A YOUNG LADY.
It was about noon on the day following the events narrated in the last
chapter. Frere had departed to his office at the scientific institution
some two hours since, and Lewis and Faust were looking out of the
window, when a well-appointed cab dashed round the corner of a cross
street, and a pair of lavender-coloured kid-gloves drew up a splendid
bay horse, who arched his proud neck and champed the bit, impatient of
delay, till a young male child in livery coat and top-boots rolled off
the back of the vehicle and stationed itself before the animal’s nose,
which act of self-devotion appeared to mesmerise him into tranquillity,
and afforded the occupant of the cab time to spring out and knock at
Frere’s door. Five minutes more saw Leicester and Lewis seated side by
side and driving rapidly in the direction of Park Crescent.
“I don’t know how you feel this morning, Arundel,” began Leicester; “but
positively when I first woke I could scarcely move. I’m black and blue
all over, I believe.”
“I must confess to being rather stiff,” was the reply, “and my left hand
is unproducible. I cut my knuckles against the nose of that tall fellow
when I knocked him down, and shall be forced to wear a glove till it
heals.”
“You did that uncommonly well,” returned Leicester; “the man was as
strong as Hercules, and vicious into the bargain. He evidently had heard
what you said about a black eye, and meant mischief. I was coming to
help you when you finished him off.”
“It would have been most provoking to have been disfigured just at this
time,” rejoined Lewis. “One could not very well go to propose oneself as
a mentor for youth with a black eye obtained in something nearly akin to
a street row.”
“No,” said Leicester; “the General would consider our last night’s
exploit as dreadfully _infra dig._ He is quite one of the old school,
and reckons Sir Charles Grandison a model for gentlemen. You must be
careful to avoid the free-and-easy style of the present day with him;
but I think you’ll suit him exactly; there’s naturally something of the
_preux chevalier, héros de roman_ cut about you that will go down with
him amazingly.”
“In plain English, you consider me stiff and affected,” returned Lewis.
“Do not scruple to tell me if it is so.”
“Stiff, yes; affected, no,” was the rejoinder. “Indeed, your manner is
unusually simple and natural when you thaw a little, but at first you
are--well, I hardly know how to describe it; but there is something
about you unlike the men one usually meets. You have a sort of
half-defiant way of looking at people, a sort of ‘you’d better not insult
me, sir’ expression. I don’t know that I should have observed it towards
myself, but it was your manner to Grandeville that particularly struck
me. I have not annoyed you by my frankness?” he added interrogatively,
finding that Lewis did not reply. Regardless of this question, Lewis
remained silent for a minute or two, then suddenly turning to his
companion, and speaking in a low, hurried voice, he said--
“Can you conceive no reason for such a manner? Is there not enough in
my position to account for that, ay, and more? By birth I am any
man’s equal. My father was of an old family, a captain in the Austrian
service, and in the highest sense of the word a gentleman. I have
received a gentleman’s education. Up to the present time I have
associated with gentlemen on terms of equality, and now suddenly,
through no fault of my own, I am in effect a beggar. The very errand we
are upon proves it. Through the kindness of Frere and of yourself,--a
stranger,--I am about to receive a favourable recommendation to some
proud old man as a hired servant; for though in name it may not be so,
in fact I shall be nought but a hireling! Is it strange then that I view
men with suspicion? that I am watchful lest they attempt to refuse me
the amount of courtesy due to those who, having never forfeited their
own self-respect, are entitled to the respect of others?”
He paused, and removing his hat, allowed the cold breeze to blow
freely around his heated brow. Leicester, who, despite his foppery, was
thoroughly kind-hearted, being equally surprised and distressed at the
burst of feeling his words had called forth, hastened to reply.
“My dear fellow, I really am--that is, ’pon my word, I had no idea
you looked upon the affair in this light. I can assure you, I think you
quite mistake the matter; a tutorship is considered a very gentlemanly
occupation. If I had any work in me, I’m not at all sure I might
not--that is, it would be a very sensible thing of me to look out for
something of the kind myself. Stanhope Jones, who was up at Trinity with
me, and about the fastest man of his year, ran through his fortune, got
a tutorship in Lord Puzzletête’s family, went abroad with the eldest
cub, and picked up a prize widow at Pisa, with tin enough to set the
leaning tower straight again, if she’d had a fancy to do so.”
