CHAPTER XVI
CLARA AND LAETITIA
In spite of his honourable caution, Vernon had said things to renderMiss Middleton more angrily determined than she had been in the scenewith Sir Willoughby. His counting on pitched battles and a defeat forher in all of them, made her previous feelings appear slack incomparison with the energy of combat now animating her. And she couldvehemently declare that she had not chosen; she was too young, tooignorant to choose. He had wrongly used that word; it soundedmalicious; and to call consenting the same in fact as choosing waswilfully unjust. Mr. Whitford meant well; he was conscientious, veryconscientious. But he was not the hero descending from heavenbright-sworded to smite a woman's fetters of her limbs and deliver herfrom the yawning mouth-abyss.
His logical coolness of expostulation with her when she cast aside thesilly mission entrusted to her by Sir Willoughby and wept for herself,was unheroic in proportion to its praiseworthiness. He had left it toher to do everything she wished done, stipulating simply that thereshould be a pause of four-and-twenty hours for her to consider of itbefore she proceeded in the attempt to extricate herself. Ofconsolation there had not been a word. Said he, "I am the last man togive advice in such a case". Yet she had by no means astonished himwhen her confession came out. It came out, she knew not how. It was ledup to by his declining the idea of marriage, and her congratulating himon his exemption from the prospect of the yoke, but memory was too dullto revive the one or two fiery minutes of broken language when she hadbeen guilty of her dire misconduct.
This gentleman was no flatterer, scarcely a friend. He could look onher grief without soothing her. Supposing he had soothed her warmly?All her sentiments collected in her bosom to dash in reprobation of himat the thought. She nevertheless condemned him for his excessivecoolness; his transparent anxiety not to be compromised by a syllable;his air of saying, "I guessed as much, but why plead your case to me?"And his recommendation to her to be quite sure she did know what shemeant, was a little insulting. She exonerated him from the intention;he treated her as a girl. By what he said of Miss Dale, he proposedthat lady for imitation.
"I must be myself or I shall be playing hypocrite to dig my ownpitfall," she said to herself, while taking counsel with Laetitia as tothe route for their walk, and admiring a becoming curve in hercompanion's hat.
Sir Willoughby, with many protestations of regret that letters ofbusiness debarred him from the pleasure of accompanying them, remarkedupon the path proposed by Miss Dale, "In that case you must have afootman."
"Then we adopt the other," said Clara, and they set forth.
"Sir Willoughby," Miss Dale said to her, "is always in alarm about ourunprotectedness."
Clara glanced up at the clouds and closed her parasol. She replied, "Itinspires timidity."
There was that in the accent and character of the answer which warnedLaetitia to expect the reverse of a quiet chatter with Miss Middleton.
"You are fond of walking?" She chose a peaceful topic.
"Walking or riding; yes, of walking," said Clara. "The difficulty is tofind companions."
"We shall lose Mr. Whitford next week."
"He goes?"
"He will be a great loss to me, for I do not ride," Laetitia replied tothe off-hand inquiry.
"Ah!"
Miss Middleton did not fan conversation when she simply breathed hervoice.
Laetitia tried another neutral theme.
"The weather to-day suits our country," she said.
"England, or Patterne Park? I am so devoted to mountains that I have noenthusiasm for flat land."
"Do you call our country flat, Miss Middleton? We have undulations,hills, and we have sufficient diversity, meadows, rivers, copses,brooks, and good roads, and pretty by-paths."
"The prettiness is overwhelming. It is very pretty to see; but to livewith, I think I prefer ugliness. I can imagine learning to loveugliness. It's honest. However young you are, you cannot be deceived byit. These parks of rich people are a part of the prettiness. I wouldrather have fields, commons."
"The parks give us delightful green walks, paths through beautifulwoods."
"If there is a right-of-way for the public."
"There should be," said Miss Dale, wondering; and Clara cried: "I chafeat restraint: hedges and palings everywhere! I should have to travelten years to sit down contented among these fortifications. Of course Ican read of this rich kind of English country with pleasure in poetry.But it seems to me to require poetry. What would you say of humanbeings requiring it?"
"That they are not so companionable but that the haze of distanceimproves the view."
"Then you do know that you are the wisest?"
Laetitia raised her dark eyelashes; she sought to understand. She couldonly fancy she did; and if she did, it meant that Miss Middletonthought her wise in remaining single.
Clara was full of a sombre preconception that her "jealousy" had beenhinted to Miss Dale.
"You knew Miss Durham?" she said.
"Not intimately."
"As well as you know me?"
"Not so well."
"But you saw more of her?"
"She was more reserved with me."
"Oh! Miss Dale, I would not be reserved with you."
The thrill of the voice caused Laetitia to steal a look. Clara's eyeswere bright, and she had the readiness to run to volubility of thefever-stricken; otherwise she did not betray excitement.
"You will never allow any of these noble trees to be felled, MissMiddleton?"
"The axe is better than decay, do you not think?"
"I think your influence will be great and always used to good purpose."
"My influence, Miss Dale? I have begged a favour this morning and cannot obtain the grant."
It was lightly said, but Clara's face was more significant, and "What?"leaped from Laetitia's lips.
