CHAPTER XII.

AUNT JELLY'S OPINION.

"All speech is silver, silence gold (I wish it were on some occasions), For though unpleasant to be told, You get the truth from your relations."

Anyone hostile towards matrimony, seeing Sir Guy in the character of a newly-returned bridegroom, would certainly have said that marriage was not a failure in his case, for he looked wonderfully bright and happy as he presented his wife to Aunt Jelly.

Lady Errington, on the other hand, still preserved her appearance of fragility and her air of calmness, forming with her reposeful manner a great contrast to her husband, who was bubbling over with excitement and looked like a happy schoolboy out on his holiday.

"Here we are, Aunt Jelly," he said in his loud, hearty voice, kissing his elderly relation, "back from foreign parts and glad to be home once more. Don't you think Alizon is looking well?"

"I don't know yet," replied Aunt Jelly sharply, with a keen look at the young couple. "Come here, my dear, and give me a kiss."

Alizon had a horror of feminine embraces, and always skilfully avoided demonstrative friends, but from this direct command there was no possibility of escaping, so she submitted to the ordeal with the best grace she could and then took her seat near Miss Corbin, while Guy went to the end of the room to shake hands with Minnie Pelch.

"Well, Miss Pelch, and how are you? Jolly, eh!--ah, that's right. Been writing any more poetry? By Jove, you're quite a literary person."

Minnie smiled faintly at this compliment and glanced rather disapprovingly at Guy, who was far too healthy and English-looking to resemble her favourite heroes of the Manfred-Lara type, who all had pale faces, raven hair, and no morals. Guy, however, having done his duty towards his aunt's companion, wandered back to that redoubtable lady and sat down by his wife.

Being thus placed before the judge, Aunt Jelly commenced to cross-examine them both in her own brusque way.

"Well, Guy," she said, resuming her knitting, "now you've idled away so many months on the Continent, I hope you've come back to look after your property once more."

"Of course I have, aunt. We would have been back long ago, but Alizon was in love with the Italian lakes. Weren't you, Alizon?"

"Yes, I thought they were very beautiful," replied Alizon, who, being a comparative stranger to Aunt Jelly, hardly knew how to speak in a way congenial to that lady, "but I'm afraid it is a very lotos-eating place."

"Humph!" remarked the old gentlewoman, with a sharp glance, "and you don't like lotos-eating."

"No! I think life means something more than idleness."

"For Heaven's sake, child, understand the value of being idle. Don't become a woman with a mission. It's a most detestable class--clatter, clatter, chatter, chatter! They do more harm than good, in my opinion, but then I'm an old woman and my ideas are much behind those of to-day."

"I don't think there's much chance of my becoming a woman with a mission," replied Lady Errington, smiling, "it's not my nature, nor do I think Guy admires them."

"By Jove! no," said Sir Guy, energetically; "those women who turn themselves into feminine men--I can't say I care for them at all. They worry a fellow's life out with their preachings. My ideal of a woman is--my wife."

Lady Errington's eyes smiled a grateful recognition of this compliment, and even Aunt Jelly, who hated a display of any demonstrative affection, was not ill-pleased.

"Well, well," she said grimly; "I'm glad to see a husband appreciate his wife, 'tis such a novelty now-a-days, they generally appreciate someone else's. By-the-way, child, you don't look very strong."

"Don't you think so, aunt?" said Guy in alarm.

"No! too pale--far too pale. Have you got any blood, child? Oh, of course, you say you have. Sick people always do. You must eat more and take port wine. Guy, pour your wife out a glass of port."

Guy obediently did as he was told, but Alizon protested against being made to drink it.

"I'm really very strong, Miss Corbin----"

"Aunt Jelly," interrupted the old lady.

"Well, Aunt Jelly, I look delicate, but I'm not--I am----"

"Never mind what you are. Drink up the port. You're as bad as Minnie. Bless the child, do you think I don't know what's good for people? Teetotalism fudge? It all comes of adulterated drinks, though I daresay there's a good deal of truth in it. But a glass of good port is what you want and what you've got to take."

Alizon, anxious to please the old lady on her first visit, did as she was told, and then, after making Guy drink some sherry, Aunt Jelly proceeded to talk about Victoria.

"Yes, we met her abroad," said Lady Errington, sipping her wine, "a very charming girl."

"Ah, her father was such a handsome man," answered Aunt Jelly, with a secret thought of her dead and done with romance. "I never saw her mother."

"She was a Macjean, I believe," said Guy indolently, "at least Otterburn said something about his family being mixed up with hers."

Aunt Jelly raised her head like an old war-horse at the sound of a trumpet.

"Otterburn! Otterburn! Who is he?" she demanded sharply. "Someone Victoria has been flirting with, I suppose. I never heard of him, though she does mention him in her letters."

"He's new to town," explained her nephew carelessly, "the eldest son of Lord Dunkeld. Angus Macjean, you know, his title is the Master of Otterburn. A very nice boy and awfully in love with Victoria."

