This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
By George Meredith
The last person thought of by her children at this period was Mrs. Mel:nor had she been thinking much of them till a letter from Mr. Gorenarrived one day, which caused her to pass them seriously in review.Always an early bird, and with maxims of her own on the subject of risingand getting the worm, she was standing in a small perch in the corner ofthe shop, dictating accounts to Mrs. Fiske, who was copying hurriedly,that she might earn sweet intervals for gossip, when Dandy limped up anddelivered the letter. Mrs. Fiske worked hard while her aunt was occupiedin reading it, for a great deal of fresh talk follows the advent of thepost, and may be reckoned on. Without looking up, however, she couldtell presently that the letter had been read through. Such being thecase, and no conversation coming of it, her curiosity was violent. Heraunt's face, too, was an index of something extraordinary. Thatinflexible woman, instead of alluding to the letter in any way, folded itup, and renewed her dictation. It became a contest between them whichshould show her human nature first. Mrs. Mel had to repress what sheknew; Mrs. Fiske to control the passion for intelligence. The closeneighbourhood of one anxious to receive, and one capable of giving, waxedtoo much for both.
'I think, Anne, you are stupid this morning,' said Mrs. Mel.
'Well, I am, aunt,' said Mrs. Fiske, pretending not to see which was thefirst to unbend, 'I don't know what it is. The figures seem all dazzledlike. I shall really be glad when Evan comes to take his proper place.'
'Ah!' went Mrs. Mel, and Mrs. Fiske heard her muttering. Then she criedout: 'Are Harriet and Caroline as great liars as Louisa?'
Mrs. Fiske grimaced. 'That would be difficult, would it not, aunt?'
'And I have been telling everybody that my son is in town learning hisbusiness, when he's idling at a country house, and trying to play hisfather over again! Upon my word, what with liars and fools, if you go tosleep a minute you have a month's work on your back.'
'What is it, aunt?' Mrs. Fiske feebly inquired.
'A gentleman, I suppose! He wouldn't take an order if it was offered.Upon my word, when tailors think of winning heiresses it's time we wentback to Adam and Eve.'
'Do you mean Evan, aunt?' interposed Mrs. Fiske, who probably did not seethe turns in her aunt's mind.
'There—read for yourself,' said Mrs. Mel, and left her with the letter.
Mrs. Fiske read that Mr. Goren had been astonished at Evan's non-appearance, and at his total silence; which he did not consideraltogether gentlemanly behaviour, and certainly not such as his fatherwould have practised. Mr. Goren regretted his absence the more as hewould have found him useful in a remarkable invention he was about topatent, being a peculiar red cross upon shirts—a fortune to thepatentee; but as Mr. Goren had no natural heirs of his body, he did notcare for that. What affected him pa