During this well-meant attempt at consolation Lewis had had time to come
to the conclusion that he was in the position of that unwise individual
who wore “his heart upon his sleeve for daws to peck at;” or, in plain
English, that he had been betrayed into a display of feeling before a
man incapable of appreciating or understanding it; and a less agreeable
conviction at which to arrive we scarcely know. Nothing, however,
remained but to make the best of it, which he accordingly did, by
admitting the possibility that there might be much truth in Leicester’s
view of the case, and changing the subject by saying, “Now I want you to
give me a peep at the _carte du pays_ of the unknown region I am about
to explore. I think I pretty well comprehend the General from your
description. Of what other members does the family consist?”
“Ah! yes, of course you must be curious to know. Well, the _dramatis
persono_ is somewhat limited. First and foremost, the General,--you
comprehend him, you say?” Lewis made a sign in the affirmative, and
Leicester continued: “Then we have an awful personage, who I expect will
be a severe trial to you--Miss Livingstone; she is a relation, an aunt
I think, of the General’s late wife, who lives with him and keeps his
house, and was the terror of my boyhood whenever I was staying down
at Broadhurst. She never was over young, I believe; at least I can’t
imagine her anything but middle-aged, and she must now be sixty or
thereabouts. For the rest, she looks as if she had swallowed a poker,
and, by some mysterious process of assimilation, become imbued with its
distinguishing characteristics; for she is very stiff, very cold, and
as far as I know utterly impenetrable, but of a stirring disposition
withal, which leads her to interfere with everybody and everything.
Lastly, there is my cousin Annie, the General’s only daughter; she
inherits her mother’s beauty, her father’s pride, her great-aunt’s
determination to have her own way, and the devil’s own love of teasing.
To set against all this, I believe her to be thoroughly good and
amiable, and everything of that kind; at all events she is a most
bewitching girl, and bids fair, under judicious management, to become
a very charming woman! fancy her mission is to reform my brother
Bellefield and render him a steady married man, and I wish her joy of
it. She comes into her mother’s fortune when she is of age, and the
respective governors have set their hearts upon the match.”
“And what says Lord Bellefield?” inquired Lewis listlessly.
“Oh, Bell reckons she won’t be of age, and that the match can’t come off
these four years, by which time he expects to be so hard up that he must
marry somebody; and as there will be plenty of the needful, she will
suit his book as well as any other.”
“The young lady, of course, approves?” continued Lewis dreamily, untying
a knot in the thong of Leicester’s whip.
“Catch a woman refusing a coronet,” returned Leicester, as he pulled up
at a house in Park Crescent so suddenly as almost to throw the bay on
his haunches.
“General Grant begs you will walk upstairs, Mr. Leicester. He is engaged
at present, but desired me to say he particularly wishes to see you,”
was the reply made by a most aristocratic butler to Leicester’s inquiry
whether his master was at home. “Keep the bay moving, Tim. Now, Arundel,
turn to the right--that’s it,” and suiting the action to the word,
Charley the indolent leisurely descended from the cab, and crossing the
“marble hall,” lounged up a wide staircase followed by Lewis.
“Silence and solitude,” he continued, opening the door of a large
drawing-room handsomely furnished. “I hope they won’t be long before
they introduce us to the luncheon-table. Oysters are popularly supposed
to give one an appetite; but the natives we demolished at Frere’s last
night must have been sadly degenerate, for I declare to you I could
scarcely get through my breakfast this morning. Ah! what have we
here?--a water-colour landscape in a semi-chaotic condition. Annie has
been sketching, as sure as fate. I’ll introduce a few masterly touches
and surprise her.” So saying he seated himself at the table and began
dabbling with a brush.
“By Jove, I’ve done it now!” he exclaimed in a tone of consternation,
after a minute’s pause. “Just look here; I thought I would insert the
trunk of a tree in the foreground, and the confounded brush had got red
in it, so I have made a thing like a lobster and spoiled the drawing.”
