_CIRCE_.
On Monday morning Mr. Wallowby was the first to appear in the
breakfast-room,--an unusual circumstance. There was meditation in the
noiseless tread of his slippered feet, and he rubbed his hands
thoughtfully, one over the other. So, a reflective cat will softly
move her paws and undulate her tail, while she is planning her next
raid on a neighbouring mouse hole. His enquiries after Peter's health
were solicitous and tender, and the regret and disappointment at his
being still confined to his room, perhaps excessive, considering his
strong recommendations over-night, that the patient should keep his
bed altogether next day, and, by making a regular lay up of it, get
well the sooner. He asked Mr. Sangster to lend him a horse and trap to
drive over to Inchbracken, still lamenting Peter's indisposition and
deploring the necessity of having to go alone, but persistently deaf
to the suggestion that he should wait a day or two till Peter got
better.
The trap was ordered round as desired, the old gentleman being
thankful that in default of Peter's help the guest should take his
amusement into his own hands, and not fall back on him, James
Sangster, who had been resignedly counting on a day of self-sacrifice
and boredom in the young man's company. He would have yielded the day
freely enough, and submitted to the boredom with a fair grace, but he
feared the young man would be as much bored as himself; and that,
somehow, he did not relish. We are all of us so accustomed to being
bored by our fellows, that none but the very young think of
complaining, but that our fellows might be bored with us, is a
suggestion our self-love would rather not entertain. Mrs. Sangster did
not approve the idea; she would have had Peter go to consolidate his
intimacy with the county magnates, and what could it possibly matter
to Wallowby? she thought. She proposed a postponement, but Wallowby
was already deep in a discussion of the relative merits of Hungarian
rye-grass and timothy with her spouse, and so continued not to hear.
The hour arrived, so likewise did the trap, and Mr. Wallowby issued
from his chamber glorious as a sunbeam. He had dressed himself with
the greatest care, and he really looked very well, if only he could
have run against somebody or something, so as to derange the get-up in
some slight degree, and make the whole more human. He was of
sufficient stature, and his face was well enough, if a trifle vacant;
so that in this faultless array, without crease or plait or pucker, he
resembled one of the figures in a tailor's fashion plate considerably
more than a gentleman of the period. Mrs. Sangster met him on the
stairs and was vastly impressed. She would have liked Sophia to see
him; but, alas! that could be managed only by peeping from behind a
blind, for Sophia herself was still the victim of catarrh, and forced
to remain invisible.
Reaching Inchbracken, Mr. Wallowby was received by Julia. Lady
Caroline had not yet left her room, but sent word that she hoped to
see him at luncheon, and the gentlemen were from home. It was Julia's
acquaintance, however, which he had already made; and as the other
lady was to appear later, he resigned himself with perfect
satisfaction to be entertained by that agreeable person. They walked
about the grounds admiring the broad sweep of the lake, which, lapping
round Inchbracken on three sides, swept far away into the shadow of
the overhanging hills. Mr. Wallowby was charmed to discover in himself
a remarkably just appreciation of scenery, which he had never before
been conscious of possessing; but then he was not sure that it had
ever before fallen to his lot to have it so well called forth, or to
have met so appreciative a companion. It was quite remarkable and very
pleasant to find on how many subjects their opinion exactly agreed,
not on scenery only, for that was not a theme to last long, but
in general views of life and society, even politics and religion,
though these, as heavy matters, were only glanced at in passing; 'but
it is so pleasant to meet with a woman capable of understanding one on
such higher and more masculine subjects,' at least so thought Mr.
Wallowby.
