CHAPTER II
PREPARING FOR THE BRIDE

Campbell returned to the dining-room pleasantly enough. He placed his chair at his mother's side, and asked: "Are you feeling ill, mother?"

"Rather, Robert, and the library is objectionable to me, since you began to smoke there. In fact, I have long been prejudiced against the room, for your father had a trick of sending for me to come there, whenever he was compelled to tell me of some misfortune. Consequently, I have associated the library with calamity, and I did not wish to hear your important news there."

"Calamity? No, no! My news is altogether happy and delightful. Mother, I am going to be married in October, to the loveliest woman in the world, and she is as good and clever as she is beautiful."

"Married! May I ask after the lady's name?"

"Theodora Newton. Her father is the Methodist preacher at Kendal, a town in Westmoreland."

"England?"

"Yes."

"She is an Englishwoman?"

"Of course!"

"I might have known it. I never knew a Scotchwoman called Theodora."

"It is a good name and suits her to perfection. Her father belongs to the Northumberland Newtons, a fine old family."

"It may be. I never heard of them. You say he is a Methodist preacher?"

"A remarkable preacher. I heard him last Sunday."

"Robert Campbell! Have you fairly forgotten yourself? Methodists are Arminians, and Arminians I hold in utter abomination, as every good Calvinist should."

"I know nothing about such subjects. This generation, mother, is getting hold of more tolerant ideas. But it makes no matter to me what creed Theodora believes in. I should love her just the same even if she were a Roman Catholic."

"A man in love, Robert, suffers from a temporary collapse o' good sense. But when I hear you say things like that, I think you are mad entirely."

"No, mother. I never was so happy in all my five senses as I am now. The world was never so beautiful, and life never so desirable, as since I loved Theodora."

"Doubtless you think she is a nonsuch, but I call your case one of lamentable self-pleasing. To the lures of what you consider a beautiful woman, you are sacrificing your noblest feelings and traditions. Don't deceive yourself. Was there not in all Scotland a girl of your own race and faith, good enough for you to marry?"

"I never saw one I wanted to marry."

"I might mention Jane Dalkeith."

"You need not. I would not marry Jane if she was the only woman in the world!"

"You prefer above all others an Englishwoman and a Methodist?"

"Decidedly."

"You have made up your mind to marry this doubly objectionable woman?"

"Positively, some time next October."

"And what is to become of me, and your sisters?"

"That is what I wish to understand."

"I have my dower-house in Saltcoats, but it is small and uncomfortable. If I go there, I shall have to leave the Kirk I have sat in for thirty-seven years, the minister who is dear and profitable to me, all the friends I have in the world, and the numerous – "

"Mother, I wish you to do none of these things. This house is large enough for us all. The south half, which you now occupy, you can retain for yourself and my sisters. I shall refurnish, as Theodora desires, the northern half, and if you will continue the management of the house and table, we can all surely eat in our present dining-room. There will only be one more to cater for, and I will allow liberally for that in the weekly sum for your expenditure. Theodora is no housekeeper and does not pretend to be. She is immensely clever and intellectual, and has been a professor in a large Methodist College for girls."

"You will be a speculation to all who know you."

"I am not caring a penny piece. They can speculate all they choose to. I shall meanwhile be extremely indifferent. I have come at last, mother, to understand that in a great love there is great happiness. The whole soul can take shelter there."

"The soul takes shelter in nothing and in no one related to this earth. That is some of last Sabbath's teaching, I suppose."

"Yes," he answered. "I was at Theodora's side all last Sunday and I learned this lesson in the sweetest way imaginable."

"I wish you to talk modestly before your sisters, and I do not like to hear the Sabbath called Sunday."

Robert laughed and answered: "Well, mother, we have so little sunshine in Scotland, we really cannot speak of any day as Sunday."

"You may laugh, Robert, but such things are related to spiritual ordinances, and are not joking matters."

"You are right, mother. Let us get back to business. Will you accept my proposal, or do you prefer to go to your own home?"

"I have been used to consider this house my own home, for thirty-seven years, and if I leave it, I wonder what kind of housekeeping will go on in it, with a college woman to superintend things? You would be left to the servant lasses, and their doings and not-doings would be enough to turn my hair gray."

"Then, mother, you will stay here, as I propose?"

"I cannot do my duty, and leave."

"I thank you, mother." Then, turning to his sisters, he said: "I hope you are satisfied, girls."

"There is no other course for us," answered Isabel. "We must stay where mother stays. It would be unkind to leave her now – when you are practically leaving her."

"I hope Theodora will be nice," said Christina. "If she is, we may be happy."

"Do your best, Christina, to make all pleasant, and you will please me very much," said Robert. "And, Isabel, I am not leaving any of you. Marriage will not alter me in regard to my relationship to mother, yourself, and Christina. I promise you that."

"If you intend to make many alterations in the house, you will have to see about them at once," said Mrs. Campbell.

