, tearful woman, one of those who are often called meek, under an erroneous idea that meekness consists of making herself exceedingly miserable under every kind of grievance. And she now had a sort of melancholy satisfaction believing that the young ladies had fabricated an exaggerated complaint of her temper, and that she was going to become injured innocence. To think herself accused of great wrong, excused her from perceiving herself guilty of a lesser one. Miss Bracey, said Doctor May, entering with his frank, sweet look. I am concerned that I vexed you by taking the children to walk with me yesterday. I thought such little brats would be troublesome to anybody they're spoiling Papa, but they would have been in safer hands with you. You would not have been as weak as I was in regard to sugar plums. Such a man says these confused Miss Bracey, who found it pleasanter to be lamentable with Ethel than to receive a full apology for her imagined offense from the master of the house. Feeling both small and absurd, she murmured something of, Oh, no, and being sure, and hoped he was going, so that she might sit down to pity herself, for those girls having made her appear so ridiculous. No such thing. Doctor May put a chair for her and sat down himself, saying with a smile, You see, you must trust us sometimes and overlook it, if we are less considerate than we might be. We have rough, careless habits with each other, and forget that all are not used to them. Miss Bracey exclaimed, Oh, no, never. They were most kind. We wish to be, said Doctor May, but there are little neglects, or you think there are. I will not say there are none, for that would be answering too much for human nature, or that they are fanciful, for that would be as little comfort as to tell a patient that the pain is only nervous. Miss Bracey smiled, for she could remember instances when, after suffering much at the time, she had found the affront imaginary. He was glad of that smile and proceeded, You will let me speak to you, as to one of my own girls? To them I should say, use the only true cure. Don't brood over vexations, small or great, but think of them as trials that, for bravely become blessings. Oh, but Doctor May, she exclaimed, Nothing in your house could call for such feelings. I hope they are not very savage, he said, smiling. But indeed, I still say it is the safest rule. It would be the only one if you were really among unkind people. And, if you take so much to heart and a nucky neglect of mine, what would you do if the slight were a true one? You are right, but my feelings were always oversensitive. And this she said with this sort of complacency. Well, we must try to brace them, said Doctor May, much as if prescribing for her will not you believe in our confidence and esteem and harden yourself against any outward, unintentional piece of instability. She felt as if she could at that moment. Or at least, try to forgive and forget them. Talking them over only deepens the sense of them and discussions do no good to anyone. My daughters are anxious to be your best friends, I hope you know. Oh, they are most kind. But you see, I must say this, added Doctor May, somewhat hesitating, as they have no mother to to spare all this. And then, growing clear, he proceeded, I must beg you to be forbearing with them and not perplex yourself and them with arguing on what cannot be helped. They have not the experience that could enable them to finish such a discussion without unkindness. And it can only waste the spirits and raise fresh subjects of regret. I must leave you. I hear myself called. Miss Bracey began to be sensible that she had somewhat abused Ethel's patience. And the unfortunate speech about the source of her sensitiveness did not appear to her, so direfully cruel as at first. She hoped everyone would forget all about it and resolve not to take Umbridge so easily another time, or else be silent about it, that she was not a person of much resolution. The doctor found that Meta Rivers and her brother had brought Flora home and were in the drawing room where Margaret was hearing another edition of the History of the Fair and a bi-play was going on of teasing Blanche about the chain. George Rivers was trying to persuade her to make one for him and her refusal came out at last in an almost passionate key in the midst of the other conversation. No! I say no! Another no and that will be yes. No! I won't. I don't like you well enough. Margaret bravely sent Blanche and the other children away to take their walk and the brother and sister soon after took leave when Flora called Ethel to hasten to the ladies committee that they might arrange the disposal of the one hundred and fifty pounds the amount of their gains. To see the fate of Copsmore said Ethel, Do you think I cannot manage the Stone Moral Falk? said Flora looking radiant with good humor and conscious of power. Poor Ethel I am doing you good against your will. Never mind here is wherewith to build a school and the management will be too happy to fall into our hands. Do you think everyone is as ready as you are to walk three miles and back continually? There was sense in this there always was sense in what Flora said but it jarred on Ethel and it seemed almost unsympathizing her to be so gay when the rest were worried or perturbed. Ethel would have been very glad of a short space to recollect herself and recover her good temper but it was late and Flora hurried her to put on her bonnet and come to the committee. I'll take care of your interests she said as they set out you look as doleful as if you thought you should be robbed of Copsmore but that is the last thing that will happen you will see it would not be acting fairly to let them build for us and then for us to put them out of the management said Ethel my dear they want importance not action they will leave the real power to us of themselves you like to build Copsmore with such instruments said Ethel whose ruffled condition made her forget her resolution not to argue with Flora bricks are made of clay said Flora there and spending six whenever there was an illness in the place you who used to dislike these people more than even I did said Ethel that was when I was an infant my dear and did not know how to deal with them I will take care I will even save Cherry Elwood for you if I can Alan Ernst Cliffs 10 pounds is a noble weapon for her own ill humor and of her sister's patience and amiability yet propelled to speak the unpleasant truths that in her better moods were held back still Flora was good tempered though Ethel would have almost preferred her being provoked I know she said I have been using you ill and leaving the world on your shoulders but it was all in your hands really Ethel to come for you I think I shall send you with Norman to dine at Abbott's Dope Grange on Wednesday Mr. Rivers picked us to come he is so anxious to make it lively for his son thank you I do not think Mr. George Rivers and I should be likely to get on together what a bad style of wit you heard what Mary said about him at this moment they came up with one of the Miss Anderson's and Flora began to exchange civility and talk over yesterday's events with great animation her notice always gave pleasure brightened as it was by the peculiarly engaging address which she had inherited from her father and which therefore was perfectly easy and natural Fanny Anderson was flattered and gratified rather by the manner than the words and on excellent terms she entered the committee room namely the school mistress's parlor there were nine ladies on the committee nine muses as the doctor called them because they produced anything but harmony Mrs. Ledwich was in the chair Miss Rich was secretary and had her pen and ink and a count book ready Flora came in smiling and greeting Ethel grave not at all enjoying the congratulations on the successful bizarre the ladies all talked and discussed their yesterday's adventures gathering in little knots as they trace the fate of favorite achievements of their skill while Ethel lugubrious and impatient beside Flora the only one not engaged and therefore conscious of the hubbub of clocking tongues at last Mrs. Ledwich glanced at the Gothic architecture and insisted on proceeding to business so they all sat down round the circular table with a very fine red blue and black oil cloth whose pattern was inseparably connected in Ethel's mind with absurdity tedium and annoyance the business was opened by the announcement of what they all knew before that the proceeds of