Presently appeared a short, slight woman of middle age, plainly dressed in serviceable grey. Her face could never have been very comely, and it expressed but moderate intelligence; its lines, however, were those of gentleness and good feeling. She had the look of one who is making a painful effort to understand something; this was fixed upon her features, and probably resulted from the peculiar conditions of her life.
Rather early, arent you, Marian? she said, as she closed the door and came forward to take a seat.
Yes; I have a little headache.
Oh, dear! Is that beginning again?
Mrs Yules speech was seldom ungrammatical, and her intonation was not flagrantly vulgar, but the accent of the London poor, which brands as with hereditary baseness, still clung to her words, rendering futile such propriety of phrase as she owed to years of association with educated people. In the same degree did her bearing fall short of that which distinguishes a lady. The London work-girl is rarely capable of raising herself, or being raised, to a place in life above that to which she was born; she cannot learn how to stand and sit and move like a woman bred to refinement, any more than she can fashion her tongue to graceful speech. Mrs Yules behaviour to Marian was marked with a singular diffidence; she looked and spoke affectionately, but not with a mothers freedom; one might have taken her for a trusted servant waiting upon her mistress. Whenever opportunity offered, she watched the girl in a curiously furtive way, that puzzled look on her face becoming very noticeable. Her consciousness was never able to accept as a familiar and unimportant fact the vast difference between herself and her daughter. Marians superiority in native powers, in delicacy of feeling, in the results of education, could never be lost sight of. Under ordinary circumstances she addressed the girl as if tentatively; however sure of anything from her own point of view, she knew that Marian, as often as not, had quite a different criterion. She understood that the girl frequently expressed an opinion by mere reticence, and hence the carefulness with which, when conversing, she tried to discover the real effect of her words in Marians features.
Hungry, too, she said, seeing the crust Marian was nibbling. You really must have more lunch, dear. It isnt right to go so long; youll make yourself ill.
Have you been out? Marian asked.
Yes; I went to Holloway.
Mrs Yule sighed and looked very unhappy. By going to Holloway was always meant a visit to her own relativesa married sister with three children, and a brother who inhabited the same house. To her husband she scarcely ever ventured to speak of these persons; Yule had no intercourse with them. But Marian was always willing to listen sympathetically, and her mother often exhibited a touching gratitude for this condescensionas she deemed it.
Are things no better? the girl inquired.
Worse, as far as I can see. John has begun his drinking again, and him and Tom quarrel every night; theres no peace in the ouse.
If ever Mrs Yule lapsed into gross errors of pronunciation or phrase, it was when she spoke of her kinsfolk. The subject seemed to throw her back into a former condition.
He ought to go and live by himself said Marian, referring to her mothers brother, the thirsty John.
So he ought, to be sure. Im always telling them so. But there! you dont seem to be able to persuade them, theyre that silly and obstinate. And Susan, she only gets angry with me, and tells me not to talk in a stuck-up way. Im sure I never say a word that could offend her; Im too careful for that. And theres Annie; no doing anything with her! Shes about the streets at all hours, and whatll be the end of it no one can say. Theyre getting that ragged, all of them. It isnt Susans fault; indeed it isnt. She does all that woman can. But Tom hasnt brought home ten shillings the last month, and it seems to me as if he was getting careless. I gave her half-a-crown; it was all I could do. And the worst of it is, they think I could do so much more if I liked. Theyre always hinting that we are rich people, and its no good my trying to persuade them. They think Im telling falsehoods, and its very hard to be looked at in that way; it is, indeed, Marian.
You cant help it, mother. I suppose their suffering makes them unkind and unjust.
Thats just what it does, my dear; you never said anything truer. Poverty will make the best people bad, if it gets hard enough. Why theres so much of it in the world, Im sure I cant see.
I suppose father will be back soon?
He said dinner-time.
Mr Quarmby has been telling me something which is wonderfully good news if its really true; but I cant help feeling doubtful.
He says that father may perhaps be made editor of The Study at the end of this year.
Mrs Yule, of course, understood, in outline, these affairs of the literary world; she thought of them only from the pecuniary point of view, but that made no essential distinction between her and the mass of literary people.
