CHAPTER XXXV
MISS MIDDLETON AND MRS. MOUNTSTUART
"Sit beside me, fair Middleton," said the great lady.
"Gladly," said Clara, bowing to her title.
"I want to sound you, my dear."
Clara presented an open countenance with a dim interrogation on theforehead. "Yes?" she said, submissively.
"You were one of my bright faces last night. I was in love with you.Delicate vessels ring sweetly to a finger-nail, and if the wit is true,you answer to it; that I can see, and that is what I like. Most of thepeople one has at a table are drums. A ruba-dub-dub on them is the onlyway to get a sound. When they can be persuaded to do it upon oneanother, they call it conversation."
"Colonel De Craye was very funny."
"Funny, and witty too."
"But never spiteful."
"These Irish or half Irishmen are my taste. If they're not politicians,mind; I mean Irish gentlemen. I will never have another dinner-partywithout one. Our men's tempers are uncertain. You can't get them toforget themselves. And when the wine is in them the nature comes out,and they must be buffetting, and up start politics, and good-bye toharmony! My husband, I am sorry to say, was one of those who have along account of ruined dinners against them. I have seen him and hisfriends red as the roast and white as the boiled with wrath on apopular topic they had excited themselves over, intrinsically not wortha snap of the fingers. In London!" exclaimed Mrs. Mountstuart, toaggravate the charge against her lord in the Shades. "But town orcountry, the table should be sacred. I have heard women say it is aplot on the side of the men to teach us our littleness. I don't believethey have a plot. It would be to compliment them on a talent. I believethey fall upon one another blindly, simply because they are full; whichis, we are told, the preparation for the fighting Englishman. Theycannot eat and keep a truce. Did you notice that dreadful Mr. Capes?"
"The gentleman who frequently contradicted papa? But Colonel De Crayewas good enough to relieve us."
"How, my dear?"
"You did not hear him? He took advantage of an interval when Mr. Capeswas breathing after a paean to his friend, the Governor--I think--ofone of the presidencies, to say to the lady beside him: 'He was awonderful administrator and great logician; he married an Anglo-Indianwidow, and soon after published a pamphlet in favour of Suttee.'"
"And what did the lady say?"
"She said: 'Oh.'"
"Hark at her! And was it heard?"
"Mr. Capes granted the widow, but declared he had never seen thepamphlet in favour of Suttee, and disbelieved in it. He insisted thatit was to be named Sati. He was vehement."
"Now I do remember:--which must have delighted the colonel. And Mr.Capes retired from the front upon a repetition of 'in toto, in toto'.As if 'in toto' were the language of a dinner-table! But what will everteach these men? Must we import Frenchmen to give them an example inthe art of conversation, as their grandfathers brought over marquisesto instruct them in salads? And our young men too! Women have to taketo the hunting-field to be able to talk with them, and be on a par withtheir grooms. Now, there was Willoughby Patterne, a prince among themformerly. Now, did you observe him last night? did you notice how,instead of conversing, instead of assisting me--as he was bound to dodoubly owing to the defection of Vernon Whitford: a thing I don't yetcomprehend--there he sat sharpening his lower lip for cutting remarks.And at my best man! at Colonel De Craye! If he had attacked Mr. Capes,with his Governor of Bomby, as the man pronounces it, or ColonelWildjohn and his Protestant Church in Danger, or Sir Wilson Pettiferharping on his Monarchical Republic, or any other! No, he preferred tobe sarcastic upon friend Horace, and he had the worst of it. Sarcasm isso silly! What is the gain if he has been smart? People forget theepigram and remember the other's good temper. On that field, my dear,you must make up your mind to be beaten by 'friend Horace'. I have myprejudices and I have my prepossessions, but I love good temper, and Ilove wit, and when I see a man possessed of both, I set my cap at him,and there's my flat confession, and highly unfeminine it is."
"Not at all!" cried Clara.
"We are one, then."
