Thistle and Rose | Page 6

to Mr and Mrs Forrest; it made poor old Mr Goodwin miserable, and separated him from his only child; and as to Prissy herself--well, the poor thing didn't live to find out her mistake, and left her little daughter to feel the consequences of it."
"Poor little motherless darling," murmured Mrs Hunt.--"Del, my love, go on with my work a little, while I say a few words to old Mrs Crow."
Delia took her mother's place, threaded her needle, raised her eyebrows with an amused air, as she examined the work accomplished, and bent her head industriously over it.
"Doesn't it seem quite impossible," said Miss Gibbins, "to realise that Prissy's daughter is really coming to Waverley to-morrow! Why, it seems the other day that I saw Prissy married in Dornton church!"
"It must be fifteen years ago at the least," said Mrs Winn, in such deep tones that they seemed to roll round the room. "The child must be fourteen years old."
"She wore grey cashmere," said Miss Gibbins, reflectively, "and a little white bonnet. And the sun streamed in upon her through the painted window. I remember thinking she looked like a dove. I wonder if the child is like her."
"The Forrests have never taken much notice of Mr Goodwin, since the marriage," said Mrs Hurst, "but I suppose, now his grandchild is to live there, all that will be altered."
Delia looked quickly up at the speaker, but checked the words on her lips, and said nothing.
"You can't do away with the ties of blood," said Mrs Winn; "the child's his grandchild. You can't ignore that."
"Why should you want to ignore it?" asked Delia, suddenly raising her eyes and looking straight at her.
The attack was so unexpected that Mrs Winn had no answer ready. She remained speechless, with her large grey eyes wider open than usual, for quite a minute before she said, "These are matters, Delia, which you are too young to understand."
"Perhaps I am," answered Delia; "but I can understand one thing very well, and that is, that Mr Goodwin is a grandfather that any one ought to be proud of, and that, if his relations are not proud of him, it is because they're not worthy of him."
"Oh, well," said Miss Gibbins, shaking her head rather nervously as she looked at Delia, "we all know what a champion Mr Goodwin has in you, Delia. `Music with its silver sound' draws you together, as Shakespeare says. And, of course, we're all proud of our organist in Dornton, and, of course, he has great talent. Still, you know, when all's said and done, he is a music-master, and in quite a different position from the Forrests."
"Socially," said Mrs Winn, placing her large, white hand flat on the table beside her, to emphasise her words, "Mr Goodwin is not on the same footing. When Delia is older she will know what that means."
"I know it now," replied Delia. "I never consider them on the same footing at all. There are plenty of clergymen everywhere, but where could you find any one who can play the violin like Mr Goodwin?"
She fixed her eyes with innocent inquiry on Mrs Winn. Mrs Hurst bridled a little.
"I do think," she said, "that clergymen occupy a position quite apart. I like Mr Goodwin very much. I've always thought him a nice old gentleman, and Herbert admires his playing, but--"
"Of course, of course," said Mrs Winn, "we must be all agreed as to that.--You're too fond, my dear Delia, of giving your opinion on subjects where ignorance should keep you silent. A girl of your age should try to behave herself, lowly and reverently, to all her betters."
"So I do," said Delia, with a smile; "in fact, I feel so lowly and reverent sometimes, that I could almost worship Mr Goodwin. I am ready to humble myself to the dust, when I hear him playing the violin."
Mrs Winn was preparing to make a severe answer to this, when Miss Gibbins, who was tired of being silent, broke adroitly in, and changed the subject.
"You missed a treat last Thursday, Mrs Winn, by losing the Shakespeare reading. It was rather far to get out to Pynes, to be sure, but it was worth the trouble, to hear Mrs Hurst read `Arthur.'"
The curate's wife gave a little smile, which quickly faded as Miss Gibbins continued: "I had no idea there was anything so touching in Shakespeare. Positively melting! And then Mrs Palmer looked so well! She wore that rich plum-coloured silk, you know, with handsome lace, and a row of most beautiful lockets. I thought to myself, as she stood up to read in that sumptuous drawing-room, that the effect was regal. `Regal,' I said afterwards, is the only word to express Mrs Palmer's appearance this afternoon."
"What part did Mrs Palmer read?"