Arthur Elliott was a young man of good intellect and superior
acquirements, and he had ever been supposed to possess an average amount
of penetration, and of that invaluable quality not always found in
connection with superior intellect--common sense. He remembered his
mother, and worshipped her memory. She had been a wise and
earnest-minded woman, and one of God's saints besides. Living for years
in daily intercourse with his sister Graeme, he had learnt to admire in
her the qualities that made her a daughter worthy of such a mother. Yet
in the choice of one who was to be "till death did them part" more than
sister and mother in one, the qualities which in them were his pride and
delight, were made of no account. Flesh of his flesh, the keeper of his
honour and his peace henceforth, the maker or marrer of his life's
happiness, be it long or short, was this pretty unformed, wayward child.
One who has made good use of long opportunity for observation, tells me
that Arthur Elliott's is by no means a singular case. Quite as often as
otherwise, men of high intellectual and moral qualities link their lot
with women who are far inferior to them in these respects; and not
always unhappily. If, as sometimes happens, a woman lets her heart slip
from her into the keeping of a man who is intellectually or morally her
inferior, happiness is far more rarely the result. A woman, may, with
such help as comes to her by chance, keep her _solitary_ way through
life content. But if love and marriage, or the ties of blood, have
given her an arm on which she has a right to lean, a soul on whose
guidance she has a right to trust, it is sad indeed if these fail her.
For then she has no right to walk alone, no power to do so happily. Her
intellectual and social life must grow together, or one must grow awry.
What God has joined cannot be put asunder without suffering or loss.
But it _is_ possible for a man to separate his intellectual life from
the quiet routine of social duties and pleasures. It is not always
necessary that he should have the sympathy of his housekeeper, or even
of the mother of his children, in those higher pursuits and enjoyments,
which is the true life. The rising doubt, whether the beloved one have
eyes to see what is beautiful to him in nature and art, may come with a
chill and a pang; the certain knowledge of her blindness must come with
a shock of pain. But when the shudder of the chill and the shock of the
pain are over, he finds himself in the place he used to occupy before a
fair face smiled down on him from all high places, or a soft voice
mingled with all harmonies to his entranced ear. He grows content in
time with his old solitary place in the study, or with striving upward
amid manly minds. When he returns to the quiet and comfort of his
well-arranged home, the face that smiles opposite to him is none the
less beautiful because it beams only for home pleasures and humble
household successes. The voice that coos and murmurs to his baby in the
cradle, that recounts as great events the little varieties of kitchen
and parlour life, that tells of visits made and received, with items of
harmless gossip gathered up and kept for his hearing, is none the less
dear to him now that it can discourse of nothing beyond. The tender
care that surrounds him with quiet and comfort in his hours of leisure,
in a little while contents him quite, and he ceases to remember that he
has cares and pains, aspirations and enjoyments, into which she can have
no part.
But this is a digression, and I daresay there are many who will not
agree with all this. Indeed, I am not sure that I quite agree with all
my friend said on this subject, myself. There are many ways of looking
at the same thing, and if all were said that might be said about it, it
would appear that an incapacity on the part of the wife to share, or at
least to sympathise with all the hopes, pursuits, and pleasures of her
husband, causes bitter pain to both; certainly, he who cannot assure
himself of the sympathy of the woman he loves, when he would pass beyond
the daily routine of domestic duties and pleasures, fails of obtaining
the highest kind of domestic happiness.
Charlie Millar's private announcement to his friend Harry of his brother
Arthur's engagement, was in these words:
"The efforts of the maternal Grove have been crowned with success. Your
brother is a captive soon to be chained--"
Charlie was right. His clear eye saw, that of which Arthur himself
remained in happy unconsciousness. And what Charlie saw other people
saw also, though why the wise lady should let slip through her expert
fingers the wealthy Mr Green, the great Western merchant, and close
them so firmly on the comparatively poor and obscure young lawyer, was a
circumstance that could not so easily be understood. Had the
interesting fact transpired, that the great Elias had not so much
slipped through her fingers, as, to use his own forcible and elegant
language, "wriggled himself clear," it might have been satisfactory to
the world in general. But Mr Green was far-away intent on more
important matters, on the valuation and disposal of fabulous quantities
of pork and wheat, and it is not to be supposed that so prudent a
general as Mrs Grove would be in haste to proclaim her own defeat. She
acted a wiser part; she took the best measures for covering it.
