Vera Nevill | Page 4

exactly three-quarters of an hour ago; there are limits to all human endurance."
"I consider it extremely impertinent," begins the old lady, nodding her head violently.
"Darling Vera," pleads Marion, almost in tears; "perhaps you had better let him go back."
"Tommy is quite good now," says Vera, calmly passing her hand over the rough blonde head. Master Tommy's mouth is full of bread and jam, and he looks supremely indifferent to the warfare that is being carried on on his account over his head.
His crime having been the surreptitious purloining of his grandmamma's darning cotton, and the subsequent immersion of the same in the inkstand, Vera feels quite a warm glow of approval towards the little culprit and his judiciously-planned piece of mischief.
"Vera, I insist upon that child being sent back into the corner!" exclaims Mrs. Daintree, angrily, bringing her large fist heavily down upon her knee.
"The child has been over-punished already," she answers, calmly, still administering the soothing solace of strawberry jam.
"Oh, Vera, pray keep the peace!" cries Marion, with clasped hands.
"Here, I am thankful to say, comes my son;" as a shadow passes the window, and Eustace's tall figure with the meekly stooping head comes in at the door. "Eustace, I beg that you will decide who is to be in authority in this house--your mother or this young lady. It is insufferable that every time I send the children into the corner Vera should call them out and give them cakes and jam."
Eustace Daintree looks helplessly from one to the other.
"My dear mother--my dear girls--what is it all about? I am sure Vera does not mean----"
"No, Vera only means to be kind, grandmamma," cries Marion, nervously; "she is so fond of the children----"
"Hold your tongue, Marion, and don't take your sister's part so shamelessly!"
Meanwhile Vera rises silently and pushes Tommy and all his enormities gently by the shoulders out of the room. Then she turns round and faces her foe.
"Judge between us, Eustace!" the old lady is crying; "am I to be defied and set at nought? are we all to bow down and worship Miss Vera, the most useless, lazy person in the house, who turns up her nose at honest men and prefers to live on charity, a burden to her relations?"
"Vera is no burden, only a great pleasure to me, my dear mother," said the clergyman, holding out his hand to the girl.
"Oh, grandmamma, how unkind you are," says Marion, bursting into tears. But Vera only laughs lazily and amusedly, she is so used to it all! It does not disturb her.
"Is she to be mistress here, I ask, or am I?" continues Mrs. Daintree, furiously.
"Marion is the mistress here," says Vera, boldly; "neither you nor I have any authority in her house or over her children." And then the old lady gathers up her work and sails majestically from the room, followed by her weak, trembling daughter-in-law, bent on reconciliation, on cajolement, on laying herself down for her own sins, and her sister's as well, before the avenging genius of her life.
The clergyman stands by the hearth with his head bent and his hands behind him. He sighs wearily.
Vera creeps up to him and lays her hand softly upon his coat sleeve.
"I am a firebrand, am I not, Eustace?"
"My dear, no, not that; but if you could try a little to keep the peace!" He stayed the caressing hand within his own and looked at her tenderly. His face is a good one, but not a handsome one; and, as he looks at his wife's young sister, it is softened into its best and kindest. Who can resist Vera, when she looks gentle and humble, with that rare light in her dark eyes?
"Vera, why don't you look like that at Mr. Gisburne?" he says, smiling.
"Oh, Eustace! am I indeed a burden to you, as your mother says?" she exclaims, evasively.
"No, no, my dear, but it seems hard for you here; a home of your own might be happier for you; and Gisburne is a good man."
"I don't like good men who are poor!" says Vera, with a little grimace.
Her brother-in-law looks shocked. "Why do you say such hard worldly things, Vera? You do not really mean them."
"Don't I? Eustace, look at me: do I look like a poor clergyman's wife? Do survey me dispassionately." She holds herself at arm's length from him, and looks comically up and down the length of her gray skirts. "Think of the yards and yards of stuff it takes to clothe me; and should not a woman as tall as I am be always in velvet and point lace, Eustace? What is the good of condemning myself to workhouse sheeting for the rest of my days?"
Mr. Daintree looks at her admiringly; he has learnt to love her; this beautiful southern