COMMERCE.
Lucius Mason was still staying at Noningsby when Mr. Furnival made
his visit to Sir Peregrine, and on that afternoon he received a note
from his mother. Indeed, there were three notes passed between them
on that afternoon, for he wrote an answer to his mother, and then
received a reply to that answer. Lady Mason told him that she did not
intend to return home to the Farm quite immediately, and explained
that her reason for not doing so was the necessity that she should
have assistance and advice at this period of her trouble. She did
not say that she misdoubted the wisdom of her son's counsels; but it
appeared to him that she intended to signify to him that she did so,
and he answered her in words that were sore and almost bitter. "I am
sorry," he said, "that you and I cannot agree about a matter that is
of such vital concern to both of us; but as it is so, we can only act
as each thinks best, you for yourself and I for myself. I am sure,
however, that you will believe that my only object is your happiness
and your fair name, which is dearer to me than anything else in the
world." In answer to this, she had written again immediately, filling
her letter with sweet words of motherly love, telling him that she
was sure, quite sure, of his affection and kind spirit, and excusing
herself for not putting the matter altogether in his hands by saying
that she was forced to lean on those who had supported her from the
beginning--through that former trial which had taken place when he,
Lucius, was yet a baby. "And, dearest Lucius, you must not be angry
with me," she went on to say; "I am suffering much under this cruel
persecution, but my sufferings would be more than doubled if my own
boy quarrelled with me." Lucius, when he received this, flung up his
head. "Quarrel with her," he said to himself; "nothing on earth would
make me quarrel with her; but I cannot say that that is right which I
think to be wrong." His feelings were good and honest, and kindly too
in their way; but tenderness of heart was not his weakness. I should
wrong him if I were to say that he was hard-hearted, but he flattered
himself that he was just-hearted, which sometimes is nearly the
same--as had been the case with his father before him, and was now
the case with his half-brother Joseph.
The day after this was his last at Noningsby. He had told Lady
Staveley that he intended to go, and though she had pressed his
further stay, remarking that none of the young people intended to
move till after twelfth-night, nevertheless he persisted. With
the young people of the house themselves he had not much advanced
himself; and altogether he did not find himself thoroughly happy in
the judge's house. They were more thoughtless than he--as he thought;
they did not understand him, and therefore he would leave them.
Besides, there was a great day of hunting coming on, at which
everybody was to take a part, and as he did not hunt that gave
him another reason for going. "They have nothing to do but amuse
themselves," he said to himself; "but I have a man's work before me,
and a man's misfortunes. I will go home and face both."
In all this there was much of conceit, much of pride, much of
deficient education,--deficiency in that special branch of education
which England has imparted to the best of her sons, but which
is now becoming out of fashion. He had never learned to measure
himself against others,--I do not mean his knowledge or his
book-acquirements, but the every-day conduct of his life,--and
to perceive that that which is insignificant in others must be
insignificant in himself also. To those around him at Noningsby his
extensive reading respecting the Iapetidæ recommended him not at all,
nor did his agricultural ambitions;--not even to Felix Graham, as a
companion, though Felix Graham could see further into his character
than did the others. He was not such as they were. He had not the
unpretentious, self-controlling humour, perfectly free from all
conceit, which was common to them. Life did not come easy to him,
and the effort which he was ever making was always visible. All men
should ever be making efforts, no doubt; but those efforts should
not be conspicuous. But yet Lucius Mason was not a bad fellow, and
young Staveley showed much want of discernment when he called him
empty-headed and selfish. Those epithets were by no means applicable
to him. That he was not empty-headed is certain; and he was moreover
capable of a great self-sacrifice.
That his talents and good qualities were appreciated by one person
in the house, seemed evident to Lady Staveley and the other married
ladies of the party. Miss Furnival, as they all thought, had not
found him empty-headed. And, indeed, it may be doubted whether Lady
Staveley would have pressed his stay at Noningsby, had Miss Furnival
been less gracious. Dear Lady Staveley was always living in a fever
lest her only son, the light of her eyes, should fall irrevocably
in love with some lady that was by no means good enough for him.
