Chapter VII: Madam Wentworth

"SO odd in you, Hetty, not to tell me that Elsie Probert was Madam Wentworth's niece!"

Such was Minny's salutation to her friend as they met on Monday morning at the schoolhouse door; and it was spoken in a tone of reproach which grated uncomfortably upon Henrietta's sensitive nerves.

She answered, therefore, rather impatiently,—

"Why should I tell you? What business was it of yours?"

"It was as much my business as any one's, I suppose," said Minny, haughtily. "At any rate, I think you might have told me. With such friendship as you profess for me, I must say, it seems very odd that you should keep such a thing a secret."

"What nonsense!" retorted Henrietta. "Why should I keep it a secret? I never cared any thing about it one way or the other; and I don't see now why you should make so much of it. What difference does it make to you whose niece she is?"

"Why, of course, I should have treated Elsie rather differently if I had known that she was somebody," said Minny. "Madam Wentworth! Why, I would give any thing to be invited to her house as you used to be; but I suppose you won't be asked there any more, now that you have quarrelled with Elsie."

"What of that?" said Henrietta. "If Elsie gets some one else to do her work for her, and then pretends that it is all her own, she is a mean, contemptible, deceitful girl, if she were niece to Alexander the Great. And I, for one, don't want any thing to do with her."

"Yes,—'if' she did!" said Minny. "But after all, Hetty, we are not sure—at least I am not—that she did any such thing. It might have been Miss Delancy's own work that I saw her have on the car; but I suppose you know something more about it, from what you said at our house."

"What do you mean?" asked Henrietta.

"Why, you said you knew of your own knowledge that Elsie had not done her work herself. So I suppose you found out in some other way. And besides, Hetty, I don't think you ought to have told all the girls without my permission. You know very well that I charged you not to tell. Didn't I?"

Henrietta coloured deeply. Minny certainly "had" charged her not to tell.

"But, Minny, you did as much as to say yourself—"

"I didn't say a word," interrupted Minny. "I was vexed enough at you for talking so, and would have stopped you if I could. Of course, I was not going to contradict you in my own house—"

"'Your' house!" interrupted Henrietta.

"Well, my mother's house, then,—though, by the way, it 'is' my house, for my grandfather left it to me. What is the use of interrupting so? I wasn't going to contradict you then, and make you look like a fool before all the girls, by telling them that you had broken your word—"

"Or make yourself look like a fool, by telling how you looked into a neighbour's window with an opera-glass!—"

"If you keep interrupting me, Henrietta, I shall think you want to quarrel with me," said Minny, in a calmly superior tone. "I must say, I think you are very childish this morning. If you don't want me to talk to you, I won't; though I don't know what I have done that you should treat me in this way. But I advise you not to say any more about Elsie, unless you do know certainly; for you might get into trouble that it would not be so easy to get out of. I am sure it is nothing to me, any way: I only spoke out of friendship to you; and, I must say, I didn't expect to be treated in this way!"

And Minny immediately proceeded to dissolve in tears, as her custom was on all occasions when she chose to consider herself aggrieved.

"Now, Minny, it's very silly to cry," said Henrietta. "I am sure I didn't mean to quarrel with you, or any thing of the kind: only I didn't like to have all the responsibility thrown on my shoulders, when I never should have thought of such a thing if you hadn't begun it."

"But you ought not to have told!" sobbed Minny. "You know I told you not to say a word about it. Oh, Henrietta!—to think that you should have betrayed me,—you that I loved so much, that I trusted so! But I shall never have confidence in any human being again! I wish I never did love any one, and then I should not always be disappointed!" And all this was accompanied by torrents of tears and hysterical sobs, till Henrietta really became alarmed.

In the midst of this interesting scene, Elsie entered the recitation-room, and naturally stood astonished at the sight of such amazing grief without any apparent cause.

"What 'is' the matter?" she asked. "Has Minny heard any bad news? Or is she sick?"

Minny sobbed and sighed, and explained with many words that some one had wounded her heart and betrayed her confidence, and gave notice that she might never be expected to recover from the shock, and finally came to the point,—that Henrietta had told of something which Minny had desired her never to repeat.

"Is that all?" asked Elsie, who had lately seen too much of real grief to be greatly affected by Minny's sentimental distress. "Come, Minny, don't cry any more. I know Hetty did not mean to do any thing wrong. She might forget,—any one might; but I am sure she wouldn't do any thing mean, for the world. No, no, Minny; you don't know Hetty as well as I do or you would never suspect her!"

