CATHERINE'S OPINION.
It is not to be supposed that Harry's visits, which made so much
commotion at the Vernonry, could have entirely escaped the keen
observation of the Grange. Catherine Vernon shared, with most sovereigns
and the ruling class in general, the peculiarity, not indeed a very
unusual one, of liking to know everything that went on within her
sphere. It was not as gossip, nor, she would have said with some reason,
from curiosity alone. She had for so long been all-powerful, and sure
that the means were in her hand to help those that wanted help, and to
regulate affairs in general for the benefit of the world, that it had
become a necessity, almost a duty on her part, to keep herself informed
of everything that went on. When an individual feels capable of
performing the part of a visible Providence, it becomes incumbent upon
that person, so far as possible, to know everything, to shut his eyes to
no detail, to note every little incident, and to encourage not only the
confidences of his possible clients and _protégés_, but the observations
of all surrounding them, and every hint as to their motives, their
intentions and purposes, that can be got at. The outside crowd, knowing
nothing of the meaning of these investigations, is apt to mistake them
altogether; but Catherine did not care much about the outside world. It
was her wish that everything should be told her, and she was perhaps too
apt to think that those who were not willing or able to open their
hearts, were people who had secrets in their life, and probably a good
deal that would not bear the light. She liked her friends to bring her
news, and never thought anything too trivial to be added to the mass of
information which was in her hands. She knew the habits of her
neighbours, and the good and evil fortune that befell them, better
sometimes than they did themselves. Parents, who were doubtful about the
proceedings of their sons, had they asked Catherine, would have known
all about them. So the prince, in a little State, may often interest
himself graciously about the affairs of his subjects, and monarchs are
the best of genealogists, knowing who married who all the world over,
even outside of the Almanach de Gotha. It is not a taste which can be
indulged without falling into an occasional appearance of pettiness; but
yet there is a great deal to be said for this degree of interest in our
fellow creatures, and there is no way in which it can be kept up so well
as in a country town, where everybody knows everybody else. This is
perhaps rather an elaborate preface to introduce the simple fact that
Catherine Vernon from the very beginning had known of Harry's visit to
the Vernonry. Her own woman, Meredith by name, shared her mistress's
task, without Catherine's fine reason for it, and carried it deeper than
Catherine, not refusing any garbage of the lanes to satisfy her
appetite. And she was a woman who saw everything and knew everybody. It
was no more than Harry's second or third visit when she pointed him out
to her mistress, walking past in his summer morning suit, which the long
evenings permitted a young man to retain while daylight lasted and he
could be about. Harry was very carefully got up; he wore light clothes,
and ties of the most interesting description. He had always the stick
which was in fashion, the hat of the moment; and a very pleasant sight
he was striding along in the summer evening, going where love carried
him, with honest intentions and a simple heart. He was not perhaps
capable of a very refined or poetical sentiment. He had at that time no
doubt whatever that Hester would accept him gratefully, not so much for
himself (in which point he had an instinctive humility), but for the
good things he could give her. The glamour and the thousand little
enchantments of love were not in him, but he was honest and true, as
Hester had said. He meant this poor girl, whom most people, in
Catherine's drawing-room and elsewhere, passed by without notice, though
some thought her pretty--he meant her as his wife to be a happy and
much-honoured woman. And what was more, he meant to be good to his
mother-in-law. He might have been a romantic paladin, or a man of
genius, and not have been so excellent, so worthy of all admiration as
that. It never occurred to Harry to go another way, to conceal what he
was about from prying eyes. He was not ashamed of what he was about. All
the world might watch his steps so far as he cared, and it must have
required a distinct effort on the part of any honest heart not to like
the sight of him as he went a-wooing, and wish him a happy ending.
Perhaps it would be too much to say that Catherine made that effort; but
she was not favourable to Harry as to his cousin who was under her own
roof.
It is scarcely possible for any eyes but those of a parent (and even the
eyes of a parent are not always impartial) to look upon two young
candidates for favour with exactly the same sentiments. If it is too
much to say that one will be loved and the other hated, at least the
balance will be unequal. Edward had found means from the beginning to
please his patroness and relative. He had been--is not this the grand
reason?--so good: he had been ready at her service when she wanted him,
he had stayed at home, he had been son and daughter to the lonely woman.