Clara put up a mouth empty of words: she was quite one with her. Mrs.Mountstuart pressed her hand. "When one does get intimate with a daintyrogue!" she said. "You forgive me all that, for I could vow thatWilloughby has betrayed me."
Clara looked soft, kind, bright, in turns, and clouded instantly whenthe lady resumed: "A friend of my own sex, and young, and a closeneighbour, is just what I would have prayed for. And I'll excuse you,my dear, for not being so anxious about the friendship of an old woman.But I shall be of use to you, you will find. In the first place, Inever tap for secrets. In the second, I keep them. Thirdly, I have somepower. And fourth, every young married woman has need of a friend likeme. Yes, and Lady Patterne heading all the county will be the strongerfor my backing. You don't look so mighty well pleased, my dear. Speakout."
"Dear Mrs. Mountstuart!"
"I tell you, I am very fond of Willoughby, but I saw the faults of theboy and see the man's. He has the pride of a king, and it's a pity ifyou offend it. He is prodigal in generosity, but he can't forgive. Asto his own errors, you must be blind to them as a Saint. The secret ofhim is, that he is one of those excessively civilized creatures who aimat perfection: and I think he ought to be supported in his conceit ofhaving attained it; for the more men of that class, the greater ourinfluence. He excels in manly sports, because he won't be excelled inanything, but as men don't comprehend his fineness, he comes to us; andhis wife must manage him by that key. You look down at the idea ofmanaging. It has to be done. One thing you may be assured of, he willbe proud of you. His wife won't be very much enamoured of herself ifshe is not the happiest woman in the world. You will have the besthorses, the best dresses, the finest jewels in England; and anincomparable cook. The house will be changed the moment you enter it asLady Patterne. And, my dear, just where he is, with all his graces,deficient of attraction, yours will tell. The sort of Othello he wouldmake, or Leontes, I don't know, and none of us ever needs to know. Myimpression is, that if even a shadow of a suspicion flitted across him,he is a sort of man to double-dye himself in guilt by way of vengeancein anticipation of an imagined offence. Not uncommon with men. I haveheard strange stories of them: and so will you in your time to come,but not from me. No young woman shall ever be the sourer for havingbeen my friend. One word of advice now we are on the topic: never playat counter-strokes with him. He will be certain to out-stroke you, andyou will be driven further than you meant to go. They say we beat menat that game; and so we do, at the cost of beating ourselves. And ifonce we are started, it is a race-course ending on a precipice--overgoes the winner. We must be moderately slavish to keep our place; whichis given us in appearance; but appearances make up a remarkably largepart of life, and far the most comfortable, so long as we are discreetat the right moment. He is a man whose pride, when hurt, would run hiswife to perdition to solace it. If he married a troublesome widow, hispamphlet on Suttee would be out within the year. Vernon Whitford wouldreceive instructions about it the first frosty moon. You like MissDale?"
"I think I like her better than she likes me," said Clara.
"Have you never warmed together?"
"I have tried it. She is not one bit to blame. I can see how it is thatshe misunderstands me: or justly condemns me, perhaps I should say."
"The hero of two women must die and be wept over in common before theycan appreciate one another. You are not cold?"
"No."
"You shuddered, my dear."
"Did I?"
"I do sometimes. Feet will be walking over ones grave, wherever itlies. Be sure of this: Willoughby Patterne is a man of unimpeachablehonour."
"I do not doubt it."
"He means to be devoted to you. He has been accustomed to have womenhanging around him like votive offerings."
"I . . .!"
"You cannot: of course not: any one could see that at a glance. Youare all the
sweeter to me for not being tame. Marriage cures amultitude of indispositions."
"Oh! Mrs. Mountstuart, will you listen to me?"
"Presently. Don't threaten me with confidences. Eloquence is a terriblething in woman. I suspect, my dear, that we both know as much as couldbe spoken."
"You hardly suspect the truth, I fear."