These simple, kind words from the friend she had so cruelly injured touched Henrietta to the heart. She would have given any thing to throw her arms round Elsie's neck and "make up." But nothing is harder than to forgive those whom we have injured. The consciousness of the unkind speeches—nay, the downright treachery—of which she had been guilty towards Elsie, came between, and she resisted the good impulse. The next moment, she had hardened her heart anew, and even felt as though Elsie had given her fresh cause for anger.

"Come, come, Minny; don't cry any more," said Elsie. "The bell will ring in a minute. Miss Armitage has taken off her bonnet, and is just going up-stairs. If she sees that you have been crying, she will be sure to ask the reason, and make a fuss about it; and you would not like that. Kiss, and be friends, and then come and wash your face before school begins."

"You 'are' a good girl, Elsie!" said Minny, really touched for the moment. "And I am sorry I ever did any thing to vex you. I should never have said what I did, if I had known what I do now."

"Yes, if you had known she was Madam Wentworth's niece," said Henrietta to herself. "Well, if ever I would do any thing so shabby as that! And Elsie, too! If Minny had said to me what she did to her, I would never speak to her again the longest day I lived!"

She suffered Minny to kiss her, and even said something about being sorry she had done any thing to hurt her. While Minny, on her part, was profuse in caresses and protestations. Thus the breach was apparently healed; but it was only in appearance. Henrietta despised Minny for what she considered her time-serving. She was vexed with her for wishing to get rid of her share of responsibility about the story. And, above all, she was angry at her for placing herself so decidedly in the wrong. Minny had charged her not to tell: there was no denying that. Yet she had told all she had heard from her, and a great deal more; and, as was to be expected, the story had lost nothing by being transmitted from one mouth to another through the school. She was sensible that if Minnie deserted her, she would be placed in a very awkward position, supposing she should ever be called to account.

"Oh, dear!" she said to herself for the hundredth time. "How I wish I had never seen the old socks! They have made nothing but trouble and mischief!"

Minny, on her part, was very well pleased with the unexpected turn things had taken. It gave her an opportunity of making friends with Elsie, without seeming to go out of her way to do so. And the fact that Hetty had betrayed her confidence gave her, as she imagined, a great advantage, which she would not in the least scruple to use as best suited her purposes. It never occurred to her to think that she had, by her silence, her mysterious looks and half-uttered hints, confirmed all that Henrietta said, and had thus made herself a party to the slander.

All day she continued to make advances to Elsie, who received them coolly enough; for her distrust of Minny had been too long in growing to be removed all at once. She was not influenced merely by Minny's former impertinence, but she had seen in her more than one instance of downright falsehood. And she had every reason to believe that Minny was at the bottom of all the trouble about the socks—that it was she who had influenced the girls against her—and she could not overlook that matter of the opera-glass. She therefore received Minny's polite advances with civil indifference, and did not seem in the least flattered by them.

And when school was out, Minny could not decide in her own mind whether she had made any headway at all. Meantime, her new line of conduct did not pass unnoticed by the other girls.

"Minny is trying to be friends with Elsie," said Sarah Stone, whose eyes and ears were everywhere, as usual. "She has been doing the charming to her all day. I wonder what that is for?"

"Perhaps she has found out that she was wrong about the socks, and wants to make up," observed one of the girls.

"Not she! She would only be all the more vexed," said Sarah. "It is something more than that, you may depend."

"I think I could give the clue to the mystery," said Rose Chesterfield, smiling; "but I don't want to be uncharitable."

"I know well enough," said Lizzie Becket. "Madam Wentworth has come home, and Minny has found out that Elsie is her niece. They were in church together yesterday; and I heard Minny asking Henrietta about it on their way home. Hetty and she sat together, and, certainly, I never saw two girls behave worse in church than they did. I could hear them whispering and laughing all the way to our pew. Mother asked me who they were, and I Was really ashamed to tell her that they went to our school. I don't know what Mrs. Laurens would have said."

"Mother!" said Sarah, affecting surprise. "I thought your mother was dead."

"For shame, Sarah!" said Rose.

"Oh, you mean your father's wife. Excuse me, but I thought I remembered hearing some one say that she never would call Miss Palmer mother, if she died for it. Perhaps it wasn't you, though."

"You know it was I, well enough," said Lizzy, bluntly. "I said a great many foolish things about it. I did not think I ever could like her; but I do. She is very kind to me and to the children; and, besides, it ought to be enough that she is my father's wife, to make me respect her, at any rate."