When the pretty Fanny showed an inclination to console herself for the
defection of her wealthy admirer by making the most of the small
attentions of the handsome young lawyer, her mamma graciously smiled
approval. Fanny might do better she thought, but then she might do
worse. Mr Elliott was by no means Mr Green's equal in the great
essentials of wealth won, and wealth in prospect, still he was a rising
man as all might see; quite presentable, with no considerable
connections,--except perhaps his sisters, who could easily be disposed
of. And then Fanny, though very pretty, was "a silly little thing," she
said to herself with great candour. Her beauty was not of a kind to
increase with years, or even to continue long. The chances were, if she
did not go off at once, she would stay too long. Then there were her
sisters growing up so fast, mamma's own darlings; Charlotte twelve and
Victoria seven, were really quite tall and mature for their years, and
at any rate, it would be a relief to have Fanny well away.
And so the unsuspecting youth enjoyed many a drive in the Grove
carriage, and ate many a dinner in the Grove mansion, and roamed with
the fair Fanny by daylight and by moonlight among the flowers and fruits
of the Grove gardens, during the three months that his brother and
sisters passed at the seaside. He made one of many a pleasant driving
or riding party. There were picnics at which his presence was claimed
in various places. Not the cumbrous affairs which called into
requisition all the baskets, and boxes, and available conveyances of the
invited guests--parties of which the aim seems to be, to collect in one
favoured spot in the country, all the luxuries, and airs, and graces of
the town--but little impromptu efforts in the same direction in which
Mrs Grove had all the trouble, and her guests all the pleasure. Very
charming little fetes her guests generally pronounced them to be.
Arthur enjoyed them vastly, and all the more that it never entered into
his head, that he was in a measure the occasion of them all. He enjoyed
the companionship of pleasant people, brought together in those pleasant
circumstances. He enjoyed the sight of the green earth, and the blue
water, the sound of the summer winds among the hills, the songs of birds
amid rustling leaves and waving boughs, until he came to enjoy, at last
the guardianship of the fair Fanny, generally his on those occasions;
and to associate her pretty face and light laughter with his enjoyment
of all those pleasant things.
Everything went on naturally and quietly. There was no open throwing
them together to excite speculation in the minds of beholders, or
uncomfortable misgivings in the minds of those chiefly concerned. Quite
the contrary. If any watchful fairy had suggested to Arthur the
possibility of such a web, as the skillful mamma was weaving around him,
he would have laughed at the idea as the suggestion of a very
ill-natured, evil-minded sprite indeed. Did not mamma keep watchful
eyes on Fanny always? Had she not many and many a time, interrupted
little confidences on the part of the young lady, at the recollection of
which he was sometimes inclined to smile? Had she not at all times, and
in all places, acted the part of a prudent mamma to her pretty
step-daughter, and of a considerate hostess to him, her unworthy guest?
And if the fairy, in self-justification, had ventured further to
insinuate, that there is more than one kind of prudence, and that the
prudence of Mrs Grove was of another and higher kind, than a simple
youth could be supposed to comprehend, his enlightenment might not yet
have been accomplished. If it had been averred that mamma's faith, in
her daughter's tact and conversational powers was not sufficient to
permit her to allow them to be too severely tried, he might have paused
to recall her little airs and gestures, and to weigh the airy nothings
from those pretty lips, and he could not but have acknowledged that
mamma's faithlessness was not surprising. As to the ultimate success of
the sprite in opening his eyes, or in breaking the invisible meshes
which were meant to hold the victim fast, that is quite another matter.