the fancy fair amounted to 149 pounds 15 shillings and 10 pence and Mrs. Ledwich said that next they had to consider what was the best means of disposing of the sum gained in this most gratifying manner everyone except Flora, Ethel and quiet Mrs. Ford began to talk at once there was a great deal about Elizabethan architecture crossed by much more in which normal industrial and common things most often that Ethel's ear with some stories careless mistakes and on the opposite side of the table there was Mrs. Ledwich impressively saying something to the silent Mrs. Ward marking her periods with emphatic beats with her pencil and each seemed to close with Mrs. Perkinson's niece whom Ethel knew to be Cherry's intendance of planter she looked peniously at Flora who only knew but she could not but admire how well Flora knew how to bite her time when having waited till Mrs. Ledwich had nearly wound up her discourse on Mrs. Elwood's impudence and Mrs. Perkinson's niece she leaned toward Mrs. Boulder who sat between and whispered to her ask Mrs. Ledwich that is the first consideration we must at once take steps for obtaining it thereupon Mrs. Ledwich who always did things methodically moved and Mrs. Anderson seconded that the land requisite for the school must be obtained and the nine ladies held up their hands and resolved it Mrs. Rich duly recorded the great resolution and Rich began to flourish one of the very long goosequills which stood in the ink stand before her chiefly as insignia of office for she always wrote with a small stiff metal pen Flora here threw in a query whether the national society or government or something would give them a grant unless they had the land to build upon the ladies all started off hereupon and all sorts of instances in which building society would not give a grant to Mr. Holloway's proprietary chapel at Whitford when Mrs. Ludwig was suddenly struck with the notion that dear Mr. Holloway might be prevailed on to come to Stoneborough to preach a sermon in the minster for the benefit of Coxmore when they would all hold plates at the door Flora gave Ethel some she said with her winning look I think that consideration had better wait till we have some more definite view had we not better turn to this land question quite true they all agreed but whom did the land belong and what a chorus arose Miss Anderson thought it belonged to Mr. Nicholson because the land ensued Miss Rich was quite sure some body held it and bodies were slow of movement Mrs. Ludwig remembered some question of enclosing and thought all wastelands were under the crown she knew that the Stoneborough people once had a right to pastor their cattle because Mr. Southrins cow had tumbled down a lone pit and would not doctor may apply to him Mrs. Gray thought it ought to be part of the Drydale estate and Miss Boulder was certain that Mr. Bramshaugh knew all about it Laura's gentle voice carried conviction that she knew what she was saying when at last they left a moment for her to speak Ethel Brown College and his underlet to Mr. Nicholson everybody being partially right was delighted and had known it all before Miss Boulder agreed with Miss Anderson that Miss May had stated it as loosely as Mr. Bramshaugh could the next question was to whom to apply and after as much as what where it would be best to go to the fountain head and write at once to the principal of the college but who was to write for proposed Mr. Rammstein as the fittest person but this was negative everyone declared that he would never take the trouble and Miss Rich began to agitate her pens by this time however Mrs. Ward who was afraid and she was afraid Mr. Ward would be kept waiting for his dinner Mrs. Gray began to have light fears that Mr. Gray would be come in from his ride after banking hours the other ladies began to think of tea and the meeting decided on a journey till that next week when the committee would sit upon Reverend Sir or my lord or is he venerable like an Archdeacon what is his name and what am I to say why it is not a correspondence much in my line said Flora laughing ah but you are so intimate with Dr. Hoxton and your brothers at Oxford you must know I'll take advice said Flora good naturedly shall I come and call before Friday and tell you the result pray it will be a real favor. Good morning." There, said Flora, as the sisters turned homewards. Cherry is not going to be turned out just yet. How could you, Flora? Now they will have that man from Whitford, and you said not a word against it. What was the use of adding to the hubbub? A little opposition would make them determine on having him. You will see, Ethel, we shall get the ground on our own terms, and then it will be time to settle about the mistress. If the harvest holidays were not over, we would try to send Cherry to a training school so as to leave them no excuse.  It would be more honest to speak our minds and not pretend to agree with them. My dear Ethel, have I spoken a word contrary to my opinion? It is not fit for me, a girl of twenty, to go disputing and ragooning as you would have me, but a little sub-war fare, a grain of common sense thrown in among the babble, always works. Don't you remember how Mrs. Ward's sister told us that a whole crowd of tottering Chinese ladies would lean on her because they felt her firm support, though it was out of sight? Ethel did not answer. She had self-control enough left not to retort upon Flora's estimate of herself, but the irritation was strong. She felt as if her cherished views for Coxmore were insulted, as well as set aside by the place being made the occasion of so much folly and vain prattle, the sanctity of her vision of self-devotion destroyed by such interference, and Flora's promises did not reassure her. She doubted Flora's power, and had still more repugnance to the means by which her sister tried to govern. They did not seem to her straightforward, and she could not endure her Flora's complacency in their success. Had it not been for her real love for the place and people, as well as the principle which prompted that love, she could have found it in her heart to throw a bulk concern with it, rather than become a fellow worker with such a conclave. Such were Ethel's feelings as the pair walked down the street. The one sister bright and smiling with a good humor that had endured many shocks all that day. All good nature and triumph, looking forward to success, great benefit to Coxmore, and plenty of management with credit and praise to herself. The other, downcast and irritable, with annoyance at the interference with her schemes at the prospects of her school, and at herself for being out of temper, prone to murmur or to reply tartly, and not able to recover from her mood. But only, as she neared the house, lapsing into her other trouble, and preparing to resist any misjudged, though kind attempt of her father, to make her unsay her review to Miss Bracey. Pride and temper. Ah, Etheldred, where were they now? Dr. May was at his study-door as his daughters entered the hall, and Ethel expected the order which she meant to question. But, instead of this, after a brief inquiry after the doings of the nine muses, which Flora answered, so as to make him laugh, he stopped Ethel as she was going upstairs by saying, I do not know whether this letter is intended for Richard or for me. At any rate, it concerns you most. The envelope was addressed to the Reverend Richard May, D. D., Markets Stoneborough, and the letter began, Reverend Sir, so far Ethel saw, and exclaimed, with amusement, then with a long-drawn ah, and an interjection. My poor dear Una, she became absorbed, the large tears, yes, Ethel's reluctant tears gathering slowly and dropping. The letter was from a clergyman far away in the north of England, who said he could not, though a stranger, resist the desire to send to Dr. May an account of a poor girl, who seemed to have received great benefits from him or from some of his family, especially as she had shown great eagerness on his proposing to write. He said it was nearly a year since there had come into his parish a troop of railwaymen and their families. For the most part, they were completely wild and rude, unused to any pastoral care. But, even on the first Sunday, he had noticed a keen-looking, freckled, ragged, unmistakably Irish girl creeping into church with a prayer-book in her hand, and had afterwards found her hanging about the door of the school. I never saw a more engaging, though droll, wild expression than that with which she looked up