Miss Jillgall’s ever ready kindness interfered in my defense: “Oh, no, Elizabeth! You are not often mistaken; but indeed you are wrong now. Look at my distinguished friend. I remember my copy book, when I was a small creature learning to write, in England. There were first lines that we copied, in big letters, and one of them said, ‘Distrust Is Mean.’ I know a young person, whose name begins with H, who is one mass of meanness. But”--excellent Selina paused, and pointed to me with a gesture of triumph--“no meanness there!”
Mrs. Tenbruggen waited to hear what I had to say, scornfully insensible to Miss Jillgall’s well-meant interruption.
“You are not altogether mistaken,” I told her. “I can’t say that my mind is in a state of distrust, but I own that you puzzle me.”
“May I presume that you remember the occasion when we met at Mr. Gracedieu’s house-door? You saw that I failed to recognize you, and you refused to give your name when the servant asked for it. A few days afterward, I heard you (quite accidentally) forbid Miss Jillgall to mention your name in my hearing. I am at a loss to understand it.”
Before she could answer me, the chaise drew up at the gate of the farmhouse. Mrs. Tenbruggen carefully promised to explain what had puzzled me, at the first opportunity. “If it escapes my memory,” she said, “pray remind me of it.”
I determined to remind her of it. Whether I could depend on her to tell me the truth, might be quite another thing.
Eunice ran out to meet us, and opened the gate. She was instantly folded in Miss Jillgall’s arms. On her release, she came to me, eager for news of her father’s health. When I had communicated all that I thought it right to tell her of the doctor’s last report, she noticed Mrs. Tenbruggen. The appearance of a stranger seemed to embarrass her. I left Miss Jillgall to introduce them to each other.
“Darling Euneece, you remember Mrs. Tenbruggen’s name, I am sure? Elizabeth, this is my sweet girl; I mentioned her in my letters to you.”
“I hope she will be _my_ sweet girl, when we know each other a little better. May I kiss you, dear? You have lovely eyes; but I am sorry to see that they don’t look like happy eyes. You want Mamma Tenbruggen to cheer you. What a charming old house!”