Julia was a wily sportswoman. She had often heard Captain John
describe the method of tickling a trout, and here was a gudgeon whom
she was minded to try her hand on, and capture, if possible, by that
delicate process. Wallowby opened out and spread himself in the bland
warmth of her approving smiles, like a very sunflower. He had truly
never before realised what a remarkably fine fellow he was, and the
revelation was delightful; and so, too, in consequence, was the fair
prophetess who had disclosed it. Loch Gorton was fine, no doubt, and
so too were the purple shadows slumbering among the hills beyond; but
what were these in comparison to the heights and depths, long
concealed under mists of modest diffidence, in the wondrous soul of
Augustus Wallowby? The man fairly shimmered like a moonlit fountain,
with coruscations of self-surprising wit and gratified vanity, while
Circe cooed genially in response, still leading him onward into deeper
quagmires of idiocy. Through gardens and shrubberies she led the way,
and he followed closely behind, with ears laid luxuriatingly back; as
the donkey whose poll has been deftly scratched will rub himself up
against his new found friend, and court a continuance of the
titillating process. Julia was actually discomposed by the rapidity of
her success. Had she been in fun it would have been amusing, but she
was a practical woman who meant business and a settlement for herself,
so she feared to proceed too fast. Too speedy an inflation applied to
so little solid substance might burst it, like a glass blower's freak,
in a shower of spangles, to the mere idle glorification of the man
himself; whereas if there was to be glass blowing, it was a useful
goblet for _her_ that was wanted. To change the tune, therefore, she
now led the way to the old square tower overtopping the shrubbery,
which was all that remained of the ancient family residence. Here a
larger share of the conversation devolved on herself, Scotch
antiquities and history being altogether unfamiliar to her Southern
friend. He listened, however, with respectful interest to her account
of the early Drysdales. When a man is uncertain who may have been his
own grandfather, or whether such a person ever existed, there is
something impressive in the long line of progenitors claimed by other
people, and their certainty as to the possession. Here among the
crumbling walls they once inhabited, it was impossible to doubt about
them,--a very legion of haughty shadows who had once ruled the
surrounding country,--or not to feel a positive reverence for their
surviving representative. This train of thought naturally led to Lady
Caroline, and as Julia phrased it, 'my Cousin, Lord Pitthevlis.' In
the presence of that noble house the pretensions of the Drysdales
dwindled considerably,--came down almost within reach, as it were, of
Mr. Wallowby's unhistoric self; and yet this magnificent family were
cousins of the engaging maiden who stood before him and discoursed so
graciously of their grandeur. It was a delightful idea to realize, and
he endeavoured to bring it well within his grasp, by desiring to know
the precise degree of cousinship. She replied that the relationship
was through George, the thirteenth Earl. It appeared to be difficult
to particularize very exactly. An honourable Cornelius somebody, and a
Lady Mary somebody else, besides other important people, had all been
implicated some generations back in Miss Finlayson's introduction on
this sublunary scene; 'but Lord Pitthevlis always calls me cousin, and
so do the rest of the family, so of course it is so,' she concluded,
and Wallowby was satisfied. There was apparently no prospect of her
ever being a countess in her own right, but she was evidently very
highly connected, so that when she died, her husband would be able to
put up a hatchment with eight quarterings in front of his house; and
Mr. Wallowby actually called up in his mind's eye a momentary vision
of his own residence in the outskirts of Manchester so adorned, just
to see how it would look. Poor man! I fear he was far gone.
[Illustration: "Through gardens and shrubberies she led the way." Page
162.]
During those few minutes when the lady left him in the morning room,
while she went to remove her bonnet before luncheon, he drew a long
breath and asked himself, 'could it be that at last he really was in
love?' A long train of captives passed through his memory, the
supposed victims of his fascinations--or his fortune, was it? But what
were any of them to this incomparable person? So elegant, so
accomplished, and so appreciative! It seemed very sudden; but then,
was not love at first sight the truest, the best, the highest form of
that delightful emotion? And was not the attraction mutual? With his
long and intimate knowledge of the sex, _he_ knew all the signs. He
was sure of that, and could not be mistaken in this case. He was
indeed a sad rogue, so he told himself. He could not help that, but he
felt for the poor girl in a serene and benevolent sort of way, and
resolved that she should not sigh in vain. Yet he must be circumspect
and do nothing precipitate! Although he was to return to England in
three days' time, and could not without making explanations to an
inquisitive world come again to see her; that was a matter he must
break to her gently, and he would ask leave to correspond with her.
Meanwhile he must practise reserve--veil his radiance somewhat,
lest the poor child should be reduced to a heap of ashes--another
Semele--before the fitting time for a proposal had arrived. So far his
reflections had got, as he stood looking from the windows, and pulling
out the corners of his whiskers to their extremest length, when he was
interrupted by a summons to luncheon.