"To-morrow I shall send men to remove all the old furniture from the rooms I intend to decorate."

"To remove it! Where to?"

"To Bailey's auction rooms."

"Robert Campbell! Your poor, dear father's rooms, and he not gone two years yet!"

"To-morrow will be nine days short of the two years. Do you wish his rooms to remain untouched for nine days longer, mother?"

"It is no matter. Let his lounge, and his chair and his bagatelle board go – let all go! The dead, as well as the living, must make way for Theodora."

"And, mother, as the hall will be entirely changed, and there will be much traffic through it, you had better remove early in the morning those huge glass cases of impaled insects and butterflies. If you wish to keep them, take them to your rooms; if not, let them go to Bailey's."

"They may as well go with the rest. Your father valued them highly in this life, but – "

"They are the most lugubrious, sorrowful objects. They make me shudder. How could any one imagine they were ornamental?"

"Your father thought them to be very curious and instructive, and they cost a great deal of money."

"If during the night you remember any changes you would like to make, we can discuss them in the morning," said Robert.

He went out gaily, and as he closed the door, began to sing:

 
"My love is like a red, red rose,
That's newly blown in June;
My Love is like a melody,
That's sweetly played in tune."
 

Then the library shut in the singer and the song, and all was silence.

Mrs. Campbell did not speak, and Isabel looked at her with a kind of contemptuous pity. She thought her mother had but lamely defended her position, and was sure she could have done it more effectively. Christina was simply interested. There was really something going to happen, and as far as she could see, the change in the house would bring other changes still more important. She was satisfied, and she looked at her silent mother and sister impatiently. Why did they not say something?

At length Mrs. Campbell rose from the sofa, and began to walk slowly up and down the room, and with motion came speech.

"I think, Isabel," she said, "I signified my opinions and desires plainly enough to your brother."

"You spoke with your usual wisdom and clearness, mother."

"Do you think Robert understood that I consider this house my house, and that I intend to be mistress in it? Why, girls, your father made me mistress here more than thirty-seven years ago. That ought to be enough for Robert."

"Robert is now in father's place," said Christina.

"Robert cannot take from me what your father gave me. This house is morally mine, and always will be, while I choose to urge my claim. I am not going to be put to the wall by two lovesick fools. No, indeed!"

"I think Robert showed himself very wise for his own – and Theodora's interests; and he would refute your moral claim, I assure you, mother, without one qualm of conscience."

"Refute me! He might as well try to refute the Bass rock. A mother is irrefutable, Isabel! But his conduct will necessitate us all using a deal of diplomacy. You do not require to be told why, or how, at the present time. I have a forecasting mind, and I can see how things are going to happen, but just now, we must keep a calm sound in all our observes, for the man is in the burning fever of an uncontrollable love, and clean off his reason – on the subject of that Englishwoman, he is mad entirely."

"I wonder what Dr. Robertson, and the Kirk, and people in general, will say?"

"What they will say to our faces is untelling, Isabel; what they will say when we are not bodily present, it is easy to surmise. Every one will consider Robert Campbell totally beyond his senses. He is. That creature in a place called Kendal, has bewitched him. As you well know, the prime and notable quality of Robert Campbell was, that he could make money, and especially save money. He always, in this respect, reminded me of his grandfather, whom every one called 'Old Economy.' Now, what is he doing? Squandering money on every hand! Expensive journeys for the sole end of love-making, expensive presents no doubt, half of Traquair House redecorated and refurnished, wedding expenses coming on, honeymoon expenses; goodness only knows what else will be emptying the purse. And for whom? An Englishwoman, a Methodist, a poor school-teacher. She will neither be to hold nor to bind in her own expenses; for coming to Traquair House will be to her like entering a superior state of existence, and she won't know how to carry herself in it. We may take that to be a certainty. But I think I can teach her! Yes, I think I can teach her!"

"How will you do it, mother?"

"I cannot exactly specify now. She will give me the points, and opportunities; and correcting, and advising, come most effectively from the passing events of daily life. As I said, she will give me plenty of occasions or I'm no judge of women – especially brides."

"You might be flustered if you were in a hurry and unprepared, mother, and miss points of advantage, or get more than you gave, but if you had a plan thought out – "

"No, no, Isabel! I have lived long enough to learn the wisdom of building my wall with the stones I find at the foot of it."

"Many a sore heart the poor thing will get!" said Christina, with an air of mock pity.

"We cannot say too much or go too far, while Robert is as daft in love as he is at present," continued Mrs. Campbell. "We must be cautious, and that is the good way – the bit-by-bitness is what tells; now a look, now a word, now a hint, there a suspicion, there a worriment, there a hesitation or a doubt. It is the bit-by-bitness tells! This is a forgetful world, so I mention this fact again. And remember also, that men are the most uncertain part of creation. I have known Robert Campbell thirty years and I have just found him out. He is a curious creature, is Robert. He thinks himself steady as the hills, but in reality he is just as unstable as water. Good-night, girls! We will go for our sleep now, though I'm doubting if we get any."