to me. Ethel's cry of delight was at that sentence. She knew that looked too well, and had yearned after it so often. I found her far better instructed than her appearance had led me to expect, and more truly impressed with the spirit of what she had learned than it has often been my lot to find children. She was perfect in the New Testament history. Aha, that she was not when she went away, and was in the habit of constantly attending church, and using morning and evening prayers. Oh, how I longed when she went away to beg her to keep them up! Dear Una! On my questions as to how she had been taught, she always replied, Mr. Richard May or Ms. Ethel, you must excuse me if I have not correctly caught the name from her Irish pronunciation. I am afraid he thinks my name is Ethelia, but oh, this dear girl, how I have wished to hear of her! Everything was answered with Mr. Richard or Ms. Ethel, and if I inquired further, her face would light up with a beam of gratitude, and she would run on, as long as I could listen, with instances of their kindness. It was the same with her mother, a wild, rude specimen of an Irish woman whom I never could bring to church herself, but who ran on loudly with their praises, usually ending with, Heaven's be their bed, and saying that Una had been quite a different girl since the young ladies and gentlemen found her out, and put them parables in her head. For my own part I can testify that, in the seven months that she attended my school, I never had a serious fault to find with her, but for more often to admire the earnestness and devout spirit, as well as the kindness and generosity apparent in all her conduct. Bad living and an unwholesome locality have occasioned a typhus fever among the poor strangers in this place, and Una was one of the first victims. Her mother, almost from the first, gave her up, saying she knew she was one mark for glory, and Una has been lying, day after day, in a sort of half-delirious state, constantly repeating hymns and Psalms, and generally, apparently very happy, except when one distress occurred again and again, whether delirious or sensible, namely that she had never gone to wish Miss May good-bye and thank her, and that maybe she and Mr. Richard thought her ungrateful, and she would sometimes beg, in her phraseology, to go on her bare knees to stone-borrow, only to see Miss Aethel again. Her mother, I should say, told me the girl had been half mad at not being allowed to go and take leave of Miss May, and she had been sorry herself, but her husband had come home suddenly from the search for work, and, having made his arrangements, removed them at once early the next morning, too early to go to the young lady, though she said, Una did, as they passed through stone-borrow, run down the street before she was aware, and she found her sobbing fit to break her heart before the house. Oh, why, why was I not up and at the window? Oh, my Una, to think of that! When I spoke of writing to let Miss May hear how it was, the poor girl caught at the idea with the utmost delight. Her weakness was too great to allow her to utter many words distinctly, one after what she would have me say, but these were as well as I could understand. The blessing of one, that they have brought peace unto, tell them I pray and will pray, that they may walk in the robe of glory, and tell Mr. Richard that I mind what he said to me of taking hold on the sheer hope.  I feel that I am not rendering her words with all their fervor and beauty of Irish expression, but I would that I could fully retain and transmit them, for those who have so led her must, indeed, be able to feel them precious. I never saw a more peaceful frame of penitence and joy. She died last night, sleeping herself away, without more parents suffering, and will be committed to the earth on Sunday next, all her fellow scholars attending, and, I hope, profiting by the example she has left. I have only to add, my most earnest congratulations to those whose labor of love has borne such blessed fruit, and, hoping you will pardon the liberty, et cetera. Atheldrid finished the letter through blinding tears, while rising sobs almost choked her. She ran away to her own room, bolted the door, and threw herself underneath beside her bed, now confusedly giving thanks for such results, now weeping bitterly over her own unworthiness. Oh, what was she in the sight of heaven, compared with what this poor girl had deemed her, with what this clergyman thought her? She, the teacher, taught, trained, and guarded from her infancy, by her wise mother and by such a father. She, to have given way all day to pride, jealousy, anger, selfish love of her own will, when this poor girl had embraced and held fast, the blessed hope from the very crumbs they had brought her. Nothing could have so humbled the distrustful spirit that had been working in Atheld, which had been scotched into silence, not killed, when she endured the bizarre, and now had been indemnifying itself by repining at every stumbling block. Her own scholar's blessing was the rebuke that went most home to her heart, for having doubted whether good could be worked in any way, save her own. She was interrupted by Mary trying to open the door, and, admitting her, heard her wonder at the traces of her tears, and asked what there was about Una. Ethel gave her the letter, and Mary's tears showered very fast. They always came readily. Oh, Ethel, how glad Richard will be! Yes, it is all Richard's doing, so much more good and wise and humble as he is. Don't wonder his teaching, and Ethel sat down and cried again. Mary pondered. It makes me very glad, she said, and yet I don't know why one cries. Ethel, do you think? She came near and whispered that Una has met Dear Mama there. Ethel kissed her. It was almost the first time Mary had spoken of her mother, and she answered, Dear Mary, we cannot tell. You may think. It is all a one communion, you know. Mary was silent, and next time she spoke, it was to hope that Ethel would tell the Coxmore children about Una. Ethel was obliged to dress and go downstairs to tea. Her father seemed to have been watching for her, with his study door open, for he came to meet her, took her hand, and said, in a low voice, My dear child, I wish you joy. This would be a pleasant message to bid poor Richard good speed for his ordination. Will it not? That it will, Papa. Why, Ethel, have you been crying over it all this time? Said he, struck by the sadness of her voice. Many other things, Papa. I am so unworthy, but it was not our doing, but the grace. No, but thankful you may be to have been the means of awakening the grace. Ethel's lips trembled.  Have you? I did not know you had behaved ill to me. About Miss Bracey, I thought wrong things if I did not say them. To her, I believe, I said what was true, that it was harsh of me to say it, and what, about pride and temper? It was true, and I hope it will do her good. Curie piping turkey with a peppercorn sometimes. I have spoken to her and told her to pluck up a little spirit, not fancy affronts, and not to pester you with them. Poor child, you have been sadly victimized today and yesterday.  It was all my own selfish, distrustful temper, wanting to have Coxmore taken care of in my own way, and angry at being interfered with. I see it now, and hear this poor girl that I thought thrown away. Ah, Ethel, you will often see the like. The main object may fail or fall short, but the earnest painstaking will always be blessed somewhere or other, and where we thought it most wasted some fresh green shoot will spring up, to show it is not we that give the increase. I suppose you will write to Richard with this? That I shall. Then you may send this with it. Tell him my arm is tired and stiff today, or I would have said more. He must answer the clergyman's letter. Dr. May gave Ethel his sheet not folded. His written words were now so few as to be cherished amongst his children. Dear Richard, may all your ministerial works be as blessed as this, your first labor of love. I give you hearty joy of this strengthening blessing. Mine goes with it. Only be strong and of a good courage. Your affectionate father. R. May. Yes, Margaret does not gain ground this summer. You must soon come home and cheer her. End of Part 2, Chapter 4, recording by Nassie Cochran-Gergen, Gilbert, Arizona. Part 2, Chapter 5 of The Daisy Chain. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Nassie Cochran-Gergen, Gilbert, Arizona. The Daisy Chain by Charlotte Mary Young. Part 2, Chapter 5. As late engaged by Fancy's dream, I lay beside a rapid stream. I saw my first come gliding by. Its airy form soon caught my eye. Its texture frail and color various, like human hopes and life precarious. Sudden my second caught my ear, and filled my soul with constant fear. I quickly rose and whom I ran, my whole was hissing in the pan. Riddle. Flora revised the letter to the principal, and the ladies' committee approved, after having proposed seven amendments, all of which Flora costed topple over by their own weakness. After intervals sufficient to render the nine ladies very anxious, the principal wrote from Scotland, where he was spending the long vacation, and informed them that their request should be laid before the next college meeting. After the committee had sat upon this letter, the two sisters walked home in much greater harmony than after the former meeting. Atheldrid had recovered her candor, and was willing to own that it was not art, but good sense, that gave her sisters so much ascendancy. She began to be hopeful, and to declare that Flora might yet do something even with the ladies. Flora was gratified by the approval that no one in the house could help valuing. Hositively, said Flora, I believe I may in time. You see, there are different ways of acting, as an authority, or as an equal. The authority can move from without. The equal must from within, said Atheldrid. Just so, we must circumvent their prejudices, instead of trying to beat them down. If you only could have the proper catechizing restored. Wait, you will see. Let me feel my ground. Or if we could only abdicate into the hands of the rightful power. The rightful power would not be much obliged to you. That is the worst of it, said Atheldrid. It is sad to hear the sick people say that Dr. May is more to them than any person. It shows that they have so entirely lost the notion of what their clergyman should be. Dr. May is the man most looked up to in this town, said Flora, and that gives way to us in the committee, but it is all in the using. Yes, said Atheldrid, hesitatingly. You see, we have the prestige of better birth and better education, as well as of having achieved property in the town and of being the largest subscribers added to his personal character, said Flora, so that everything conspires to render us leaders, and our age alone prevented us from assuming our post sooner. They weren't home by this time, and entering the hall perceived that the whole party were in the lawn. The consolation of the children for the departure of Hector and Tom was a ball of sobsets and some tobacco pipes, and they had collected the house to admire and assist, even Margaret's couch being drawn close to the window. Bubbles is one of the most fascinating of sports. There is the soft, foamy mass, like driven snow, or like whipped cream. Lanch bends down to blow a honeycomb, holding the bowl of the pipe in the water. At her gurgling blasts, there slowly heaves upwards the pile of larger, clearer bubbles, each reflecting the whole scene, and sparkling with rainbow tints, until Aubrey ruthlessly dashes all into fragments with his hand, and Mary pronounces it stiff enough, and presents a pipe to little Daisy, who, drawing the liquid into her mouth, throws it away with a grimace, and a claire said she does not like bubbles, but Aubrey stands with swell cheeks, gravely puffing at the ceiling waxed extremity. Up course a confused assemblage of froth, but the glassy globe slowly expands little branching veins, flowing down on either side, bearing an enlarging miniature of the sky, the clouds, the tulip tree. Aubrey pauses to explain, but where is it? Try again. A proud bubble, as Mary calls it, a peacock in blended pink and green is this transparent sphere, reflecting an embellishing house, wall, and shrubs. It is too beautiful. It is gone.   Daisy rushes after them, catches at them, and looks at her empty fingers with a puzzled, all gone, as plainly expressed by Toby, who snaps at them and shakes his head with offended dignity at the shock of his meeting-tea, while the kitten frisks about them, striking at them with her paw, amazed at meeting vacancy. Even the grave Norman is drawn in. He agrees with Mary that bubbles used to fly over the wall, and that one once went into Mrs. Richardson's garret window, when her housemaid tried to catch it with a pair of tongs, and then ran downstairs screaming that there was a ghost in her room, but that was in Harry's time, the heroic age of the main nursery. He accepts a pipe, and his greater height raises it into a favorable current of air, the glistening balloon sails off. It flies, it soars. No, it is coming down. The children shout at it, as if to drive it up, but it willfully descends. They rush beneath. They try to waft it on high with their breath. There is a collision between Mary and Blanche. Aubrey perceives a taste of soapy water. The bubble is no more. It is vanished in his open mouth.  A painted globe is swimming along, hesitating at first, but the dancing motion is tending upwards. The rainbow tints glisten in the sunlight, all rushed to assist it. If breath of the lips can uphold it, it should rise, indeed, up above the wall over Mrs. Richardson's elm, over the topmost branch. Hurray! Out of sight! Margaret adds her voice to the acclamations. Beat that, if you can, Mary. That doubtful wind keeps you suspended in a graceful minuet. Its pace is accelerated, but, earthwards, it has committed self-destruction by running a foul of a rose-bush. A general blank. You here, Ethel? said Norman, as the elders laughed at each other's baffled faces. I am more surprised to find you here, she answered. Excitement, said Norman, smiling. One cause is as good as another for it. Very pretty sport, said Dr. May. You should write a poem on it, Norman. It is an exhausted subject, said Norman. Bubble and trouble are too obvious a rhyme. Ha! There it goes. It will be over the house. That's right. Everyone joined in the outcry. Whose is it? Blanches. Hurray for Blanche! Well done, white-mayflower there, said the doctor. That is what I meant. See the applause gained by a proud bubble that flies. Don't we all bow down to it and waft it up with the whole force of our lungs? Air as it is. And when it fairly goes out of sight, is there any acceleration or applause that surpasses ours? A whole world being bent on making painted bubbles fly over the house, said Norman, far more thoughtfully than his father. It is a fair pattern of life and fame. I was thinking, continued Dr. May. What was the most unalloyed exultation I remember? Harry's, when you were made ducks, whispered Ethel to her brother. Not mine, said Norman briefly. I believe, said Dr. May, I never knew such glorification as when Aubrey Spencer climbed the poor old market cross. We all felt ourselves made illustrious for ever in his person. Nay, papa, when you got that gold medal must have been the grandest time. Said Blanche, who had been listening. Dr. May laughed and patted her. I, Blanche, why, I was excessively amazed. That is all, not in Norman's way. But I had been doing next to nothing, to the very last, then fell into an agony and worked like a horse, thinking myself sure of failure and that my mother and my uncle would break their hearts. But when you heard that you had it, persisted Blanche. Why, then I found I must be a much clever fellow than I thought for, said he, laughing. But I was ashamed of myself and of the authorities for choosing such an idle dog and vexed that other plotting lads missed it who deserved it more than I. Of course, said Norman, in a low voice. That is what one always feels. I had rather blow soap bubbles. Where was Dr. Spencer, asked Ethel. Not competing. He had been ready a year before and had gained it, or I should have had no chance. Poor Spencer, what would I not give to see him or hear of him? The last was, How long ago, said Ethel. Six years, when he was setting off to return from Poonchinagore, said Dr. May, sighing, I gave him up. His health was broken, and there was no one to look after him. He was the sort of man to have a nameless grave and a name too blessed for fame. Ethel would have asked further of her father's dear old friend, that there were sounds denoting an arrival, and Margaret beckoned to them as Miss Rivers and her brother were ushered into the drying room, and Blanche instantly fled away with her basin to hide herself in the school room. Metta skipped out and soon was established on the grass, an attraction to all the live creatures as it seemed, for