"One day Mrs. Cheston gave me a luncheon, to which she invited a good many of the village ladies; and, after they were all gone, we two sat on the piazza and talked about them. Two or three of our guests I had not met before, and in the course of our talk Emily mentioned the name of Margaret Temple.
""Temple?" said I. "Which one was that? I do not recall her."
""You were talking to her some time," she replied. "I think she was telling you about the mountains."
""Oh, yes," said I; "she was pointing out those pa.s.ses through which people go into the next county. She sat at the other end of the table, didn"t she? She was dressed in black."
""Oh, no," said Emily, "she was not dressed in black. She never wears black. I think she wore a brown dress with some sort of light tr.i.m.m.i.n.g."
""Oh, well," said I, "I did not notice her dress, and when I do not notice people"s clothes I nearly always think they dress in black. Is she nice?"
""She is very nice indeed," said Emily; "everybody thinks that."
""I wish I had seen more of her," said I.
"Emily did not answer this remark, but a smile came on her face which presently grew into a little laugh. I looked at her in surprise.
""What is there funny about Miss Temple?" I asked.
""Really there is nothing funny about her," she replied, "but I often laugh to myself when I think of her."
"I suddenly became very much interested in Miss Temple. "Tell me why you do that," I said. "I always like to know why people laugh at other people."
"Emily now became very sober. "You must not think," she said, "that there is anything ridiculous about Margaret Temple. There is not a finer woman to be found anywhere, and I do not believe there is anybody who laughs at her except myself. You know I am very apt to see the funny side of things."
""And so am I!" I exclaimed. "Do tell me about Miss Temple. It is so seldom there is anything amusing about a really nice person."
"Emily was silent for a moment, and then she said: "Well, I do not know that there is any real harm in telling you what makes me laugh. A good many people know all about it; but I would not, for the world, have Margaret Temple find out that I told you."
"I a.s.sured her with great earnestness that if she would tell me, I would never breathe it to any living soul.
""Very well," said Emily; "I will trust you. As I said, it really isn"t funny, but it is just this. It is a positive fact that five married ladies (I am certain of this number, and it may be more) have gone to Margaret Temple, during the past few years, and each one has asked her to become her husband"s second wife in case she should die."
"I did not laugh; I exclaimed in amazement: "Why did they all ask her? I did not notice anything particularly attractive about her."
""I think that is the point," said Emily. "I do not think a woman is likely to want her husband to take an attractive woman for his second wife. If she had the chance to choose her successor, she would like her husband to have a really nice person, good in every way, but not one with whom he would be likely to fall violently in love. Don"t you see the point of that?"
"I replied that it was easy enough to see the point, but that there was another one. "You must remember," said I, "that husbands are generally very particular; if one has had a young and handsome wife he would not be likely to be satisfied with anything less."
"Emily shook her head. "I am older than you, Rosa, and have had more opportunities of noticing widowers. There are a great many things for them to think about when they marry a second time: their children, their positions, and all that. I believe that if a man and his wife discussed it, which they would not be likely to do, they would be very apt to be of the same mind in regard to the sort of person who ought to come in as number two. For my part, I do not wonder at all that so many women have cast their eyes on Margaret Temple as a person they would like to have take their places when they are gone. For one thing, you know they would not be jealous of her; this is very important. Then, they would be as certain as anything can be certain in this world that their children, if they had any, as well as their husbands, would be in most excellent hands. Often, when I have been thinking about her, I have called Margaret Temple the Vice-consort; but I have never told any one this.
Please remember."
"So far I had not seen a thing to laugh at, but I was deeply interested.
"How came all this to be known?" I asked. "Has Miss Temple gone about telling people?"
""Oh, no, indeed; she is not that sort of person. A good many of the village ladies know it, and I think they always have heard it from those prudent ladies who were providing for their husbands" futures. People talk about it, of course, but they are very careful that nothing they say shall reach Margaret Temple"s ears."
""Tell me about some of the people," I said, "who want to secure Miss Temple as a successor. Do they all feel as though they are likely to die?"
""Not all of them," answered Emily. "There is Mrs. Hendrickson, who was obliged to go to Arizona on account of her father"s property. He was very rich, and died not long ago. Her husband has to stay at home to attend to his business, and she could not take her little baby; and although she is just as healthy as anybody, she knew all the dangers of railroad travelling, and all sorts of things in that far-away place; and, before she packed her trunk, she went to Margaret Temple and asked her to promise that if she died out there, she, Margaret, would marry Mr. Hendrickson. This I know for certain, for Mrs. Hendrickson told me herself."
""Did Miss Temple promise?"
""That I did not hear," replied Emily. "Mrs. Hendrickson was in a great hurry, and perhaps she did not intend to tell me, anyway. But I do not believe Margaret absolutely refused; at least, it would not have been prudent for her to do so. The Hendricksons are rich, and he is a fine man. There would be nothing in the way of such a match."
""Except the return of the wife," I remarked.
"Emily smiled. "And then there was poor Mrs. Windham," she continued.
"Everybody knew she asked Margaret. She left a son about eight years old who is very delicate. The poor woman has not been dead long enough for anything to come of that, but I do not believe anything ever will. There are people who say that Mr. Windham drinks; but I have seen no signs of it. Then there is another one--and no matter what you may hear people say about these things, you must never mention that I told you this.
Mrs. Barnes, the rector"s wife, has spoken to Margaret on the subject.