In the dining-room the ladies were already seated, one being Lady
Caroline whom he had not yet seen; and whether it was merely the
presence of a third person, or the silent claim of superiority on the
part of that lady, the atmosphere appeared to have undergone a change.
Life was no longer a river at high tide rolling to a triumphal march
from 'the Caliph of Bagdad,' but a very ordinary stream indeed, oozing
along between monotonous banks, over a flat and muddy bottom. Instead
of a prized and congenial friend, he was now reduced to the part of
stranger, and rather an unknown stranger too. Lady Caroline led the
conversation as was her wont, but more interrogatively, and less as an
exclusive monologue than when addressing persons with whom she was
better acquainted. Having been called on to express his admiration for
Scotland and the Scotch, on this his first visit to the country, he
was next asked if he had been induced to attend any of the open-air
conventicles which his friends so much affected, and how he liked
them. He said he had been at one, and that it was a picturesque
gathering in a stagy sort of way, and something very different from
anything he had ever seen before.
'I should think so,' said Lady Caroline; 'it seems to me a species of
madness which has fallen upon the people. I wonder the authorities do
not put it down, for it is utterly subversive of order, and all good
government. I feel quite ashamed whenever I hear of it coming under
the notice of people from another country. They must form so strange
an opinion of us. If you spend another Sunday in the neighbourhood you
must persuade your friends to send you over to the parish church. It
is not far from here.'
Mr. Wallowby replied that he would be returning to England before
another Sunday came round. 'But I was not aware,' he added, 'that
there were any but Presbyterian chapels for many miles round here. I
felt compunction about attending the ministrations of an unordained
person, it seemed to me so much a burlesque on the offices of
religion, but I was told that except in towns and a very few country
places far north, there are no clergymen in Scotland at all. And yet
the Scotch claim to be very religious. I did not know before that
people could be religious without church or parson, and now I have
seen it I do not like it.'
'Yes! English people are all alike! They insist upon choosing for
themselves, and having done so, they would impose their choice upon
everybody else. That is not so bad perhaps when they stick to the
old-fashioned ways--in my young days we all got on most comfortably
together; but now when they have adopted so many new notions,
apostolical succession for instance, which we never used to hear of,
it seems a trifle unreasonable that people who have so much difficulty
in knowing their own views should expect others to accept them too.
For myself, I find the Act of Parliament and the law of the land the
best religious director, and wherever I live I mean to conform to the
Established Church of the country--always excepting France, and I
never will live there. I have not forgot yet how we used to be
threatened with Popery and wooden shoes if ever the French should land
upon our shores. Now, the English Church people are dissenters in
Scotland, just as Presbyterians are in England. But I hate the very
name of dissenter, as of all disloyalty, and therefore I attend the
English Church when in England, just as I do the Scotch in Scotland.'
'But if the ministers of the Scotch form of worship are not priests,
how can they constitute a Church? That is my difficulty.'
'The Act of Settlement says that they do, and there is no going behind
the law of the land. The Archbishop of Paris probably does not
consider the Archbishop of Canterbury a priest, or able to constitute
a Church; but no Englishman would be worth his salt who cared for what
a Frenchman said. As for the clergy in different countries, they are
all most excellent people, but they require a Queen Elizabeth or some
such person to keep them in their own place. They are all, priests and
presbyters alike, inclined to be meddlesome and tyrannical; and if we
would only let them, they would rule us with a rod of iron. I am quite
familiar with your prejudices, and even respect them, so far; my
brother Pitthevlis is a Scotch Episcopalian, and I was so brought up
myself, but I fear I must say they are a little narrow, and too like
your own new disturbers (Puseyites, you call them, I think), ever to
be possible as a national Church.'
Mr. Wallowby bridled slightly. He thought he was a Puseyite
himself, and had great scorn for the Low Church party; but in those
pre-ritualistic days his High Churchism was, like most other laymen's,
little more than a taste for illuminated windows, surpliced choirs,
intoned prayers, and a musical service; and that rather on account of
its 'swellness,' than as a means of edification; and he would have
been as prompt as any Low Churchman to cry out 'Popery' against the
modern developments. Thirty years have passed since then, and many
things have changed. Mr. Wallowby had raised his head to do battle for
his faith, but meanwhile Lady Caroline had meandered on to other
themes, so what he might have said can never be known.
