CHAPTER IX
The two Misses Molyneux, this nobleman's sisters, came presently to callupon her, and Isabel took a fancy to the young ladies, who appeared toher to show a most original stamp. It is true that when she describedthem to her cousin by that term he declared that no epithet could beless applicable than this to the two Misses Molyneux, since therewere fifty thousand young women in England who exactly resembled them.Deprived of this advantage, however, Isabel's visitors retained thatof an extreme sweetness and shyness of demeanour, and of having, asshe thought, eyes like the balanced basins, the circles of ”ornamentalwater,” set, in parterres, among the geraniums.
”They're not morbid, at any rate, whatever they are,” our heroine saidto herself; and she deemed this a great charm, for two or three of thefriends of her girlhood had been regrettably open to the charge (theywould have been so nice without it), to say nothing of Isabel's havingoccasionally suspected it as a tendency of her own. The Misses Molyneuxwere not in their first youth, but they had bright, fresh complexionsand something of the smile of childhood. Yes, their eyes, which Isabeladmired, were round, quiet and contented, and their figures, also of agenerous roundness, were encased in sealskin jackets. Their friendlinesswas great, so great that they were almost embarrassed to show it; theyseemed somewhat afraid of the young lady from the other side of theworld and rather looked than spoke their good wishes. But they made itclear to her that they hoped she would come to luncheon at Lockleigh,where they lived with their brother, and then they might see her very,very often. They wondered if she wouldn't come over some day, and sleep:they were expecting some people on the twenty-ninth, so perhaps shewould come while the people were there.
”I'm afraid it isn't any one very remarkable,” said the elder sister;”but I dare say you'll take us as you find us.”
”I shall find you delightful; I think you're enchanting just as youare,” replied Isabel, who often praised profusely.
Her visitors flushed, and her cousin told her, after they were gone,that if she said such things to those poor girls they would think shewas in some wild, free manner practising on them: he was sure it was thefirst time they had been called enchanting.
”I can't help it,” Isabel answered. ”I think it's lovely to be so quietand reasonable and satisfied. I should like to be like that.”
”Heaven forbid!” cried Ralph with ardour.
”I mean to try and imitate them,” said Isabel. ”I want very much to seethem at home.”
She had this pleasure a few days later, when, with Ralph and his mother,she drove over to Lockleigh. She found the Misses Molyneux sitting in avast drawing-room (she perceived afterwards it was one of several) in awilderness of faded chintz; they were dressed on this occasion in blackvelveteen. Isabel liked them even better at home than she had done atGardencourt, and was more than ever struck with the fact that they werenot morbid. It had seemed to her before that if they had a fault it wasa want of play of mind; but she presently saw they were capable of deepemotion. Before luncheon she was alone with them for some time, on oneside of the room, while Lord Warburton, at a distance, talked to Mrs.Touchett.
”Is it true your brother's such a great radical?” Isabel asked. Sheknew it was true, but we have seen that her interest in human nature waskeen, and she had a desire to draw the Misses Molyneux out.
”Oh dear, yes; he's immensely advanced,” said Mildred, the youngersister.
”At the same time Warburton's very reasonable,” Miss Molyneux observed.
Isabel watched him a moment at the other side of the room; he wasclearly trying hard to make himself agreeable to Mrs. Touchett. Ralphhad met the frank advances of one of the dogs before the fire that thetemperature of an English August, in the ancient expanses, had notmade an impertinence. ”Do you suppose your brother's sincere?” Isabelenquired with a smile.
”Oh, he must be, you know!” Mildred exclaimed quickly, while the eldersister gazed at our heroine in silence.
”Do you think he would stand the test?”
”The test?”
”I mean for instance having to give up all this.”
”Having to give up Lockleigh?” said Miss Molyneux, finding her voice.
”Yes, and the other places; what are they called?”
The two sisters exchanged an almost frightened glance. ”Do you mean--doyou mean on account of the expense?” the younger one asked.
