An Unsocial Socialist | Page 9

treatment here, or of the step which she has
compelled us to take, she will doubtless make it known to you.

"Perhaps you will be so good as to communicate with Miss Wylie's
guardian, Mr. Jansenius, with whom I shall be happy to make an
equitable arrangement respecting the fees which have been paid in
advance for the current term.
"I am, dear madam,
"Yours faithfully,
"Maria Wilson."
"A nice young lady, that!" said Mrs. Jansenius.
"I do not understand this," said Mr. Jansenius, reddening as he took in
the purport of his son-in-law's letter. "I will not submit to it. What does
it mean, Ruth ?"
"I don't know. Sidney is mad, I think; and his honeymoon has brought
his madness out. But you must not let him throw Henrietta on my hands
again."
"Mad! Does he think he can shirk his responsibility to his wife because
she is my daughter? Does he think, because his mother's father was a
baronet, that he can put Henrietta aside the moment her society palls on
him?"
"Oh, it's nothing of that sort. He never thought of us. But I will make
him think of us," said Mr. Jansenius, raising his voice in great agitation.
"He shall answer for it."
Just then Henrietta returned, and saw her father moving excitedly to
and fro, repeating, "He shall answer to me for this. He shall answer for
it."
Mrs. Jansenius frowned at her daughter to remain silent, and said
soothingly, "Don't lose your temper, John."
"But I will lose my temper. Insolent hound! Damned scoundrel!"

"He is not," whimpered Henrietta, sitting down and taking out her
handkerchief.
"Oh, come, come!" said Mrs. Jansenius peremptorily, "we have had
enough crying. Let us have no more of it."
Henrietta sprang up in a passion. "I will say and do as I please," she
exclaimed. "I am a married woman, and I will receive no orders. And I
will have my husband back again, no matter what he does to hide
himself. Papa, won't you make him come back to me? I am dying.
Promise that you will make him come back."
And, throwing herself upon her father's bosom, she postponed further
discussion by going into hysterics, and startling the household by her
screams.

CHAPTER III
One of the professors at Alton College was a Mrs. Miller, an
old-fashioned schoolmistress who did not believe in Miss Wilson's
system of government by moral force, and carried it out under protest.
Though not ill-natured, she was narrow-minded enough to be in some
degree contemptible, and was consequently prone to suspect others of
despising her. She suspected Agatha in particular, and treated her with
disdainful curtness in such intercourse as they had--it was fortunately
little. Agatha was not hurt by this, for Mrs. Miller was an
unsympathetic woman, who made no friends among the girls, and
satisfied her affectionate impulses by petting a large cat named
Gracchus, but generally called Bacchus by an endearing modification
of the harsh initial consonant.
One evening Mrs. Miller, seated with Miss Wilson in the study,
correcting examination papers, heard in the distance a cry like that of a
cat in distress. She ran to the door and listened. Presently there arose a
prolonged wail, slurring up through two octaves, and subsiding again.
It was a true feline screech, impossible to localize; but it was

interrupted by a sob, a snarl, a fierce spitting, and a scuffling, coming
unmistakably from a room on the floor beneath, in which, at that hour,
the older girls assembled for study.
"My poor Gracchy!" exclaimed Mrs. Miller, running downstairs as fast
as she could. She found the room unusually quiet. Every girl was deep
in study except Miss Carpenter, who, pretending to pick up a fallen
book, was purple with suppressed laughter and the congestion caused
by stooping.
"Where is Miss Ward?" demanded Mrs. Miller.
"Miss Ward has gone for some astronomical diagrams in which we are
interested," said Agatha, looking up gravely. Just then Miss Ward,
diagrams in hand, entered.
"Has that cat been in here?" she said, not seeing Mrs. Miller, and
speaking in a tone expressive of antipathy to Gracchus.
Agatha started and drew up her ankles, as if fearful of having them
bitten. Then, looking apprehensively under the desk, she replied,
"There is no cat here, Miss Ward."
"There is one somewhere; I heard it," said Miss Ward carelessly,
unrolling her diagrams, which she began to explain without further
parley. Mrs. Miller, anxious for her pet, hastened to seek it elsewhere.
In the hall she met one of the housemaids.
"Susan," she said, "have you seen Gracchus?"
"He's asleep on the hearthrug in your room, ma'am. But I heard him
crying down here a moment ago. I feel sure that another cat has got in,
and that