CHAPTER XIX.

AUNT JELLY DISCUSSES FAMILY AFFAIRS.

"You know the marriage service where it says-- 'Whom God hath joined let no man put asunder,' That answers for an interfering third, Who sows dissension in a happy home; But wife and husband can do just the same, Unless there's give and take betwixt the pair, Black looks, neglect, hard words, and other ills, Will put asunder A and B new wed, As surely as if C had played the rogue."

Aunt Jelly was a lady whom everyone judged best to leave alone, as she, being of a tart and aggressive nature, was disposed to be exceedingly disagreeable when meddled with. Old Father Time appeared to be of the same opinion, for he never seemed to come near her in any way, and though year after year went by, changing youth to age, dimming bright eyes, whitening heads brown and golden, and turning mellow voices to shrill trebles, Miss Corbin still preserved the same grim appearance, as if she was indeed the granite figure to which so many of her friends likened her. If Time did add another wrinkle in a stealthy way, or make her blood course more slowly through her withered frame, he did it in such a manner that no one, not even the closest observer, could notice it; and Aunt Jelly, straight and defiant as ever, sat grimly silent in her chair, knitting, knitting, knitting, as though she were some immortal hag weaving the destinies of short-lived humanity.

The old lady had heard of Eustace's return from abroad, and was in a high state of indignation that he had not called to see her as soon as he arrived in Town, but having received a note from him saying he would pay her a visit that afternoon, she was now waiting with the firm determination to give him an unpleasant reception.

Victoria had already gone out in the carriage to do some shopping for the old dame, and no one was with Miss Corbin except Minnie Pelch, who, more tearful than ever, was seated at the window, like Sister Anne, watching for the approach of Mr. Gartney.

The room had the same old-fashioned look about it, save that here and there a bunch of flowers or some dainty feminine adornment showed that Victoria Sheldon had striven to make things somewhat more home-like. Aunt Jelly sat in her chair with woolly-haired Coriolanus at her feet, and knitted on in severe silence, only opening her mouth every now and then to speak to the tearful Miss Pelch.

That young-old lady was in a state of suppressed excitement at the prospect of seeing Eustace again, as she contemplated making a final assault on him regarding the publication of her poems, but Aunt Jelly had so harassed and worried her, that she was reduced to a state of extreme limpness, and wept in a stealthy manner, making her eyes red, which by no means added to the beauty of her appearance.

The port and sherry decanters were on the table with the usual plate of cake, for though Miss Corbin intended to give Eustace a disagreeable reception she did not think of neglecting the duties of hospitality; fulfilled in her eyes by the production of cake and wine.

"Well," said Miss Corbin sharply, for the seventh time, "is he coming?"

"Not yet," replied Minnie meekly, after the fashion of Sister Anne.

Miss Corbin snorted like an old war-horse, tossed her head in an indignant manner, and resumed her work.

"In my young days," she observed at length in her usual harsh fashion, "the juniors were always civil to the seniors. Civility cost nothing then--now it appears to be unpurchasable. Eh! what do you say, Minnie? Nothing!--it's your sniffling then! how often have I told you to correct that habit. Look again--is he coming?"

"Not yet," answered Miss Pelch once more, "it's only three o'clock."

"I didn't ask you the time," rejoined Aunt Jelly tartly. "I suppose you're going to worry him about that poetry of yours?"

"I'm going to ask him to get it published," said Minnie with tearful dignity, "bound in blue and gold with my portrait at the beginning."

"Poor child," said Aunt Jelly, pausing a moment, "how you do build castles in the air. Well, I hope my nephew will help you to do what you wish. Nobody will read the book except the critics, and they'll abuse you. If they do," continued Miss Corbin, shaking her finger, "don't come to me for sympathy, for I've warned you. Is he coming?"

"Yes!" cried Minnie, in a state of excitement, seeing a hansom rattle round the corner and pull up before the door, "he's in a cab."

"Oh, indeed, couldn't walk I suppose," grumbled Miss Corbin grimly, "better for his pocket and his liver if he did. Hand me that last volume of his rubbish, Minnie, I've got a few words to say about it."

Minnie obediently did as she was told and Aunt Jelly took the heavy book on her knee, while the door was flung open by the butler, who announced in his usual pompous voice:

"Mr. Eustace Gartney."

"How do you do, Aunt Jelly?" said Eustace, walking across to the old lady as if he had only parted with her the day before, "you don't look a day older."

"Humph! I'm sorry I can't return the compliment" replied Miss Corbin, presenting her withered cheek to be saluted. "Arabia hasn't done you much good, at all events."

"You're as candid as ever, I see," said Gartney carelessly, turning to Minnie. "I hope you are well, Miss Pelch."