But there was no fairy, good or bad, to mingle in their affairs, and
they flowed smoothly on, to the content of all concerned, till Graeme
came home from Cacouna, to play, in Mrs Grove's opinion, the part of a
very bad fairy indeed. She was mistaken, however. Graeme took no part
in the matter, either to make or to mar. Even had she been made aware
of all the possibilities that might arise out of her brother's short
intimacy with the Groves, she never could have regarded the matter as
one in which she had a right to interfere. So, if there came a pause in
the lady's operations, if Arthur was more seldom one of their party,
even when special pains had been taken to secure him, it was owing to no
efforts of Graeme. If he began to settle down into the old quiet home
life, it was because the life suited him; and Graeme's influence was
exerted and felt, only as it had ever been in a silent, sweet, sisterly
fashion, with no reference to Mrs Grove, or her schemes.
But that there came a pause in the effective operations of that clever
lady, soon became evident to herself. She could not conceal from
herself or Miss Fanny, that the beckonings from the carriage window were
not so quickly seen, or so promptly responded to as of old. Not that
this defection on Arthur's part was ever discussed between them. Mrs
Grove had not sufficient confidence in her daughter to admit of this.
Fanny was not reliable, mamma felt. Indeed, she was very soon taking
consolation in the admiration excited by a pair of shining epaulets,
which began about this time to gleam with considerable frequency in
their neighbourhood. But mamma did not believe in officers, at least
matrimonially speaking, and as to the consolation to be derived from a
new flirtation, it was but doubtful and transitory at the best. Besides
she fancied that Mr Elliott's attentions had been observed, and she was
quite sure that his defection would be so, too. Two failures succeeding
each other so rapidly, would lay her skill open to question, and "mar
dear Fanny's prospects."
And so Mrs Grove concentrated all her forces to meet the emergency.
Another invitation was given, and it was accepted. In the single minute
that preceded the entrance into the dining-room, the first of a series
of decisive measures was carried into effect. With a voice that
trembled, and eyes that glistened with grateful tears, the lady thanked
her "dear friend" for the kind consideration, the manly delicacy that
had induced him to withdraw himself from their society, as soon as he
had become aware of the danger to her sweet, but too susceptible Fanny.
"Fanny does not dream that her secret is suspected. But oh! Mr
Elliott, when was a mother at fault when the happiness of her too
sensitive child was concerned?"
In vain Arthur looked the astonishment he felt. In vain he attempted to
assure her in the strongest terms, that he had had no intention of
withdrawing from their society--that he did not understand--that she
must be mistaken. The tender mother's volubility was too much for him.
He could only listen in a very embarrassed silence as she went on.
Mr Elliott was not to suppose that she blamed him for the unhappiness
he had caused. She quite freed him from all intention of wrong. And
after all, it might not be so bad. A mother's anxiety might exaggerate
the danger; she would try and hope for the best. Change of scene must
be tried; in the meantime, her fear was, that pique, or wounded pride,
or disappointed affection might induce the unhappy child to--in short
Mr Elliott must understand--. And Mrs Grove glanced expressively
toward the wearer of the shining epaulets, with whom Arthur being
unenlightened, might have fancied that the unhappy child was carrying on
a pretty energetic and prosperous flirtation.
But "pique and wounded pride!" He had never in all his life experienced
a moment of such intense uncomfortableness as that in which he had the
honour to hand the lady of the house to her own well-appointed table.
Indignation, vexation, disbelief of the whole matter spoiled his dinner
effectually. Mrs Grove's exquisite soup might have been ditch-water
for all he knew to the contrary. The motherly concern so freely
expressed, looked to him dreadfully like something not so praiseworthy.
How she could look her dear Fanny in the face, and talk, so softly on
indifferent subjects, after having so--so unnecessarily, to say the
least, betrayed her secret, was more than he could understand. If,
indeed, Miss Fanny had a secret. He wished very much not to believe it.
Secret or not, this was a very uncomfortable ending to a pleasant three
months' acquaintance, and he felt very much annoyed, indeed.
Not till course after course had been removed, and the dessert had been
placed on the table, did he summon resolution to withdraw his attention
from the not very interesting conversation of his host, and turn his
eyes to Miss Grove and the epaulets. The result of his momentary
observation was the discovery that the young lady was looking very
lovely, and not at all miserable. Greatly relieved, he ventured an
appropriate remark or two, on the subject under discussion. He was
listened to with politeness, but not with Miss Fanny's usual amiability
and interest, that was evident.