"Let me tell you one thing about jealous men--when they are notblackamoors married to disobedient daughters. I speak of our civilcreature of the drawing-rooms: and lovers, mind, not husbands: twodistinct species, married or not:--they're rarely given to jealousyunless they are flighty themselves. The jealousy fixes them. They haveonly to imagine that we are for some fun likewise and they grow asdeferential as my footman, as harmless as the sportsman whose gun hasburst. Ah! my fair Middleton, am I pretending to teach you? You haveread him his lesson, and my table suffered for it last night, but Ibear no rancour."
"You bewilder me, Mrs. Mountstuart."
"Not if I tell you that you have driven the poor man to try whether itwould be possible for him to give you up."
"I have?"
"Well, and you are successful."
"I am?"
"Jump, my dear!"
"He will?"
"When men love stale instead of fresh, withered better than blooming,excellence in the abstract rather than the palpable. With their idleprate of feminine intellect, and a grotto nymph, and a mother ofGracchi! Why, he must think me dazed with admiration of him to talk tome! One listens, you know. And he is one of the men who cast a kind ofphysical spell on you while he has you by the ear, until you begin tothink of it by talking to somebody else. I suppose there are cleverpeople who do see deep into the breast while dialogue is in progress.One reads of them. No, my dear, you have very cleverly managed to showhim that it isn't at all possible: he can't. And the real cause foralarm, in my humble opinion, is lest your amiable foil should have beena trifle, as he would say, deceived, too much in earnest, led too far.One may reprove him for not being wiser, but men won't learn withoutgroaning that they are simply weapons taken up to be put down when donewith. Leave it to me to compose him.--Willoughby can't give you up. I'mcertain he has tried; his pride has been horridly wounded. You wereshrewd, and he has had his lesson. If these little rufflings don't comebefore marriage they come after; so it's not time lost; and it's goodto be able to look back on them. You are very white, my child."
"Can you, Mrs. Mountstuart, can you think I would be so heartlesslytreacherous?"
"Be honest, fair Middleton, and answer me: Can you say you had not acorner of an idea of producing an effect on Willoughby?"
Clara checked the instinct of her tongue to defend her reddeningcheeks, with a sense that she was disintegrating and crumbling, but shewanted this lady for a friend, and she had to submit to the conditions,and be red and silent.
Mrs. Mountstuart examined her leisurely.
"That will do. Conscience blushes. One knows it by the conflagration.Don't be hard on yourself . . . there you are in the other extreme.That blush of yours would count with me against any quantity ofevidence--all the Crooklyns in the kingdom. You lost your purse."
"I discovered that it was lost this morning."
"Flitch has been here with it. Willoughby has it. You will ask him forit; he will demand payment: you will be a couple of yards' length or soof cramoisy: and there ends the episode, nobody killed, only a poor manmelancholy-wounded, and I must offer him my hand to mend him, vowing toprove to him that Suttee was properly abolished. Well, and now tobusiness. I said I wanted to sound you. You have been overdone withporcelain. Poor Lady Busshe is in despair at your disappointment. Now,I mean my wedding-present to be to your taste."
"Madam!"
"Who is the madam you are imploring?"
"Dear Mrs. Mountstuart!"
"Well?"
"I shall fall in your esteem. Perhaps you will help me. No one elsecan. I am a prisoner: I am compelled to continue this imposture. Oh, Ishun speaking much: you object to it and I dislike it: but I mustendeavour to explain to you that I am unworthy of the position youthink a proud one."
"Tut-tut; we are all unworthy, cross our arms, bow our heads; andaccept the honours. Are you playing humble handmaid? What an oldorgan-tune that is! Well? Give me reasons."
"I do not wish to marry."
"He's the great match of the county!"
"I cannot marry him."
"Why, you are at the church door with him! Cannot marry him?"
"It does not bind me."
"The church door is as binding as the altar to an honourable girl.What have you been about? Since I am in for confidences, half oneswon't do. We must have honourable young women as well as men of honour.You can't imagine he is to be thrown over now, at this hour? What haveyou against him? come!"
"I have found that I do not . . ."
"What?"
"Love him."
Mrs. Mountstuart grimaced transiently. "That is no answer. The cause!"she said. "What has he done?"