the kid came and was caressed till her own graceful nipin was ready to fight with the uncooked tobey for the possession of a resting place on the skirt of her habit, while Daisy nestled up to her as claiming a privilege and Aubrey kept guard over the dogs. Metta inquired after a huge doll, Dr. Hoxton's gift to Daisy at the Bazaar. She's in Margaret's wardrobe, was the answer, because Aubrey tied her hands behind her and was going to offer her up on the nursery grate. Oh, Aubrey, that was too cruel! No, returned Aubrey, she was a Virginia going to be sacrificed. Mary unconsciously acted Diana, said Ethel, and bore the victim away. Pray, was Daisy a woollen kleptomanestra, asked Metta? Oh, yes, she liked it, said Aubrey, while Metta looked discomforted. I never could get proper respect paid to dolls, said Margaret. We deal too much in their natural enemies. Yes, said Ethel, my only doll was like a heraldic lion, cooped in all her parts. Harry and Tom once made a general execution, said Laura. There was a doll hanging to every baluster. The number made up with rag. George Rivers burst out laughing, his first sign of life, and Metta looked as if she had heard of so many murders. I can't help feeling for a doll, she said. They used to be like sisters to me. I feel as if they were wasted on children, that see no character in them and only call them dolly. I agree with you, said Margaret. If there had been no live dolls, Richard and I should have reared our doll family as judiciously as tenderly. There are treasures of carpentry still extant, that he made for them. Oh, I am so glad, cried Metta, as if she had found another point of union. If I were to confess, there is a dear old rose in the secret recesses of my wardrobe. I could soon throw away my sister. Ha! cried her brother, laying hold of the child.  My name is Richard Margaret May, said the little round mouth. The fat arm was drawn back, with all the baby's dignity, and the rosy face was hidden in Dr. May's breast, at the sound of George Rivers' broad laugh, and, well done, little one. Dr. May put his arm round her, turned aside from him, and began talking to Metta about Mr. Rivers. Flora and Norman made conversation for the brother, and he presently asked Norman to go out shooting with him, but looked so amazed on hearing that Norman was no sportsman, that Flora tried to save the family credit by mentioning Hector's love of a gun, which caused their gas to make a general tender of sporting privileges. Though, added he, with a drawl, shooting is rather a nuisance, especially alone. Metta told Ethel, a little part, that he was so tired of going out alone, that he had brought her here in search of a companion. He comes in at eleven o'clock, poor fellow, quite tired with solitude, said she, and comes to me to be entertained. Indeed, exclaimed Ethel, what can you do? What I can, said Metta, laughing, whatever is not a horrid nuisance to him. It would be a horrid nuisance to me, said Ethel bluntly, if my brothers wanted me to amuse them all the morning. Your brothers, oh, said Metta, as if that were very different. Besides, you have so much more to do. I am only too glad and grateful when George will come to me at all. You see, I have always been too young to be his companion, or find out what suited him, and now he is so very kind and good-natured to me. But what becomes of your business? I get time one way or another, there I say evening, very often, when I have sung both him and Papa to sleep. I had two hours, all to myself, yesterday night, said Metta, with a look of congratulation, and I had a famous reading of Thurwall's Grease. I should think that such evenings were as bad as the mornings. Come, Ethel, don't make me naughty. Large families, like yours, may have merry social evenings, but, I do assure you, ours are very pleasant. We are so pleased to have George at home, and we really hope that he is taking a fancy to the dear Grange. You can't think how delighted Papa is to have him content to stay quietly with us so long. I must call him to go back now, though, or Papa will be kept waiting. When Ethel had watched the tall, ponderous brother help the bright, fairy sister to fly airily into her saddle, and her sparkling glass, and wave of the hand, as she cantered all, contrasting with his slow ban and immobility of feature, she could not help saying that Metta's life certainly was not too charming, with her fanciful, valitudinarian father, and that stupid, idealist brother. He is very amiable and good-natured, interposed Norman. Ha! Norman, you are quite one by his invitation to shoot. How he despised you for refusing, as much as you despised him. Speak for yourself, said Norman.  Some of our best men are capital sportsmen. Why? There is Ogilvy. You know what he is. When I bring him down here, you will see that there is no sort of sport that he is not keen after. This poor fellow will never be keen after anything, said Dr. May. I pity him. Existence seems hard work to him. We shall have baby calling him the detestable next, said Ethel. What a famous set-down she gave him. She is a thorough lady, and allows no liberties, said Dr. May. Ha! said Margaret.  We really must leave off calling her Daisy when strangers are here. It is so much nicer, pleaded Mary. The very reason, said Margaret, fondling names should be kept for our innermost selves, not spread abroad, and made common. I remember when I used to be called Peg Top, and Flora Flossie. We were never allowed to use the names when any visitor was near, and we were asked if we could not be as fond of each other by our proper names. I think it was felt that there was a want of reserve in publishing our pet names to other people. Quite true, said Dr. May. Baby names never ought to go beyond home. It is the fashion to use them now. And, besides the folly, it seems, to me, an absolute injury to a girl to let her grow up with a nickname attached to her. I chimed in Norman. I hear men talking of Hennie and Lou and the like, and you can't think how glad I have been that my sisters could not be known by any absurd word. It is the case where self-respect would make others behave properly, said Flora. True, said Dr. May. But if girls won't keep up their own dignity, their friends' duty is to do it for them. The mischief is in the intimate friends, who blaze in the words to everyone. And then they call one formal, for trying to protect the right name, said Flora. It is, one half of it, silliness, and the other, affectation of intimacy. Now I know, said Mary, why you are so careful to call Mata Ms. Rivers to all the people here. I should hope so, cried Norman indignantly. Why, yes, Mary, said Margaret, I should hope ladylike feelings would prevent you from calling her Mata before. The Andersons cried Ethel laughing. Margaret was just going to say it. We only want Harry to exact the forfeit.  It gives one an oppression on the chest. Do think of her having that great do-nothing brother on her hands all day. Thank you, said Norman. I shall know where I am not to look when I want a sister. I, said Ethel, when you come yawning to me to find amusement for you, you will see what I shall do. Stand over me with a stick while I print ABC for Coxmore, I suppose, said Norman. Well, why not? People are much better doing something than nothing. What?  