"Oh quite, thank you, dear Mr. Gartney," answered Minnie, in a state of fluttering excitement. "I'm so delighted to see you back."

"So kind of you," murmured Eustace, taking a seat in the chair Minnie pushed forward for him. "Well, Aunt Jelly, and how has the world been using you?"

"The same as I've been using it," retorted Miss Jelly epigrammatically. "I keep the world at its distance."

"Like oil paintings. They always look best at a distance, you know."

"Don't talk books to me," said the old lady, "I've had quite enough of your smart sayings in this," touching the volume on her lap.

"So I see! I told my publishers to send you a copy. I hope you like it."

"I do very, very much," cried Minnie clasping her hands, "it's simply too lovely for anything."

"The critics don't think so," said Aunt Jelly spitefully.

"And I suppose you agree with the critics," replied Eustace.

"Did you hear me say so?" demanded his aunt fiercely.

"No but----"

"Then don't cry out till you are hurt. Take a glass of wine--Minnie, the wine."

Miss Pelch poured out the wine with trembling hand, so excited she was at the presence of the great author, and Eustace, knowing his aunt's determination on the subject of port, drank it meekly although it was a wine he hated.

"The book," said Miss Corbin, after a pause, "is not at all bad. I daresay there are a good many lies in it, still they're decently told lies. You've improved this time, Eustace."

"Thank you, my dear aunt, I'm glad to have your good opinion, but the critics----"

"Critics," snorted Aunt Jelly scornfully, "do you mean those idiots that scribble for the papers and who would abuse their parents for two pence three farthings? Pooh! I don't call those critics. In the palmy days of the _Quarterly Review_ there were decent reviewers, but now--rubbish! they write nothing but drivel, though to be sure it's drivel they criticise. I'm not talking about your book, Eustace, my dear. It's good!--very good, and I wouldn't say so if I didn't think so."

"No, I'm sure you wouldn't," replied Eustace meekly. "And how are things, aunt?"

"What kind of things, child? Be more explicit."

"Well, my cousin Errington, is he all right?"

"Humph! right enough."

"And his wife?"

"She's a fool," remarked Aunt Jelly politely, at which Eustace felt quite indignant.

"I don't think so."

"What do you know about it?" retorted the old lady sharply. "I tell you she is a fool. Guy was up to see me the other day."

"Well, you can hardly expect me to believe that Guy spoke like that to you about his wife.

"Who said he did, you blind bat? Don't jump to conclusions, Eustace, for you're not clever enough to land at them."

"Well, tell me why you speak of Lady Errington like this"

"I take my own time and own way of telling things," replied Miss Jelly deliberately. "Minnie, my dear, go upstairs and look for your poetry, I daresay Mr. Gartney will glance at it before he goes."

Minnie had her precious manuscript in her pocket, but knowing from Miss Corbin's hint that she wanted to discuss private affairs with her nephew, meekly retreated from the room, closing the door quietly after her.

"I don't know what I've done that you should inflict Minnie's poetry on me," said Eustace in an injured tone.

"Pooh, nonsense! don't be selfish. It gives the poor child pleasure to have her milk-and-water rubbish looked at by you. Do a kind action for once in your life, Eustace. I'm sure it's little enough you do for your fellow-creatures."

"They aren't worth it."

"I daresay, but no doubt they make the same remark about you."

"Well, don't bother about my failings, Aunt Jelly," said Eustace impatiently, "tell me about the Erringtons."

"It's just this," observed Miss Jelly, letting her knitting fall on her lap, "you know how fond Guy is of that wife of his, a piece of ice with no more feeling in her than that pair of tongs. Well, since this child was born, she has changed altogether, nothing but love and affection, and the Lord knows what!"

"All the better for Guy, I should say," said Eustace, who knew what was coming.

"All the worse you mean," retorted his aunt. "Bless my soul, I don't mind the woman melting, no one could go on loving such an icicle, but she's melted the wrong way, and every particle of affection she has is given to the child."

"Well that's only natural."

"It's nothing of the sort, sir," objected Aunt Jelly energetically. "Why should a woman love nothing but her child, and take no more notice of her husband than if he was a sign-post? Every woman ought to love her children, certainly, but they owe something to the father of the children as well."

"No doubt! but perhaps Guy exaggerates his wife's neglect."

Aunt Jelly shook her head in a doubtful manner.

"I don't think so," she replied, deliberately, "Guy isn't the man to cry out, unless he's hurt. From what he says, it appears Alizon is always with the child, and the poor lad is left to wander about by himself. Sometimes, she won't even come to meals. Now, that can't possibly be right, can it?"