Before she could excuse herself, Clara had answered: "My liberty."
In another and higher tone Laetitia said, "What?" and she looked roundon her companion; she looked in the doubt that is open to conviction bya narrow aperture, and slowly and painfully yields access. Clara sawthe vacancy of her expression gradually filling with woefulness.
"I have begged him to release me from my engagement, Miss Dale."
"Sir Willoughby?"
"It is incredible to you. He refuses. You see I have no influence."
"Miss Middleton, it is terrible!"
"To be dragged to the marriage service against one's will? Yes."
"Oh! Miss Middleton!"
"Do you not think so?"
"That cannot be your meaning."
"You do not suspect me of trifling? You know I would not. I am as muchin earnest as a mouse in a trap."
"No, you will not misunderstand me! Miss Middleton, such a blow to SirWilloughby would be shocking, most cruel! He is devoted to you."
"He was devoted to Miss Durham."
"Not so deeply: differently."
"Was he not very much courted at that time? He is now; not so much: heis not so young. But my reason for speaking of Miss Durham was toexclaim at the strangeness of a girl winning her freedom to plunge intowedlock. Is it comprehensible to you? She flies from one dungeon intoanother. These are the acts which astonish men at our conduct, andcause them to ridicule and, I dare say, despise us."
"But, Miss Middleton, for Sir Willoughby to grant such a request, if itwas made . . ."
"It was made, and by me, and will be made again. I throw it all on myunworthiness, Miss Dale. So the county will think of me, and quitejustly. I would rather defend him than myself. He requires a differentwife from anything I can be. That is my discovery; unhappily a lateone. The blame is all mine. The world cannot be too hard on me. But Imust be free if I am to be kind in my judgements even of the gentlemanI have injured."
"So noble a gentleman!" Laetitia sighed.
"I will subscribe to any eulogy of him," said Clara, with a penetratingthought as to the possibility of a lady
experienced in him likeLaetitia taking him for noble. "He has a noble air. I say it sincerely,that your appreciation of him proves his nobility." Her feeling ofopposition to Sir Willoughby pushed her to this extravagance, gravelyperplexing Laetitia. "And it is," added Clara, as if to support whatshe had said, "a withering rebuke to me; I know him less, at least havenot had so long an experience of him."
Laetitia pondered on an obscurity in these words which would haveaccused her thick intelligence but for a glimmer it threw on anothermost obscure communication. She feared it might be, strange though itseemed, jealousy, a shade of jealousy affecting Miss Middleton, as hadbeen vaguely intimated by Sir Willoughby when they were waiting in thehall. "A little feminine ailment, a want of comprehension of a perfectfriendship;" those were his words to her: and he suggested vaguely thatcare must be taken in the eulogy of her friend.
She resolved to be explicit.
"I have not said that I think him beyond criticism, Miss Middleton."
"Noble?"
"He has faults. When we have known a person for years the faults comeout, but custom makes light of them; and I suppose we feel flattered byseeing what it would be difficult to be blind to! A very littleflatters us! Now, do you not admire that view? It is my favourite."
Clara gazed over rolling richness of foliage, wood and water, and achurch-spire, a town and horizon hills. There sung a sky-lark.
"Not even the bird that does not fly away!" she said; meaning, she hadno heart for the bird satisfied to rise and descend in this place.
Laetitia travelled to some notion, dim and immense, of Miss Middleton'sfever of distaste. She shrunk from it in a kind of dread lest it mightbe contagious and rob her of her one ever-fresh possession of thehomely picturesque; but Clara melted her by saying, "For your sake Icould love it . . . in time; or some dear old English scene. Since. . . since this . . . this change in me, I find I cannot separatelandscape from associations. Now I learn how youth goes. I have grownyears older in a week.--Miss Dale, if he were to give me my freedom? ifhe were to cast me off? if he stood alone?"
"I should pity him."
"Him--not me! Oh! right! I hoped you would; I knew you would."
Laetitia's attempt to shift with Miss Middleton's shiftiness was vain;for now she seemed really listening to the language ofJealousy:--jealous of the ancient Letty Dale--and immediately beforethe tone was quite void of it.
"Yes," she said, "but you make me feel myself in the dark, and when Ido I have the habit of throwing myself for guidance upon such light asI have within. You shall know me, if you will, as well as I knowmyself. And do not think me far from the point when I say I have afeeble health. I am what the doctors call anaemic; a rather bloodlesscreature. The blood is life, so I have not much life. Ten yearsback--eleven, if I must be precise, I thought of conquering the worldwith a pen! The result is that I am glad of a fireside, and not sure ofalways having one: and that is my achievement. My days are monotonous,but if I have a dread, it is that there will be an alteration in them.My father has very little money. We subsist on what private income hehas, and his pension: he was an army doctor. I may by-and-by have tolive in a town for pupils. I could be grateful to any one who wouldsave me from that. I should be astonished at his choosing to have meburden his household as well.--Have I now explained the nature of mypity? It would be the pity of common sympathy, pure lymph of pity, asnearly disembodied as can be. Last year's sheddings from the tree donot form an attractive garland. Their merit is, that they have not theambition. I am like them. Now, Miss Middleton, I cannot make myselfmore bare to you. I hope you see my sincerity."