All that she knew of him was excellent, and she had no reason to imagine
there was anything to know which was not equally good.
Catherine was one of the people who say that they do not look for
gratitude. If Edward had not appreciated the kindness which picked him
up as it were from the roadside, she would but have laughed; she would
not have shown either surprise or pain; but the fact that he did feel
her kindness, and devote himself to her, touched her deeply. She was as
well off as if he had been her son, far better off than many mothers
with sons. But Harry was very different. For a long time she had made up
her mind that Harry was her great failure. He and his sister had never
attempted to attach themselves to Catherine. They had considered their
elevation to the White House, and the honours of the bank, as owing to
their own merits, and had set up a sort of heir-apparent establishment
always in opposition. With the natural instinct of a woman, she had
concluded it all to be Ellen's fault; but Harry had not the good sense
to separate himself from his sister, or even to imply that he did not
support her in her proceedings: far from that, he stood by her with the
utmost loyalty. Though he never was anything but deferential and
respectful in his dull way to his benefactress, he never would allow it
to be supposed that he did not approve of his sister and back her up. If
Catherine saw the merit of this faithfulness, it was in a grudging way;
and, as a matter of fact, she did not like Harry. There was nothing in
reality to find fault with in him. He was very steady at his business,
notwithstanding the rival claims of cricket in summer and football in
winter. And when he was asked to dinner at the Grange, he was as
punctual as clockwork, with an expanse of shirt front that would have
been a credit to any man. But he did not please Catherine. He had given
her a reproof which stung, on that occasion when he "took down" Mrs.
John, without waiting to know what person of importance should have gone
before. Nothing that could have been said would have stung Catherine so
much as that good-natured act, and it was all the more hard upon her
that in her heart (always a good and generous one) she approved Harry.
It was a reproach to her, and still more, it was a reproach to Edward,
who had never taken the slightest notice of Mrs. John's presence, but
left her among the neglected ones. Catherine had been doubly angry with
Harry ever since that evening. She would not allow even that he was a
handsome fellow.
"He is big enough," she would say, resenting the fact that he was a head
taller than Edward, and twice as strong. "He is a fine animal, if you
like: but I don't see how a man with white eyelashes can be considered
handsome."
Edward did not oppose his aunt in this any more than in other things. "I
allow," he would say, "that he is not clever." But he shook his head, as
one who would deprecate a too true accusation when Miss Vernon held
Harry up to ridicule. "No, he is not clever; he will never set the
Thames on fire," Edward said.
Miss Vernon saw Harry pass the third time he went to the Vernonry, and
afterwards she looked for him regularly. "Who was it for?" she asked,
with an ardent feminine appreciation of the only motive which could
induce a man to hurry over his dinner and get to the Vernonry in time
for the humble community's tea. This was a question not very hard to
answer, seeing that the next moment she added to herself, "Who else
could it be?" It could not be Matilda, or Martha, who were neither young
nor fair. It was very unlikely to be Mrs. Reginald, though she was young
enough, and not without beauty. "But Harry is not the man to burden
himself with a lot of children," said Catherine, with an unnecessary
scoff at the poor fellow who was not her favourite. Thus there was only
one person whom it could be. It gave her a sort of pang of amusement
when she concluded upon this--Hester! that proud, troublesome
creature--she who would never give in, who put on the airs of a princess
in the Grange drawing-room, and declined to go to supper--she with the
spirit of a revolutionary, and the temper of a--demon--(no, no, this was
perhaps too bad--the temper of a--Vernon, Catherine said to herself with
a laugh)--she to fall to the lot of Harry! This was so strangely funny,
so paradoxical, so out of character, that it amused Catherine altogether
beyond description, yet gave her a strange blow. What a ridiculous
combination! If the world had been ransacked for two who ought not to
come together, these two would be that pair. What would they do with
each other? how could they ever pull together--the one all eagerness and
vigour, the other stolid and heavy? Catherine was almost tempted to be
sorry for the girl, but the next moment she laughed again. Oh, it was
easy to understand! Mrs. John must have managed it all. She would see in
it a way of recovering all her lost glories, of getting back her footing
in that ridiculous White House, which had been adapted to her silly
taste from the beginning. Oh, no doubt it was her doing! She would talk
the girl over; she would persuade her into it, "with a host of petty
maxims preaching down a daughter's heart." And it was with a gleam of
vindictive amusement that Catherine assured herself that Mrs. John would
find herself mistaken. After she had made the marriage she would be left
in the lurch. Harry was not a man to put up with a mother-in-law. Thus
Catherine Vernon, though she was a clever woman, misconceived and
misunderstood them all.