"No, I suppose not," answered Eustace, after a pause, wondering to himself at finding his prophecy so literally fulfilled, "but, perhaps, the child is ill, and needs care."

"The child is as well as you are," retorted Aunt jelly, snappishly, "though that is not saying much, for you look as if you were sickening for some disease, but in plain words Alizon is neglecting her husband in the most silly manner for the child. If this is the case, how will it end?"

"I'm sure I don't know!"

"You never know anything! Then I'll tell you, they'll learn to do without one another, and that's a bad thing. She'll be all right, because she's got the child, but Guy's got nothing, and he's not the man to put-up with such treatment. If she neglects him, he'll find consolation with some other woman."

"Oh, aunt!"

"I've shocked you, have I?" said the old lady grimly. "Get your nerves better under control, then. I call a spade a spade, and am telling you the truth. If Alizon Errington goes on like this, the first woman that comes along will snap up her husband, and the consequence will be of her own making."

"Well, what's to be done?" demanded Eustace, blankly.

"I'm sure I don't know," said Aunt Jelly, with an air of vexation, resuming her knitting. "I don't want to see the affair end in the Divorce Court, and that's the direction it's going in at present. Guy was up the other day, and told me some long rigmarole about his feelings, so the best thing you can do is to go down to the Hall, and see what you can do."

"I!" cried Eustace, jumping to his feet in a state of agitation. "I can do nothing."

"Take a glass of wine, my dear, take a glass of wine," said Aunt Jelly, sharply. "Your nerves are all crooked. That comes of gadding about the world."

Eustace made no reply to this onslaught, but walked to and fro in silence. He was considerably puzzled how to act in this dilemma, as he had made up his mind not to see Lady Errington, thinking his feelings towards her were too strong for him to keep silence. Curiously enough it never seemed to strike him that as Alizon was neglecting her own husband for the child, it was unlikely she would respond to his passion in any way, seeing that she had neither eyes nor ears for anything save her first-born. Gartney's egotism blinded him on this occasion, as it did on many others, but he felt that he was being forced into a situation, towards the woman he loved, from whence there was no escape. Looking at it in his narrow-minded fashion, it seemed a struggle between love and honour, and he was undecided how to act. All his life, however, he had been accustomed to deny himself nothing, and in this case he carried out his ruling principle of selfishly gratifying himself, so there and then made up his mind to accept Aunt Jelly's mission and go down to Errington Hall.

"Well, Eustace," said Aunt Jelly sharply, quite unaware of the struggle going on in her nephew's mind, "what do you say--will you do a kind action for once in your life?"

Eustace having made up his mind, came slowly back to his elderly relation and resumed his chair.

"I'm sorry you've got such a bad opinion of me, Aunt Jelly," he said coolly, "and I'll have much pleasure in proving you're wrong for once in your life, by going down to Ellington Hall, and having a talk with Guy."

"That's right," replied Miss Corbin, much gratified. "And I suppose you'll have a look at your own place."

"Of course!"

"I thought so, you never did a thing in your life without a double motive," said Aunt Jelly, unjustly. "However, I don't care two straws what you go down for, so long as you try and put things right between those two idiots."

"Kindly opinion you've got of human nature, Aunt."

"No doubt, I have," retorted Miss Jelly, coolly, "but that's human nature's own fault, not mine."

"Do you remember what wise La Rochefoucauld says?" observed Eustace, thoughtfully. "'Many people judge the world as if they were its judges, and not its denizens.' That is true, I think."

"I don't like your cut and dried wisdom, Mr. Quoter-of-old-saws," replied Aunt Jelly, "there's sure to be a flaw in it somewhere."

Eustace laughed and leaned back in his chair.

"You've got an answer for everything, Aunt Jelly! Well, I'll go down to Errington, and do my best, but I'm doubtful of success. It's foolish work meddling between man and wife."

Miss Corbin sniffed in a doubtful manner, and was about to make some bitter reply, when the door opened and Victoria, bright and piquant as ever, entered the room.

"Here I am, Aunt Jelly," she cried gaily, "with not one of your orders forgotten--Mr. Gartney!"

"How do you do, Miss Sheldon?" said that gentleman rising from his seat, "it's some time since we met."

The memory of their ill-concealed enmity at Como, and of the circumstances under which, she had parted from Otterburn, all rushed suddenly into Victoria's mind, and she blushed deeply, but with her usual self-command she suppressed all other signs of emotion, as she held out her hand frankly to Eustace.

"It's eighteen months since we last saw one another," she said, equably, "and since then, judging from your book, you have been leading a delightfully dangerous life."

"More fool he!" muttered Aunt Jelly disdainfully.