Revocably in love he was daily falling; but some day he would go too
deep, and the waters would close over his well-loved head. Now in her
dear old favouring eyes Sophia Furnival was by no means good enough,
and it had been quite clear that Augustus had become thoroughly lost
in his attempts to bring about a match between Felix Graham and
the barrister's daughter. In preparing the bath for his friend he
had himself fallen bodily into the water. He was always at Miss
Furnival's side as long as Miss Furnival would permit it. But it
seemed to Lady Staveley that Miss Furnival, luckily, was quite as
fond of having Lucius Mason at her side;--that of the two she perhaps
preferred Lucius Mason. That her taste and judgment should be so bad
was wonderful to Lady Staveley; but this depravity though wonderful
was useful; and therefore Lucius Mason might have been welcome to
remain at Noningsby.
It may, however, be possible that Miss Furnival knew what she was
doing quite as well as Lady Staveley could know for her. In the
first place she may possibly have thought it indiscreet to admit Mr.
Staveley's attentions with too much freedom. She may have doubted
their sincerity; or feared to give offence to the family, or Mr.
Mason may in her sight have been the preferable suitor. That his
gifts of intellect were at any rate equal to those of the other there
can be no doubt. Then, his gifts of fortune were already his own, and
for ought that Miss Furnival knew, might be equal to any that would
ever appertain to the other gentleman. That Lady Staveley should
think her swan better looking than Lady Mason's goose was very
natural; but then Lady Mason would no doubt have regarded the two
birds in an exactly opposite light. It is only fair to conceive that
Miss Furnival was a better judge than either of them.
On the evening before his departure the whole party had been playing
commerce; for the rule of the house during these holidays was this,
that all the amusements brought into vogue were to be adapted to the
children. If the grown-up people could adapt themselves to them, so
much the better for them; if not, so much the worse; they must in
such case provide for themselves. On the whole, the grown-up people
seemed to live nearly as jovial a life as did the children. Whether
the judge himself was specially fond of commerce I cannot say; but he
persisted in putting in the whole pool, and played through the entire
game, rigidly fighting for the same pool on behalf of a very small
grandchild, who sat during the whole time on his knee. There are
those who call cards the devil's books, but we will presume that the
judge was of a different way of thinking.
On this special evening Sophia had been sitting next to Augustus,--a
young man can always arrange these matters in his own house,--but had
nevertheless lost all her lives early in the game. "I will not have
any cheating to-night," she had said to her neighbour; "I will take
my chance, and if I die, I die. One can die but once." And so she
had died, three times indeed instead of once only, and had left the
table. Lucius Mason also had died. He generally did die the first,
having no aptitude for a collection of kings or aces, and so they two
came together over the fire in the second drawing-room, far away from
the card-players. There was nothing at all remarkable in this, as Mr.
Furnival and one or two others who did not play commerce were also
there; but nevertheless they were separated from those of the party
who were most inclined to criticise their conduct.
"So you are leaving to-morrow, Mr. Mason," said Sophia.
"Yes. I go home to-morrow after breakfast; to my own house, where for
some weeks to come I shall be absolutely alone."
"Your mother is staying at The Cleeve, I think."
"Yes,--and intends remaining there as she tells me. I wish with all
my heart she were at Orley Farm."
"Papa saw her yesterday. He went over to The Cleeve on purpose to see
her; and this morning he has been talking to me about her. I cannot
tell you how I grieve for her."
"It is very sad; very sad. But I wish she were in her own house.
Under the circumstances as they now are, I think it would be better
for her to be there than elsewhere. Her name has been disgraced--"
"No, Mr. Mason; not disgraced."
"Yes; disgraced. Mark you; I do not say that she has been disgraced;
and pray do not suppose it possible that I should think so. But a
great opprobrium has been thrown on her name, and it would be better,
I think, that she should remain at home till she has cast it off from
her. Even for myself, I feel it almost wrong to be here; nor would I
have come had I known when I did come as much as I do know now."
"But no one can for a moment think that your mother has done anything
that she should not have done."
"Then why do so many people talk of her as though she had committed a
great crime? Miss Furnival, I know that she is innocent. I know it as
surely as I know the fact of my own existence--"
"And we all feel the same thing."
"But if you were in my place,--if it were your father whose name was
so bandied about in people's mouths, you would think that it behoved
him to do nothing, to go nowhere, till he had forced the world to
confess his innocence. And this is ten times stronger with regard to
a woman. I have given my mother my counsel, and I regret to say that
she differs from me."
