“Never, never again, by Heaven!” With this reply, made in a tortured voice with intense fervor, he walked out. Then arose a Babel of invective against Mr Jack, with infinite contradiction, and some vehement defence of him. Louisa White, torn quadrille in hand, began it by declaring that his conduct was disgraceful. ‘No wonder,’ cried Jane Lawrence, ‘with Hetty Grahame laughing openly at him from the ottoman.’ ‘It was at the singing I laughed,’ said Hetty indignantly: ‘it was enough to make anyone laugh.’ After this everybody spoke at once; but at last each agreed that all the rest had behaved very badly, and that Mr Jack had been scandalously treated. I thought, and I still think, that Mr. Jack has to thank his own ill-temper for the bad singing; and I will take care that he shall not have a second chance of being rude to me (I know by experience that it is a mistake to allow professors to trample on unprotected females), but of course I did not say so to the girls, as I do not wish to spoil his very unexpected popularity with them. He is a true male tyrant, and, like all idle women, they love tyrants — for which treachery to their working sisters they ought to be whipped and sent to bed. He is now, forsooth, to be begged to shew grace to his repentant handmaids, and to come down as usual on Friday, magnanimously overlooking his own bad behavior of yesterday. Can you manage to bring this about. You know him better than any of us; and we regard you as the proprietress of the class. Your notion that Mr. Jack objects to your joining it when you return to Windsor, is a piece of your crotchety nonsense. I asked him whether he expected you to do so, and he said he hoped so. That was not yesterday, of course, but at the previous lesson, when he was in unusually good spirits. So please try and induce his royal highness to come back to us. If you do not, I shall have to write myself, and then all will be lost; for I will encourage no living man to trample on my sex, even when they deserve it; and if I must write, Seigneur Jack shall have a glimpse of my mind. Please let me know soon what you can do for us: the girls are impatient to know the issue, and they keep calling and bothering me with questions. I will send you all the local news in my next letter, as it is too near post hour to add anything to this. —
Yours, dearest Mary, most affectionately.
“Letitia Cairns.”
Mary forthwith, in a glow of anger, wrote and despatched the following to Church Street, Kensington.
Bonchurch,
5th September.
“Dear Mr Jack — I have been very greatly surprised and pained by hearing from my friend Miss Cairns that you have abruptly thrown up the class she was kind enough to form for you at Windsor. I have no right to express any opinion upon your determination not to teach her friends any more; but as I introduced you to her, I cannot but feel that I have been the means of exposing her to an affront which has evidently wounded her deeply. However, Miss Cairns, far from making any complaint, is anxious that you should continue your lessons, as it is the general desire of the class that you should do so —
Yours sincerely,
Mary Sutherland.
Early next afternoon, Miss Cairns was alone In her drawing room, preparing a lecture for a mutual improvement society which she had founded in Windsor. A servant came in.
“Please, Miss Tisha, can you see Mr Jack?”
Miss Cairns laid down her pen, and gazed at the woman. “Mr Jack! It is not his usual day.”
“No, Miss, but it’s him. I said you was busy; and he asked whether you told me to tell him so. I think he’s in a wus temper than last day.”
“You had better bring him up,” said Miss Cairns, touching her hair to test it, and covering up her manuscript. Jack came in hurriedly, and cut short her salutation by exclaiming in an agitated manner, “Miss Cairns I received a letter — an infamous letter. It says that you accuse me of having affronted you, and given up my I here, and other monstrous things. I have c>me to ask you whether you really said anything of the sort, and, if so, from whom you have heard these slanders.”
“I certainly never told anyone that you affronted me,” said Miss Cairns, turning pale. “I may have said that you gave up the class rather abruptly; but—”
“But who told you that I had given up the class? Why did you believe it before you had given me an opportunity of denying — of repudiating it. You do not know me, Miss Cairns. I have an unfortunate manner sometimes, because I am, in a worldly sense, an unfortunate man, though in my real life, heaven knows, a most happy and fortunate one. But I would cut off my right hand sooner than insult you. I am incapable of ingratitude; and I have the truest esteem and regard for you, not only because you have been kind to me but because I appreciate the noble qualities which raise you above your sex. So far from neglecting or wishing to abandon your friends, I have taken special pains with them, and shall always do so on your account, in spite of their magpie frivolity. You have seen for yourself my efforts to make them sing. But it is the accusation of rudeness to you personally that I am determined to refute. Who is the author of it?”
“I assure you,” said Miss Cairns, blushing, “that you did not offend me; and whoever told you I complained of your doing so must have misunderstood me. But as to your giving up the class—”
“Aye, aye. Somebody must have told you that.”
“You told me that yourself, Mr. Jack.”
He looked quickly at her, taken aback. Then he frowned obstinately, and began walking to and fro. “Ridiculous!” he said, impatiently. “I never said such a thing. You have made a mistake.”
“But—”
“How could I possibly have said it when the idea never entered my head?”
“All I can say is,” said Miss Cairns, firmly, being somewhat roused, “that when I asked you whether you were coming-again, you answered most emphatically, ‘Never’”
Jack stood still and considered a moment. “No, no.” he said, recommencing his walk, “I said nothing of the kind.”
She made no comment, but looked timidly at him, and drummed on the writing with her finger.
“At least,” he said, stopping again, “I may have said so thoughtlessly — as a mere passing remark. I meant nothing by it. I was little put out by the infernal manner in which the class behaved. Perhaps you did not perceive my annoyance, and so took whatever I said too seriously.”
“Yes, I think that must have been it,” said Miss Cairns slyly. “It was all a mistake of mine, I suppose you will continue our lessons as if nothing had happened.”
“Of course, certainly. Nothing has happened.”
“I am so sorry that you should have had the trouble of coming all the way from London. It is too bad.”
“Well, well, it is not your fault, Miss Cairns. It cannot be helped.
“May I ask, from whom did you hear of my mistake?”
“From whom! From Miss Sutherland, of course. There is no one else living