My word! she exclaimed. What a thing that would be for us!
Marian had begun to explain her reluctance to base any hopes on Mr Quarmbys prediction, when the sound of a postmans knock at the house-door caused her mother to disappear for a moment.
Its for you, said Mrs Yule, returning. From the country.
Marian took the letter and examined its address with interest.
It must be one of the Miss Milvains. Yes; Dora Milvain.
After Jaspers departure from Finden his sisters had seen Marian several times, and the mutual liking between her and them had been confirmed by opportunity of conversation. The promise of correspondence had hitherto waited for fulfilment. It seemed natural to Marian that the younger of the two girls should write; Maud was attractive and agreeable, and probably clever, but Dora had more spontaneity in friendship.
It will amuse you to hear, wrote Dora, that the literary project our brother mentioned in a letter whilst you were still here is really to come to something. He has sent us a specimen chapter, written by himself of the Childs History of Parliament, and Maud thinks she could carry it on in that style, if theres no hurry. She and I have both set to work on English histories, and we shall be authorities before long. Jolly and Monk offer thirty pounds for the little book, if it suits them when finished, with certain possible profits in the future. Trust Jasper for making a bargain! So perhaps our literary career will be something more than a joke, after all. I hope it may; anything rather than a life of teaching. We shall be so glad to hear from you, if you still care to trouble about country girls.
And so on. Marian read with a pleased smile, then acquainted her mother with the contents.
I am very glad, said Mrs Yule; its so seldom you get a letter.
Yes.
Marian seemed desirous of saying something more, and her mother had a thoughtful look, suggestive of sympathetic curiosity.
Is their brother likely to call here? Mrs Yule asked, with misgiving.
No one has invited him to, was the girls quiet reply.
He wouldnt come without that?
Its not likely that he even knows the address.
Your father wont be seeing him, I suppose?
By chance, perhaps. I dont know.
Is their brother likely to call here? Mrs Yule asked, with misgiving.
No one has invited him to, was the girls quiet reply.
He wouldnt come without that?
Its not likely that he even knows the address.
Your father wont be seeing him, I suppose?
By chance, perhaps. I dont know.
It was very rare indeed for these two to touch upon any subject save those of everyday interest. In spite of the affection between them, their exchange of confidence did not go very far; Mrs Yule, who had never exercised maternal authority since Marians earliest childhood, claimed no maternal privileges, and Marians natural reserve had been strengthened by her mothers respectful aloofness. The English fault of domestic reticence could scarcely go further than it did in their case; its exaggeration is, of course, one of the characteristics of those unhappy families severed by differences of education between the old and young.
I think, said Marian, in a forced tone, that father hasnt much liking for Mr Milvain.
She wished to know if her mother had heard any private remarks on this subject, but she could not bring herself to ask directly.
Im sure I dont know, replied Mrs Yule, smoothing her dress. He hasnt said anything to me, Marian.
An awkward silence. The mother had fixed her eyes on the mantelpiece, and was thinking hard.
Otherwise, said Marian, he would have said something, I should think, about meeting in London.
But is there anything inthis gentleman that he wouldnt like?
I dont know of anything.
Impossible to pursue the dialogue; Marian moved uneasily, then rose, said something about putting the letter away, and left the room.
Shortly after, Alfred Yule entered the house. It was no uncommon thing for him to come home in a mood of silent moroseness, and this evening the first glimpse of his face was sufficient warning. He entered the dining-room and stood on the hearthrug reading an evening paper. His wife made a pretence of straightening things upon the table.
Well? he exclaimed irritably. Its after five; why isnt dinner served?
Its just coming, Alfred.
Even the average man of a certain age is an alarming creature when dinner delays itself; the literary man in such a moment goes beyond all parallel. If there be added the fact that he has just returned from a very unsatisfactory interview with a publisher, wife and daughter may indeed regard the situation as appalling. Marian came in, and at once observed her mothers frightened face.