“I think, if you wish, I could turn it into a cow, and so get you out
of the scrape,” suggested Lewis, smiling at his companion’s guilty
countenance.
“My dear fellow, the very thing,” exclaimed Leicester, hastily rising
and thrusting Lewis into his seat; “let’s have a cow, by all means.
That’s famous,” he continued, as with a few graphic strokes Lewis
converted the red daub into the semblance of an animal. “Bravo! make her
an eye--now the horns--what a fascinating quadruped! Where’s the tail to
come?”
“You would not see the tail in the position in which the cow is supposed
to be lying,” remonstrated Lewis.
“Still, it would make it more natural,” urged Leicester. “As a personal
favour, just to oblige me, stretch a point and give her a tail.”
“There, then, I’ve twisted it under her leg,” said Lewis, making the
desired addition; “but depend upon it, there never was a cow’s tail so
situated.”
“All the greater proof of your talent,” was the reply. “The ideal is
what you artists (for I see you are one) are always raving about, and
this is a specimen of it.”
So engrossed had the two young men been with their occupation that they
had not observed the entrance of a third person. The newcomer was that
most charming of all created beings, a very lovely girl of seventeen.
As every poet since Homer has done his utmost to clothe in fitting
language a description of the best specimen of the class which it
may have been his hap to meet with, and as no man in his senses would
exchange half-an-hour of the society of one of the originals for all the
fanciful descriptions of women that ever were written, we would fain be
excused from adding one more to the number; and were all our readers of
what grammarians most ungallantly term “the worthier gender,” we should
cut the matter short by begging each man to imagine the damsel in
question exactly like the “unexpressive she” who is, for the time being,
queen of his soul. But as we flatter ourselves certain bright eyes will
sparkle and coral lips smile over this “o’er true tale,” and as we have
already been asked by “oceans” of young ladies, “What is the heroine to
be like?” we will e’en make a virtue of necessity and give a _catalogue
raisonné_ of her many perfections.
Annie Grant, then (for we’ll have no disguise about the matter, but own
at once that she it _was_ who entered the drawing-room unperceived, and
that she it _is_ who is destined to play the heroine in this our drama
of the Railroad of Life; and be it observed interparenthetically that we
use the theatrical metaphor advisedly, for Shakespeare has told us that
“all the world’s a stage,” and it is a matter of common notoriety that
in the present day all stages have become railroads)--Annie Grant, then,
we say, was rather above the middle height, though no one would
have thought of pronouncing her tall; her gown of _mousseline--poil
de_--psha! what are we thinking of?--she had not a gown on at all; how
should she, when she was going to ride directly after luncheon? No, her
habit, which fitted to perfection, was well calculated to set off her
slight but singularly graceful figure to the best advantage. Her hair,
which was braided in broad plaits for the greater convenience (seeing
that ringlets under a riding-hat are an anomaly, not to say an
abomination), was _really_ auburn,--by which definition we intend to
guard against the pale red, or warm, sand-coloured locks which usually
pass current for the very rare but very beautiful tint we would
particularise,--and if a poet had speculated as to the probability
of some wandering sunbeam being imprisoned in its golden meshes, the
metaphor, though fanciful, would not have been unapt. Delicate, regular
features, large blue eyes, now dancing and sparkling with mischievous
glee, now flashing with pride, a mouth like an expressive rosebud, a
clear skin, with a warm glow of health painting each velvet cheek, but
retreating from the snowy forehead, combined to form a whole on which to
gaze was to admire.
This young lady, being such as we have described her, tripped lightly
across the apartment till she had stationed herself behind her cousin
Charles, and perceiving that both gentlemen were so preoccupied as not
to have observed her approach, contrived, by standing on tiptoe and
peeping over Leicester’s shoulder, to witness the introduction of the
cow of which we have already made honourable mention.
During the animated discussion on the tail question she nearly betrayed
her presence by laughing outright; repressing the inclination, however,
she retraced her steps, and had nearly succeeded in reaching the side
door by which she had entered, when her habit, catching against a table,
caused the overthrow of a piece of ornamental china and revealed her
presence.