"Well, I must say, I like a little consistency!" sneered Sarah. "Consistency for me, above all things."

"In other words, having once been in the wrong, I will always be in the wrong!" observed Rose.

"'Don't be consistent, but be simply true!'"

"Who was it said that?"

"A wise man and a witty," said Augusta. "I am glad Lizzy has the independence to own that she was in the wrong, if she thinks so."

"Well, I think I wouldn't be quite so ready to talk, if I had to eat my words so often," said Sarah. "It isn't a kind of refreshment I am very fond of myself."

"Ah, there I give in!" replied Rose. "We all talk too much."

"'You' haven't any thing to reproach yourself with in that line, Rose," said Augusta, laughing. "However, I agree to the principle. It is better not to be in too much of a hurry to express one's opinion about things or people. Blessed are they who know how and when to hold their tongues."

Henrietta went home from school feeling very uncomfortable. She was angry with Minny, with Elsie, and with herself. She had repeated the story of Miss Delancy and the socks over and over, and had dwelt upon it in her own mind till she had come to a full belief in Elsie's dishonesty. And she was deeply displeased at being reminded on how slight a foundation her conviction rested.

Elsie's kind and trustful words to Minny had touched her, in spite of herself; but, as she had hardened her heart to them, they only increased her displeasure. She felt as if being forgiven by her former friend was the one thing that she could not endure. Then her conscience troubled her sorely, and would not be quieted; and now added to all was the consciousness of an act of dishonesty, which she could not recall without a feeling of shame and terror which almost made her sick. If she would only have laid the blame where it was due, she might have come to a true sense of her sin, and so, by confession and reparation, have attained to peace. But she persisted in ascribing the trouble to any thing and every thing but her own fault: to the socks, which had taken so much of her time,—to Elsie,—to Minny; nay, even poor Cecilia had to come in for a share, for possessing such a fascinating cat!

Moreover, her sister's steady industry in the face of so many difficulties was a continual reproach to Henrietta. It really annoyed her to see Cecy propped on her cushions, and working away with as much seriousness as though the fate of the whole army of the Potomac depended on her poor little wasted fingers. And she would even have been glad had something happened to put an end to the poor child's employment.

All these conflicting feelings did not tend to make her very amiable. She had been in the habit of allowing Corporal to take great liberties with her ball of yarn, till he had come to regard it as his legitimate plaything, and would stand on his hind legs and lift it out of her lap with the coolest and most businesslike air conceivable, much to the diversion of the little girls. On this particular evening, she did not feel disposed to allow that officer any such latitude; and, on his making his usual approaches, he was rewarded by a sound box on the ear.

Mrs. Laurens looked up surprised, and Cecy's ever-ready tears rose to her eyes.

But the Corporal had no idea of being treated in any such way, and returned the blow with his paw,—which, having the advantage of very long and sharp claws, was very unwelcome. He then retired, and took up a strong position in the corner of Cecy's sofa.

"You hateful creature!" exclaimed Henrietta. "I wish you were drowned! See how he has scratched me. That is always the way with cats,—treacherous things!"

"Who struck first?" said Mrs. Laurens.

"Well, I don't care! He had no business to take my ball. I'll teach him to meddle with it, if he comes here again!"

"You taught him to meddle with it, in the first place," replied her mother. "I told you, you would make him troublesome. But it is hardly fair to punish the poor animal for a trick which you yourself taught him. I don't wonder his sense of justice is offended."

"He never scratches 'me,'" said Cecy, petting her favourite.

"Oh, of course it is all right," said Henrietta, colouring, and with a voice trembling with anger. "It is only 'my' hand that is scratched. Of course, that is of no consequence. If it was Cecy, it would be different; but if he wanted to eat me up, it would be all right, so long as it pleased her."

"Henrietta, my child, what is the matter with you?" asked her mother, seriously. "You are not like the same girl that you were six weeks ago. I never would have believed you could show such a temper towards any one, much less towards your sister. I am sure all is not as it should be. If any thing has gone wrong, tell me what it is, and I will try to have it set right; but pray do not go on indulging such a spirit as this."

"There is nothing the matter," replied Henrietta: "only I don't like to be always blamed and found fault with, while Cecy never can do anything wrong. I don't see why she should have her own way in every thing, while I must be the one to give up."

And Henrietta burst into a flood of tears, which had been accumulating all day.

Her mother tried to soothe her, and then to reason with her; but all in vain.

