Ivy Compton-Burnett: Dolores

“Very complimentary to Miss Hutton,” said Miss Lemaître.

“Oh, people are not interchangeable,” said Miss Cliff. “A different person in any place means loss and gain at the same time. We must feel the miss, as we feel the new advantages.”

“I miss Miss Butler as much as any one, I expect,” said Dolores. “I had never learned the value of her counsel, till I tried to fill her place.”

“I expect you do,” said Miss Cliff gently.

“Oh, one does not think of Miss Hutton as filling any one’s place,” said Miss Adam. “She was one of ourselves for so long, that it seems only natural to have her here.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Miss Cliff, with a note of apology.

“Miss Butler is the only member of the staff who has ever been married, is she not?” said Miss Adam.

“There was Miss Kingsford,” said Miss Cliff.

“Yes, yes. Poor child!” said Miss Dorrington.

“Did you ever see her in the year she was married, Miss Hutton?” said Miss Lemaître. “You were the only one who used to hear from her.”

“No,” said Dolores.

“She was happy, I suppose?” said Miss Cliff. “It seemed a strange thing; but one must not put faith in seeming. He was clearly content himself in that year; and certainly if any one ever sorrowed sincerely, he did.”

“More than she would have sorrowed, I suspect, had she been the widowed one,” said Miss Lemaître. “She could not really have been happy with him. Honestly, Miss Hutton, though I suspect you of a veneration for him, do you think any one could have?”

“I think some people could have,” said Dolores.

“Oh, you are connected with his great friend now, are you not, Miss Hutton?” said Miss Cliff. “I suppose you know more about him than ever. William Soulsby is a sort of cousin of mine; so you and I may imagine ourselves connected. I found I was ignorant of amazement, when I heard of his marriage. I thought he was incarnate bachelorhood. I cannot call up a picture of him making an offer of his hand, can you?”

“Certainly when I knew him first, I did not think of him as a likely person to marry,” said Dolores. “But it is the unlikely that happens. In this case it was very unlikely. He is more than thirty years older than my sister.”

“You are experienced in people’s manners of offering their hands, then, Miss Cliff?” said Miss Greenlow, in tones of polite comment.

“Ah! The cat is out of the bag,” said Miss Dorrington.

“No,” said Miss Cliff, with easy laughter. “I have no right to speak as one having authority.”

“Ah! That is all very well now,” said Miss Dorrington. “You certainly spoke in an unguarded moment with no uncertain sound.”

“How many of us have that right, I wonder,” said Miss Lemaître.

“I suspect Miss Adam,” said Miss Greenlow, shaking her head.

“Miss Adam, you are a marked character,” said Miss Cliff.

“Clearly we are right, Miss Lemaître,” said Miss Greenlow; as Miss Adam yielded without great unwillingness to the impulse to look conscious.

“Anyhow we are rude,” said Miss Dorrington genially.

“Oh; we can surely talk to young people, as old women may,” said Miss Cliff.

“If youth is the qualification, Miss Hutton is the fittest mark for our elderly interest,” said Miss Lemaître.

“Miss Hutton, can you meet our eyes?” said Miss Adam, not without suggestion that this was beyond herself.

“Oh, we will acquit Miss Hutton. She is the most sensible of us all,” said Miss Cliff.

THE END.