"Oh, is he? And I daresay Victoria encouraged him."

"Rather!"

"No, no!" interposed Lady Errington, seeing a rising storm in Aunt Jelly's frown, "I don't think she went as far as that, but you know, Aunt jelly, Victoria is very pretty and the boy could hardly help admiring her."

"Oh, I daresay she wasn't blind to his admiration," said Miss Corbin viciously; "she's pretty, no doubt, but after all beauty is only skin deep."

A weak giggle coming out of the dark corner showed that Minnie agreed with her, whereupon Aunt Jelly, who never permitted any familiarities, vented her anger on Miss Pelch at once.

"What are you sniffling for, Minnie?" she called out. "Come here and show yourself. This is my niece, Lady Errington, and this is Miss Pelch, my dear. Her father was curate at Denfield."

"How do you do?" said Alizon kindly, feeling sorry for the blushing Minnie. "I've heard about you from my husband. You write poetry, do you not?"

An affirmative snort from Aunt Jelly.

"Yes," replied Minnie, "I do write poetry sometimes."

"So Mr. Gartney told me."

"Oh, Eustace," cried Aunt Jelly significantly, "where is he now? Guy, don't go to sleep! Where is your cousin?"

"I don't know," retorted Guy, who had closed his eyes for a moment. "Gone to Cyprus, or some out of-the-way place. Hasn't he written to you?"

"Does he ever write letters?" demanded Aunt Jelly in an exasperated tone. "No! he keeps all his scribblings for the public."

"Oh, he does write beautifully," said Minnie, clasping her hands.

"Humph! that's a matter of opinion," responded Aunt Jelly doubtfully. "He's as blasphemous as Lord Byron, without any of his genius. He's more like that Lalla Rookh man that wrote such dreadful things under the name of Little. Don't be afraid, child, I'm not going to quote them."

"Mr. Gartney is a very charming talker," said Alizon quietly.

"Bless me, child, you've got a good word to say for everyone," remarked Aunt Jelly, with a benevolent scowl. "He certainly does talk well. It's almost a lost art now-a-days. Men and women don't talk, they drivel about their own virtues and their friends' faults. But Eustace!--well, yes, he's more amusing than you, Guy; you, my dear, have got all your goods in the shop window. Good appearance, but no brains."

Guy, being used to Miss Corbin's plain speaking, roared with laughter at this flattering description, but Alizon felt indignant at her good-looking, kind-hearted husband being thus decried, and spoke out boldly.

"I don't think so at all."

"That's a very good thing--for Guy," said the old dame grimly. "Don't take up the cudgels on your husband's account, my dear, he's big enough to look after himself. After all, he has a better heart than Eustace, and he doesn't write poetry, which is a blessing. We must always be thankful for small mercies."

Minnie felt rather indignant at this indirect shaft, but stood too much in awe of Miss Corbin to venture a remonstrance, so after a pause, during which Aunt Jelly eyed the trio like an elderly beldame of romance, Lady Errington continued the conversation.

"Well, we must allow some latitude to genius."

"Genius!" scoffed Aunt Jelly, picking up a stitch she had dropped. "My dear, in my young days every farthing rush-light did not call itself the sun. Eustace is clever in a nasty find-faulty way, I admit, but he's not a genius. He ought to give up writing abusive books, and marry, but there--if he did he'd worry the best woman that ever breathed into her grave."

"He sings beautifully, at all events," said Lady Errington, feeling rather nonplussed as to how to satisfy this contradictory woman.

"God bless my soul, child I don't go through a list of my nephew's virtues. I know them already, and from the best authority--himself. When he returns from this tree place--what do you call it?--Cyprus--yes, I knew it had something to do with a tree. Well, when he returns, I hope he'll be improved--there's room for it, great room. Guy, when do you go down to Denfield?"

"To-morrow, aunt."

"That's sensible. Errington Hall needs a master's eyes. I don't believe in absenteeism myself. If I had my way--which I'm not likely to have, because it's too sensible--I'd pack all landlords back to their estates in the country instead of letting them waste their money in London."

"But what would London do without them?" asked Alizon, much amused at this new view of the subject.

"Much better," retorted Aunt Jelly, sharply. "In my young days, before steam and electricity upset everything, people stayed in their own houses. But now everyone comes up to London. A cake's no good if the currants are all in one place. Scatter them, and it's an improvement."

"There's a good deal of truth in what you say," remarked Alizon, quietly. "If literary men and musicians, for instance, made little centres of art and letters all over the three kingdoms, it would be more beneficial in every way than centralising everything in London."

"Literature! Bah!" said Miss Corbin, with scorn; "milk-and-water novels about religion and society, bilious essays, and fault-finding critics--that's what you call literature now-a-days. As for music, I don't know much about it. 'The Maiden's Prayer' and the 'Battle of Prague' were thought good enough when I was young. But now it's all systems and theories, and what they call sixths and sevenths. A very good name, too," concluded the old lady, grimly, "for the whole lot of them do seem at sixes and sevens."

