Chapter 9

AN UNPLEASANT VISIT.

When Adele came back from shutting the door after Frank, her father looked at her with a hard, scrutinizing gaze, but did not say a word.

It was just like him. He very rarely spoke when he was angry; he would mope about for whole days, his face covered with innumerable wrinkles.

This anger on her father's part did not pain Adele so much as it had formerly done. Her heart revolted at the thought of being always made to bend under her father's stern will.

Like the terror-stricken few who would do battle for their rights, but are awed by countless numbers, Adele had up to this time quietly submitted to her father's iron rule; but now she felt inclined to rebel.

Accordingly, instead of trying to coax her father into wearing his ordinary face, which was none too pleasant, she pouted.

The old man noticed this and chuckled to himself: "Ah, ah, you think a great deal of this young fellow. I'll teach you to keep up the honour of the family."

He was so delighted at the prospect of an easy victory that he did not sulk nearly as long as usual, but, to the young girl's astonishment, was quite talkative the next day.

"Your aunt asked me if you would go and take tea with her to-morrow," he said when they were at dinner.

Adele did not answer.

Heedless of her silence, her father went on: "You must go, because you do not go often."

The daughter answered: "No, I do not go often." She thought: "Often enough," for she did not at all relish the idea of a visit to her aunt.

The inmates of the "Prenoms" did not please her. There was her uncle, Mr. Soher, morose and stern. He was one of this class of people who seem to be continually looking upwards, their mind so much occupied in contemplating the upper regions that they continually stumble against the blocks which lie in life's path. He lived, partly on his income, partly on the commission which he secured as agent to a firm of agricultural implement manufacturers, and partly on the money which he made by selling his property bit by bit. He had also advertised himself as auctioneer, house and estate agent, etcetera, but no one seemed to require his services in this line. Averse to manual labour, he could not properly cultivate such a small farm without submitting himself to this "slavish work," as he called it. Accordingly, he was, if slowly, surely drifting towards bankruptcy. He saw this, so did his wife, but neither seemed to care much; they were buoyed up by a false hope, always waiting for something unexpected to turn up, which would rescue them from this abyss.

Mrs. Soher was Mr. Rougeant's sister.

They were the only children of the late Charles Rougeant, of "Les Marches."

She was short of stature, rather stout, her round little face always assuming a certain air of dignity, her light blue eyes wearing a fixed gaze and her tongue always ready to slander. She pretended to be religious, because her husband was so; had he been otherwise, she would certainly have been otherwise too.

Then came her twenty-four year old daughter Amelia, the only member of the family with which the reader is not acquainted; and Tom, grown into a lazy, bad-tempered and slouching young man. Old Mrs. Soher was dead.

The home at the "Prenoms" was not a bright one. Mr. Soher did not believe in education. He and his wife were often absent from home in the evening. They went to some meeting, and their two children were left alone. When the parents were gone, Tom left the house, leaving his sister alone and returning about half an hour before his parents came in. His sister said she would tell her father, but, upon Tom threatening her, she kept silent, for she feared her brother who was of a very violent temper.

One day, Tom came in later than usual. When he entered the house, he was astonished to see his father sitting near the fire.

"Well," said Mr. Soher, "what does this mean?"

"I've just been out a little," said Tom.

"I hope you will not repeat this, my son," said the father. Then he showed him how wicked it was to associate with bad companions, the probable results of it; how, when he had once acquired bad habits, he would find it nearly impossible to break with them; how he would be enticed into disreputable places, and a host of other admonishments.

Tom did not answer; he felt culpable, but not repentant. He did not tell his father that this same evening he had entered a public-house for the first time.

The days went by. Mr. Soher and his spouse continued to attend to their meetings and their son continued to go out, returning boldly after his parents had come in.

One evening, he came in drunk. Then his father became really alarmed. He felt that he had not done towards his son all that he might have done.

This did not, however, make him remain at home.

"I must attend to my Master's work," he would say. Once, he took his son in the parlour, and after having exhorted him to turn a new leaf he lifted up his voice in prayer. But the son continued to drink and the father to pray, while the mother did as much as she could to shield her dear boy.

Tom had neither the force of will, nor the desire to amend. His home was so dull; there was nothing about it which attracted him; he did not care at all for the mother who tried to screen his faults. She was so narrow minded; always speaking ill of everyone. She knew they were slowly sinking towards bankruptcy, and it was a consolation to her to imagine others in the same position. She saw other people's defects as if through a microscope.