"I do see it," Clara said.
With the second heaving of her heart, she cried: "See it, and envy youthat humility! proud if I could ape it! Oh, how proud if I could speakso truthfully true!--You would not have spoken so to me without somegood feeling out of which friends are made. That I am sure of. To bevery truthful to a person, one must have a liking. So I judge bymyself. Do I presume too much?"
Kindness was on Laetitia's face.
"But now," said Clara, swimming on the wave in her bosom, "I tax youwith the silliest suspicion ever entertained by one of your rank. Lady,you have deemed me capable of the meanest of our vices!--Hold thishand, Laetitia; my friend, will you? Something is going on in me."
Laetitia took her hand, and saw and felt that something was going on.
Clara said, "You are a woman."
It was her effort to account for the something.
She swam for a brilliant instant on tears, and yielded to the overflow.
When they had fallen, she remarked upon her first long breath quitecoolly: "An encouraging picture of a rebel, is it not?"
Her companion murmured to soothe her.
"It's little, it's nothing," said Clara, pained to keep her lips inline.
They walked forward, holding hands, deep-hearted to one another.
"I like this country better now," the shaken girl resumed. "I could liedown in it and ask only for sleep. I should like to think of you here.How nobly self-respecting you must be, to speak as you did! Our dreamsof heroes and heroines are cold glitter beside the reality. I have beenlately thinking of myself as an outcast of my sex, and to have a goodwoman liking me a little . . . loving? Oh, Laetitia, my friend, Ishould have kissed you, and not made this exhibition of myself--and ifyou call it hysterics, woe to you! for I bit my tongue to keep it offwhen I had hardly strength to bring my teeth together--if that idea ofjealousy had not been in your head. You had it from him."
"I have not alluded to it in any word that I can recollect."
"He can imagine no other cause for my wish to be released. I havenoticed, it is his instinct to reckon on women as constant by theirnature. They are the needles, and he the magnet. Jealousy of you, MissDale! Laetitia, may I speak?"
"Say everything you please."
"I could wish:--Do you know my baptismal name?"
"Clara."
"At last! I could wish . . . that is, if it were your wish. Yes, Icould wish that. Next to independence, my wish would be that. I riskoffending you. Do not let your delicacy take arms against me. I wishhim happy in the only way that he can be made happy. There is myjealousy."
"Was it what you were going to say just now?"
"No."
"I thought not."
"I was going to say--and I believe the rack would not make me truthfullike you, Laetitia--well, has it ever struck you: remember, I do seehis merits; I speak to his faithfullest friend, and I acknowledge he isattractive, he has manly tastes and habits; but has it never struck you. . . I have no right to ask; I know that men must have faults, I donot expect them to be saints; I am not one; I wish I were."
"Has it never struck me . . . ?" Laetitia prompted her.
"That very few women are able to be straightforwardly sincere in theirspeech, however much they may desire to be?"
"They are differently educated. Great misfortune brings it to them."
"I am sure your answer is correct. Have you ever known a woman who wasentirely an Egoist?"
"Personally known one? We are not better than men."
"I do not pretend that we are. I have latterly become an Egoist,thinking of no one but myself, scheming to make use of every soul Imeet. But then, women are in the position of inferiors. They are hardlyout of the nursery when a lasso is round their necks; and if they havebeauty, no wonder they turn it to a weapon and make as many captives asthey can. I do not wonder! My sense of shame at my natural weakness andthe arrogance of men would urge me to make hundreds captive, if that isbeing a coquette. I should not have compassion for those lofty birds,the hawks. To see them with their wings clipped would amuse me. Isthere any other way of punishing them?"
"Consider what you lose in punishing them."
"I consider what they gain if we do not."
Laetitia supposed she was listening to discursive observations upon theinequality in the relations of the sexes. A suspicion of a drift to acloser meaning had been lulled,
and the colour flooded her swiftly whenClara said: "Here is the difference I see; I see it; I am certain ofit: women who are called coquettes make their conquests not of the bestof men; but men who are Egoists have good women for their victims;women on whose devoted constancy they feed; they drink it like blood. Iam sure I am not taking the merely feminine view. They punishthemselves too by passing over the one suitable to them, who couldreally give them what they crave to have, and they go where they . . ."Clara stopped. "I have not your power to express ideas," she said.
"Miss Middleton, you have a dreadful power," said Laetitia.
Clara smiled affectionately. "I am not aware of any. Whose cottage isthis?"
"My father's. Will you not come in? into the garden?"
Clara took note of ivied windows and roses in the porch. She thankedLaetitia and said: "I will call for you in an hour."
"Are you walking on the road alone?" said Laetitia, incredulously, withan eye to Sir Willoughby's dismay.
"I put my trust in the high-road," Clara replied, and turned away, butturned back to Laetitia and offered her face to be kissed.
The "dreadful power" of this young lady had fervently impressedLaetitia, and in kissing her she marvelled at her gentleness andgirlishness.
Clara walked on, unconscious of her possession of power of any kind.