But yet it did give her a natural pang. That girl, who compelled her
attention somehow, though she had no favour for her--who inspired her
with a certain respect, notwithstanding the consistent opposition to
herself which Hester had always shown--to think of that ambitious
creature, all fire and life being quenched in the dulness of Harry, put
out in the heavy tranquillity of his athletic existence--to score at
cricket matches, and spend long wearisome days out in the sun, watching
for the runs he got! But then, she would be well off, would have the
White House and all sorts of good things. Oh, no occasion to be sorry
for her. She would get her compensation. And then Catherine thought,
with a jealous displeasure which she felt angry with herself for
entertaining, of the arrangements which Harry's marriage would make
necessary. Up to this time he had more or less held his position at her
pleasure, but she had no reason, she was aware, to refuse to satisfy all
her engagements, and make him actually independent, as he had been
virtually for a long time back. She would not have the slightest excuse
for doing it. Everything had gone on perfectly well. There were no
complaints of him at the bank. The business flourished and made
progress. But the thought that Hester would be thus immediately placed
on a sort of equality with herself, and Mrs. John reinstated, vexed her.
It was a mean sentiment, but she could not help it. It vexed her in
spite of herself.
The news had been, it is scarcely necessary to say, communicated to
Edward at a very early stage. Miss Vernon had called him to her, after
dinner, as soon as he came up stairs to the drawing-room, to the window
from which the road was visible winding along the side of the Common to
the Vernonry.
"Do you see that?" she said, pointing his cousin out.
What? He saw the Common lying in all its sweetness, its roughness and
undulations standing out in the level sunset rays, every bush casting a
shadow. He was young, and he had at least a scientific love of nature,
and longed to be out poking into those beds of herbage, feeling the
fresh air on his face; and it was with a secret grudge in his heart that
he realised the difference between the light, strong figure moving along
buoyant with life and liberty, and he himself in his evening clothes in
his aunt's drawing-room, seeing it all from within four walls.
"What?" he said, thinking that he would rather not see the fair out-door
evening world since he could have no share in it. "Why--is it Harry?"
and then he felt that he hated the fellow who was his own master.
"He is going a-wooing," Miss Vernon said.
She was sitting in her favourite place which commanded this prospect,
the Common, the Vernonry, the tall pines, and the red bars of the sunset
behind. The sunset was her favourite entertainment, and in summer she
always sat here. Edward stood behind, looking out over her head. She did
not see the grimace with which he heard these words. And he did not
reply for some time. It gave him a shock more sharp even than that with
which Catherine herself had heard it first, though to be sure there was
no reason why.
"Ah!" he said indifferently, "who can he find to woo about here?" But he
knew very well in his heart what the answer would be.
"Only one person, so far as I can make out. It must be that girl of Mrs.
John's. I suppose she is what you call pretty, though she has never been
a favourite of mine."
"But you can't confine prettiness to your favourites, Aunt Catherine,"
said Edward, with a sharp smile which he had sometimes.
"No, that's true. I deserved that you should hit that blot. She is
pretty I know. Poor Harry, he will have his hands full, what with the
mild mother and the wild daughter. I wonder at the girl though. She is
an ambitious, energetic thing, and poor dear Harry will never set the
Thames on fire as you say."
"Did I say it? No, I don't think he will; but he has solid qualities."
"Very solid--the White House and his share in the bank. Oh, there will
be an equivalent! And to think that little schemer, that soft little
woman that looks as if she could not harm a fly, should have managed to
secure herself in this cunning way and get her daughter back to the
point she started from! Who would have thought it? There is nothing so
astute as simplicity."
