But although they were so indifferent to weighty matters, they had their own enthusiasms, and in their idle way they were busy always and forever.
To have, therefore, a person like Aunt Sophia put suddenly into the middle of their gay and b.u.t.terfly lives was something which was enough to madden the eight healthy girls who lived at The Dales. Aunt Sophia was, in their opinion, all crotchets, all nervousness, all fads. She had no tact whatsoever; at least, such was their first opinion of her. She put her foot down on this little crotchet, and pressed this pa.s.sing desire out of sight. She brought new rules of life into their everyday existence, and, what is more, she insisted on being obeyed. With all their cleverness they were not half so clever as Aunt Sophia; they were no match for this good lady, who was still young at heart, who had been highly educated, who was full of enthusiasm, full of method, and full of determination. Aunt Sophia brought two very strong essentials with her to The Dales, and there was certainly little chance of the girls getting the victory over her. One thing which she brought was determination, joined to authority; the other thing was money. With these two weapons in her hand, what chance had the girls?
It might have been supposed that Miss Tredgold had done enough on the first night of her arrival. She had to a great extent vanquished the cook; and she had, further, told Verena and Pauline what lay before them.
Surely she might have been contented, and have taken her dip candle in its tin candlestick and retired to her own room. But that was not Aunt Sophia"s way. She discovered a light stealing from under another door, and she made for that door.
Now, no one entered Mr. Dale"s room without knocking. None of the girls would have ventured to do so. But Aunt Sophia was made of sterner stuff.
She did not knock. She opened the door and entered. The scholar was seated at the far end of the room. A large reading-lamp stood on the table. It spread a wide circle of light on the papers and books, and on his own silvery head and thin aquiline features. The rest of the room was in shadow. Miss Tredgold entered and stood a few feet away from Mr. Dale.
Mr. Dale had already forgotten that such a person as Miss Sophia existed.
It was his habit to work for a great many hours each night. It was during the hours of darkness that he most thoroughly absorbed himself in his darling occupation. His dinner had been better than usual, and that delicious coffee had stimulated his brain. He had not tasted coffee like that for years. His brain, therefore, being better nourished, was keener than usual to go on with his accustomed work. As Miss Sophia advanced to his side he uttered one or two sighs of rapture, for again a fresh rendering of a much-disputed pa.s.sage occurred to him. Light was, in short, flooding the pages of his translation.
"The whole cla.s.sical world will bless me," murmured Mr. Dale. "I am doing a vast service."
"I am sorry to interrupt you, Henry," said the sharp, incisive tones of his sister-in-law.
At Miss Tredgold"s words he dropped his pen. It made a blot on the page, which further irritated him; for, untidy as he was in most things, his cla.s.sical work was exquisitely neat.
"Do go away," he said. "I am busy. Go away at once."
"I am sorry, Henry, but I must stay. You know me, don"t you? Your sister-in-law, Sophia Tredgold."
"Go away, Sophia. I don"t want to be rude, but I never see any one at this hour."
"Henry, you are forced to see me. I shall go when I choose, not before."
"Madam!"
Mr. Dale sprang to his feet.
"Madam!" he repeated, almost sputtering out his words, "you surely don"t wish me to expel you. You don"t intend to stand there all night. I can"t have it. I don"t allow people in my study. I am sorry to be discourteous to a lady, but I state a fact; you must go immediately. You don"t realize what it is to have a brain like mine, nor to have undertaken such a herculean task. Ah! the beautiful thought which meant so much has vanished. Madam, you are responsible."
"Stop!" interrupted Miss Tredgold. "I will go the moment you do what I want."
"Will you? I"ll do anything--anything that keeps you out of this room."
"That is precisely what I require. I don"t wish to come into this room--that is, for the present. By-and-by it must be cleaned, for I decline to live in a dirty house; but I give you a fortnight"s grace."
"And the rendering of the pa.s.sage is beyond doubt, according to Clericus---- I beg your pardon; are you still speaking?"
"Yes, Henry. I am annoying you, I know; and, all things considered, I am glad, for you need rousing. I intend to sit or stand in this room, close to you, until morning if necessary. Ah! here is a chair."
As Miss Tredgold spoke she drew forward an unwieldy arm-chair, which was piled up with books and papers. These she was calmly about to remove, when a shriek from the anguished scholar stopped her.
"Don"t touch them," he exclaimed. "You destroy the work of months. If you must have a chair, take mine."
Miss Tredgold did take it. She now found herself seated within a few yards of the scholar"s desk. The bright light from the lamp fell on her face; it looked pale, calm, and determined. Mr. Dale was in shadow; the agony on his face was therefore not perceptible.
"Take anything you want; only go, woman," he said.
"Henry, you are a difficult person to deal with, and I am sorry to have to speak to you as I do. I am sorry to have to take, as it were, advantage of you; but I intend to stay in this house."
"You are not wanted, Sophia."
"I am not wished for, Henry; but as to being wanted, no woman was ever more wanted."
"That you are not."
"I say I am; and, what is more, I intend to remain. We need not discuss this point, for it is settled. I take up my sojourn in this house for three months."
"Three months!" said Mr. Dale. "Oh, my word! And this is only June. From June to July, from July to August, from August to September! It is very cruel of you, Sophia. I did not think my poor wife"s sister would torture me like this."
"For the sake of your family I intend to stay, Henry. You will have to submit. I do not leave this room until you submit. What is more, you have to do something further. I want you to give me authority over your children. The moment I have it--I want it in writing, remember--I will leave you; and I will trouble you in the future as little as woman can trouble man. You will have better meals; but that you won"t care about."
"The coffee," murmured Mr. Dale.
"Yes, you will have plenty of that delicious coffee. You will also have cleaner rooms."
"This room is not to be touched; you understand?"
"For the present we will let that matter lie in abeyance. Come, give me your authority in writing, and I leave the room; but if you don"t, I stay in this chair--your chair, Henry Dale--all night if necessary."
If ever there was a poor, bewildered man, it was Mr. Dale at that moment.
He did not give many thoughts to anything on earth but his beloved studies; but, all the same, when he had time for a momentary reflection that he possessed girls, he felt that he quite liked them. In his own fashion he was fond of Verena; and once when Briar had a very bad cold he sat with her for a very few minutes, and recommended her to try snuff. He did not wish to make his children unhappy, and he thought that the advent of Miss Tredgold would have that effect on them. But, after all, a determined woman like her must be humored; and what were the children compared to his own most valuable work? In the days to come they would be proud to own him. He would be spoken of as the very great English scholar whose rendering of Virgil was the most perfect that had ever been put into English prose. Oh! it was impossible to hesitate another moment. The woman was in his chair, and his thoughts were leaving him.
"Madam," he said, "you have taken me at a cruel disadvantage. I am seriously sorry for my poor children."
"Never mind about that now, Henry. You are, I perceive, a wise man. You can rest a.s.sured that I will do what is best both for you and for them."
"Very well, madam, I yield."
"You give me absolute authority to do what I think best for your children?"
"Ye--s."
"To reorganize this household?"
"Not this room."
"With the exception of this room."
"I suppose so."
"You will uphold my authority when the girls come to you, as perhaps they will, and ask you to interfere?"
"Oh, Sophia, you won"t be hard on the poor children?"
"I will be just to them. You will uphold my authority?"
"Ye--s."