By and by the gentlemen followed the ladies into the drawing-room, and
here Miss Fanny was distant and dignified still. She gave brief answers
to his remarks, and glanced now and then toward the epaulets, of whom
Mrs Grove had taken possession, and to whom she was holding forth with
great energy about something she had found in a book. Arthur approached
the centre-table, but Mrs Grove was too much occupied with Captain
Starr to include him in the conversation. Mr Grove was asleep in the
dining-room still, and Arthur felt there was no help for him. Miss
Fanny was left on his hands; and after another vain attempt at
conversation, he murmured something about music, and begged to be
permitted to hand her to the piano. Miss Grove consented, still with
more than her usual dignity and distance, and proposed to sing a new
song that Captain Starr had sent her. She did sing it, very prettily,
too. She had practised it a great deal more than was necessary, her
mamma thought, within the last few days. Then she played a brilliant
piece or two; then Mrs Grove, from the centre-table, proposed a sweet
Scottish air, a great favourite of hers, and, as it appeared, a great
favourite of Mr Elliott's, also. Then there were more Scottish airs,
and French airs, and then there was a duet with Captain Starr, and mamma
withdrew Mr Elliott to the centre-table, and the book, and did not in
the least resent the wandering of his eyes and his attention to the
piano, where the Captain's handsome head was at times in close proximity
with that of the fair musician. Then, when there had been enough of
music, Miss Grove returned to her embroidery, and Captain Starr held her
cotton and her scissors, and talked such nonsense to her, that Arthur
hearing him now and then in the pauses of the conversation, thought him
a great simpleton; and firmly believed that Miss Fanny listened from
"pique or wounded pride," or something else, not certainly because she
liked it. Not but that she seemed to like it. She smiled and responded
as if she did, and was very kind and gracious to the handsome soldier,
and scarcely vouchsafed to Mr Elliott a single glance.
By and by Mr Grove came in and withdrew Mr Elliott to the discussion
of the harbour question, and as Arthur knew everything that could
possibly be said on that subject, he had a better opportunity still of
watching the pair on the other side of the table. It was very absurd of
him, he said to himself, and he repeated it with emphasis, as the young
lady suddenly looking up, coloured vividly as she met his eye. It was
very absurd, but, somehow, it was very interesting, too. Never, during
the whole course of their acquaintance, had his mind been so much
occupied with the pretty, silly little creature.
It is very likely, the plan of piers and embankments, of canals and
bridges, which Miss Fanny's working implements were made to represent,
extending from an imaginary Point Saint Charles, past an imaginary
Griffintown, might have been worthy of being laid before the town
council, or the commissioner for public works. It is quite possible
that Mr Grove's explanations and illustrations of his idea of the new
harbour, by means of the same, might have set at rest the doubts and
fears of the over-cautious, and proved beyond all controversy, that
there was but one way of deciding the matter, and of securing the
prosperity of Mount Royal City, and of Canada. And if Mr Grove had
that night settled the vexed question of the harbour to the satisfaction
of all concerned, he would have deserved all the credit, at least his
learned and talented legal adviser would have deserved none of it.
It was very absurd of him, he said again, and yet the interest grew more
absorbing every moment, till at last he received a soft relenting glance
as he bowed over Miss Fanny's white hand when he said good-night. He
had one uncomfortable moment. It was when Mrs Grove hoped aloud that
they should see him often, and then added, for his hearing alone,--
"It would look so odd, you know, to forsake us quite."
He was uncomfortable and indignant, too, when the captain, as they
walked down the street together, commented in a free and easy manner on
Miss Grove's "good points," and wondered "whether the old chap had tin
enough to make it worth a fellow's pains to follow up the impression he
seemed certain he had made." He was uncomfortable when he thought about
it afterward. What if "pique, or wounded pride, or disappointed
affection" should tempt the poor little girl to throw herself away on
such an ass! It would be sad, indeed.
And then he wondered if Miss Grove really cared for him in that way.
