He was so pleased that he kissed me. Yes! the most fondly affectionate kiss that he had given me, for weeks past, was my reward for submitting to Mrs. Tenbruggen. She is old enough to be his mother, and almost as ugly as Miss Jillgall--and she has made her interests his interests already!
On the next day, I fully expected to receive a visit from Mrs. Tenbruggen. She knew better than that. I only got a polite little note, thanking me for the address, and adding an artless concession: "I earn more money than I know what to do with; and I adore Irish lace."
The next day came, and still she was careful not to show herself too eager for a personal reconciliation. A splendid nosegay was sent to me, with another little note: "A tribute, dear Helena, offered by one of my grateful patients. Too beautiful a present for an old woman like me. I agree with the poet: 'Sweets to the sweet.' A charming thought of Shakespeare's, is it not? I should like to verify the quotation. Would you mind leaving the volume for me in the hall, if I call to-morrow?"
Well done, Mrs. Tenbruggen! She doesn't venture to intrude on Miss Gracedieu in the drawing-room; she only wants to verify a quotation in the hall. Oh, goddess of Humility (if there is such a person), how becomingly you are dressed when your milliner is an artful old woman!
While this reflection was passing through my mind, Miss Jillgall came in--saw the nosegay on the table--and instantly pounced on it. "Oh, for me! for me!" she cried. "I noticed it this morning on Elizabeth's table. How very kind of her!" She plunged her inquisitive nose into the poor flowers, and looked up sentimentally at the ceiling. "The perfume of goodness," she remarked, "mingled with the perfume of flowers!" "When you have quite done with it," I said, "perhaps you will be so good as to return my nosegay?" "Your nosegay!" she exclaimed. "There is Mrs. Tenbruggen's letter," I replied, "if you would like to look at it." She did look at it. All the bile in her body flew up into her eyes, and turned them green; she looked as if she longed to scratch my face. I gave the flowers afterward to Maria; Miss Jillgall's nose had completely spoiled them.
It would have been too ridiculous to have allowed Mrs. Tenbruggen to consult Shakespeare in the hall. I had the honor of receiving her in my own room. We accomplished a touching reconciliation, and we quite forgot Shakespeare.
She troubles me; she does indeed trouble me.
Having set herself entirely right with Philip, she is determined on performing the same miracle with me. Her reform of herself is already complete. Her vulgar humor was kept under strict restraint; she was quiet and well-bred, and readier to listen than to talk. This change was not presented abruptly. She contrived to express her friendly interests in Philip and in me by hints dropped here and there, assisted in their effort by answers on my part, into which I was tempted so skillfully that I only discovered the snare set for me, on reflection. What is it, I ask again, that she has in view in taking all this trouble? Where is her motive for encouraging a love-affair, which Miss Jillgall must have denounced to her as an abominable wrong inflicted on Eunice? Money (even if there was a prospect of such a thing, in our case) cannot be her object; it is quite true that her success sets her above pecuniary anxiety. Spiteful feeling against Eunice is out of the question. They have only met once; and her opinion was expressed to me with evident sincerity: "Your sister is a nice girl, but she is like other nice girls--she doesn't interest me." There is Eunice's character, drawn from the life in few words. In what an irritating position do I find myself placed! Never before have I felt so interested in trying to look into a person's secret mind; and never before have I been so completely baffled.
I had written as far as this, and was on the point of closing my Journal, when a third note arrived from Mrs. Tenbruggen.
She had been thinking about me at intervals (she wrote) all through the rest of the day; and, kindly as I had received her, she was conscious of being the object of doubts on my part which her visit had failed to remove. Might she ask leave to call on me, in the hope of improving her position in my estimation? An appointment followed for the next day.
What can she have to say to me which she has not already said? Is it anything about Philip, I wonder?
CHAPTER LIV.
HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED.
At our interview of the next day, Mrs. Tenbruggen's capacity for self-reform appeared under a new aspect. She dropped all familiarity with me, and she stated the object of her visit without a superfluous word of explanation or apology.
I thought this a remarkable effort for a woman; and I recognized the merit of it by leaving the lion's share of the talk to my visitor. In these terms she opened her business with me:
"Has Mr. Philip Dunboyne told you why he went to London?"
"He made a commonplace excuse," I answered. "Business, he said, took him to London. I know no more."
"You have a fair prospect of happiness, Miss Helena, when you are married--your future husband is evidently afraid of you. I am not afraid of you; and I shall confide to your private ear something which you have an interest in knowing. The business which took young Mr. Dunboyne to London was to consult a competent person, on a matter concerning himself. The competent person is the sagacious (not to say sly) old gentleman--whom we used to call the Governor. You know him, I believe?"
"Yes. But I am at a loss to imagine why Philip should have consulted him."
"Have you ever heard or read, Miss Helena, of such a thing as 'an old man's fancy'?"
"I think I have."
"Well, the Governor has taken an old man's fancy to your sister. They appeared to understand each other perfectly when I was at the farmhouse."
"Excuse me, Mrs. Tenbruggen, that is what I know already. Why did Philip go to the Governor?"
She smiled. "If anybody is acquainted with the true state of your sister's feelings, the Governor is the man. I sent Mr. Dunboyne to consult him--and there is the reason for it."
This open avowal of her motives perplexed and offended me. After declaring herself to be interested in my marriage-engagement had she changed her mind, and resolved on favoring Philip's return to Eunice? What right had he to consult anybody about the state of that girl's feelings? My feelings form the only subject of inquiry that was properly open to him. I should have said something which I might have afterward regretted, if Mrs. Tenbruggen had allowed me the opportunity. Fortunately for both of us, she went on with her narrative of her own proceedings.
"Philip Dunboyne is an excellent fellow," she continued; "I really like him--but he has his faults. He sadly wants strength of purpose; and, like weak men in general, he only knows his own mind when a resolute friend takes him in hand and guides him. I am his resolute friend. I saw him veering about between you and Eunice; and I decided for his sake--may I say for your sake also?--on putting an end to that mischievous state of indecision. You have the claim on him; you are the right wife for him, and the Governor was (as I thought likely from what I had myself observed) the man to make him see it.