She could be brought to say nothing but that every one was against her,—everybody hated her,—she had to bear the blame of every thing that happened, in school or at home, and she wished she was dead and out of the way!

Mrs. Laurens perceived at once that there was more behind all this grief and anger than the quarrel with Corporal, and came to the conclusion that something unpleasant must have happened at school. By degrees she extracted the information that Hetty had had a quarrel with Minny, and that Minny and every one had treated her very unkindly. Mrs. Laurens had not forgotten (as many people do) the feelings of her own childhood. She remembered the bitterness of a quarrel between school-friends, and was therefore inclined to excuse Henrietta's petulance. She did not think it desirable to go very deeply into the subject while her feelings were so much excited, and therefore asked few questions, but applied herself simply to the task of pouring oil on the troubled waters.

When the first tempest of anger was over, Hetty had the grace to be heartily ashamed of her outburst. She kissed Cecy, whose affliction had been equal to her own, and, at her earnest request, made friends with Corporal by scratching his chin and smoothing his fur,—advances which he received with much pleasure.

"You are not vexed with me now, are you, Hetty?" asked Cecy.

"No, my dear," replied her mother, taking the answer on herself. "Hetty was uncomfortable about something else, and that made her impatient. You know you are sometimes cross when you are in trouble. We will not talk about it any more just now."

"Oh, dear! If I could only tell mother everything, as I used to, what a comfort it would be!" thought poor Henrietta. "But then that last! I should not dare! She never would forgive me, I am sure. Oh, dear, dear! How miserable I am! And then to see Minny courting Elsie all day, just because she is Madam Wentworth's niece, and trying to throw all the blame on me! Elsie never would have done that, anyhow."

For the first time, the thought crossed her mind that she should be glad to find Elsie innocent; and yet, if she was so, what was she? She made a great effort to think of something else, and was so pleasant all the evening and the next day, that her mother hoped the trouble had passed by. But it was only covered up, and ready to break out again on the first provocation.

Henrietta and Minny met very coolly next morning. No absolute broach was apparent as yet, but there were none of those abundant demonstrations of affection with which they were accustomed to greet one another,—no kisses, or interlaced arms, or going aside into corners to whisper confidences.

Minny assumed an injured look, and spoke with a plaintive tone, exasperating Henrietta to the last degree. Her whole air and manner seemed to say, as plainly as possible, "Behold my magnanimity! You have injured me deeply, you have betrayed my confidence and abused my affection; but I forgive you! I heap coals of fire on your head, and I hope you will find them hot enough to make you very uncomfortable."

Towards Elsie, Minny was cordiality itself. She would willingly have been something more than cordial, had that been possible.

But Elsie gave no encouragement to any display of affection. Her dislike of Minny was no prejudice. It was founded on a pretty accurate estimate of that young lady's character, and she did not believe Minny would have turned round so suddenly unless she had a point to carry. It might be merely a desire to spite Henrietta, or it might be for some other reason, which did not appear. At all events, she felt no disposition whatever to form an intimacy with her, and contented herself with replying sparingly and with the coolest civility to her advances.

Towards Henrietta, Elsie felt very differently. Ever since they were little children, they had played and studied together: Elsie had always loved her like a sister, and, though deeply wounded by her late desertion, she continued to cherish a strong regard for her former friend. She knew that Hetty was easily led, whether for good or evil; and her own stronger will had kept her out of many difficulties, and helped to sustain the good character which, till lately, she had always maintained in school.

Elsie believed that Minny had used Hetty for the furtherance of her own designs as long as it suited her convenience, and, as she also believed, would have no hesitation in casting her off, and throwing all the blame on her—if blame there was—whenever it became desirable to do so. She would willingly have warned Henrietta, had it been possible; but Henrietta sedulously avoided her, and, though she did not absolutely refuse to speak when they met, her salutation was the coldest and briefest possible.

"And, after all," Elsie reasoned, "I really know nothing certain: it is only suspicion. Henrietta may have got up the whole story herself,—though it is not the least like her old ways. Sarah Stone says she did; but then Sarah is no more to be trusted than Minny,—perhaps not so much. The girls are all coming round again: that is one comfort."

The tide had certainly turned in Elsie's favour during the last two or three days. The older girls felt ashamed of the suspicions they had been led to entertain of one who had always borne such an excellent character for uprightness and honesty.