"Why do you not speak to papa?"
"I did once. I went to him at his chambers, and he rebuked me."
"Rebuked you, Mr. Mason! He did not do that intentionally I am sure.
I have heard him say that you are an excellent son."
"But nevertheless he did rebuke me. He considered that I was
travelling beyond my own concerns, in wishing to interfere for the
protection of my mother's name. He said that I should leave it to
such people as the Staveleys and the Ormes to guard her from ignominy
and disgrace."
"Oh, he did not mean that!"
"But to me it seems that it should be a son's first duty. They are
talking of trouble and of cost. I would give every hour I have in the
day, and every shilling I own in the world to save her from one week
of such suffering as she now endures; but it cuts me to the heart
when she tells me that because she is suffering, therefore she must
separate herself from me. I think it would be better for her, Miss
Furnival, to be staying at home with me, than to be at The Cleeve."
"The kindness of Mrs. Orme must be a great support to her."
"And why should not my kindness be a support to her,--or rather my
affection? We know from whom all these scandals come. My desire is to
meet that man in a court of law and thrust these falsehoods down his
throat."
"Ah! but you are a man."
"And therefore I would take the burden from her shoulders. But no;
she will not trust to me. The truth, Miss Furnival, is this, that she
has not yet learned to think of me as a man. To her I am still the
boy for whom she is bound to provide, not the son who should bear
for her all her cares. As it is I feel that I do not dare again to
trouble her with my advice."
"Grandmamma is dead," shouted out a shrill small voice from the
card-table. "Oh, grandmamma, do have one of my lives. Look! I've got
three," said another.
"Thank you, my dears; but the natural term of my existence has come,
and I will not rebel against fate."
"Oh, grandmamma,--we'll let you have another grace."
"By no means, Charley. Indeed I am not clear that I am entitled to
Christian burial, as it is."
"A case of felo de se, I rather think," said her son. "About this
time of the night suicide does become common among the elders.
Unfortunately for me, the pistol that I have been snapping at my own
head for the last half-hour always hangs fire."
There was not much of love-making in the conversation which had taken
place between young Mason and Sophia; not much at least up to this
point; but a confidence had been established, and before he left her
he did say a word or two that was more tender in its nature. "You
must not be in dudgeon with me," he said, "for speaking to you of all
this. Hitherto I have kept it all to myself, and perhaps I should
still have done so."
"Oh no; do not say that."
"I am in great grief. It is dreadful to me to hear these things said,
and as yet I have found no sympathy."
"I can assure you, Mr. Mason, that I do sympathise with you most
sincerely. I only wish my sympathy could be of more value."
"It will be invaluable," he said, not looking at her, but fixing his
eyes upon the fire, "if it be given with constancy from the first to
the last of this sad affair."
"It shall be so given," said Miss Furnival, also looking at the fire.
"It will be tolerably long, and men will say cruel things of us. I
can foresee this, that it will be very hard to prove to the world
with certainty that there is no foundation whatever for these
charges. If those who are now most friendly to us turn away from
us--"
"I will never turn away from you, Mr. Mason."
"Then give me your hand on that, and remember that such a promise
in my ears means much." He in his excitement had forgotten that
there were others in the room who might be looking at them, and that
there was a vista open upon them direct from all the eyes at the
card-table; but she did not forget it. Miss Furnival could be very
enthusiastic, but she was one of those who in her enthusiasm rarely
forgot anything. Nevertheless, after a moment's pause, she gave him
her hand. "There it is," she said; "and you may be sure of this, that
with me also such a promise does mean something. And now I will say
good night." And so, having received the pressure of her hand, she
left him.
"I will get you your candle," he said, and so he did.
"Good night, papa," she said, kissing her father. And then, with
a slight muttered word to Lady Staveley, she withdrew, having
sacrificed the remainder of that evening for the sake of acceding to
Mr. Mason's request respecting her pledge. It could not be accounted
strange that she should give her hand to the gentleman with whom she
was immediately talking as she bade him good night.
"And now grandpapa is dead too," said Marian, "and there's nobody
left but us three."
"And we'll divide," said Fanny Sebright; and so the game of commerce
was brought to an end.