“And when the country have finished calling upon me,” she said, “what happens then?”
“Why, then, you are obliged to return their calls, every single one of them.
I will order the carriage every afternoon for two o’clock.
I beg your pardon.
Not every afternoon. But every Tuesday, Thursday and Friday.”
“And I go alone?”
“You go alone.”
“And what do I have to do on Mondays and on Wednesdays?”
“On Mondays and on Wednesdays, let me see…” I considered rapidly, invention failing me.
“Do you sketch at all, or sing?
Like the Miss Pascoes?
You could practice singing on the Mondays, and draw or paint upon the Wednesdays.”
“I neither sketch nor sing,” said my cousin Rachel, “and I am afraid you are drawing up for me a program of leisure for which I am entirely unsuited.
If, instead of waiting for the county to call upon me, I call upon them for the purpose of giving them lessons in Italian, that would suit me much better.”
She rose to her feet, having snuffed the candles in the tall stand beside her.
I stood up from my stool.
“Mrs. Ashley give lessons in Italian?” I said, in mock horror.
“What a disgrace upon the name. Only spinsters give lessons, when they have no one to support them.”
“And what do widows do who find themselves in similar circumstances?” she asked.
“Widows?” I said, not thinking.
“Oh, widows marry again as fast as possible, or sell their rings.”
“I see.
Well, I intend doing neither. I prefer giving lessons in Italian.”
She patted me on the shoulder and left the room, calling good night over her shoulder.
I felt myself go scarlet.
Good God, what had I said?
I had spoken without a thought of her condition, forgetting who she was and what had happened.
I had fallen into the fun of conversation with her as I might have done with Ambrose in the past, and had let my tongue run away with me in consequence.
Remarry.
Sell her rings.
What in heaven’s name could she have thought of me?
How blundering, how unfeeling, how altogether oafish and ill-bred I must have seemed.
I could feel the color mount right up the back of my neck to the roots of my hair.
Hell and damnation.
No use apologizing.
It would make too big a business of it.
Better to let it go, and hope and pray she would forget.
I was thankful nobody else had been present, my godfather, say, to draw me aside and frown at such breach of manners.
Or suppose it had been at table, and Seecombe waiting, and young John?
Remarry.
Sell her rings.
Oh, Lord… Oh, Lord… What on earth could have possessed me?
I should not sleep now for the night, I should lie awake and toss and turn, and all the while hear that reply of hers, swift as lightning,
“I intend doing neither. I prefer giving lessons in Italian.”
I called Don, and letting myself out by the side door I walked out in the grounds.
As I walked it seemed to me that my offense grew worse instead of better.
Coarse, unthinking, empty-headed lout… And what had she meant anyway?
Was it possible that she had so little money that she was really serious in what she said?
Mrs. Ashley give lessons in Italian?
I remembered her letter to my godfather from Plymouth.