Surely her stepmother would not have spoken as she had done to him on a
mere suspicion. As he kept on thinking about it, it began to seem more
possible to him, and then more pleasant, and what with one thing, and
what with another, Miss Fanny began to have a great many of his thoughts
indeed. He visited Grove House a good many times--not to seem odd--and
saw a good deal of Miss Fanny. Mamma was prudent still, and wise, and
far-seeing, and how it came about I cannot tell, but the result of his
visits, and the young lady's smiles, and the old lady's management was
the engagement of these two; and the first intimation that Graeme had of
it was given by Arthur on the night that Norman went away.
Time passed on. The wedding day was set, but there were many things to
be brought to pass before it should arrive. Graeme had to finish the
task she had set for herself on the night, when Arthur had bespoken her
love and care for a new sister. She had to reconcile herself fully to
the thought of the marriage, and truly the task did not seem to her
easier as time went on. There were moments when she thought herself
content with the state of affairs, when, at least, the coming in among
them of this stranger did not seem altogether like the end of their
happy life, when Miss Grove seemed a sweet and lovable little thing, and
Graeme took hope for Arthur. This was generally on those occasions when
they were permitted to have Fanny all to themselves, when she would come
in of her own accord, in the early part of the day, dressed in her
pretty morning attire, without her company manners or finery. At such
times she was really very charming, and flitted about their little
parlour, or sat on a footstool chattering with Rose in a way that quite
won her heart, and almost reconciled the elder sister to her brother's
choice.
But there were a great many chances against the pleasure lasting beyond
the visit, or even to the end of it. On more than one occasion Graeme
had dispatched Nelly as a messenger to Arthur, to tell him that Fanny
was to lunch with them, though her magnanimity involved the necessity of
her preparing the greater part of that pleasant meal with her own hands;
but she was almost always sorry for it afterward. For Fanny never
appeared agreeable to her in Arthur's presence; and what was worse to
bear still, Arthur never appeared to advantage, in his sister's eyes, in
the presence of Miss Grove. The coquettish airs, and pretty tyrannical
ways assumed by the young lady toward her lover, might have excited only
a little uncomfortable amusement in the minds of the sisters, to see
Arthur yielding to all her whims and caprices, not as one yields in
appearance, and for a time, to a pretty spoiled child, over whom one's
authority is only delegated and subject to appeal, but _really_ as
though her whims were wisdom, and her caprices the result of mature
deliberation, was more than Graeme could patiently endure. It was
irritating to a degree that she could not always control or conceal.
The lovers were usually too much occupied with each other to notice the
discomfort of the sisters, but this indifference did not make the folly
of it all less distasteful to them: and at such times Graeme used to
fear that it was vain to think of ever growing content with the future
before them.
And almost as disagreeable were the visits which Fanny made with her
stepmother. These became a great deal more frequent, during the last
few months, than Graeme thought at all necessary. They used to call on
their way to pay visits, or on their return from shopping expeditions,
and the very sight of their carriage of state, and their fine array,
made Graeme and Rose uncomfortable. The little airs of superiority,
with which Miss Fanny sometimes favoured them, were only assumed in the
presence of mamma, and were generally called forth by some allusion made
by her to the future, and they were none the less disagreeable on that
account. How would it be when Fanny's marriage should give her
stepmother a sort of right to advise and direct in their household? At
present, her delicate attempts at patronage, her hints, suggestive or
corrective, were received in silence, though resented in private with
sufficient energy by Rose, and sometimes even by Graeme. But it could
not be so always, and she should never be able to tolerate the
interference of that vain, meddlesome, superficial woman, she said to
herself many a time.
