England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Sisters -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
"I don't mean to reproach _you_," said Miss Franklin, a little
bewildered, but still very hot and sore. "You had nothing to do with it,
and I am sure you could not have been so heartless. Forgive me for the
reflection on your sister, who is so much thought of, whom everybody is
praising, with reason, for what she has done in nursing the sick and
poor. But young girls ought to be more careful. I don't mean to say that
she trifled with my cousin Tom--I have no right to say that--simply that
she never gave him a thought. Tom was surely deserving of a thought,"
cried Miss Franklin indignantly. "Dr. Ironside may be all very well--I
have nothing to say against him--quite the reverse. Tom is not to be
compared to him in personal appearance, and the one is a professional
man, while the other thought fit to continue a linen-draper like his
good father before him; but that is by no means to infer that Miss
Millar has chosen the better husband of the two. Girls are so
foolish--they play with fire, and never look or take it into account
where and whom it may burn. Tom Robinson deserved more respectful
treatment in Redcross. He has never been like himself since. I used to
hear him whistling and humming tunes to himself as he worked in the
office--there is no more of that, or of his hearty interest in
everything."
"Miss Franklin, it is you who are pitiless to say this to me to-night,"
panted Dora, rising against the inhumanity, and totally forgetting that
the speaker did not hold the clue which would have told her how her
words scourged her listener.
"I am not blaming _you_, Miss Dora," said the accuser again, more
bitterly than she had yet spoken. For she was in her heart accusing Dora
Millar of affectation in pretending not to be able to hear a word
against her sister, and in declining to listen to the pardonable
utterance of a reproach directed against what Miss Franklin called in
her heart Annie Millar's arrogance and callousness. Tom Robinson's
cousin was provoked, not pacified.
"I dare say Tom would never have had this wretched fever but for the
blow he got then," she was tempted to persist; "or if he had caught it,
he would have thrown it off without any harm done. I can bear witness to
his sound constitution to begin with. Everybody knows how disappointment
and mortification lower the system, and he was never over careful of
himself. I cannot quite understand why he took the cool rebuff he
received so much to heart; but he did so, and you see the consequence."
"Spare me! spare me!" cried Dora passionately. "Don't say I have killed
him, or I shall die myself, perhaps it is the best thing I can do."
Before Miss Franklin could do more than stare aghast, with a horrified
inkling of the real facts of the case, and the tremendous mess she had
got into, there was the sound of the soft opening of a door in the near
distance, and a step rapidly approaching.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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