Hopes and Fears: or, scenes from the life of a spinsterYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
General
Hopes and Fears: or, scenes from the life of a spinster
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
England -- Social conditions -- 19th century -- Fiction; Single women -- Fiction
'I could not but defer it till I should meet her here,' said Robert. 'I
shrink from seeing her with those cousins, or hearing her name with
theirs. Phoebe, imagine my feelings when, going into Mervyn's club with
him, I heard "Rashe Charteris and Cilly Sandbrook" contemptuously
discussed by those very names, and jests passing on their independent
ways. I know how it is. Those people work on her spirit of enterprise,
and she--too guileless and innocent to heed appearances. Phoebe, you do
not wonder that I am nearly mad!'
'Poor Robin!' said Phoebe affectionately. 'But, indeed, I am sure, if
Lucy once had a hint--no, one could not tell her, it would shock her too
much; but if she had the least idea that people could be so impertinent,'
and Phoebe's cheeks glowed with shame and indignation, 'she would only
wish to go away as far as she could for fear of seeing any of them again.
I am sure they were not gentlemen, Robin.'
'A man must be supereminently a gentleman to respect a woman who does not
_make_ him do so,' said Robert mournfully. 'That Miss Charteris! Oh!
that she were banished to Siberia!'
Phoebe meditated a few moments; then looking up, said, 'I beg your
pardon, Robin, but it does strike me that, if you think that this kind of
life is not good for Lucilla, it cannot be right to sacrifice your own
higher prospects to enable her to continue it.'
'I tell you, Phoebe,' said he, with some impatience, 'I never was
pledged. I may be of much more use and influence, and able to effect
more extended good as a partner in a concern like this than as an obscure
clergyman. Don't you see?'
Phoebe had only time to utter a somewhat melancholy 'Very likely,' before
Miss Charlecote returned to take her to her room, the promised brown
cupboard, all wainscoted with delicious cedar, so deeply and uniformly
panelled, that when shut, the door was not obvious; and it was like being
in a box, for there were no wardrobes, only shelves shut by doors into
the wall, which the old usage of the household tradition called awmries
(_armoires_). The furniture was reasonably modern, but not obtrusively
so. There was a delicious recess in the deep window, with a seat and a
table in it, and a box of mignonette along the sill. It looked out into
the little high-walled entrance court, and beyond to the wall of the
warehouse opposite; and the roar of the great city thoroughfare came like
the distant surging of the ocean. Seldom had young maiden's bower given
more satisfaction. Phoebe looked about her as if she hardly knew how to
believe in anything so unlike her ordinary life, and she thanked her
friend again and again with such enthusiasm, that Miss Charlecote laughed
as she told her she liked the old house to be appreciated, since it had,
like Pompeii, been potted for posterity.
'And thank you, my dear,' she added with a sigh, 'for making my coming
home so pleasant. May you never know how I dreaded the finding it full
of emptiness.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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