Father, she said, hoping to make a diversion, Mr Hinks has sent you his new book, and wishes
Then take Mr Hinkss new book back to him, and tell him that I have quite enough to do without reading tedious trash. He neednt expect that Im going to write a notice of it. The simpleton pesters me beyond endurance. I wish to know, if you please, he added with savage calm, when dinner will be ready. If theres time to write a few letters, just tell me at once, that I maynt waste half an hour.
Marian resented this unreasonable anger, but she durst not reply.
At that moment the servant appeared with a smoking joint, and Mrs Yule followed carrying dishes of vegetables. The man of letters seated himself and carved angrily. He began his meal by drinking half a glass of ale; then he ate a few mouthfuls in a quick, hungry way, his head bent closely over the plate. It happened commonly enough that dinner passed without a word of conversation, and that seemed likely to be the case this evening.
To his wife Yule seldom addressed anything but a curt inquiry or caustic comment; if he spoke humanly at table it was to Marian.
Ten minutes passed; then Marian resolved to try any means of clearing the atmosphere.
Mr Quarmby gave me a message for you, she said. A friend of his, Nathaniel Walker, has told him that Mr Rackett will very likely offer you the editorship of The Study.
Yule stopped in the act of mastication. He fixed his eyes intently on the sirloin for half a minute; then, by way of the beer-jug and the salt-cellar, turned them upon Marians face.
Walker told him that? Pooh!
It was a great secret. I wasnt to breathe a word to any one but you.
Walkers a fool and Quarmbys an ass, remarked her father.
But there was a tremulousness in his bushy eyebrows; his forehead half unwreathed itself; he continued to eat more slowly, and as if with appreciation of the viands.
What did he say? Repeat it to me in his words.
Marian did so, as nearly as possible. He listened with a scoffing expression, but still his features relaxed.
I dont credit Rackett with enough good sense for such a proposal, he said deliberately. And Im not very sure that I should accept it if it were made. That fellow Fadge has all but ruined the paper. It will amuse me to see how long it takes him to make Culpeppers new magazine a distinct failure.
A silence of five minutes ensued; then Yule said of a sudden.
Where is Hinkss book?
Marian reached it from a side table; under this roof, literature was regarded almost as a necessary part of table garnishing.
I thought it would be bigger than this, Yule muttered, as he opened the volume in a way peculiar to bookish men.
A page was turned down, as if to draw attention to some passage. Yule put on his eyeglasses, and soon made a discovery which had the effect of completing the transformation of his visage. His eyes glinted, his chin worked in pleasurable emotion. In a moment he handed the book to Marian, indicating the small type of a foot-note; it embodied an effusive eulogyintroduced a propos of some literary discussionof Mr Alfred Yules critical acumen, scholarly research, lucid style, and sundry other distinguished merits.
That is kind of him, said Marian.
Good old Hinks! I suppose I must try to get him half-a-dozen readers.
May I see? asked Mrs Yule, under her breath, bending to Marian.
Her daughter passed on the volume, and Mrs Yule read the footnote with that look of slow apprehension which is so pathetic when it signifies the hearts good-will thwarted by the minds defect.
Thatll be good for you, Alfred, wont it? she said, glancing at her husband.
Certainly, he replied, with a smile of contemptuous irony. If Hinks goes on, hell establish my reputation.
And he took a draught of ale, like one who is reinvigorated for the battle of life. Marian, regarding him askance, mused on what seemed to her a strange anomaly in his character; it had often surprised her that a man of his temperament and powers should be so dependent upon the praise and blame of people whom he justly deemed his inferiors.
Yule was glancing over the pages of the work.
A pity the man cant write English. What a vocabulary! Obstruentreliableparticularizationfabulositydifferent toaverse todid one ever come across such a mixture of antique pedantry and modern vulgarism! Surely he has his name from the German hinkeneh, Marian?
With a laugh he tossed the book away again. His mood was wholly changed. He gave various evidences of enjoying the meal, and began to talk freely with his daughter.
Finished the authoresses?
Not quite.
No hurry. When you have time I want you to read Ditchleys new book, and jot down a selection of his worst sentences. Ill use them for an article on contemporary style; it occurred to me this afternoon.