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Page 54
Indeed, the young man was so interesting, that Sandal went with him to
the hall-door, and stood there with him, listening to his graphic
descriptions of the wool-rooms at the top of the great Yorkshire mills.
"I'd like well to take you through one, squire. Fleeces? You would be
wonder-struck. There are long staple and short staple; silky wool and
woolly wool; black fleeces from the Punjaub, and curly white ones from
Bombay; long warps from Russia, short ones from Buenos Ayres; little
Spanish fleeces, and our own Westmoreland and Cumberland skins, that
beat every thing in the world for size. And then to see them turned into
cloth as fast as steam can do it! My word, squire, there never was magic
or witchcraft like the steam and metal witchcraft of a Yorkshire mill."
"Well, well, Steve. I don't fret myself because I am set in stiller
ways, and I don't blame those who like the hurryment of steam and metal.
Each of us has God's will to do, and our own race to run; and may we
prosper."
After this, Steve, sometimes gaining and sometimes losing, gradually
won his way back to the squire's liking. September proved to be an
unusually fair month; and to the lovers it was full of happiness, for
early in it their relation to each other was fully recognized; and
Stephen had gone in and out of the pleasant "Seat," dayshine and dark,
as the acknowledged lover of Charlotte Sandal. The squire, upon the
whole, submitted gracefully: he only stipulated that for some time,
indefinitely postponed, the subject of marriage was not to be taken into
consideration. "I could not bear it any road. I could not bear it yet,
Stephen. Wait your full time, and be glad to wait. So few young men will
understand that to pluck the blossom is to destroy the fruit."
Towards the end of September, there was a letter from Sophia dated
Florence. Some letters are like some individuals, they carry with them a
certain unpleasant atmosphere. None of Sophia's epistles had been very
satisfactory; for they were so short, and yet so definitely pinned to
Julius, that they were but commentaries on that individual. At Paris she
had simply asked Julius, "What do _you_ think of Paris?" And the opinion
of Julius was then given to Seat-Sandal confidently as the only correct
estimate that the world was likely to get. At Venice, Rome, Naples, her
plan was identical; and any variation of detail simply referred to the
living at different places, and how Julius liked it, and how it had
agreed with him.
So when the Florence letter came, there was no particular enthusiasm
about it. The address assigned it to the squire, and he left it lying on
the table while he finished the broiled trout and coffee before him. But
it troubled Charlotte, and she waited anxiously for the unpleasant words
she felt sure were inside of it. Yet there was no change on the squire's
face, and no sign of annoyance, as he read it. "It is about the usual
thing, Alice. Julius likes Florence. It is called 'the beautiful.'
Julius thinks that it deserves the title. The wine in Rome did not suit
Julius, but he finds the Florence vintage much better. The climate is
very delightful, Julius is sure he will derive benefit from it; and so
on, and so on, and so on." Then there was a short pause, and a rapid
turn of the sheet to glance at the other side. "Oh, Julius met Harry
yesterday! He--Julius--does not think Harry is doing right. 'Harry
always was selfish and extravagant, and though he did affront us on our
wedding-day, Julius thought it proper to call upon him. He--I mean
Harry--was with a most beautiful young girl. Julius thinks father ought
to write to him, and tell him to go back to his duty.'"
These were the words, doubtful and suggestive, which made every heart in
Seat-Sandal thoroughly uncomfortable. And yet Charlotte stoutly said, "I
would not mind Sophia's insinuations, father and mother. She is angry at
Harry. Harry has as much right in Florence as Sophia has. He told us he
was going there. He has written to us frequently. Suppose he was with a
beautiful girl: is Julius the only young man entitled to such a
privilege? Sophia is happy in her own way, and we do not envy nor
interfere with her happiness; but why should we permit her to make us
unhappy? Throw the letter out of your memories, dear father and mother.
It is only a piece of ill-nature. Perhaps Julius had been cross with
her; and if Sophia has a grievance, she never rests until she passes it
on to some one."
Women still hold the divining-cup, and Charlotte was not far wrong in
her supposition. In spite of their twinship of soul, and in spite of
that habit of loving which was involved in their belief "that they had
been husband and wife in many a previous existence," Mr. and Mrs. Julius
Sandal disagreed as conventionally as the ordinary husband and wife of
one existence. The day on which the Florence letter was written had been
a very unhappy one for Sophia. Julius had quarrelled with her about some
very trivial affair, and had gone out in a temper disgracefully at
variance with the occasion for it; and Sophia had sat all day nursing
her wrath in her darkened room. She did not dress for the evening drive,
for she had determined to "keep up" her anger until Julius made her some
atonement.
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