She looks very well, so far as I can judge; but there is consumption in her family. She is almost bigoted in regard to the duties of a rector"s wife. She tries just as hard as she can to fill the position properly herself, and she knows Mr. Barnes would never be satisfied with any one who did not agree with him as she does about the responsibilities of a rector"s wife."
""Does Margaret Temple agree with him?" I asked.
""I do not know, for I never talked with her on the subject," replied Emily, "but she is very apt to think what is right. Besides, it is believed that Mrs. Barnes has not only spoken to Margaret, but to the rector himself; and if he had not thought the plan a good one, Mrs. Barnes would have dropped it; and, from things I have heard her say, I know she has not dropped it."
"Emily looked as though she were about to rise, and I quickly exclaimed: "But that is only three. Who are the others?"
""One of them," said she, "is Mrs. Clinton. There is nothing the matter with her physically, but she is very rich, and is prudent and careful about everything that belongs to her, while her husband is not a business man at all and never has anything to do with money matters of importance. There are three children, and she has reason to feel anxious about them should they and their property be left in the charge of Mr. Clinton, or to the tender mercies of some woman who would marry him for the sake of his wealth. You can see for yourself that it is no wonder she casts her eyes upon Margaret. I believe Mrs. Clinton could die happy if she could see her husband and Margaret Temple promise themselves to each other at her bedside."
""That seems to me to be horrid," said I; "but of course it would be extremely sensible. And the other one?"
""Oh, that matter does not amount to much," said Emily. "Old Mrs. Gloucester lives at the other end of the village, and she does not visit much, so you have not seen her. Her husband is old enough, dear knows, but not quite so old as she is. She is very much afraid that she will die and leave him with n.o.body to take care of him, for they have no children. They are very well off, and I dare say she thinks it would be a good thing for Margaret as well as for the old gentleman."
""That is shameful," said I; "it would be the same thing as engaging a trained nurse."
"Emily laughed. "I never heard how Margaret received this remarkable proposition," she said, "but I hope she was angry."
""But, at any rate, it could never come to anything," said I.
""Of course not," answered Mrs. Cheston.
"It is not surprising that after this conversation I took a great interest in Margaret Temple; and when she called the next morning I had a long and undisturbed talk with her, Mrs. Cheston being out. I am very fond of a.n.a.lyzing human character, and I often do it while I am riding in the street-cars; and it was not long before I had made up my mind as to what sort of woman Margaret Temple was. I set her down as what may be called a balanced person. In fact, I thought at the time she was a little too well balanced; if some of her characteristics had been a little more p.r.o.nounced I think she would have been more interesting. But I liked her very much, and I remember I was almost as well pleased when she was talking to me as when she was listening, and I am sure there are very few persons, men or women, of whom I can say this."
Here a smile came upon the faces of the company, but they were too polite to make any comment on what had called forth the smile. The Master of the House asked permission to light a cigar, and the Old Professor, who never smoked, remarked: "There is deep philosophy in all this."
"I don"t know about the philosophy," said the Next Neighbor, "but it is absolute truth. Well, after a time I began to wish that Miss Temple lived near our home, because she would be such an admirable person for a friend and neighbor. Then, suddenly, without any warning, there flashed through me the strangest feeling I ever had in my life. I must have turned pale, for Miss Temple asked me if I did not feel ill. I soon recovered from the effects of this strange feeling, and went on talking; but I was very glad when Mrs. Cheston came home, and took the conversation out of my hands.
"For two or three days after this my mind was very much troubled, and Bernard thought that the air of that part of the country did not agree with me, and that we ought to go to the sea-sh.o.r.e. But this I positively refused to consider. There could be no sea-sh.o.r.e for me until a good many things had been settled. It was at this time that I first began to think that we cannot grow up fresh and green and blossom undisturbed, and that we must consider untimely cows coming along.
"To make the state of my mind clearly understood, I must say that there is an hereditary disease in my family. I had never thought anything about it, for there had been no reason why I should; but now I did think about it, and there did seem to be reason. My grandfather had had this disease, and had died of it. To be sure, he was very old; but that did not matter: he died of it, all the same. It never troubled my father, but this made no difference, so far as I was concerned, for I have always heard that hereditary diseases are apt to skip a generation, and if this one had skipped, there was n.o.body for it to skip to but me; for I have no brothers or sisters.
"The more I thought on this subject, the more troubled my mind became, and at last I believed it to be my duty to speak to Bernard, although I did not tell him all my thoughts; for I had had a good many that were not necessarily connected with hereditary diseases. I was positively amazed at the way my husband received what I told him. I had expected that perhaps he might pooh-pooh the whole thing, but he did nothing of the kind. He became very serious, and talked to me in the most earnest way.
""Now, Rosa," said he, "I am glad you told me about this, and I want to impress it upon your mind that you must be very careful. In the first place, you must totally give up hot spirits and water. You must not drink more than two gla.s.ses of wine, or three at the utmost, at any of your meals. When you get up in the morning you must totally abstain from drinking those mixtures that are taken by some people to give appet.i.te for breakfast. At night you must try to do without any sort of punch or toddy to make you sleep. If you will take this advice, and restrict yourself to water and milk, and not over-rich food, I think you may reasonably expect to live longer than your grandfather did, although I cannot imagine why any one should want to live that long."
"Of course I was angry at all this, for I saw then that he was making fun of me; and I said no more to him, for he was not in the right frame of mind to listen to me. But I did not stop thinking.