THREE FRIENDS.
That night, faithful to her purpose, Rachel did not appear in the
drawing-room. How far her firmness would have supported her, had she
been left to herself, it is impossible to tell; but she was not left to
herself. “Mrs Edgerley came, saying just the same things as Lord
Winterbourne,” said Rachel, “and I knew I should be firm. Louis cannot
endure Mrs Edgerley.” She said this with the most entire unconsciousness
that she revealed the whole motive and strength of her resistance in the
words. Rachel, indeed, was perfectly unaware of the entire subjection in
which she kept even her thoughts and her affections to her brother; but
she could not help a little anxiety and a little nervousness as to
whether “Louis would like” her new acquaintances. She herself brightened
wonderfully under the influence of these companions--expanded out of her
dull and irritable solitude, and with girlish eagerness forecast their
fortunes, seizing at once, in idea, upon Marian as the destined bride
of Louis, and with a voluntary self-sacrifice making over, with a sigh
and a secret thrill of pride, the only person who had ever wakened any
interest in her own most sisterly bosom, to Agnes. She pleased herself
greatly with these visions, and built them on a foundation still more
brittle than that of Alnaschar--for it was possible that all her
pleasant dreams might be thrown into the dust in a moment, if--dreadful
possibility!--“Louis did not like” these first friends of poor Rachel’s
youth.
And when she brightened under this genial influence, and softened out of
the haughtiness and solitary state which, indeed, was quite foreign to
her character, Rachel became a very attractive little person. Even the
sudden change in her sentiments and bearing when she returned to her old
feeling of representing Louis, added a charm. Her large eyes troubled
and melting, her pale small features which were very fine and regular,
though so far from striking, her noble little head and small pretty
figure, attracted in the highest degree the admiration of her new
friends. Marian, who rather suspected that she herself was rather
pretty, could not sufficiently admire the grace and refinement of
Rachel; and Agnes, though candidly admitting that there was “scarcely
any one” so beautiful as Marian, notwithstanding bestowed a very equal
share of her regard upon the attractions of their companion. And the
trio fell immediately into all the warmth of girlish friendship. The
Athelings went to visit Rachel in her great bare study, and Rachel came
to visit them in their pretty little dressing-room; and whether in that
sun-bright gay enclosure, or within the sombre and undecorated walls of
the room which looked out on the kitchen-garden, a painter would have
been puzzled to choose which was the better scene. They were so pretty a
group anywhere--so animated--so full of eager life and intelligence--so
much disposed to communicate everything that occurred to them, that
Rachel’s room brightened under the charm of their presence as she
herself had done. And this new acquaintanceship made a somewhat singular
revolution in the drawing-room--where the young musician, after her
singing, was instantly joined by her two friends. She was extremely
reserved and shy of every one else, and even of them occasionally, under
the eyes of Mrs Edgerley; but she was no longer the little tragical
princess who buried herself in the book and the corner, and neither
heard nor saw anything going around her. And the fact that they had some
one whose position was even more doubtful and uneasy than their own, to
give heart and courage to, animated Agnes and Marian, as nothing else
could have done. They recovered their natural spirits, and were no
longer overawed by the great people surrounding them; they had so much
care for Rachel that they forgot to be self-conscious, or to trouble
themselves with inquiries touching their own manners and deportment, and
what other people thought of the same; and on the whole, though their
simplicity was not quite so amusing as at first, “other people” began to
have a kindness for the fresh young faces, always so honest, cloudless,
and sincere.
But Agnes’s “reputation” had died away, and left very little trace
behind it. Mrs Edgerley had found other lions, and at the present moment
held in delusion an unfortunate young poet, who was much more like to be
harmed by the momentary idolatry than Agnes. The people who had been
dying to know the author of _Hope Hazlewood_, had all found out that the
shy young genius did not talk in character--had no gift of conversation,
and, indeed, did nothing at all to keep up her fame; and if Agnes
chanced to feel a momentary mortification at the prompt desertion of all
her admirers, she wisely kept the pang to herself, and said nothing
about it. They were not neglected--for the accomplished authoress of
_Coquetry_ and the _Beau Monde_ had some kindness at her heart after
all, and had always a smile to spare for her young guests when they came
in her way; they were permitted to roam freely about the gardens and the
conservatory; they were by no means hindered in their acquaintance with
Rachel, whom Mrs Edgerley was really much disposed to bring out and
patronise; and one of them, the genius or the beauty, as best suited her
other companions, was not unfrequently honoured with a place in Mrs
Edgerley’s barouche--a pretty shy lay figure in that rustling, radiant,
perfumy _bouquet_ of fine ladies, who talked over her head about things
and people perfectly unknown to the silent auditor, and impressed her
with a vague idea that this elegant and easy gossip was brilliant
“conversation,” though it did not quite sound, after all, like that
grand unattainable conversation to be found in books. After this
fashion, liking their novel life wonderfully well, and already making a
home of that sunny little dressing-room, they drew gradually towards the
end of their fortnight. As yet nothing at all marvellous had happened to
them, and even Agnes seemed to have forgotten the absolute necessity of
letting everybody know that they “did not belong to great people,” but
instead of a rural Hall, or Grange of renown, lived only in Number Ten,
Bellevue.