"Ah! you see, everything is improving," said Guy, meekly, not having any idea about what he was talking, but only making a vain endeavour to stay Aunt Jelly's rancorous tongue.

"It's more than manners are," replied the old lady, tartly. "Minnie, don't twiddle your fingers so. It annoys me. Humph! so you're going down to Errington to play the Lord of the Manor and your wife Lady Bountiful. Mind you take care of yourself, my dear; the mists down there are very bad for the throat."

"I don't think they are bad, Aunt Jelly," expostulated Guy, indignant that she should try to prejudice Alizon against her future home.

"Oh, you think about nothing!" said Aunt Jelly, coolly. "I tell you the place is unhealthy. Bless the man, don't I know what I'm talking about? Look at that girl," pointing to the shrinking Minnie, who was dreadfully upset at having public attention thus drawn to her--"she's lived all her life at Denfield, and what has she had? Measles, whooping-cough, neuralgia; she was a pale rickety mass of disease when she came to me. What built her up? Port wine. I tell you the place is unhealthy, and mind you take plenty of port wine and beef tea, Alizon, or you'll go out some day like the snuff of a candle. I've seen several of your sort go that way."

"Aunt," cried Guy, rising to his feet in a rage, "how can you speak so! Hang it all! talk of something more cheerful. I didn't bring my wife here to be frightened out of her wits."

"Pooh! nonsense! Don't you get angry," said the old lady, quite pleased at upsetting her good-tempered nephew, "What's the good of being an old woman if you can't say what you like? Well, go down home at once, and perhaps next year I'll pay you a visit."

"I wonder you're not afraid of dying in such an unhealthy place," said Guy, scornfully.

"Don't you be afraid. I shan't afford you that gratification for some time yet," answered Aunt Jelly malignantly. "I'm a creaking door. They hang long, you know."

"Goodbye, Aunt Jelly," said Alizon, holding out her hand to Miss Corbin, for she felt she could not stand this terrible old woman any longer. "I'll come and see you when I'm next in town."

"Humph! that means if you've got ten minutes to spare," growled the old lady, kissing Lady Errington's soft cheek. "Well! well! go on. The old are always neglected."

"They wouldn't be if they were a little more pleasant," said Guy, still indignant, as he said goodbye.

"Ah! you young folks expect to find life all honey, but there's a good deal of vinegar in it. I dare say you'll grow tired of one another."

Guy, who was at the door with his wife, turned round at this, and called out in a rage:

"No, we won't!"

"I've heard better men than you say the same thing, but it always came to pass."

"It won't in this case, so your kind heart will be disappointed for once."

By this time Minnie Pelch had escorted Lady Errington to the hall door, and Sir Guy was about to follow after his parting shot, but the redoubtable Aunt Jelly was not one to give in without a struggle, and would have the last word.

"Go away! go away!" she said, furiously--"go away and learn manners."

"I certainly won't come to you for the teaching," retorted Guy, in great heat. "Goodbye, Aunt Jelly, and I hope you'll be in a more Christian spirit next time we come."

He closed the door after him so as to give her no opportunity of replying, and Aunt Jelly thus being beaten, felt in an exceedingly bad temper. She fought with every one who came to the house, and crushed all except Eustace, whose cool sarcasm was too much for her, but this unexpected resistance of the dutiful Guy surprised her, and she was not ill-pleased.

"I didn't think he had so much spirit," she chuckled, as she resumed her knitting. "It comes from his mother, I'll be bound. Jane always had a fine temper of her own and, was twice the man her milksop of a husband was. Well, well! I'm glad Guy can speak his mind. He hasn't much to speak, poor fool; still it's better than nothing."

In fact, the old lady was so pleased with Guy's rebellion on behalf of his wife that she became quite good-tempered, and Minnie, on her return, found her patroness for once in her life an amiable companion.

As for Guy and his wife, when they were both snugly ensconced in their carriage and driving back to the hotel, both of them laughed heartily over the visit.

"Isn't she an old cat?" said Guy, wiping the tears from his eyes; "she fights like the devil! It's the first time I've had a row with her."

"I'm sorry it was on my account, Guy," observed Alizon, anxiously.

"Don't you bother your head, my dear," he replied coolly, patting her hand; "if it hadn't been you it would have been someone else. If Aunt Jelly hadn't a row every now and then she'd die. I wish to Heaven she would, and then I'd get her money!"

"Oh, Guy, how can you speak so?"

"Why not? We need the money badly enough, I'm sure. She only wastes it on churches and orphans' homes. I wish to Heaven I was an orphan; Aunt Jelly might take some interest in me."

"Well, you are an orphan."

"Yes, but that's not the genuine article. Aunt Jelly loves a snivelling, alone-in-the-world brat who needs reforming. A titled orphan like myself is no fun. I can't harrow her soul."

"You did your best to do so just now," said Alizon, laughing. Sir Guy echoed her laughter, and when they arrived at their hotel both of them came to the conclusion that they had passed a very pleasant afternoon.