Foolish woman. Even as thou art scandalizing others, thine own nature is being abased, whilst those whom thou dost backbite remain the same.

One glance at the daughter. She was taller and fairer than her mother. Her character was the same as her mother's. Alas! under such tutorship, how could she be expected to be otherwise.

When the time came for Adele to set out to pay her visit to the "Prenoms," she did so reluctantly. It was not a pleasure to her, it was a duty. If she did not go, she thought they would think her too proud. So she made the sacrifice, and went. She determined to show a bright face and to be as pleasant as she possibly could. She arrived at the house of her hosts rather late.

Mrs. Soher welcomed her in a piping voice. She wore her everyday apparel, and that was not of the brightest.

"Come in, my dear; you see, my dear, I have not had time yet to change clothes, but I'll be ready in a few minutes.

"Sit down, my dear; why are you so late? I thought you would come sooner."

Adele thought: "What a state the house would have been in, if I had arrived an hour earlier."

Mrs. Soher began to dust a secretaire, talking all the while to her niece. "Amelia will soon be down; she ran upstairs when she heard you knock at the door; she does not like for anyone to see her when she is not properly dressed, but _I_ don't care, not when it is you, at any rate."

"A pretty compliment," thought the visitor.

When they were all assembled round the table partaking of their tea, Adele tried over and over again to lead the conversation into a pleasant channel, but all to no purpose. The inmates of the "Prenoms" had to be taught to converse properly before they could do so. Mrs. Soher began to babble in her ordinary way. Her daughter supported her foolish statements. Adele made no remark. Her aunt noticed this, and after a most scornful remark about Mrs. B.'s character, she said to her niece: "Don't you think so?"

Although considerably annoyed, Adele had not so far made any remark, but she was now directly appealed to. She spoke: "I do not know," she said. She noticed the two women smiling and exchanging glances.

Said Mrs. Soher sarcastically: "I thought you knew Mrs. B."

"Yes," answered her niece, "I know her, but I am continually detecting faults in my temper which have to be overcome; and I find that I have quite enough to do to look after myself without bothering about others."

If ever you saw two people looking six ways for Sunday, it was Mrs. Soher and her daughter.

After a few moments of embarrassing silence, Mr. Soher, who had not yet spoken a word, said something about young people being respectful to their superiors; while Tom laughed at the two women and smiled approvingly at his cousin.

Adele took her departure early and was not asked to remain longer. When she was once more in the open, she felt a great weight lifted from her breast. She was now free, free to entertain herself with nature, away from the stagnant atmosphere of the "Prenoms." She walked along, her whole being revolting against the useless, ay, more than useless talk she had heard. But when she looked at the flowers that grew on the hedges which bordered the lane in which she was walking, her soul was filled with a sweet balm. Here was the ivy climbing upwards taking its support and some of its nourishment from the hedge which it was scaling, always gaining fresh ground. Such is the man who has risen in the world; he avails himself of his success for a nobler, higher, and mightier effort. There some meek ferns were hiding in a shady nook, away from the sun's piercing rays.

The young girl felt a twofold joy: that of being alone with nature, and that of being away from her aunt's house.

At last, she reached "Les Marches." How happy she felt. Not the sort of home she hoped to have some day; but still, it was home. Her father was there, as dumb and as severe as usual, but, to her, he looked quite a nice old man now.

While she was thus engaged in rapturous joy, Mrs. Soher and her daughter were having a fine time of it. "Ah! she _is_ a well-bred girl; to interrupt me like that, to answer and lecture me in that way," said Adele's aunt, then she added: "Fancy that little brat, to try and give me a lesson about my duty towards my neighbour. If she has enough to do to look after herself, let her do it; for my part I'll do as I like. It won't be a young girl who is not yet out of her teens who is going to teach me how to live."

The daughter scornfully remarked: "She has been to a boarding-school, you know."

At which the two women laughed and Mr. Soher smiled, while Tom, profiting by the general interest displayed in the conversation, slipped out of the room and slouched to the nearest public-house.

After having most unduly run down their departed guest, the two women resolved never again to invite her.

And they never did.

Had Adele heard their decision, she would have felt even more cheerful than she now did.