The chicken, the salad, and the toast were at length consumed. All
rose from table, and Augustus felt that it was time for him to
withdraw. Julia accompanied him to the door, there was some low-toned
conversation, and he was gone.
'Well! my dear Julia,' said Lady Caroline, 'I do not know what I
should do without your kind good-nature, to take the bores off my
hands. It must be between three and four hours since that misguided
man arrived, and you have been with him all the time! Does your head
ache?'
'Oh no, dear Lady Caroline, I have got through the visit very
pleasantly. He does not talk so much as to weary one, and yet he has
plenty to say.'
'Ah? Then I may save my condolences. So much the better! He strikes me
as being almost good-looking, if he were only a gentleman, and not
quite so tightly buttoned into his clothes. Men laugh at women's
tightlacing, but how they endure all these wisps of muslin round their
throats I cannot think. And I am sure they are quite as ridiculous.'
'I thought Mr. Wallowby dressed rather nicely; and as to his
manners--of course he has never gone into society, and he is not the
least like a guardsman; but then he has never had the chance to see
one. And, who knows? he may have a son in the army at least, perhaps
even a field-marshal, or a Lord-Chancellor, for I hear he is very
rich, and even the greatest families must have a first man, or
perhaps, as you would say, the man before that.'
'Julia, my dear, you are a philosopher! The gentleman must have merit,
or he would not have won over my critical young cousin so soon. He is
rich you say?'
'Yes, Lady Caroline. Miss Brown, who was living with the Sangsters
says he is very rich; and it would be too absurd in a penniless girl
like me to be critical and fastidious in judging a man of his
substantial fortune.'
'Fastidious! my dear? Then there is a chance of his being submitted to
your approval?'
Julia coloured. 'Indeed Lady Caroline, it is so hard for a girl to
say. But if you will not think me absurd, I almost fancy there might
perhaps be a possibility of something like that.'
'Ah, then, my dear, that alters the question altogether. I have no
daughter of my own, and there is no one whose settlement in life I
have more nearly at heart than yours. Confide in me, child! I have
every wish to be a mother to you.'
Julia kissed her hand very sweetly. 'I shall find out all about him,'
continued the old lady, through old MacSiccar, and you may trust me
not to compromise you in any way. If his circumstances are
satisfactory, it might probably be a very judicious step on your part;
One cannot have everything you know; but enough to live upon is a
thing it is impossible to do without. And as to the rest, under your
guidance, I see no reason why he should not make a perfectly
presentable figure in society. I am sure you will make an admirable
and attached wife, whoever you marry; but marrying for love, instead
of with it, as every good girl of course will, often turns out to be a
mistake. You know, my dear, I was not very young myself when I
married, and a few years earlier I was very nearly doing something
foolish of that kind. The gentleman had high rank and was really very
charming; but my dear papa discovered the unsuitableness of the
connection in time, and though I was really infatuated, he carried us
all down to Pitthevlis, and kept us there for two years. In the
meantime, what papa expected occurred, the gentleman ruined himself.
His property was put under trustees, and he himself has been living at
Boulogne and such places ever since, on the few hundreds a year
allowed by his creditors. I shudder sometimes when I think how
narrowly I escaped----. Shortly after that my dear General came
forward, and I need not say how thankful I am that I was saved from my
earlier folly. Rank and position are most desirable things, but a
solid income is indispensable. There are so many girls now, too, and
the men have grown so mercenary, that a girl without fortune or a
title cannot look for more than a younger son, which is merely a sort
of decent dependence on the family, and often a most painful position.
So my dear,' added the old lady, who had been gradually warming under
her own eloquence, 'I wish you every success, always provided the
_parti_ should prove worthy your acceptance,' and thereupon she rose,
and bending over Julia, kissed her on the forehead, like a fairy
godmother, or some other superior spirit, animated by the most
beneficent intentions. She was thinking that if Kenneth should marry
and settle down at Inchbracken, as his father desired, a third lady in
the household would be one too many.