Edward made no reply, and this was a thing Miss Vernon did not like. She
required a response. Silence felt like disapproval, and as there was a
strong silent protest in her heart against everything that was mean or
petty in what she said, she was apt to resent this want of acquiescence
all the more. She looked back at him when he did not expect it, and was
startled to see a look she had never seen before, a look that astonished
her, on his face. It was something like a snarl of contempt and despite,
but it disappeared in a moment and she could not believe her eyes.
"Are you so sure that Hester will marry him?" was all that Edward said.
"Marry him! Why how could he have so much as looked that way without
encouragement? To be sure she will marry him. Where could she find any
one who had so much to offer? The girl is not a fool. Besides, her
mother would not let her if she wished it; and of course she would not
wish it, an ambitious girl to whom her present position is intolerable.
Don't you remember her look on the Thursdays, which we both remarked?"
Edward had remarked it, not exactly in the same way as Catherine had
done. Hester's look had made him ashamed of himself, but he had not had
the strength to go and display himself by her side as Harry had done. It
made him furious to think of Harry standing there by her in the corner,
not caring what their patroness might think. It was a courage of which
he was not capable.
"Don't you think," he said, softly, "that we are going too fast, Aunt
Catherine, in every way? Harry's visit may be a chance one. There may be
no purpose at all in it, or it may have some other purpose."
"He was there last night and on last Saturday and Wednesday, and I don't
know how many evenings besides. Oh no, there can be no doubt on the
subject. It will be a great amusement for the Vernonry; the dear old
ladies want something to amuse them."
This was said of the Ridgways and Mr. Mildmay, who were all younger than
Catherine, and one of them a man. But that fact increased the pleasantry
all the more.
The curious thing was, that through all this Catherine was aware that
what she was saying was unworthy of her, and in reality was disgusted
with herself, and kept a mental reckoning of all the meannesses of which
she had been guilty. There were first her remarks upon Mrs. John, which
indeed might be true enough, but which she ought not to have made; and
her certainty that scheming and "encouragement" must have been used to
entrap Harry, and that Hester would marry him for an equivalent. No
moralist would have noted these faults more clearly than she did
herself, yet somehow she went on with them all the same. But it vexed
and annoyed her to find Edward so constrained. He said, "Will you come
and have a turn in the garden?" but not in his usual tone. That turn in
the garden had been doubly pleasant to her, because he had made it
appear that it was pleasant to him too.
"I think not to-night," she said.
"There is a new moon. It is a lovely evening," said he. "I think you
ought to go. The sunset on one side, and that clear, pale shining in the
east on the other, make such a beautiful contrast. Come, Aunt Catherine,
it will do you good."
"You think it will blow the ill-natured thoughts out of my head," she
said with a laugh.
"Have you ill-natured thoughts? I was not aware of it," said Edward; and
then as she did not move he added--"If you will not come I think I must
go and give a little attention to some papers I brought home with me. I
had not time to look at them during the day."
"What papers?" she said quickly.
"Oh, only some prospectuses and details about investments," he said with
a careless air, and left her: to her great surprise.
He had been in the habit of telling her of any work he had, all about
it, and of sitting with her for an hour or two at least. Catherine was
surprised, but as is natural in a first shock of this kind, having got
over the momentary prick of it, assured herself that it was accidental
and meant nothing: yet was a little more vexed with _that_ girl and with
Harry, because in the same way their concerns had brought about this
little, little break, this momentary lapse in the continuance. She could
not any longer amuse herself with the prospect of the Vernonry, and the
little excitement of this dawning story. There were a great many pricks
about the story altogether, sentiments and sensations of which, when
left alone and without the support of any moral backer up, of Meredith's
stimulating disclosures or Edward's assent, she felt ashamed. It was
wrong to speak as she had done about the astuteness of Mrs. John's
simplicity. Why should not the mother wish to place her child in the
position which she, after all by no fault of her own, poor creature! had
lost? Catherine escaped from the tingling of shame at her own pettiness
which had gone through her, by considering the final arrangements which
she would have to make in view of Harry's marriage. Practically she was
always magnanimous; she would have scorned a petty cutting off, a
restraint of liberality, a condition to her gifts. Her givings were
always large, and if her mind was warped by the sense of benefactions
unappreciated, or kindness unprized, of reaping envy and resentment
where she should have got gratitude and love, was it not the fault of
her pensioners more than her own, the fault of human nature, which she
had been forced to believe she saw through, and which--in order not to
break her heart over it--she was obliged to laugh at and despise?