"Nothing."
"And when did you discover this nothing?"
"By degrees: unknown to myself; suddenly."
"Suddenly and by degrees? I suppose it's useless to ask for a head. Butif all this is true, you ought not to be here."
"I wish to go; I am unable."
"Have you had a scene together?"
"I have expressed my wish."
"In roundabout?--girl's English?"
"Quite clearly; oh, very clearly."
"Have you spoken to your father?"
"I have."
"And what does Dr. Middleton say?"
"It is incredible to him."
"To me too! I can understand little differences, little whims,caprices: we don't settle into harness for a tap on the shoulder as aman becomes a knight: but to break and bounce away from an unhappygentleman at the church door is either madness or it's one of thethings without a name. You think you are quite sure of yourself?"
"I am so sure, that I look back with regret on the time when I wasnot."
"But you were in love with him."
"I was mistaken."
"No love?"
"I have none to give."
"Dear me!--Yes, yes, but that tone of sorrowful conviction is often atrick, it's not new: and I know that assumption of plain sense to passoff a monstrosity." Mrs. Mountstuart struck her lap. "Soh! but I'vehad to rack my brain for it: feminine disgust? You have been hearingimputations of his past life? moral character? No? Circumstances mightmake him behave unkindly, not unhandsomely: and we have no claim over aman's past, or it's too late to assert it. What is the case?"
"We are quite divided."
"Nothing in the way of . . . nothing green-eyed?"
"Far from that!"
"Then name it."
"We disagree."
"Many a very good agreement is founded on disagreeing. It's to beregretted that you are not portionless. If you had been, you would havemade very little of disagreeing. You are just as much bound in honouras if you had the ring on your finger."
"In honour! But I appeal to his, I am no wife for him."
"But if he insists, you consent?"
"I appeal to reason. Is it, madam . . ."
"But, I say, if he insists, you consent?"
"He will insist upon his own misery as well as mine."
Mrs. Mountstuart rocked herself "My poor Sir Willoughby! What afate!--And I took you for a clever girl! Why, I have been admiringyour management of him! And here am I bound to take a lesson from LadyBusshe. My dear good Middleton, don't let it be said that Lady Busshesaw deeper than I! I put some little vanity in it, I own: I won'tconceal it. She declares that when she sent her present--I don'tbelieve her--she had a premonition that it would come back. Surely youwon't justify the extravagances of a woman without commonreverence:--for anatomize him as we please to ourselves, he is asplendid man (and I did it chiefly to encourage and come at you). Wedon't often behold such a lordly-looking man: so conversable too whenhe feels
at home; a picture of an English gentleman! The very man wewant married for our neighbourhood! A woman who can openly talk ofexpecting him to be twice jilted! You shrink. It is repulsive. It wouldbe incomprehensible: except, of course, to Lady Busshe, who rushed toone of her violent conclusions, and became a prophetess. Conceive awoman's imagining it could happen twice to the same man! I am not sureshe did not send the identical present that arrived and returned oncebefore: you know, the Durham engagement. She told me last night shehad it back. I watched her listening very suspiciously to ProfessorCrooklyn. My dear, it is her passion to foretell disasters--herpassion! And when they are confirmed, she triumphs, of course. We shallhave her domineering over us with sapient nods at every trifleoccurring. The county will be unendurable. Unsay it, my Middleton! Anddon't answer like an oracle because I do all the talking. Pour out tome. You'll soon come to a stop and find the want of reason in the wantof words. I assure you that's true. Let me have a good gaze at you.No," said Mrs. Mountstuart, after posturing herself to peruse Clara'sfeatures, "brains you have; one can see it by the nose and the mouth. Icould vow you are the girl I thought you; you have your wits on tiptoe.How of the heart?"
"None," Clara sighed.
The sigh was partly voluntary, though unforced; as one may with readysincerity act a character that is our own only through sympathy.