On hearing the sound, Lewis, recalled to a sense of his situation, and
for the first time struck by the idea that, in touching the drawing, he
had been guilty of an unwarrantable liberty, rose hastily from his seat,
colouring crimson as he did so, from an agreeable mixture of shyness,
mortification, and proud self-reproach. Leicester, on the other hand,
with the _à-plomb_ and presence of mind of a man of the world, turned
leisurely, and whispering, “Keep your own counsel, there’s no harm
done,” he advanced towards his cousin, saying with a nonchalant air,
“You have stolen a march upon us, Annie. This gentleman and I called to
see the General upon business, and as he seems resolved to afford us a
practical lesson on the virtue of patience. I ventured to while away the
time by showing my friend some of your sketches. By the way, let me
introduce you. My cousin, Miss Grant--Mr. Arundel.” Thus invoked, Lewis,
who in order to atone to his wounded self-respect, had wrapped himself
in his very coldest and haughtiest manner, and resembled a banished
prince rather than an every-day Christian, advanced a few steps and
acknowledged the introduction by a most Grandisonian inclination of the
head.
The lady performed her part of the ceremony with an easy courtesy, into
which perhaps an equal degree of hauteur was infused, although not the
slightest effort was visible.
“Mr. Arundel is doubtless a judge of painting, and my poor sketches are
by no means calculated to bear severe criticism,” remarked Miss Grant
demurely.
As Lewis remained silent, Leicester hastened to reply: “A judge! of
course he is; he’s just returned from Germany, the happy land where
smoking, singing, and painting all come by nature.”
“Indeed!” returned Miss Grant. “Then, if it is not too troublesome,
perhaps I might ask Mr. Arundel’s advice as to a sketch of Broadhurst
I was attempting before your arrival; I left off in despair, because I
could not manage anything for the foreground.”
“Try an elephant,” suggested Leicester; “it would have a grand effect,
besides possessing the advantage of novelty, and filling up lots of
space.”
“Would you bring me the drawing, Charles?” returned his cousin.
“I know too well the style of assistance I may expect from you in
such matters. Who embellished my poor head of Minerva with a pair of
_moustaches?_”
“I did,” rejoined Leicester complacently, “and I am proud of it. Minerva
was the goddess of war, and sported _moustaches_ in virtue of her
profession.”
“Are you never going to give me the drawing, Charles?” asked Annie
impatiently. “Positively, cousins are most uncourteous beings. Mr.
Arundel, might I trouble you to hand me that sketch?”
Thus appealed to, Lewis had nothing for it but to comply, which he did
accordingly, biting his lip with vexation at the _dénouement_ which now
appeared inevitable. But Leicester’s resources were not yet exhausted;
stretching out his hand before his cousin had received the drawing, he
coolly took possession of it, saying, “I know you meant this drawing
as a little surprise for me. You have heard me say how much I coveted a
sketch of dear old Broadhurst, and so you have kindly made one for me.
You have really done it extremely well! Who was it--Fielding--you have
been learning of? Positively, you have caught his style!”
“Don’t flatter yourself that I did you the honour of recollecting any
such wish, even supposing you really uttered it in my hearing, of which
I entertain grave doubts,” returned Annie; “but if you particularly
desire it I will make you a present of it when it is finished--if I
could only manage that tiresome foreground!”
“I like it better without,” was the reply. “There’s nothing to
interfere with the outline of the building, which stands forth in bold
relief--and--eh!--well, what’s the matter?”
During his speech his cousin had risen from her seat, and approaching
him, caught sight of the drawing, which she had no sooner done than,
raising a little white hand, she pointed to the intrusive cow and asked
quietly, “Where did that come from?”
The comic perplexity of Leicester’s face was irresistible to behold, as,
with a glance at Lewis to secure his sympathy and co-operation, he was
evidently about to adopt the cow at all hazards, when the door opened,
and a tall, stately old man, with a military port and erect bearing,
entered, and surveying the group with evident surprise, drew himself
up still more stiffly, ere, with slow and measured steps, he advanced
towards them.
_It was General Grant!_