That is too intellectual, as Papa makes it, said Ethel. By the by, Norman, she added, as she had not walked with him a little part. It always was a bubble of mine that used to drive for the Newtogate Prize. Ha! as the color rushed into his cheeks. You really have begun. I could not help it when I heard this subject given out for next year. Our old friend, Desius Mus. Have you finished? By no means, but it brought a world of notions into my head, such as I could not but set down. Now, Ethel, do oblige me. Do write another, as we used in old times. I had better not, said Ethel, standing thoughtful. If I throw myself into it, I shall hide everything else, and my wits will be wool-gathering. I have neither time nor poetry enough. You used to write English verse. I was cured of it. How? I wanted money for Coxmore, and after persuading Papa, I got leave to send a ballot about a little girl and a white rose to that school magazine. I don't think Papa liked it, but there were some verses that touched him, and one had seen worse. It was actually inserted, and I was in high feather, till, oh, Norman, imagine Richard getting hold of this unlucky thing without a notion where it came from. Margaret put it before him to see what he would say to it. I am afraid it was not like a young lady's anonymous composition and a story. By no means. Imagine Richard picking my poor metaphors to pieces, and weighing every sentimental line, and all in his dear old simplicity, because he wanted to understand it, seeing that Margaret liked it. He had not the least intention of hurting my feelings, but never was I so annihilated. I thought he was doing it on purpose, till I saw how distressed he was when he found it out, and worse than all was, he was saying at the end that he supposed it was very fine, but he could not understand it. Let me see it. Sometime or other, but let me see desius. Did you give up verses because Richard could not understand them? No, because I had other fish to fry, and I have not given them up altogether. I do scrabble down things that tease me by running in my head when I want to clear my brains and know what I mean, but I can't do it without sitting up at night, and that stupefies me before breakfast, and as to making bubbles of them, Richie has cured me of that. It is a pity, said Norman. Nonsense, let me see desius. I know he is splendid. I wish you would have tried, for all my best ideas are stolen from you. Ethel prevailed by following her brother to his room, and perching herself on the window-seal, while he read his performance from many slips of paper. The visions of those boyish days had not been forgotten. The Vesuvius scenery was much as Ethel had once described it, but with far more force and beauty. There was desius's impassioned address to the beauty's land he was about to leave, and the remembrance of his room and hearth, his farm, his children, whom he quitted for the pale shadows of an uncertain Elysium. There was a great hiatus in the middle, and Norman had many more authorities to consult, but the summing up was nearly complete, and Ethel thought the last lines grand, as they spoke of the noble consul's name living forevermore, added to the examples that nerve ardent souls to devote life, and all that is precious to the call of duty. Famous not their object, she may crown their pale brows, but for the good of others, not their own, a beacon light to the world. Self is no object of theirs, and it is the casting self behind that wins, not always the visible earthly strife, but the combat between good and evil. They are true victors, and whether chronicled or forgotten, true glory rests on their heads, the soul true glory that man can attain, namely, the reflected beams that crown them as shadowy types of him whom desius do not, the prince who gave himself for his people, and thus rendered death, for truth's sake, the highest boon to mortal man. Norman, you must finish it. When will it be given in? Next spring, if at all, but keep the secret, Ethel, I cannot have my father's hopes raised. I'll tell you of a motto, said Ethel. Do you remember Mrs. Herman's mention of a saying of Sir Walter Scott? Never let me hear that brave blood has been shed in vain. It sends a roaring voice down through all time.  Too obvious, said Ethel, depend upon it. Every undergraduate has thought of it already. Ethel was always very happy over Norman's secrets, and went about smiling over desius, and comparing her brother with such a one as Cormida was inflicted with, wasting some superfluous pity and contempt on the weary way that was inflicted on the Grange. What do you think of me? said Margaret, one afternoon. I have had Mr. George Bearers here for two hours. Alone? What could bring him here? I told him that everyone was out, but he chose to sit down and seem to be waiting. How could you get on? Oh, we asked a few questions and brought out remarks with great difficulty at long intervals. He asked me if lying here was not a great nuisance, and, at last, he grew tired of twisting his mustache and went away. I trust it was a call to take leave. No, he thinks he shall sell out, for the army is a great nuisance. You seem to have gotten to his confidence. Yes, he said he wanted to settle down, but living with one's father was such a nuisance. By the by, cried Ethel, laughing. Margaret, it strikes me that this is a dummy dyke's courtship. Of yourself? said Margaret slighly. No, Aflora, you know she has often met him at the Grange and other places, and she does contrive to amuse him and make him almost animated. I should not think he found her a great nuisance. Poor man, I am sorry for him, said Margaret. Oh, rejection will be very good for him, and give him something to think of. Flora will never let it come to that, said Margaret, but not one word about it, Ethel. Margaret and Ethel would keep their eyes open, and sometimes imagined, sometimes laughed at themselves for their speculations, and so October began, and Ethel laughed as she questioned whether the Grange would feel the Hussar's return to his quarters as much as home would the departure of their scholar for Balio. End of Part 2, Chapter 5, Recording by Nancy Cochran-Gergen, Gilbert, Arizona. Part 2, Chapter 6 of the Daisy Chain. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Nancy Cochran-Gergen, Gilbert, Arizona. The Daisy Chain by Charlotte Mary Young. So, Lady Flora, take my lay, and if you find a meaning there, oh, whisper to your glass, and say, what wonder if he thinks me fair? Tennyson. Flora and Norman were dining with one of their county acquaintances, and Dr. May had undertaken to admit them on their return. The fire shone red and bright as it sank calmly away, and the timepiece and clock on the stairs had begun they're not a duet of ticking. The crickets chirped in the kitchen, and the doctor sat alone. His book played with unturned pages as he sat musing, with eyes fixed on the fire, living over again his own life, easy bright days of his youth, when, without much pains on his own part, the tendencies of his generous affectionate disposition and the influences of a warm friendship and an early attachment had guarded him from evil. Then the period when he had been perfectly happy, and the sobering power of his position had been gradually working on him. But though always religious and highly principled, the very goodness of his natural character preventing him from perceiving the need of self-control, and told the shock that changed the whole tenor of his life, and left him, for the first time, sensible of his own responsibility, but with inveterate habits of heedlessness and hastiness that love alone gave him force to combat, he was now a far gentler man. His younger children had never seen, his elder had long since forgotten, his occasional bursts of temper, but he suffered keenly from their effects, especially as regarded some of his children. Though Richard's timidity had been overcome, and Tom's more serious failures had been remedied, he was not without anxiety, and had a strange, unsatisfactory feeling as regarded Flora. He could not feel that he fathomed her. She reminded him of his old Scottish father-law, Professor Mackenzie, whom he had never understood, nor, if the truth were known, liked. Her dealings with the ladies' committee were so like her grandfather's caney ways, in a public meeting, that he laughed over them, but they were not congenial to him. Flora was the most valuable person, all that she undertook prospered, and he depended entirely on her for household affairs, and for the care of Margaret, but, highly as he esteemed her, he was a little afraid of her cool prudence. She never seemed to be in any need of him, nor to place any confidence in him, and seemed altogether so much older and wiser than he could feel himself. Pretty girl as she was, and very pretty were her fine blue eyes and clear skin, set off by her dark brown hair. There arose the vision of eyes as blue, skin as clear, but of light blonde locks, and shorter, rounder, more dove-like form, open, simple, loving face, and serene expression that had gone straight to his heart when he first saw Maggie McKenzie making tea. He heard the wheels, and went out to unbolt the door. Those were para for a father to be proud of. Norman, a fine stature and noble looks with his high brow, clear thoughtful eye, and grave intellectual eagle face, lighting into animation with his rear sweet smile, and Flora so tall and graceful, and in her white dress, picturesquely half-concealed by her mantle, with flowers in her hair and a deepened color in her cheek, was a fair vision as she came in from the darkness. Well, was it a pleasant party? Norman related the circumstances while his sister remained silently leaning against the