Mrs. Mountstuart felt the extra weight in the young lady's fallingbreath. There was no necessity for a deep sigh over an absence of heartor confession of it. If Clara did not love the man to whom she wasbetrothed, sighing about it signified what? some pretence; and apretence is the cloak of a secret. Girls do not sigh in that way withcompassion for the man they have no heart for, unless at the same timethey should be oppressed by the knowledge or dread of having a heartfor some one else. As a rule, they have no compassion to bestow on him:you might as reasonably expect a soldier to bewail the enemy he strikesin action: they must be very disengaged to have it. And supposing ashow of the thing to be exhibited, when it has not been worried out ofthem, there is a reserve in the background: they are pitying themselvesunder a mask of decent pity of their wretch.
So ran Mrs. Mountstuart's calculations, which were like her suspicion,coarse and broad, not absolutely incorrect, but not of an exact measurewith the truth. That pin's head of the truth is rarely hit by design.The search after it of the professionally penetrative in the dark of abosom may bring it forth by the heavy knocking all about theneighbourhood that we call good guessing, but it does not come outclean; other matter adheres to it; and being more it is less thantruth. The unadulterate is to be had only by faith in it or by waitingfor it.
A lover! thought the sagacious dame. There was no lover: some lovethere was: or, rather, there was a preparation of the chamber, with nolamp yet lighted.
"Do you positively tell me you have no heart for the position of firstlady of the county?" said Mrs. Mountstuart.
Clara's reply was firm: "None whatever."
"My dear, I will believe you on one condition. Look at me. You haveeyes. If you are for mischief, you are armed for it. But how muchbetter, when you have won a prize, to settle down and wear it! LadyPatterne will have entire occupation for her flights and whimsies inleading the county. And the man, surely the man--he behaved badly lastnight: but a beauty like this," she pushed a finger at Clara's cheek,and doated a half instant, "you have the very beauty to break in anogre's temper. And the man is as governable as he is presentable. Youhave the beauty the French call--no, it's the beauty of a queen ofelves: one sees them lurking about you, one here, one there.Smile--they dance: be doleful--they hang themselves. No, there's not atrace of satanic; at least, not yet. And come, come, my Middleton, theman is a man to be proud of. You can send him into Parliament to wearoff his humours. To my thinking, he has a fine style: conscious? Inever thought so before last night. I can't guess what has happened tohim recently. He was once a young Grand Monarque. He was really asuperb young English gentleman. Have you been wounding him?"
"It is my misfortune to be obliged to wound him," said Clara.
"Quite needlessly, my child, for marry him you must."
Clara's bosom rose: her shoulders rose too, narrowing, and her headfell slight back.
Mrs. Mountstuart exclaimed: "But the scandal! You would never, neverthink of following the example of that Durham girl?--whether she wasprovoked to it by jealousy or not. It seems to have gone soastonishingly far with you in a very short time, that one is alarmed asto where you will stop. Your look just now was downright revulsion."
"I fear it is. It is. I am past my own control. Dear madam, you have myassurance that I will not behave scandalously or dishonourably. What Iwould entreat of you is to help me. I know this of myself . . . I am notthe best of women. I am impatient, wickedly. I should be no good wife.Feelings like mine teach me unhappy things of myself."
"Rich, handsome, lordly, influential, brilliant health, fine estates,"Mrs. Mountstuart enumerated in petulant accents as there started acrossher mind some of Sir Willoughby's attributes for the attraction of thesoul of woman. "I suppose you wish me to take you in earnest?"
"I appeal to you for help."
"What help?"
"Persuade him of the folly of pressing me to keep my word."
"I will believe you, my dear Middleton, on one condition: your talk ofno heart is nonsense. A change like this, if one is to believe in thechange, occurs through the heart, not because there is none. Don't yousee that? But if you want me for a friend, you must not sham stupid.It's bad enough in itself: the imitation's horrid. You have to behonest with me, and answer me right out. You came here on this visitintending to marry Willoughby Patterne."
"Yes."
"And gradually you suddenly discovered, since you came here, that youdid not intend it, if you could find a means of avoiding it."
