Nobody

"No, Charity, you couldn't. Sunday is Sunday, just as much with Mr.

Dillwyn here."

"Dillwyn!" said Madge. "I've heard you speak of him."

"Very likely. I saw him once or twice in my New York days."

"And he gave you lunch."

"Mrs. Wishart and me. Yes. And a good lunch it was. That's why I spokeof pickles, Charity. Do the very best you can."

"I cannot do my best, unless I can cook the chickens," said Charity, who all this while stood leaning upon her broom. "I might do it foronce."

"Where is your leave to do wrong once?"

"But this is a particular occasion – you may call it a necessity; andnecessity makes an exception."

"What is the necessity, Charity?" said Mrs. Armadale, who until now hadnot spoken.

"Why, grandma, you want to treat a stranger well?"

"With whatever I have got to give him. But Sunday time isn't mine togive."

"But necessary things, grandma? – we may do necessary things?"

"What have you got in the house?"

"Nothing on earth, except a ham to boil. Cold ham, – that's all. Do youthink that's enough?"

"It won't hurt him to dine on cold ham," the old lady said complacently.

"Why don't you cook your chickens and have them cold too?" Lois asked.

"Cold fricassee ain't worth a cent."

"Cook them some other way. Roast them, – or – Give them to me, and I'lldo them for you! I'll do them, Charity. Then with your nice bread, andapple sauce, and potatoes, and some of my pears and apples, and apumpkin pie, Charity, and coffee, – we shall do very well. Mr. Dillwynhas made a worse dinner in the course of his wanderings, I'll undertaketo maintain."

"What shall I have for supper?" Charity asked doubtfully. "Supper comesfirst."

"Shortcake. And some of your cold ham. And stew up some quinces andapples together, Cherry. You don't want anything more, – or better."

"Do you think he will understand having a cold dinner, Sunday?" Charityasked. "Men make so much of hot dinners."

"What does it signify, my dear, whether he understands it or not?" said

Mrs. Armadale. "What we have to do, is what the Lord tells us to do.

That is all you need mind."

"I mind what folks think, though," said Charity. "Mrs. Barclay's friendespecially."

"I do not think he will notice it," said simple Mrs. Armadale.

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE VALUE OF MONEY

There was a little more bustle in the house than usual during the nexttwo days; and the spare room was no doubt put in very particular order, with the best of all the house could furnish on the bed andtoilet-table. Pantry and larder also were well stocked; and Lois wasjust watching the preparation of her chickens, Saturday evening, andtherefore in the kitchen, when Mr. Dillwyn came to the door. Mrs.Barclay herself let him in, and brought him into her own warm, comfortable, luxurious-looking sitting-room. The evening was fallingdusk, so that the little wood lire in Mrs. Barclay's chimney hadopportunity to display itself, and I might say, the room too; whichnever could have showed to better advantage. The flickering lightdanced back again from gilded books, from the polished case of thepiano, from picture frames, and pictures, and piles of music, andcomfortable easy-chairs standing invitingly, and trinkets of art orcuriosity; an unrolled engraving in one place, a stereoscope inanother, a work-basket, and the bright brass stand of a microscope.

The greeting was warm between the two friends; and then Mrs. Barclaysat down and surveyed her visitor, whom she had not seen for so long.He was not a beauty of Tom Caruthers' sort, but he was what I thinkbetter; manly and intelligent, and with an air and bearing of franknobleness which became him exceedingly. That he was a man with aserious purpose in life, or any object of earnest pursuit, you wouldnot have supposed; and that character had never belonged to him. Mrs.Barclay, looking at him, could not see any sign that it was his now.Look and manner were easy and careless as of old.

"You are not changed," she remarked.

"What should change me?" said he, while his eye ran rapidly over theapartment. "And you? – you do not look as if life was stagnating here."

"It does not stagnate. I never was further from stagnation in all mylife."

"And yet Shampuashuh is in a corner!"

"Is not most of the work of the world done in corners? It is not thebutterfly, but the coral insect, that lays foundations and lifts upislands out of the sea."

"You are not a coral insect any more than I am a butterfly," said

Dillwyn, laughing.

"Rather more."

"I acknowledge it, thankfully. And I am rejoiced to know from yourletters that the seclusion has been without any evil consequences toyourself. It has been pleasant?"

"Royally pleasant. I have delighted in my building; even although Icould not tell whether my island would not prove a dangerous one tomariners."

"I have just been having a discourse on that subject with my sister. Ithink one's sisters are – I beg your pardon! – the mischief. Tom's sisterhas done for him; and mine is very eager to take care of me."

"Did you consult her?" asked Mrs. Barclay, with surprise.

"Nothing of the kind! I merely told her I was coming up here to seeyou. A few questions followed, as to what you were doing here, – which Idid not tell her, by the way, – and she hit the bull's eye with theinstinctive accuracy of a woman; poured out upon me in consequence alecture upon imprudence. Of course I confessed to nothing, but thatmattered not. All that Tom's sister urged upon him, my good sisterpressed upon me."

"So did I once, did I not?"

"You are not going to repeat it?"

"No; that is over, for me. I know better. But, Philip, I do not see theway very clear before you."

He left the matter there, and went off into a talk with her uponwidely-different subjects, touching or growing out of his travels andexperiences during the last year and a half. The twilight darkened, andthe fire brightened, and in the light of the fire the two sat andtalked; till a door opened, and in the same flickering shine a figurepresented itself which Mr. Dillwyn remembered. Though now it wasclothed in nothing finer than a dark calico, and round her shoulders alittle white worsted shawl was twisted. Mrs. Barclay began a sentenceof introduction, but Mr. Dillwyn cut her short.

"Do not do me such dishonour," he said. "Must I suppose that Miss

Lothrop has forgotten me?"