Chapter I

“La joie de faire du bien est tout autrement douce et touchante que
la joie de recevoir. Revenez-y encore; c’est un plaisir qui ne s’use
point; plus on le goûte, plus on se rend digne de le goûter.”

FENELON.

Lionel returned, and took up his abode at home on tolerably friendly terms with his father. He appeared to be duly struck with the change in Ida, and expressed himself warmly regarding her personal appearance; but seemed in no hurry to bring matters to a crisis.

He had indeed been so long absent, that there was something like a fresh acquaintance to be made; and, however much all parties might wish it, it was less easy now that Ida was grown up.

_Ma bonne_, with fewer teeth, and a stronger propensity to slumber, was still ostensibly the _chaperon_; but it was impossible that Lionel should come and go with the unceremonious freedom of former days.

His own fastidious taste, and his strong sense of propriety, forced him to treat Ida with respect, and though unable to break off entirely his teasing habits, he did for the most part behave to her in a manner becoming his position.

Lord Ashford and Sir William, who had expected an immediate arrangement, were annoyed, but both were too prudent to express their feelings, and after the first disappointment, calmly made up their minds to a delay. As Ida was still three months less than seventeen, most people would have considered a delay desirable, and so probably Lionel felt.

It was very soon apparent that other schemes besides matrimonial schemes occupied his attention. He had an active mind, and a great desire, not only that good should be done in the world, but that he should do it. From childhood upwards he had said--he had said it constantly in his heart, he had said it in the outpourings of that heart to his mother, and he had sometimes said it to Ida--that he would be one of the world’s good men; one of those to whom the world should look up as a great doer of good works. He had been impatient when he was a boy to grow up that he might begin his operations; and though he owned that his time had hitherto been wasted, that he had not as yet made even a step towards the position to which he aspired, yet circumstances, not himself, he thought, had been in fault, and the time was now come when he might begin.

Like a prudent man he determined to begin at home, and he looked about him for a field, or fields, suited to his wants. With tender recollection also of his mother and her wishes, he went back into memory to recall her thoughts, and gradually brought to mind a scheme in which she had once been absorbed. It was shortly before the time when the new school had been built in compliance with Mr. Pope’s wishes. As this last had been expensively done, the funds for the other scheme had not been forthcoming, and the plan was set aside. But it recurred to Lionel’s remembrance now, and gradually, even in its minutest details, was brought to mind. The scheme in question was for the education of a limited number of girls as servants, moral and intellectual teaching not neglected, but cooking, washing, and other useful acquirements added.

With quick decision he resolved on undertaking this plan for his first work; and having so resolved, went to Ida for help.

She, interested in all his wishes, and interested in every good work, gave her heart and understanding to its furtherance; but naturally enough she pleaded ignorance in such matters, and in her turn applied to Violet for information and assistance.

Violet was delighted. It was a practical plan, suited to her practical mind, and she entered into it with warmth. Her first observation was, that it would be costly. Was Mr. Vane prepared for that? He, to whom this observation was repeated by Ida, insisted on satisfying her, and came to Boscombe during one of her visits to do it.

He told her that he was prudent. That he should begin with four or five girls; that he had found a house which, with a few repairs, would answer the purpose, and which Lord Ashford was willing to let for a very small rent; and then he added that his mother had left to him exclusively a few thousands, part of which he was anxious to devote to a plan on which her heart had been set.

Pleased with all he said, Violet promised help, if help was needed; but meanwhile she took care so to imbue Ida’s mind with her own judicious views, that the help a young man was sure to need in such a scheme should come from her alone. Never mother tried to set off a daughter’s charms as Violet tried to invest Ida with those special graces Lionel prized.

The conferences needed in drawing out the rules for the proposed institution were so numerous, that nothing better could have been devised for throwing Ida and Lionel together. Looking on the plan in this light, Lord Ashford and Sir William Hamilton each insisted on giving a contribution, and the scheme progressed so favourably, that there was hope of all things being ready for a beginning by Christmas.

“I am quite delighted with the whole thing,” Violet one day observed to Ida. “The rules and all the arrangements are so good that I feel confident of its success; and there is no telling what good may be done when a few young girls are thus placed where only right influences can reach them. And after a time, Ida, you must take them in charge; and you must remember that girls, poor girls, like to be amused as well as rich ones; it will be nice for you two or three times a week to go and read to them while they work--a good story, something to amuse them, poor children; and then it might be useful, too, if you were to teach them to sing.”

She was proceeding eagerly with the expression of her wishes, when Ida’s deep blush caught her eyes. The house appropriated to the building was at some distance, on the skirts of Lord Ashford’s park. Being near _his_ house, and comparatively far from Ida’s, Violet’s suggestions too pointedly alluded to the time when Ida might be the resident there. She was no longer what she had been when she so openly announced the event that was impending. Her love for Lionel had assumed a new form, that form when it retires from sight and shrinks from the notice of the world. At the words of her companion she blushed and stooped her head over the writing on which she was employed.

Violet, quick to see and quick also to feel and approve a sensitiveness new, yet natural, paused; then, kissing her, murmured, “Forgive me; I was indiscreet,” and changed the subject.

But, in the almost daily intercourse that now took place, she, like Lord Ashford, saw the beginning of the end; and though the remembrance of Ida’s tender years made her patient, she expected a few weeks or months at latest to bring all things to a happy conclusion.