"Oh, madam, yes, it is true."
"Now comes the test. And, my lovely Middleton, your flaming cheekswon't suffice for me this time. The old serpent can blush like aninnocent maid on occasion. You are to speak, and you are to tell me insix words why that was: and don't waste one on 'madam', or 'Oh! Mrs.Mountstuart' Why did you change?"
"I came--When I came I was in some doubt. Indeed I speak the truth. Ifound I could not give him the admiration he has, I dare say, a rightto expect. I turned--it surprised me; it surprises me now. But socompletely! So that to think of marrying him is . . ."
"Defer the simile," Mrs. Mountstuart interposed. "If you hit on aclever one, you will never get the better of it. Now, by just as muchas you have outstripped my limitation of words to you, you show me youare dishonest."
"I could make a vow."
"You would forswear yourself."
"Will you help me?"
"If you are perfectly ingenuous, I may try."
"Dear lady, what more can I say?"
"It may be difficult. You can reply to a catechism."
"I shall have your help?"
"Well, yes; though I don't like stipulations between friends. There isno man living to whom you could willingly give your hand? That is myquestion. I cannot possibly take a step unless I know. Reply briefly:there is or there is not." Clara sat back with bated breath, mentallytaking the leap into the abyss, realizing it, and the cold prudence ofabstention, and the delirium of the confession. Was there such a man?It resembled freedom to think there was: to avow it promised freedom.
"Oh, Mrs. Mountstuart!"
"Well?"
"You will help me?"
"Upon my word, I shall begin to doubt your desire for it."
"Willingly give my hand, madam?"
"For shame! And with wits like yours, can't you perceive wherehesitation in answering such a question lands you?"
"Dearest lady, will you give me your hand? may I whisper?"
"You need not whisper; I won't look."
Clara's voice trembled on a tense chord.
"There is one . . . compared with him I feel my insignificance. If Icould aid him."
"What ne
cessity have you to tell me more than that there is one?"
"Ah, madam, it is different: not as you imagine. You bid me bescrupulously truthful: I am: I wish you to know the different kind offeeling it is from what might be suspected from . . . a confession. Togive my hand, is beyond any thought I have ever encouraged. If you hadasked me whether there is one whom I admire--yes, I do. I cannot helpadmiring a beautiful and brave self-denying nature. It is one whom youmust pity, and to pity casts you beneath him: for you pity him becauseit is his nobleness that has been the enemy of his fortunes. He livesfor others."
Her voice was musically thrilling in that low muted tone of the veryheart, impossible to deride or disbelieve.
Mrs. Mountstuart set her head nodding on springs.
"Is he clever?"
"Very."
"He talks well?"
"Yes."
"Handsome?"
"He might be thought so."
"Witty?"
"I think he is."
"Gay, cheerful?"
"In his manner."
"Why, the man would be a mountebank if he adopted any other. And poor?"
"He is not wealthy."
Mrs. Mountstuart preserved a lengthened silence, but nipped Clara'sfingers once or twice to reassure her without approving. "Of coursehe's poor," she said at last; "directly the reverse of what you couldhave, it must be. Well, my fair Middleton, I can't say you have beendishonest. I'll help you as far as I'm able. How, it is quiteimpossible to tell. We're in the mire. The best way seems to me to getthis pitiable angel to cut some ridiculous capers and present youanother view of him. I don't believe in his innocence. He knew you tobe a plighted woman."
"He has not once by word or sign hinted a disloyalty."
"Then how do you know."
"I do not know."
"He is not the cause of your wish to break your engagement?"
"No."
"Then you have succeeded in just telling me nothing. What is?"
"Ah! madam!"
"You would break your engagement purely because the admirable creatureis in existence?"
Clara shook her head: she could not say she was dizzy. She had spokenout more than she had ever spoken to herself, and in doing so she hadcast herself a step beyond the line she dared to contemplate.
"I won't detain you any longer," said Mrs. Mountstuart. "The more welearn, the more we are taught that we are not so wise as we thought wewere. I have to go to school to Lady Busshe! I really took you for avery clever girl. If you change again, you will notify the importantcircumstance to me, I trust."