It must be confessed that Graeme was a little unreasonable in her dread
and dislike of Fanny's clever stepmother. Sometimes she was obliged to
confess as much to herself. More than once, about this time, it was
brought home to her conscience that she was unjust in her judgment of
her, and her motives, and she was startled to discover the strength of
her feelings of dislike. Many times she found herself on the point of
dissenting from opinions, or opposing plans proposed by Mrs Grove, with
which she might have agreed had they come from any one else. It is true
her opinions and plans were not generally of a nature to commend
themselves to Graeme's judgment, and there was rather apt to be more
intended by them than at first met the eye and ear. As Miss Fanny said
on one occasion, "One could never tell what mamma meant by what she
said," and the consequence often was an uncomfortable state of
expectation or doubt on the part of those who were included in any
arrangement dependent on mamma. Yet, her schemes were generally quite
harmless. They were not so deep as to be dangerous. The little
insincerities incident to their almost daily intercourse, the small
deceits made use of in shopping, marketing, making visits, or sending
invitations, were no such mighty matters as to jeopardise the happiness,
or even the comfort of any one with eyes keen enough to detect, and with
skill and will to circumvent them. So Graeme said to herself many a
time, and yet, saying it she could not help suffering herself to be made
uncomfortable still.
The respect and admiration which Mrs Grove professed for Miss Elliott
might have failed to propitiate her, even had she given her credit for
sincerity. They were too freely expressed to be agreeable under any
circumstances. Her joy that the Elliotts were still to form one
household, that her dear thoughtless Fanny was to have the benefit of
the elder sister's longer experience and superior wisdom, was great, and
her surprise was great also, and so was her admiration. It was so dear
in Miss Elliott to consent to it. Another person might have resented
the necessity of having to take the second place, where she had so long
occupied the first in her brother's house. And then to be superceded by
one so much younger than herself, one so much less wise, as all must
acknowledge her dear Fanny to be, was not, could not, be pleasant. Miss
Elliott must be a person possessing extraordinary qualities, indeed.
How could she ever be grateful enough that her wayward child was to have
the advantage of a guardianship so gentle and so judicious as hers was
sure to be! She only hoped that Fanny might appreciate the privilege,
and manifest a proper and amiable submission in the new circumstances in
which she was to be placed.
Graeme might well be uncomfortable under all this, knowing as she did,
that mamma's private admonitions to her "wayward daughter" tended rather
to the encouragement of a "judicious resistance" than of "a proper and
amiable submission" to the anticipated rule. But as a necessary
abdication of all household power made no part of Graeme's trouble,
except as she might sometimes doubt the chances of a prosperous
administration for her successor, she was able to restrain all outward
evidence of discomfort and indignation. She was the better able to do
this, as she saw that the clever lady's declaration of her sentiments on
this subject, made Arthur a little uncomfortable too. He had a vague
idea that the plan as to their all continuing to live together, had not
at first been so delightful to Mrs Grove. He had a remembrance that
the doubts as to how his sisters might like the idea of his intended
marriage, had been suggested by her, and that these doubts had been
coupled with hints as to the proper means to be taken in order that the
happiness of her dear daughter might be secured, he remembered very
well; and that she had expected and desired no assistance from his
sisters to this end, he was very well assured.
"However, it is all right now," said Arthur, congratulating himself.
"Graeme has too much sense to be put about by mamma's twaddle, and there
is no fear as far as Fanny and she are concerned."
The extent to which "mamma's twaddle" and other matters "put Graeme
about" at this time she concealed quite, as far as Arthur was concerned.
The best was to be made of things now; and though she could not help
wishing that his eyes might be more useful to him on some occasions, she
knew that it would not have mended matters could he have been induced to
make use of her clearer vision, and so her doubts and fears were kept to
herself, and they did not grow fewer or less painful as time went on.
But her feelings changed somewhat. She did not cease to grieve in
secret over what she could not but call Arthur's mistake in the choice
he had made. But now, sometimes anger, and sometimes a little bitter
amusement mingled with her sorrow. There seemed at times something
ludicrous in bestowing her pity on one so content with the lot he had
chosen. She was quite sure that Arthur would have smiled at the little
follies and inconsistencies of Miss Grove, had he seen them in any one
else. She remembered that at their first acquaintance he had smiled at
them in her. _Now_ how blind he was! All her little defects of
character, so painfully apparent to his sisters were quite invisible to
him. She was very amiable and charming in his eyes. There were times
when one might have supposed that he looked upon her as the wisest and
most sensible of women; and he began to listen to her small views and
assent to her small opinions, in a way, and to an extent that would have
been amusing if it had not been painful and irritating to those looking
on.
