Next day Alice accepted Miss Carew's invitation. Lydia, who seemed
to regard all conclusions as foregone when she had once signified
her approval of them, took the acceptance as a matter of course.
Alice thereupon thought fit to remind her that there were other
persons to be considered. So she said, "I should not have hesitated
yesterday but for my mother. It seems so heartless to leave her."
"You have a sister at home, have you not?"
"Yes. But she is not very strong, and my mother requires a great
deal of attention." Alice paused, and added in a lower voice, "She
has never recovered from the shock of my father's death."
"Your father is then not long dead?" said Lydia in her usual tone.
"Only two years," said Alice, coldly. "I hardly know how to tell my
mother that I am going to desert her."
"Go and tell her today, Alice. You need not be afraid of hurting
her. Grief of two years' standing is only a bad habit."
Alice started, outraged. Her mother's grief was sacred to her; and
yet it was by her experience of her mother that she recognized the
truth of Lydia's remark, and felt that it was unanswerable. She
frowned; but the frown was lost: Miss Carew was not looking at her.
Then she rose and went to the door, where she stopped to say, "You do not know our family circumstances. I will go now and try to
prevail on my mother to let me stay with you."
"Please come back in good time for dinner," said Lydia, unmoved. "I
will introduce you to my cousin Lucian Webber. I have just received
a telegram from him. He is coming down with Lord Worthington. I do
not know whether Lord Worthington will come to dinner or not. He has
an invalid friend at the Warren, and Lucian does not make it clear
whether he is coming to visit him or me. However, it is of no
consequence; Lord Worthington is only a young sportsman. Lucian is a
clever man, and will be an eminent one some day. He is secretary to
a Cabinet Minister, and is very busy; but we shall probably see him
often while the Whitsuntide holidays last. Excuse my keeping you
waiting at the door to hear that long history. Adieu!" She waved her
hand; Alice suddenly felt that it was possible to be very fond of
Miss Carew.
She spent an unhappy afternoon with her mother. Mrs. Goff had had
the good-fortune to marry a man of whom she was afraid, and who made
himself very disagreeable whenever his house or his children were
neglected in the least particular. Making a virtue of necessity, she
had come to be regarded in Wiltstoken as a model wife and mother. At
last, when a drag ran over Mr. Goff and killed him, she was left
almost penniless, with two daughters on her hands. In this extremity
she took refuge in grief, and did nothing. Her daughters settled
their father's affairs as best they could, moved her into a cheap
house, and procured a strange tenant for that in which they had
lived during many years. Janet, the elder sister, a student by
disposition, employed herself as a teacher of the scientific
fashions in modern female education, rumors of which had already
reached Wiltstoken. Alice was unable to teach mathematics and moral
science; but she formed a dancing-class, and gave lessons in singing
and in a language which she believed to be current in France, but
which was not intelligible to natives of that country travelling
through Wiltstoken. Both sisters were devoted to one another and to
their mother. Alice, who had enjoyed the special affection of her
self-indulgent father, preserved some regard for his memory, though
she could not help wishing that his affection had been strong enough
to induce him to save a provision for her. She was ashamed, too, of
the very recollection of his habit of getting drunk at races,
regattas, and other national festivals, by an accident at one of
which he had met his death.