mantelpiece, looking into the fire, until he took up his candle and bade them good night. Dr. May was about to do the same when she held out her hand. One moment if you pleased your papa, she said, I think you ought to know it. What, my dear? Mr. George Rivers, papa. Ha! said Dr. May, beginning to smile. So that is what he is at, is it? But what an opportunity to take. It was in the conservatory, said Flora, a little hurt, as her father discovered by her tone. The music was going on, and I don't know that there could have been a better opportunity, eh? said Dr. May, laughing. Well, I should have thought it awkward. Was he very much discomposed? I thought, said Flora, looking down and hesitating, that he had better come to you. Indeed, so you shifted the ungracious office to me. I am very glad to spare you, my dear, but it was hard on him to raise his hopes. I thought, faltered Flora, that you could not disapprove. Flora, and he paused, completely confounded, while his daughter was no less surprised at the manner in which her news was received. He twated for the other to speak, and Flora turned away, resting her head against the mantelpiece. Surely, said he, laying his hand on her shoulder, you do not mean that you like this man. I did not think that you would be against it, said Flora, in a choked voice, her face still averted. Heaven knows I would not be against anything for your happiness, my dear, he answered, but have you considered what it would be to spend your life with a man that has not three ideas, not a resource for occupying himself, a regular prey to ennui, one whom you could never respect? He had grown more and more vehement, and Flora put her handkerchief to her eyes, for tears of actual disappointment were flowing. Come, come, he said, touched, but turning it off by a smile. We will not talk of it any more tonight. It is your first offer, and you are flattered, but we know. Colors seen by candlelight will not bear the light of day. There, good night, Flora, my dear, we will have a tit-a-tat in this study before breakfast, when you have had time to look into your own mind. He kissed her affectionately and went upstairs with her, stopping at her door to give her another embrace and to say, Bless you, my dear child, and help you to come to a right decision. Flora was disappointed. She had been too highly pleased at her conquest to make any clear estimation of the prize, individually considered. Her vanity magnified her achievement, and she had come home in a flutter of pleasure at having had such a position in society offered to her and expecting that her whole family would share her triumph. Gratified by George River's admiration, she regarded him with favor and complacency, and her habit of considering herself as the most sensible person in her sphere made her so regard his appreciation of her that she was blinded to his inferiority, it must be allowed that he was less dull with her than with most others. And, in the midst of her glory, when she expected her father to be delighted and grateful, to be received as a silly girl ready to accept any proposal, her lover spoken of was scorn, and the advantages of the match utterly passed over was almost beyond endurance. A physician with eleven children depended on his practice to despise an offer from the heir of such a fortune, but that was his customary romance. She forgave him when it occurred to her that she was too important and valuable to be easily spared, and a tenderness thrilled through her as she looked at the sleeping Margaret's pale face, and thought of surrending her and little Daisy to Ethel's keeping. And what would become of the housekeeping? She decided, however, that feelings must not sway her. Out of six sisters some must marry, for the good of the rest. Blanche and Daisy should come and stay with her, to be formed by the best society, and, as to poor dear Ethel, Mrs. Rivers would rule the ladies' committee for her with a high hand, and, perhaps, provide Coxmore with a school at her sole expense. What a useful, admirable woman she would be. The doctor would be the person to come to his senses in the morning when he remembered Abbot Stoke, Mr. Rivers, and Meta. So Flora met her father the next morning, with all her ordinary composure, in which he could not rival her after his sleepless, anxious night. His looks of affectionate solicitude disconcerted what she had intended to say, but she waited, with downcast eyes, for him to begin. Well, Flora, he said at last. Have you thought? Do you know any cause against it? said Flora, still looking down. I know almost nothing of him. I have never heard anything of his character or conduct. Those would be a subject of inquiry, if you wish, to carry this on. I see your averse, said Flora. I would do nothing against your wishes. My wishes have nothing to do with it, said Dr. May. The point is that I must do right, as far as I can, as well as try to secure your happiness, and I want to be sure that you know what you are about. I know he is not clever, said Flora, but there may be many solid qualities without talent. I am the last person to deny it, but where are these solid qualities? I cannot see the recommendation. I place myself in your hands, said Flora, in a submissive tone, which had the effect of making him lose patience. Flora, Flora, why do you talk as if I were sacrificing you to some dislike or prejudice of my own? Don't you think I should only rejoice to have such a prosperous home offered to you, if only the man were worthy? If you do not think him so, of course there is an end of it, said Flora, and her voice showed suppressed emotion. It is not what I think, in the absence of proof, but what you think, Flora, what I want you to do is this, to consider the matter fairly, compare him with, I'll not say with Norman, but with Richard, Allen, Mr. Wilmot. Do you think you could rely on him, come to him for advice? Flora never did come to anyone for advice. Above all, do you think him likely to be a hell or a hindrance in doing right? I think you underrate him, said Flora steadily, but, of course, if you dislike it, though I think you would change your mind if you knew him better. Well, he said, as if to himself, it is not always the most worthy. Then continued, I have no dislike to him. Perhaps I might find that you are right.  First, we must be assured of his father's consent, for they may very fairly object. Since what I can give you is a mere nothing to them. Next, I shall find out what character he bears in his regiment, and watch him while myself. And if nothing appears seriously amiss, I will not withhold my consent. But, Flora, you should still consider whether you show such principle and right feelings as you can trust to. Thank you, Papa. I know you will do all that is kind. Mind, you must not consider it an engagement, unless all be satisfactory. I will do as you please. Ethel perceived that something was an agitation, but the fact did not break upon her till she came to Margaret, after the schoolroom reading, and her doctor may declaiming away in the vehement manner that always relieved him. Such a cub! These were the words that met her ear, and she would have gone away, but he called her. Come in, Ethel. Margaret says you guessed it, this affair. At what affair? exclaimed Ethel. Oh, it is about Flora, poor man. Has he done it? Poor! He is not the one to be pity, said her father. You don't mean that she likes him? She does, though.  