Girlhood and Womanhood | Page 6

"Of course not, I am not going to vex my uncle; I can excuse him, but
Joanna need not look so scared. There is not such a thing as retribution
and vengeance, child, in Christian countries; it is you who are
heathenish. Or have you nursed a vain imagination of encountering Mr.
Jardine, unknown to each other, and losing your hearts by an
unaccountable fascination, and being as miserable as the principals in
the second last chapter of one of Conny's three volumes? or were you
to atone to him in some mysterious, fantastic, supernatural fashion, for
the unintentional wrong? Because if you have done so, I'm afraid it is
all mist and moonshine, poor Jack, quite as much as the twaddling
goody stories."
"Polly," said Joanna angrily, but speaking low, "I think you might spare
us on so sad a subject."
"I want you to have common sense; I want you to be comfortable; no
wonder my uncle has never recovered his spirits."
"Indeed, Polly, I don't think you've any reason to interfere in papa's
concerns."
"I don't see that you are entitled to blame Joanna," defended sister
Lilias, stoutly;--Lilias, who was so swift to find fault herself.
"There, I'll say no more; I beg your pardon, I merely intended to show
you your world in an ordinary light."
"Do you know, Polly, that Mrs. Jardine has never visited us since?"
asked Susan.

"Very likely, she was entitled to some horror. But she is a reasonable
woman. Mr. Maxwell told me--every third party discusses the story
behind your backs whenever it chances to come up, I warn you--Mr.
Maxwell informed me that she never blamed Uncle Crawfurd, and that
she sent her son away from her because she judged it bad for him to be
brought up among such recollections, and feared that when he was a lad
he might be tampered with by the servants, and might imbibe
prejudices and aversions that would render him gloomy and vindictive,
and unlike other people for the rest of his life; she could not have
behaved more wisely. I am inclined to suppose that Mrs. Jardine of
Whitethorn has more knowledge of the world and self-command than
the whole set of my relations here, unless, perhaps, my Aunt
Crawfurd--she will only speculate on your dresses--that is the question,
Susan."
II.--THE ORDEAL.
"Would you not have liked to have gone with the other girls, Joanna?
for Conny, she must submit to be a halflin yet. But is it not dull for you
only to hear of a party? country girls have few enough opportunities of
being merry," observed Mr. Crawfurd, with his uneasy consciousness,
and his sad habit of self-reproach.
"Oh, Mr. Crawford, it would not have done--not the first time--Joanna
had much better stay at home on this occasion. She is too well brought
up to complain of a little sacrifice."
It is curious how long some wives will live on friendly terms with their
husbands and never measure their temperaments, never know where the
shoe pinches, never have a notion how often they worry, and provoke,
and pain their spouses, when the least reticence and tact would keep the
ship and its consort sailing in smooth water.
Mrs. Crawfurd would have half-broken her heart if Mr. Crawfurd had
not changed his damp stockings; she would fling down her work and
look out for him at any moment of his absence; she would not let any
of her children, not her favourite girl or boy, take advantage of him; she
was a good wife, still she did not know where the shoe pinched, and so

she stabbed him perpetually, sometimes with fretting pin-pricks,
sometimes with sore sword-strokes.
"My dear, I wish you were not a sacrifice to me." It is a heart-breaking
thing to hear a man speak quite calmly, and like a man, yet with a
plaintive tone in his voice. Ah! the old, arch spirit of the literary Laird
of the Ewes had been shaken to its centre, though he was a tolerable
man of business, and rather fond of attending markets, sales, and
meetings.
"Papa, what are you thinking of?" exclaimed Joanna indignantly. "I am
very proud to help you, and I go out quite as often as the others. Do you
not know, we keep a card hung up on Lilias's window-shutter, and we
write down every month's invitations--in stormy weather they are not
many--and we fulfil them in rotation. You don't often want me in the
evenings, for you've quite given me up at chess, and you only
condescend to backgammon when it is mid-winter and there has been
no curling, and the book club is all amiss. Lilias insists upon the card,
because the parties are by no means always merry affairs, and she says
that otherwise