Graeme tried to believe that she was glad of all this--that it was
better so. If it was so that these two were to pass their lives
together, it was well that they should be blind to each other's faults.
Somehow married people seemed to get on together, even when their
tastes, and talents, and tempers differed. If they loved one another
that was enough, she supposed; there must be something about it that she
did not understand. At any rate, there was no use vexing herself about
Arthur now. If he was content, why should not she be so? Her brother's
happiness might be safer than she feared, but whether or not, nothing
could be changed now.
But as her fears for her brother were put from her, the thought of what
the future might bring to Rose and her, came oftener, and with a sadder
doubt. She called herself foolish and faithless--selfish even, and
scolded herself vigorously many a time; but she could not drive away her
fears, or make herself cheerful or hopeful in looking forward. When
Arthur should come quite to see with Fanny's eyes, and hear with her
ears, and rely upon her judgment, would they all live as happily
together as they had hitherto done? Fanny, kept to themselves, she
thought she would not fear, but influenced by her stepmother, whose
principles and practice were so different from all they had been taught
to consider right, how might their lives be changed!
And so the wedding-day was drawing nigh. As a part of her
marriage-portion, Mr Grove was to present to his daughter one of the
handsome new houses in the neighbourhood of Columbus Square, and there
the young lady's married-life was to commence. The house was quite a
little fortune in itself, Mrs Grove said, and she could neither
understand nor approve of the manner in which her triumphant
announcement of its destination was received by the Elliotts. It is
just possible that Arthur's intimate knowledge of the state of his
future father-in-law's affairs, might have had something to do with his
gravity on the occasion. The troubles in the mercantile world, that had
not left untouched the long-established house of Elphinstone & Company,
had been felt more seriously still by Mr Grove, and a doubt as to
whether he could, with justice to all concerned, withdraw so large an
amount from his business, in order to invest it for his daughter's
benefit, could not but suggest itself to Arthur. He was not mercenary;
it would not be true to say he had not felt a certain degree of
satisfaction in knowing that his bride would not be altogether
undowered. But the state of Mr Grove's affairs, was, to say the least,
not such as to warrant a present withdrawal of capital from his
business, and Arthur might well look grave.
Not that he troubled himself about it, however. He had never felt so
greatly elated at the prospect of marrying an heiress, as to feel much
disappointed when the prospect became doubtful. He knew that Miss Grove
had a right to something which she had inherited from her mother, but he
said to himself that her right should be set aside, rather than that
there should be any defilement of hands in the transfer. So, if to Mrs
Grove's surprise and disgust, he remained silent when she made known the
munificent intentions of Fanny's father, it was not for a reason that he
chose to discuss with her. His remarks were reserved for Mr Grove's
private ear, and to him they were made with sufficient plainness.
As for Graeme, she could not but see that their anticipated change of
residence might help to make certainties of all her doubts and fears for
their future. If she had dreaded changes in their manner of life
before, how much more were they to be dreaded now? They might have
fallen back, after a time, into their old, quiet routine, when Fanny had
quite become one of them, had they been to remain still in the home
where they had all been so happy together. But there seemed little hope
of anything so pleasant as that now, for Fanny's handsome house was in
quite a fashionable neighbourhood, away from their old friends, and that
would make a sad difference in many ways, she thought; and all this
added much to her misgivings for the future.
"Fanny's house!" could it ever seem like home to them? Her thoughts
flew back to Janet and Merleville, and for a little, notwithstanding all
the pain she knew the thought would give her brother, it seemed
possible--nay best and wisest, for her and Rose to go away.
"However, we must wait a while; we must have patience. Things may
adjust themselves in a way that I cannot see just now."
In the lesson, which with tears and prayers and a good-will Graeme had
set herself to learn, she had got no farther than this, "We must wait--
we must have patience." And she had more cause to be content with the
progress she had made than she thought; for, amid all the cures for the
ills of life, which wisdom remembers, and which folly forgets, what
better, what more effectual than "patient waiting?"