Читать книгу The rainproof invention: or, Some tangled threads - Emily Poynton Weaver - Страница 6

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ANOTHER FAMILY OF THREE.

Mr. Norbury stood by the window of his office, gazing through it, but seeing nothing, not even the blank walls opposite; for it was now late in the afternoon, and the dullness of the day had been succeeded by a heavy fog. The gas had been lighted some hours before, but the office looked nearly as dreary as the outside world. The room was bare and poorly furnished, even for a place devoted exclusively to business; but Mr. Norbury appeared to hesitate about exchanging even the small amount of comfort it afforded for the absolute discomfort of the streets.

As he stood gazing out into the fog some one tapped at the door. “Come in!” he cried in the sharp tone in which he usually addressed his subordinates; and a girl with a large roll of paper in her hand entered the room.

“I am afraid I don’t quite understand this, Mr. Norbury,” she said. “It doesn’t look to me as if it will work out right.”

“Of course it won’t,” he said, glancing at the design she spread out before him. “I told you, Miss Warrington, as plainly as I could speak, that the pattern was to be dark on a light ground! That will never do. Besides, it’s wrong there and there. Where are the patterns I gave you? I am sure they ought to combine better than that.”

“They are here. I don’t think they go very well together,” replied the girl, gazing ruefully at the somewhat odd jumble of conventionalized leaves and scroll-work sketched on her paper. “I could do better, I am sure, if I drew in some of those curves, without troubling with the other pattern at all.”

“I wanted to set the man to work on it to-morrow. How soon can you alter it? Can you bring it up first thing in the morning?”

“I am afraid it will hardly be finished so soon as that. Perhaps the day after”—

“Well, bring it up to-morrow as it is, and finish it here. I should like to be able to show you how I want it done. I’m very sure, Miss Warrington, that you’ll have to do your work here, if it’s to be of any use. But we’ll see. Are you sure you understand now?”

“Yes, Mr. Norbury.” And Maud Warrington gathered up her papers with a feeling of more annoyance than there was occasion for.

Ralph was leaving the office as she passed through it. He politely took her bundle from her, but looked very much as if he would like to throw it into the gutter.

“Well,” he said, after they had walked some distance in silence, “aren’t you tired yet, Maud, of Mr. Norbury and this ridiculous designing?”

“I am not going to give it up, Ralph, if I can keep it,” she said with a touch of defiance, “though I won’t pretend to like Mr. Norbury.”

“I don’t see what made you begin it. We were able to live well enough without it. Why can’t you keep to your painting?”

“It was of no use, Ralph. You know my sketches wouldn’t sell, and my china painting cost more than it was worth. If I ever am to paint, I must have good lessons, and I can’t go on using mother’s money, or yours either, for lessons. Besides, what can it matter, my doing work for Mr. Norbury any more than you?”

“It does matter in every way. You know very well that the office is no place for a lady, and Mr. Norbury will never be satisfied till you do your work there.”

“Lots of girls are bookkeepers and typewriters in offices now.”

“It isn’t suitable work for my sister.”

“It is honest and respectable work; what more would you have? We can’t pretend, Ralph, to live like fine ladies and gentlemen, and I for one shouldn’t want to, if I could. Surely, if I don’t object to the work, you need not.”

“I have told you again and again, Maud, that I strongly disapprove of it. People will say that I don’t treat you properly, and that you are obliged to earn your own living.”

“I don’t believe people are always talking and thinking of us, Ralph. The world knows and cares very little about us, in spite of our grand ancestors.”

Something in Maud’s tone provoked Ralph to say, “It’s all very well to put on scornful airs, Maud, but you know you think as much as I do of belonging to a good family. I only hope you will do nothing to disgrace it.”

“I should disgrace it or myself, which is more to the purpose, if I settled quietly down to the sort of life you wish. I tell you, Ralph, I must do something. I can’t go on wasting my time with bits of fancy work and sketching. I am twenty-three already, and I have done nothing yet. I am sure I could paint if I could only get some lessons, and I must go on with Mr. Norbury’s work. O Ralph, why will you worry so?”

“Because the thing is most unsuitable, and you ought to be able to see it. How will you like to make the acquaintance of Littleton and Johnson and all those fellows?”

“I dare say I shall not object. It would be better than having no acquaintances at all, in any case, and so far I don’t know a soul to speak to in Wharton excepting the Milwoods. What is the sense, Ralph, of shutting ourselves up like hermits, because Lady McMaster and Mrs. Underwood don’t call on us?”

“How foolishly you talk, Maud! You know that those people would not think of visiting with us.”

“That is what I say, but you never like me to make friends with people in our own position, like the Milwoods and the Frosts.”

“Our own position!” repeated Ralph with scornful emphasis.

“Practically we are in the same position. I wish the old pedigree and all that nonsense had been burnt up years ago. It only makes us uncomfortable and stupid with people, for we are neither ‘fish, flesh, fowl, nor good red herring.’ The grand folk won’t have anything to do with us. Indeed, I suppose they are not even aware of our existence, and we are so fine we are afraid to see anything of any one else. Oh, I am sick of it all, and I don’t believe it’s right!”

“I am very sure, Maud, that it is not right for you to disregard the wishes of your best friends as you do,” said Ralph coldly.

“You are so inconsistent, Ralph,” retorted his sister, once more carrying the war into the enemy’s country. “Why, mother told me only this morning that you had promised to go up to Mr. Norbury’s to dinner again to-night! Why is it so different for you and for me?”

Ralph’s face grew red, as it had done in the office when Littleton talked of Miss Norbury, but he said, “I am obliged to go. As long as I am in the office I cannot refuse Mr. Norbury’s invitations.”