Satisfied with obtaining her valuable assistance through Ida, and when absolutely necessary with a discussion of some important subject at Boscombe, Lionel had not hitherto troubled Violet with visits at home; but one morning he appeared.

“I will not have this, mamma,” Violet said as she saw him enter the cottage gate. “Here comes Mr. Vane with a paper in his hand. He takes more of my time than I can spare as it is, now one thing and now another; and if he is to come here, and of a morning too, I must have him spoken to.”

“Only once, dear,” said her mother; “perhaps it is for something particular.”

“There can be nothing very particular since Wednesday afternoon. Mr. Vane is fussy, there is no doubt. I like him very much, and I think him very good, but he does think his plans are the only plans in the world.”

Lionel had been kept waiting for a few moments while the housemaid, taken by surprise, was changing her working apron for a clean one. He now came in, and it was with an eagerness which made him forget the formal manners he still assumed whenever he had time to recollect himself. He shook hands with both mother and daughter, seated himself in the place Mrs. Osborne pointed out, and then began:

“Miss Osborne, do you remember a conversation we had about a schoolmistress three weeks ago?”

“Yes; and I thought you had got her.”

“So did I; but now she declines to come. We are too far from London for her taste. I heard that from my friend yesterday morning; and last night a new idea struck me; I could not rest till I came to you about it. Would not your _protegée_, Miss White, do for us? I know how anxious you are she should get some more suitable thing than she now has, and I think in many ways this will be less weary work than her present task.”

Violet sat silent. For a moment her eyes had sparkled with pleasure, but then she looked grave.

“What do you say?” and he eagerly examined her countenance. “Don’t you think it will do?”

“No,” she said, slowly shaking her head. “I am very, very sorry, but I am afraid it ought not to be. It is very kind of you to have thought of it, but it will not do. Miss White is not fit; is she, mamma? I am afraid there is no doubt about it.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, with disappointment in his tone. “I know you do not think her a very good teacher for the mind; but this is different, and those who are least intellectual are often the best for practical life.”

“But that is just what she is not. She is not fit, if fitness is considered, for her present situation; but she is far less fit to make girls good useful women. No. I could not, ought not, to say it would do; I know you would soon find out your mistake.”

“I am very sorry, then,” he said, rising from his seat; “and that is all I have to say. But thank you for your openness. It is not everybody that I should have trusted when a _protegée_ was in question; but I knew I should only have truth from you.”

“I hope so indeed,” Violet said, smiling.

“Ah! it is not so common a thing as you think. Is it, Mrs. Osborne?”

Mrs. Osborne, not being certain what he had asked, only smiled; and turning again to Violet he said,

“Shall you see Ida to-day?”

“I am afraid not. I am busy to-day.”

“No more shall I. I must ride to B---- to talk to the clergyman there about a mistress. He is sensible, and may give a good opinion, which is more than I can say for your friend Mr. Pope.”

“Mr. Pope is sensible up to a certain point,” Violet observed, never willing to agree with Lionel in his depreciation of men and things.

“The point is only so high, then,” he replied playfully, making the mark of a child’s height with his hand; then, as if suddenly remembering how much he had unbent, he drew up and added, “If you chance to see Ida, will you be good enough to tell her where I am gone. Good morning.”

Violet returned to her employment. She was adapting some fine chords from Beethoven to the words of a psalm--that is, she had been so occupied when Lionel entered; but though she resumed her place she now sat idly before the music, a pen in her hand, but her thoughts wandering.

Mrs. Osborne watched her for some time, then went to her and put her hand on her shoulder.

“You are sorry about Amy, dear?”

Violet started.

“Yes, mamma. How you guess! It would have been the very thing for her and her mother together; and such a comfortable house as it will be; but I could not have said she was fit. If she had been my sister I could not have said it.”

“No, dear. I don’t think you could. Amy will never influence young girls. You were very right to speak as you did, dear.”

Violet sighed.

“Ah! mamma, what I was thinking, was how much responsibility we take upon ourselves ignorantly. If I had thought of Amy as I do now, how differently I should have advised about her! I remember,” she paused, then, trying to speak steadily and indifferently, but her voice becoming hoarse and low, went on, “Mr. Leicester once said he thought her so much better fitted to be a dressmaker than a schoolmistress; it was after we had seen how helpless she was, and how many difficulties there were in making her understand our views about her future life; but I would not hear of it for her. I was so bent on keeping her a lady; and now I see that he was right.”

“Perhaps so, dear, but it could not be expected that at eighteen you should have the experience you have now.”

“But, mamma, my mistakes may do real harm. Yesterday Amy was hearing a class of boys, and she was fretful and aggravating, and I saw them making faces at her. It made me wretched all day; and when Mr. Vane spoke this morning my heart at first bounded at the thought of freeing her and them; but in a moment I felt it would not do; and there she must stay, and perhaps she is making the boys wicked; and it is my fault.”

“That is morbid, darling; you must not have such thoughts. I always trust that if we sincerely wish to do good, God will not suffer even our mistakes to do real harm.”

“You are very comforting, mamma,” and Violet rose up and kissed her mother. “I will not fret about Amy any more. I hope something will rise up for her in time; and for myself I can at least resolve to make _no more mistakes_.”

And with this earnest resolve her countenance brightened, and she turned her thoughts again to the work before her.