”I dare say he might let one or two of his houses,” said the other.
”Let them for nothing?” Isabel demanded.
”I can't fancy his giving up his property,” said Miss Molyneux.
”Ah, I'm afraid he is an impostor!” Isabel returned. ”Don't you thinkit's a false position?”
Her companions, evidently, had lost themselves. ”My brother's position?”Miss Molyneux enquired.
”It's thought a very good position,” said the younger sister. ”It's thefirst position in this part of the county.”
”I dare say you think me very irreverent,” Isabel took occasion toremark. ”I suppose you revere your brother and are rather afraid ofhim.”
”Of course one looks up to one's brother,” said Miss Molyneux simply.
”If you do that he must be very good--because you, evidently, arebeautifully good.”
”He's most kind. It will never be known, the good he does.”
”His ability is known,” Mildred added; ”every one thinks it's immense.”
”Oh, I can see that,” said Isabel. ”But if I were he I should wish tofight to the death: I mean for the heritage of the past. I should holdit tight.”
”I think one ought to be liberal,” Mildred argued gently. ”We've alwaysbeen so, even from the earliest times.”
”Ah well,” said Isabel, ”you've made a great success of it; I don'twonder you like it. I see you're very fond of crewels.”
When Lord Warburton showed her the house, after luncheon, it seemed toher a matter of course that it should be a noble picture. Within, ithad been a good deal modernised--some of its best points had lost theirpurity; but as they saw it from the gardens, a stout grey pile, of thesoftest, deepest, most weather-fretted hue, rising from a broad, stillmoat, it affected the young visitor as a castle in a legend. The day wascool and rather lustreless; the first note of autumn had been struck,and the watery sunshine rested on the walls in blurred and desultorygleams, washing them, as it were, in places tenderly chosen, where theache of antiquity was keenest. Her host's brother, the Vicar, had cometo luncheon, and Isabel had had five minutes' talk with him--time enoughto institute a search for a rich ecclesiasticism and give it up asvain. The marks of the Vicar of Lockleigh were a big, athletic figure,a candid, natural countenance, a capacious appetite and a tendency toindiscriminate laughter. Isabel learned afterwards from her cousinthat before taking orders he had been a mighty wrestler and that hewas still, on occasion--in the privacy of the family circle as itwere--quite capable of flooring his man. Isabel liked him--she was inthe mood for liking everything; but her imagination was a good dealtaxed to think of him as a source of spiritual aid. The whole party, onleaving lunch, went to walk in the grounds; but Lord Warburton exercisedsome ingenuity in engaging his least familiar guest in a stroll apartfrom the others.
”I wish you to see the place properly, seriously,” he said. ”You can'tdo so if your attention is distracted by irrelevant gossip.” His ownconversation (though he told Isabel a good deal about the house, whichhad a very curious history) was not purely archaeological; he revertedat intervals to matters more personal--matters personal to the younglady as well as to himself. But at last, after a pause of some duration,returning for a moment to their ostensible theme, ”Ah, well,” he said,”I'm very glad indeed you like the old barrack. I wish you could seemore of it--that you could stay here a while. My sisters have taken animmense fancy to you--if that would be any inducement.”
”There's no want of inducements,” Isabel answered; ”but I'm afraid Ican't make engagements. I'm quite in my aunt's hands.”
”Ah, pardon me if I say I don't exactly believe that. I'm pretty sureyou can do whatever you want.”
”I'm sorry if I make that impression on you; I don't think it's a niceimpression to make.”
”It has the merit of permitting me to hope.” And Lord Warburton paused amoment.
”To hope what?”
”That in future I may see you often.”
”Ah,” said Isabel, ”to enjoy that pleasure I needn't be so terriblyemancipated.”
”Doubtless not; and yet, at the same time, I don't think your unclelikes me.”
”You're very much mistaken. I've heard him speak very highly of you.”