Rose, and two or three of her friends, had adhered to Elsie from first to last, and they were girls who had great weight in the school. Rose was ordinarily a person of few words; but, when she did speak, it was to the point, and her reputation for accuracy was such that her simple "I think so," or, at most, "I am quite sure," was more convincing than a whole volume of protestations from those whose ideas of truth were more loose. Rose had not hesitated from the first to declare the whole tale to be a slander.

And when Minny inquired, with what she intended for crushing dignity,—

"Do you mean to say, Miss Chesterfield, that you could believe Hetty or myself capable of inventing such a story?"

Rose coolly replied,—"Much sooner than I would believe Elsie guilty of such an imposition."

"I should like to know why," said Minny.

"Because," replied Rose, "I have known you to tell falsehoods, and Elsie I never did."

Minny did not care to pursue this conversation any further, nor did she repeat it to Hetty. She thought Hetty might take it up more warmly than would be quite convenient at present.

In the course of Tuesday morning, a carriage was heard to stop at the school-door. Elsie was sent for down-stairs, and, after a few minutes' absence, she returned with a very bright face, and whispered to Miss Armitage, who went down in her turn. The girls looked at each other with significant smiles. They had seen such proceedings before, and knew what they portended.

"When, Elsie?" whispered one of the girls as she passed.

But Elsie only laughed, and put her finger to her lip.

Presently the carriage was heard to drive off, and Miss Armitage returned to the school-room. The class which was reciting when the interruption occurred finished the lesson, and things went on as usual till the hour of recess, when Miss Armitage called the attention of the young ladies by her usual signal,—tapping the table with the key.

"I have the pleasure of informing you, young ladies," said the principal, in her most gracious manner, "that you are all invited to Madam Wentworth's house to tea this afternoon at five o'clock. Mrs. Wentworth begs me to say that she hopes you will excuse the shortness of the notice, which was unavoidable, and also that she hopes to see every one in the school, from the oldest to the youngest. As most of you are acquainted with the habits of our kind old friend, I need not tell you that when she says five she means exactly sixty minutes past four, and not a moment later. And, as I suppose you may wish some little time for preparation, I shall dismiss school at two o'clock. The young ladies may now have a short recess."

As may be imagined, there was but one subject of conversation.

"A party at Madam Wentworth's! Isn't it grand?" said Lizzy. "How long it is since we have had one!—Not since last winter."

"Because Aunt Wentworth has been away," remarked Elsie.

"I am sure she is very kind to take so much trouble for us so soon," said little Isabella. "But I wonder why she asked all the school at once? She never did that before. She used always to invite us young ones by ourselves on Saturday afternoon."

"Oh, that was last winter," said little Kitty French, who, though only eight, felt at least twelve. "We were very little girls then. It Is quite different now."

"I dare say she had a good reason for it," said Augusta, carelessly. "She isn't apt to do things without a motive."

"But the notice is so short," said one of the new scholars. "I can never get any thing ready to wear."

"Don't trouble yourself about that, Christine," said Elsie. "Aunt neither expects nor wishes us to dress. That blue merino you wear sometimes is just the thing."

"Why didn't you let her alone?" asked Sarah Stone, as Christine left the room. "It would have been such fun to put her up to wear a light silk dress and short sleeves, and then see how she would look when she found all the rest of us in our school-dresses! You are a regular spoil-sport, Elsie."

"I don't like such sport," replied Elsie. "It is rather cruel, I think,—especially with a stranger."

"Dear me, Saint Stockings!" retorted Sarah; but no laugh followed.

The girls looked indignant, and Sarah, seeing that she had missed her mark, thought it advisable to withdraw.

Minny joined Henrietta as the school went out. "Are you going to Madam Wentworth's?" she asked.

"I don't know, I am sure," replied Henrietta, who had been debating the matter in her own mind. "I can't say that I want to go; but I am afraid it will look odd if I don't."

"Yes, indeed, it will," said Minny, decidedly. "Connected with her as you are, and having been there as much 'as you say' you have,—" a slight emphasis on these words made Hetty wince, "it would look very odd to stay away now when the whole school is invited. You will have to give her and your mother a reason; and if you say you have quarrelled with Elsie, it will all come out. Oh, yes: you must go; and do try to look a little less as if you were going to be hung, Henrietta."

"I can't help it, Minny," said Hetty, half crying, "I am so unhappy."

"What of that? I am sure you haven't half as much to bear as I have. Nobody has betrayed your secrets. Come, now; don't begin to cry. I told you I forgave you, and I only hope you can forgive yourself."

And with this charitable wish, uttered in a highly exasperating tone of superiority, Minny bade her friend good-night.