"Theodora won't keep me awake," said Christina. Isabel did not speak then, but as they stood a moment at their bedroom doors, she said: "Mother is not to be trifled with. She is going to make Theodora trouble enough. I'm telling you."

"I don't care if she does! Anything for a change. Good-night!"

"Good-night! I do not expect to sleep."

"Perfect nonsense! Why should you keep awake for a woman in Kendal? Shut your eyes and forget her. Or dream that she brings you a husband."

"I'll do no such thing. That's a likely story!" and the two doors shut softly to the denial, and Christina's low laugh at it.

When the three women came down to breakfast in the morning, they found a dozen men at work dismantling the hall and the rooms on the north side of the house. The glass cases of insects and butterflies, and the old-fashioned engravings of Sir Robert Peel, Lord Derby, the Duke of Wellington, and Queen Victoria's marriage ceremony were just leaving the house. Mrs. Campbell, walking in her most stately manner, approached the foreman and began to give him some orders. He listened impatiently a few moments, and then answered with small courtesy:

"I have my written directions, ma'am, from the master, and I shall follow them to the letter. There is no use in you bothering and interfering," and with the last word on his lips, he turned from her to address some of his workmen.

She looked at him in utter amazement and speechless anger; then with an apparent haughty indifference, turned into the breakfast-room bringing the word "interfering" with her, and flavoring every remark she made with it. She was in a white heat of passion, and really felt herself to have been insulted beyond all pacification. Isabel had been a little in advance, and had not seen and heard the affront, but she was in thorough sympathy with her mother. Christina was differently affected. The idea of a workman telling her mother not to interfere in her own house was so flagrantly impudent, that it was to Christina flagrantly funny. Every time Mrs. Campbell imitated the man, she felt that she must give way, and at length the strain was uncontrollable, and she burst into a screaming passion of laughter.

"Forgive me, mother!" she said as soon as speech was possible. "That man's impertinence to you has made me hysterical, for I never saw you treated so disrespectfully before. I was very nervous when I rose this morning."

"You must conquer such absurd feelings, Christina. Observe your sister and myself. We should be ashamed to exhibit such a total collapse of will power."

"Excuse me, mother. I will go to my room until I feel better."

"Very well, Christina. You had better take a drink of water. Remember, you must learn to meet annoyance like a sensible woman."

"I will, mother."

But after breakfast when Isabel came to her, she went off into peals of laughter again, burying her face in the pillows, and only lifting it to ejaculate: "It was too delicious, Isabel – too deliciously funny for anything! If you had seen that man stare mother in the face – and tell her not to interfere! I wondered how he dared, but I admired him for it; he was a big, handsome fellow. Oh, how I wished I was like him! What privileges men do have?"

"Do you mean to call it a privilege to tell mother not to interfere?"

"Many a time I would like to have done it; yes, many a time. I know it is wicked, but mother does interfere too much. It is her specialty!" and Christina appeared ready for another fit of laughter.

"If you laugh any more, Christina, I shall feel it my duty to throw cold water in your face. Mother told me to do so."

"Such advice comes from her interfering temper. That handsome fellow was right."

"Behave yourself, Christina. What is the matter with you?"

"It is the change, Isabel. To see lots of men in the hall, and that heavy black furniture and the poor beetles and butterflies, and the great men's pictures going away – "

"Can't you speak correctly? Are you sick?"

"I must be!"

"Go back to bed, and I will get mother to give you a sleeping powder."

"That will be better than cold water. If you could only have seen mother's face, Isabel, when that man told her not to interfere. As for him, he had a wink in his eyes, I know. I hope I shall never see him again. If I do – "

"I trust you will behave decently, as Christina Campbell ought to do."

"If he winks, I shall laugh. I know I shall."

"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

"I am, but what good does that do?"

"See here, Christina, there are going to be many changes in this house, and if you intend to meet them with this idiotic laughter, what pleasure can you expect? Be sensible, Christina."

Poor Christina! The keenest of all her faculties was her sense of the ridiculous. On this side of her nature, her intellect could have been highly developed, but instead it had been ruthlessly depressed and ignored. The comic page of the newspapers, the only page she cared for, was generally removed; she could tell a funny story delightfully, but no one smiled if she did so; she saw the comical attributes of every one, and everything, but it was a grave misdemeanor to point them out; and thus snubbed and chided for the one thing she could do, she feared to attempt others which she knew only in a mediocre manner.

At the dinner table she was able to take her place in a placid, sensible mood. She found the family deep in the discussion of an immediate removal to the seashore. It was at any rate about the usual time of their summer migration, and Robert was advising his mother to go to the Isle of Arran. But Mrs. Campbell had resolved to go to Campbelton, where she had many relations. "We can stay at the Argyle Arms