”I'm glad you have talked about me,” said Lord Warburton. ”But, Inevertheless don't think he'd like me to keep coming to Gardencourt.”
”I can't answer for my uncle's tastes,” the girl rejoined, ”though Iought as far as possible to take them into account. But for myself Ishall be very glad to see you.”
”Now that's what I like to hear you say. I'm charmed when you say that.”
”You're easily charmed, my lord,” said Isabel.
”No, I'm not easily charmed!” And then he stopped a moment. ”But you'vecharmed me, Miss Archer.”
These words were uttered with an indefinable sound which startled thegirl; it struck her as the prelude to something grave: she had heard thesound before and she recognised it. She had no wish, however, that forthe moment such a prelude should have a sequel, and she said as gailyas possible and as quickly as an appreciable degree of agitation wouldallow her: ”I'm afraid there's no prospect of my being able to come hereagain.”
”Never?” said Lord Warburton.
”I won't say 'never'; I should feel very melodramatic.”
”May I come and see you then some day next week?”
”Most assuredly. What is there to prevent it?”
”Nothing tangible. But with you I never feel safe. I've a sort of sensethat you're always summing people up.”
”You don't of necessity lose by that.”
”It's very kind of you to say so; but, even if I gain, stern justice isnot what I most love. Is Mrs. Touchett going to take you abroad?”
”I hope so.”
”Is England not good enough for you?”
”That's a very Machiavellian speech; it doesn't deserve an answer. Iwant to see as many countries as I can.”
”Then you'll go on judging, I suppose.”
”Enjoying, I hope, too.”
”Yes, that's what you enjoy most; I can't make out what you're up to,”said Lord Warburton. ”You strike me as having mysterious purposes--vastdesigns.”
”You're so good as to have a theory about me which I don't at all fillout. Is there anything mysterious in a purpose entertained andexecuted every year, in the most public manner, by fifty thousand ofmy fellow-countrymen--the purpose of improving one's mind by foreigntravel?”
”You can't improve your mind, Miss Archer,” her companion declared.”It's already a most formidable instrument. It looks down on us all; itdespises us.”
”Despises you? You're making fun of me,” said Isabel seriously.
”Well, you think us 'quaint'--that's the same thing. I won't be thought'quaint,' to begin with; I'm not so in the least. I protest.”
”That protest is one of the quaintest things I've ever heard,” Isabelanswered with a smile.
Lord Warburton was briefly silent. ”You judge only from the outside--youdon't care,” he said presently. ”You only care to amuse yourself.” Thenote she had heard in his voice a moment before reappeared, and mixedwith it now was an audible strain of bitterness--a bitterness so abruptand inconsequent that the girl was afraid she had hurt him. She hadoften heard that the English are a highly eccentric people, and shehad even read in some ingenious author that they are at bottom the mostromantic of races. Was Lord Warburton suddenly turning romantic--was hegoing to make her a scene, in his own house, only the third time theyhad met? She was reassured quickly enough by her sense of his great goodmanners, which was not impaired by the fact that he had already touchedthe furthest limit of good taste in expressing his admiration of a younglady who had confided in his hospitality. She was right in trustingto his good manners, for he presently went on, laughing a little andwithout a trace of the accent that had discomposed her: ”I don't mean ofcourse that you amuse yourself with trifles. You select great materials;the foibles, the afflictions of human nature, the peculiarities ofnations!”
”As regards that,” said Isabel, ”I should find in my own nationentertainment for a lifetime. But we've a long drive, and my auntwill soon wish to start.” She turned back toward the others and LordWarburton walked beside her in silence. But before they reached theothers, ”I shall come and see you next week,” he said.
She had received an appreciable shock, but as it died away she felt thatshe couldn't pretend to herself that it was altogether a painful one.Nevertheless she made answer to his declaration, coldly enough, ”Just asyou please.” And her coldness was not the calculation of her effect--agame she played in a much smaller degree than would have seemed probableto many critics. It came from a certain fear.