"And you, Miss Sheldon," said Eustace, taking no notice of the old lady's ill-nature, "what kind of a life have you been leading?"

Victoria slipped into a chair, and took off her gloves carelessly, though, truth to tell, her heart was beating somewhat rapidly at this meeting.

"Oh, the usual London life!" she replied nonchalantly. "Theatre, Park, Ball, Church--Church, Ball, Park, Theatre. The only change you can get is to reverse them."

"You young girls don't know how to enjoy yourselves in a rational way," said Miss Corbin, politely; "you ought to marry and settle down."

"That's your advice to everyone, Aunt Jelly," retorted Victoria, her cheeks growing hot; "but you have not practised what you now preach."

"Circumstances alter cases, child," returned Aunt Jelly, composedly. "I had my reasons--you, no doubt, would call them ridiculous reasons--but they were good enough for me."

Victoria did not know of the old love romance between her father and this faded beauty, or she would never have spoken as she did; but as Miss Corbin, with a softened look in her eyes, bent over her work, she felt vaguely that this sharp-tongued woman had suffered, and touched the withered hand with a pretty gesture of penitence.

"I suppose you have quite forgotten Como, Miss Sheldon?" said Eustace, remembering his promise to Otterburn, and artfully trying to find out if she still remembered the boy.

"Oh, no! I liked Como very much! The scenery was delightful."

She spoke quietly enough, but Eustace was an acute observer of human nature, and his keen ear caught an inflection of a tremor in her voice which considerably guided him in framing his next remark.

"Yes, the scenery was charming, was it not?" he remarked significantly; "and the friends we met there also. What a pleasant party we were. The Erringtons, Mrs. Trubbles, yourself and--Macjean."

"And what has become of Mr. Macjean?" she asked in a low voice, taking up Aunt Jelly's ball of wool.

"Oh, Otterburn is in London."

"In London!" she echoed, starting violently.

"Dear me, Victoria," said Aunt Jelly, snappishly, "how nervous you are, child! You've upset my wool all over the place."

Victoria, glad of an excuse to hide her face, bent down to pick up the ball, and Aunt Jelly, having caught Otterburn's name, went on talking.

"Otterburn, eh? I know that name. Wasn't that the young man you flirted with at Como, Victoria?"

"I didn't flirt with him," cried Victoria, raising her head defiantly. "At least," she added, catching sight of Gartney's keen eye fixed on her, "at least, not much."

"That's so like you, child," observed Aunt Jelly, disentangling her yarn, "you will play with fire--some day you'll burn your fingers."

"Perhaps that catastrophe has happened already," said Eustace quickly.

Miss Sheldon laughed in a somewhat artificial manner at this remark, and promptly denied it.

"I'm sure it hasn't," she said, looking straight at Eustace with crimson cheeks. "I take too good care of myself for that. But talking about Mr. Macjean, how is it I have not seen him?"

"I don't know I'm sure," replied Gartney carelessly; "he's only been a short time in Town, you know. I wanted him to come here to-day, but he was engaged."

Victoria felt all her old hatred of Eustace revive as he spoke the last words, as she felt sure he was talking sarcastically, and would have liked to reply sharply, but she could hardly do so without betraying an unwonted interest in Otterburn, which might have placed lynx-eyed Aunt Jelly on the _qui vive_, so wisely held her tongue.

Eustace himself, being satisfied that Victoria still felt an interest in his young friend, inwardly congratulated himself on the result of his diplomacy, and arose to go.

"Goodbye, Aunt Jelly," he said, kissing his relative. "I'll go down home to-morrow and tell you what I've done on my return."

"That's right, Eustace," said Aunt Jelly, much pleased; "have a glass of wine before you go?"

"No, thank you," replied Gartney, walking to the door, "one glass is enough for me."

"Weak head," muttered Aunt Jelly, "just like your father."

"Better than a weak character," retorted Eustace, gaily. "_Au revoir_, Miss Sheldon. I'll tell Mr. Macjean I've seen you."

"No, don't," said Victoria hastily, then, feeling that she had committed an error, strove to mend it. "I mean yes, of course I'll be very pleased to see Mr. Macjean again."

"I've no doubt you will," muttered Eustace to himself, as he got into his cab; "she's still in love with him, so Otterburn has only to ask and to have."

Mr. Gartney would hardly have been so confident had he seen Victoria at that moment, for she had ran hastily up to her room and was lying on her bed in a passion of tears.

"He wouldn't come and see me, I suppose," she said viciously. "Oh, very well, I'll punish him for this. He's forgotten all about me, but I'll make him propose again if it's only for the pleasure of refusing him."