"I will," said Clara, and no violent declaration of the impossibilityof her changing again would have had such an effect on her hearer.
Mrs. Mountstuart scanned her face for a new reading of it to match withher later impressions.
"I am to do as I please with the knowledge I have gained?"
"I am utterly in your hands, madam."
"I have not meant to be unkind."
"You have not been unkind; I could embrace you."
"I am rather too shattered, and kissing won't put me together. Ilaughed at Lady Busshe! No wonder you went off like a rocket with adisappointing bouquet when I told you you had been successful with poorSir Willoughby and he could not give you up. I noticed that. A womanlike Lady Busshe, always prying for the lamentable, would have requiredno further enlightenment. Has he a temper?"
Clara did not ask her to signalize the person thus abruptly obtruded.
"He has faults," she said.
"There's an end to Sir Willoughby, then! Though I don't say he willgive you up even when he hears the worst, if he must hear it, as forhis own sake he should. And I won't say he ought to give you up. He'llbe the pitiable angel if he does. For you--but you don't deservecompliments; they would be immoral. You have behaved badly, badly,badly. I have never had such a right-about-face in my life. You willdeserve the stigma: you will be notorious: you will be called NumberTwo. Think of that! Not even original! We will break the conference, orI shall twaddle to extinction. I think I heard the luncheon bell."
"It rang."
"You don't look fit for company, but you had better come."
"Oh, yes; every day it's the same."
"Whether you're in my hands or I'm in yours, we're a couple ofarch-conspirators against the peace of the family whose table we'resitting at, and the more we rattle the viler we are, but we must do itto ease our minds."
Mrs. Mountstuart spread the skirts of her voluminous dress, remarkingfurther: "At a certain age our teachers are young people: we learn bylooking backward. It speaks highly for me that I have not called youmad.--Full of faults, goodish-looking, not a bad talker, cheerful,poorish;--and she prefers that to this!" the great lady exclaimed inher reverie while emerging from the circle of shrubs upon a view of theHall. Colonel De Craye advanced to her; certainly good-looking,certainly cheerful, by no means a bad talker, nothing of a Croesus, andvariegated with faults.
His laughing smile attacked the irresolute hostility of her mien,confident as the sparkle of sunlight in a breeze. The effect of it onherself angered her on behalf of Sir Willoughby's bride.
"Good-morning, Mrs. Mountstuart; I believe I am the last to greet you."
"And how long do you remain here, Colonel De Craye?"
"I kissed earth when I arrived, like the Norman William, andconsequently I've an attachment to the soil, ma'am."
"You're not going to take possession of it, I suppose?"
"A handful would satisfy me."
"You play the Conqueror pretty much, I have heard. But property is heldmore sacred than in the times of the Norman William."
"And speaking of property, Miss Middleton, your purse is found." hesaid.
"I know it is," she replied as unaffectedly as Mrs. Mountstuart couldhave desired, though the ingenuous air of the girl incensed hersomewhat.
Clara passed on.
"You restore purses," observed Mrs. Mountstuart.
Her stress on the word and her look thrilled De Craye; for there hadbeen a long conversation between the young lady and the dame.
"It was an article that dropped and was not stolen," said he.
"Barely sweet enough to keep, then!"
"I think I could have felt to it like poor Flitch, the flyman, who wasthe finder."
"If you are conscious of these temptations to appropriate what is notyour own, you should quit the neighbourhood."
"And do it elsewhere? But that's not virtuous counsel."
"And I'm not counselling in the interests of your virtue, Colonel DeCraye."
"And I dared for a moment to hope that you were, ma'am," he said,ruefully drooping.
They were close to the dining-room window, and Mrs Mountstuartpreferred the terminating of a dialogue that did not promise to leaveher features the austerely iron cast with which she had commenced it.She was under the spell of gratitude for his behaviour yesterdayevening at her dinner-table; she could not be very severe.