“Miss Norbury called on us this afternoon, Ralph, just before I came out.”

The young man’s face brightened. “Did she, Maud? That was very kind.”

“I thought you would be annoyed that she had chosen to patronize us, Ralph. I was.”

“You are hard to please. I suppose she was only trying to be friendly.”

“I hope she will not try again, then. I don’t like her as well as her father, even.”

“I do hope, Maud, that you treated her civilly.”

The anxiety in Ralph’s tone was so strongly marked that, though she did not trace it to its right cause, she hastened to reassure him.

“Indeed I did, Ralph. I’m sure she didn’t see what I thought of her. I felt like a story-teller afterwards, though I don’t think I exactly said what wasn’t true.”

By this time they had reached the door of the low old-fashioned cottage where they lived, and taking her papers Maud ran upstairs without another word. She threw them down on the bed, and instead of taking off her hat and jacket, sat down beside the window and, resting her head on her hand, fell into a deep reverie.

She was a slight, delicate-looking girl, with beautiful clear gray eyes and a quantity of wavy golden hair. The shape of her face was oval, and her complexion was pale and fair. Though not very like her brother, she was quite as good looking, and Mrs. Warrington was often gratified by the admiration bestowed on both her children.

Just now Maud’s pretty face wore a decidedly discontented expression. Ralph’s opposition to her plans annoyed her extremely; and the worst of it was, whatever he said her mother concurred in, for her son’s influence with her was unbounded. She loved her daughter, too, but Maud never had doubted (and there really was no room to doubt) that the affection given to her was nothing in comparison to the passionate devotion lavished on her brother. It was so old a story now, that Maud accepted the fact quietly, but in her childish days she had rebelled against it with all her might, not knowing then that love is not a prize to be won by force. There were times, even yet, when she was bitter and angry at Ralph for having, as she felt, taken away the birthright which she would have valued more than he. In moments of difference of opinion she was inclined to make it in her own mind a reason for disregarding his wishes; for, if she did not look after herself, neither mother nor brother was likely to consider her desires, especially if they chanced to clash with Ralph’s.

As she had grown up (she was several years younger than her brother), she had deliberately set herself, with a strong feeling of the injustice of her lot, to take her own way in spite of him. In this course, however, she tried to give proper weight to all his reasonable wishes, but she gave no quarter to those which she regarded as unreasonable, and whether the opinions of an unprejudiced person would always have agreed with her views on the matter might have been open to question. At least the effect was a natural one. What Ralph characterized as her willfulness and obstinacy carried her triumphant through many a contest, but the cost of such victories was more disastrous than defeat. The breach between them had steadily widened, and now, though they lived in the same house and were called by the same name, the less they saw of each other the better it was for the peace of the family.

Some months earlier another factor had entered into the problem that at present only added to Maud’s unhappiness. She had resolved to be a Christian, and she was slowly learning what it meant to be a follower of the gentle and lowly Jesus. It seemed to her that the new life involved sacrifices greater and more painful than she could ever be prepared to make, and yet she did not see that they were all centered in one—the sacrifice of her own self-will. Very dimly did she apprehend the real character of the service into which she had entered, and yet she was sincere. The difficulties that beset her path bewildered her; but she struggled on, striving at once to do her Lord’s will and to have her own way, and failing as dismally as might be expected.

To-day, as she sat looking down into the misty little garden and thinking over the conversation with her brother, she blamed herself for her hasty speeches, but she never dreamed that her whole attitude with regard to him was wrong. She felt convinced that she was right to prefer honest work and independence to idleness, and thinking so, she was determined to keep her position, whatever Ralph might say or think, though she also resolved to avoid irritating him needlessly. Even now, though she fancied herself repentant for the sharp, unkind words that had passed her lips, she allowed herself to dwell scornfully on her brother’s foolish and unfounded pride.

As she went down to tea she heard Ralph shut the street door, and the sound roused all her bitter feelings again; for “how could he be so foolishly inconsistent as to object to her doing work for a man whom he was willing to treat as a friend?”

Her vexation was increased by her mother’s suddenly remarking, “My dear, did you tell Mr. Norbury to-day that you could not do any more designs for him?”

“No, mother; I never dreamed of such a thing.”

“I thought you knew that Ralph wished you to give it up.”

“I know that, mother; but I think I have as good a right to earn my own living as he has himself.”

“I think, my dear, that you ought to be more ready to give way to his wishes.”

“Why, mother? It is only spoiling him when his wishes are foolish. He is getting terribly overbearing; one must make a stand somewhere.”

“But, Maud, you have not earned anything worth mentioning yet; is it worth while to have so much contention for such a trifle?”

“I shall earn more soon,” said Maud shortly; “and if I earned nothing, Ralph has no right to try to coerce me in this way.”

“You forget, Maud, he is much older than you, and knows a great deal better what is proper for you to do.”

“Mother, do you believe yourself that there is anything disgraceful in it?”

“If it annoys Ralph so much, that should be a sufficient reason for your giving it up.”

“Why do you always care so much more about Ralph than me, mother?” cried Maud. “It is always what will please him! I do so hate being”— She stopped, ashamed to find herself already breaking the resolutions she had made to be kind and forbearing. “Mother,” she said in a different tone, “I beg your pardon; but it is hard to be always the one in the wrong. You know I would give anything for good lessons in painting, and it is the only way I see to get them. Please don’t ask me to give up the designing. I really can’t; and I do think Mr. Norbury would be very angry, for he has taken a great deal of trouble to teach me.”

So saying she rose from the table and went to her own room, where she passed the evening in a weary and disheartening struggle with the refractory design.