She does not mean it? said Ethel. Yes, she does. Very submissive and proper-spoken, of course, but bent on having him. So there is nothing left for me but to consent, provided Mr. Rivers does, and he should turn out not to have done anything outrageous, but there is no hope of that. He has not the energy. What can possess her? What can she see to admire? He is good-natured, said Margaret, and rather good-looking. Flora has more sense. What on earth can be the attraction? I am afraid it is partly the grandeur, said Ethel. She broke off short, quite dismayed, at the emotion she had excited. Dr. May stepped towards her, almost as if he could have shaken her. Ethel, he cried, I won't have such motive subscribed to your sister. Ethel tried to recollect what she had said that was so shocking, for the idea of Flora's worldly motives was no novelty to her. They had appeared in too many instances, and, though frightened at his anger, she stood still without unsaying her words. Margaret began to explain away. Ethel did not mean, dear Papa. No, said Dr. May, his passionate manner giving way to dejection. The truth is that I have made home so dreary that my girls are ready to take the first means of escaping. Poor Margaret's tears sprang forth, and, looking up imploringly, she exclaimed, Oh Papa, Papa, it was no want of happiness. I could not help it. You know he had come before. Any reproach to her had been entirely remote from his thoughts, and he was at once, on his knees, beside her, soothing and caressing, begging her pardon and recalling whatever she could thus have interpreted. Meanwhile, Ethel stood unnoticed and silent, making no outward protestation, but with lips compressed, as in her heart of hearts she passed the resolution, that her father should never feel this pain on her account. Leave him who might. She would never forsake him. Nothing but the will of heaven should part them. It might be hasty and venturesome. She knew not what it might cost her, but, where Ethel had treasured her resolve to work for Coxmore, there she also laid up her secret vow, that no earthly object should be placed between her and her father. The ebullition of feelings seemed to have restored Dr. May's calmness, and he rose, saying, I must go to my work. The man is coming here this afternoon. Where shall you see him? Margaret asked. In my study, I suppose, I fear there is no chance of Flora's changing her mind first, or do you think one of you could talk to her and get her fairly to contemplate the real bearings of the matter? And, with these words, he left the room. Margaret and Ethel glanced at each other, and both felt the impenetrability of Flora's nature so smooth that all thrusts glided off. It will be of no use, said Ethel, and, what is more, she will not have it done. Pray try. A few of your forcible words would set it in a new light. Why? Do you think she will attend to me when she has not chosen to heed papa, said Ethel, with an emphasis of incredulity? No, whatever Flora does is done deliberately and unultrably. Still, I don't know whether it is not our duty, said Margaret. More yours than mine, said Ethel. Margaret flushed up. Uh, no, I cannot, she said, always timid and slightly defective and moral courage. She looked so nervous and shaken by the beer idea of a remonstrance with Flora that Ethel could not press her. And, though convinced that her representation would be useless, she owned that her conscience would rest better after she had spoken. But there is Flora walking in the garden with Norman, she said. No doubt he is doing it. So Ethel let it rest and attended to the children's lessons, during which Flora came into the drawing room and practiced her music as if nothing had happened. Before the morning was over Ethel contrived to visit Norman in the dining room where he was want to study and asked him whether he had made any impression on Flora. What impression do you mean? Why about this concern, said Ethel, this terrible man that makes papa so unhappy. Papa unhappy? Why? What does he know against him? I thought the rivers were his peculiar pets. The rivers, as if because one liked the sparkling stream, one must like a muddy ditch. What harm do you know of him, said Norman, with much surprise and anxiety, as if he feared that he had been doing wrong in ignorance. Harm? Is he not a regular oaf? My dear Ethel, if you wait to marry till you find someone as clever as yourself, you will wait long enough. I don't think it right for a woman to marry a man decidedly her inferior. We have all learned to think much too highly of talent, said Norman gravely. I don't care from your talent, people are generally more sensible without it, but one way or other there ought to be superiority on the man's side. Well who says there is not? My dear Norman, why this George Rivers is really below the average. You cannot deny that.  Really? Said Norman, considering, and speaking very innocently. I cannot see why you think so. I do not see that he is at all less capable of sustaining a conversation than Richard. Ethel sat down, perfectly breathless, with amazement and indignation. Norman saw that he had shocked her very much. I do not mean, he said, that we have not much more to say to Richard. All I meant to say was, nearly as to the intellect. I tell you, said Ethel, it is not the intellect. Richard, why you know how we respect and look up to him? Dear old Richie, with his goodness and earnestness and right judgment, to compare him to that man. Norman, Norman, I never thought it of you. You do not understand me, Ethel. I only cited Richard, as a person who proves how little cleverness is needed to ensure respect. And, I tell you, that cleverness is not the point. It is the only objection you have put forward. I did wrong, said Ethel. It is not the real one. It is earnest goodness that one honors in Richard. Where do we find it in this man, who has never done anything but yawn over his self-indulgence? Now, Ethel, you are working yourself up into a state of foolish prejudice. You and Papa have taken a dislike to him, and you are overlooking a great deal of good, safe sense, and right thinking. I know his opinions are sound, and his motives right. He has been undereducated, we all see, and is not very brilliant or talkative, but I respect Flora for perceiving his solid qualities. Very solid and weighty indeed, said Ethel ironically. I wonder if she would have seen them in a poor curate. Ethel, you are allowing yourself to be carried by prejudice a great deal too far. Are such imputations to be made wherever there is inequality of means? It is very wrong, very unjust. So Papa said, replied Ethel, as she looked sorrowfully down. He was very angry with me for saying so. I wish I could help feeling as if that were the temptation. You ought, said Norman, you will be sorry if you set yourself and him against it. I only wish you to know what I feel, and I think Margaret and Papa do, said Ethel humbly, and then you will not think as more unjust than we are. We cannot see anything so agreeable or suitable in this man as to account for Flora's liking, and we do not feel convinced of his being good for much. That makes Papa greatly averse to it, though he does not know any positive reason for refusing, and we cannot feel certain that she is doing quite right, or for her own happiness. You will be convinced, said Norman cheerfully. You will find out the good that is under the surface when you have seen more of him. I have had a good deal of talk with him. A good deal of talk to him would have been more correct if Norman had been aware of it. He had been at the chief expense of the conversation with George Rivers and had taken the sounds of assent, which he obtained as evidence of his appreciation of all his views. Norman had been struggling so long against his old habit of looking down on Richard, and exalting intellect, and had seen in his Oxford life so many ill effects of the knowledge that puffeth up that he had come to have a certain respect for dullness, per se, of which George Rivers easily reaped the benefit when surrounded by the hail, which everything at Abbott Stoke Grange bore in the eyes of Norman. He was hardly delighted at the proposed connection, and his genuine satisfaction not only gratified Flora, and restored the equanimity that had been slightly disturbed by her father, but had also reassured Ethel and Margaret, who could not help trusting in his judgment, and began to hope that George might be all he thought him. Ethel, finding that there were two ways of viewing the gentleman, doubted whether she ought to express her opinion. It was Flora's disposition and the advantages of the match that weighed most upon her, and, in spite of her surmise having been treated as so injurious, she could not root herself of the burden. Dr. May was not so much consoled by Norman's opinion as Ethel expected. The corners of his mouth curled up a little with diversion, and, though he tried to express himself glad and confident in his son's judgment, there was the same sort of involuntary lurking this giving with which he had accepted Sir Matthew Fleet's view of Margaret's case. There was no danger that Dr. May would not be kind and courteous to the young man himself. It was not his fault if he were dunce, and Dr. May perceived that his love for Flora was real, though clumsily expressed. He explained that he could not sanction the engagement till he should be better informed of the young gentleman's antecedents. This was as George expressed it, a great nuisance, but his father agreed that it was quite right, in some doubt, perhaps, as to how Dr. May might be satisfied.