It would have given Catherine Vernon a sharper shock still if she had
seen into Edward's mind as he went away from her, bitterly feeling that
while other men could taste the sweetness of freedom and of love, he was
attached to an old woman's apron-strings, and had to keep her company
and do her pleasure, instead of taking the good of his youth like the
rest. It was a sudden crisis of this bitterness which had made it
impossible for him to bear the yoke which he usually carried so
patiently, and which she, deceived in this instance, believed to be
pleasant to him, the natural impulse of a tranquil and home-loving
disposition. Had she known how he regarded it, how violently he
suppressed and subdued himself, the shock would have been a terrible
one; for she was slow to put faith in those around her, and she clung to
the one who had been able to impress her with a sense of
trustworthiness, with a double tenacity. Edward breathed more freely
when he got out of that drawing-room where he always seemed so entirely
at home. The library in which he sat when he was alone was a little less
oppressive in so far that he was alone in it, but the recollection of
Harry going lightly along in his freedom, going a-wooing, had raised a
ferment in the breast of the other which it was very difficult to quiet
down. Since the morning when he made her acquaintance first, Hester had
been an interest to the self-sufficing young man. Perhaps it was only a
little warmer than the interest he felt in his botany, in a new
specimen, but it had continued through all those years. When he spoke
that little aside to her at the party, with his eyebrows and shoulders
in a suppressed and confidential attitude which placed himself and her
in the same category of compelled assistants at a lugubrious merrymaking
where neither of them "got on"--he felt her in her poor little muslin
frock and her high indignation to be far the most interesting person in
the room, and he resented the necessity which made it impossible to him
as the official host to separate himself from the more important people,
and show the opinion he had of her. Here again the disabilities of his
good fortune weighed upon Edward. He was the host; he was the first
person there next to Catherine, her representative, the master of all
her wealth. Harry was not of any authority in the house; so he could do
as he pleased, and earn the gratitude of Hester; but Edward could
neither go to her side in her corner, nor set out of a lovely evening in
his pleasantest clothes to woo her, as a free man might. He was not sure
that he wanted to woo her, any more than as a fine specimen; but he
could not bear the impudence of the other fellow who thought himself
good enough to go after her, and whom Catherine thought so sure to win.
Edward could not contemplate with any self-possession the idea that
Harry might win. It made him angry, it made him furious; it made him for
the moment too much a natural man, too sincere and real to be capable of
his usual self-suppression. Harry would have an equal share with himself
of the bank; they were equal there in power and authority, and in the
profits they drew. Why then was it that Harry should be his own master
and Edward the slave of an old woman! This was the utterance of his
passion, of the sincerity which was forced upon him by the enticements
of the summer night, the freedom in the air, and the sight of all the
privileges which Harry exercised so easily without knowing they were
privileges at all. No doubt the fellow thought himself good enough for
Hester, perhaps believed that she would jump at him, and was encouraging
him, and ready to accept his proffered hand as soon as ever he should
hold it out. This thought made Edward's blood boil, and the confinement
of the Grange became so oppressive to him that he did not know how to
bear it. He indemnified himself by plunging into the midst of the bundle
of papers which he had not chosen to describe to Catherine. In these
papers lay far more excitement than all Harry's privileges had yet
supplied. A battery of artillery planted in front of this peaceful
Grange with all its matches alight would scarcely have been more full of
danger. There was enough in the packet to tear the house up by its
roots, and send its walls flying in a whirlwind of ashes and ruin.
Edward sat down to examine it as another man might have flown to brandy
or laudanum. Dreams were in it of sudden successes, of fortunes achieved
in a moment. Castles in the air more dazzling than ever rose in a fairy
tale. He revenged himself on his bonds, on the superior happiness of his
rival, on Catherine above all, the unconscious cause of his
imprisonment, by this--Here was enough, all ready and in his hands, to
ruin them all.