English fiction -- 19th century; Labor unions -- Fiction
At the gate of Woodbine Villa, Jael said “it was not good-night this
time; it was good-by: she was going home for Patty's marriage.”
“But you will come back again?” said Henry.
“Nay, father would be all alone. You'll not see me here again, unless
you were in sorrow or sickness.”
“Ah, that's like you, Jael. Good-by then, and God bless you wherever you
go.”
Jael summoned all her fortitude, and shook hands with him in silence.
They parted, and she fought down her tears, and he went gayly home to
his mother. She told him she had made several visits, and been cordially
received. “And this is how I paved the way for you. So, mind! I said my
brother Raby wished you to take his name, and be his heir; but you had
such a love of manufactures and things, you could not be persuaded to
sit down as a country gentleman. 'Indeed,' I said, his 'love of the
thing is so great that, in order to master it in all its branches,
nothing less would serve him than disguising himself, and going as a
workman. But now,' I said, 'he has had enough of that, so he has set
up a small factory, and will, no doubt, soon achieve a success.' Then
I told them about you and Dr. Amboyne. Your philanthropic views did
not interest them for a single moment; but I could see the poor dear
doctor's friendship was a letter of introduction. There will be no
difficulty, dear. There shall be none. What society Hillsborough boasts,
shall open its arms to you.”
“But I'm afraid I shall make mistakes.”
“Our first little parties shall be given in this house. Your free
and easy way will be excused in a host; the master of the house has a
latitude; and, besides, you and I will rehearse. By the way, please be
more careful about your nails; and you must always wear gloves when you
are not working; and every afternoon you will take a lesson in dancing
with me.”
“I say, mother, do you remember teaching me to dance a minuet, when I
was little?”
“Perfectly. We took great pains; and, at last, you danced it like an
angel. And, shall I tell you, you carry yourself very gracefully?--well,
that is partly owing to the minuet. But a more learned professor will
now take you in hand. He will be here tomorrow at five o'clock.”
Mrs. Little's rooms being nearly square, she set up a round table, at
which eight could dine. But she began with five or six.
Henry used to commit a solecism or two. Mrs. Little always noticed
them, and told him. He never wanted telling twice. He was a genial young
fellow, well read in the topics of the day, and had a natural wit; Mrs.
Little was one of those women who can fascinate when they choose; and
she chose now; her little parties rose to eight; and as, at her table,
everybody could speak without rudeness to everybody else, this
round table soon began to eclipse the long tables of Hillsborough in
attraction.
She and Henry went out a good deal; and, at last, that which Mrs.
Little's good sense had told her must happen, sooner or later, took
place. They met.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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