SHOWING HOW MISS FURNIVAL TREATED HER LOVERS.
It is a great thing for young ladies to live in a household in which
free correspondence by letter is permitted. "Two for mamma, four for
Amelia, three for Fanny, and one for papa." When the postman has left
his budget they should be dealt out in that way, and no more should
be said about it,--except what each may choose to say. Papa's letter
is about money of course, and interests nobody. Mamma's contain the
character of a cook and an invitation to dinner, and as they interest
everybody, are public property. But Fanny's letters and Amelia's
should be private; and a well-bred mamma of the present day scorns
even to look at the handwriting of the addresses. Now in Harley
Street things were so managed that nobody did see the handwriting
of the addresses of Sophia's letters till they came into her own
hand,--that is, neither her father nor her mother did so. That both
Spooner and Mrs. Ball examined them closely is probable enough.
This was well for her now, for she did not wish it to be known as yet
that she had accepted an offer from Lucius Mason, and she did wish
to have the privilege of receiving his letters. She fancied that she
loved him. She told herself over and over again that she did so. She
compared him within her own mind to Augustus Staveley, and always
gave the preference to Lucius. She liked Augustus also, and could
have accepted him as well, had it been the way of the world in
England for ladies to have two accepted lovers. Such is not the
way of the world in England, and she therefore had been under the
necessity of choosing one. She had taken the better of the two, she
declared to herself very often; but nevertheless was it absolutely
necessary that the other should be abandoned altogether? Would it not
be well at any rate to wait till this trial should be over? But then
the young men themselves were in such a hurry!
Lucius, like an honest man, had proposed to go at once to Mr.
Furnival when he was accepted; but to this Sophia had objected, "The
peculiar position in which my father stands to your mother at the
present moment," said she, "would make it very difficult for him
to give you an answer now." Lucius did not quite understand the
reasoning, but he yielded. It did not occur to him for a moment that
either Mr. or Miss Furnival could doubt the validity of his title to
the Orley Farm property.
But there was no reason why he should not write to her. "Shall I
address here?" he had asked. "Oh yes," said Sophia; "my letters are
quite private." And he had written very frequently, and she had
answered him. His last letter before the trial I propose to publish,
together with Sophia's answer, giving it as my opinion that the
gentleman's production affords by no means a good type of a lover's
letter. But then his circumstances were peculiar. Miss Furnival's
answer was, I think, much better.
Orley Farm, ---- ---- ----.
MY OWN SOPHIA,
My only comfort--I may really say my only comfort now--is
in writing to you. It is odd that at my age, and having
begun the world early as I did, I should now find myself
so much alone. Were it not for you, I should have no
friend. I cannot describe to you the sadness of this
house, nor the wretched state in which my mother exists. I
sometimes think that had she been really guilty of those
monstrous crimes which people lay to her charge, she could
hardly have been more miserable. I do not understand it;
nor can I understand why your father has surrounded her
with lawyers whom he would not himself trust in a case of
any moment. To me she never speaks on the subject, which
makes the matter worse--worse for both of us. I see her
at breakfast and at dinner, and sometimes sit with her
for an hour in the evening; but even then we have no
conversation. The end of it is I trust soon coming, and
then I hope that the sun will again be bright. In these
days it seems as though there were a cloud over the whole
earth.
I wish with all my heart that you could have been here
with her. I think that your tone and strength of mind
would have enabled her to bear up against these troubles
with more fortitude. After all, it is but the shadow of
a misfortune which has come across her, if she would but
allow herself so to think. As it is, Mrs. Orme is with
her daily, and nothing I am sure can be more kind. But I
can confess to you, though I could do so to no one else,
that I do not willingly see an intimacy kept up between
my mother and The Cleeve. Why was there that strange
proposition as to her marriage; and why, when it was once
made, was it abandoned? I know that my mother has been
not only guiltless, but guileless, in these matters as to
which she is accused; but nevertheless her affairs will
have been so managed that it will be almost impossible for
her to remain in this neighbourhood.
When all this is over, I think I shall sell this place.
What is there to bind me,--to bind me or you to Orley
Farm? Sometimes I have thought that I could be happy here,
devoting myself to agriculture,--
"Fiddlesticks!" Sophia exclaimed, as she read this,
--and doing something to lessen the dense ignorance of
those around me; but for such work as that a man should
be able to extend himself over a larger surface than that
which I can influence. My dream of happiness now carries
me away from this to other countries,--to the sunny
south. Could you be happy there? A friend of mine whom I
well knew in Germany, has a villa on the Lake of Como,--
"Indeed, sir, I'll do no such thing," said Sophia to herself,
--and there I think we might forget all this annoyance.
I shall not write again now till the trial is over. I have
made up my mind that I will be in court during the whole
proceedings. If my mother will admit it, I will remain
there close to her, as her son should do in such an
emergency. If she will not have this, still I will be
there. No one shall say that I am afraid to see my mother
in any position to which fortune can bring her, or that I
have ever doubted her innocence.
God bless you, my own one.
Yours,
L. M.
Taking this letter as a whole perhaps we may say that there was not
as much nonsense in it as young gentlemen generally put into their
love-letters to young ladies; but I am inclined to think that it
would have been a better love-letter had there been more nonsense. At
any rate there should have been less about himself, and more about
the lady. He should have omitted the agriculture altogether, and been
more sure of his loved one's tastes before he suggested the sunny
south and the Como villa. It is true that he was circumstanced as few
lovers are, with reference to his mother; but still I think he might
have been less lachrymose. Sophia's answer, which was sent after the
lapse of a day or two, was as follows:--
Harley Street, ---- ---- ----.
MY DEAR LUCIUS,
I am not surprised that you should feel somewhat
low-spirited at the present moment; but you will find,
I have no doubt, that the results of the next week will
cure all that. Your mother will be herself again when this
trial is over, and you will then wonder that it should
ever have had so depressing an influence either upon you
or upon her. I cannot but suppose that papa has done the
best as to her advisers. I know how anxious he is about
it, and they say that he is very clever in such matters.
Pray give your mother my love. I cannot but think she
is lucky to have Mrs. Orme with her. What can be more
respectable than a connection at such a time with such
people?
As to your future residence, do not make up your mind
to anything while your spirits are thus depressed. If
you like to leave Orley Farm, why not let it instead of
selling it? As for me, if it should be fated that our lots
are to go together, I am inclined to think that I should
prefer to live in England. In London papa's position might
probably be of some service, and I should like no life
that was not active. But it is too early in the day to
talk thus at present. You must not think me cold hearted
if I say that what has as yet been between us must not be
regarded as an absolute and positive engagement. I, on my
part, hope that it may become so. My heart is not cold,
and I am not ashamed to own that I esteem you favourably;
but marriage is a very serious thing, and there is so much
to be considered! I regard myself as a free agent, and in
a great measure independent of my parents on such a matter
as that; but still I think it well to make no positive
promise without consulting them. When this trial is over
I will speak to my father, and then you will come up to
London and see us.
Mind you give my love to your mother; and--if it have any
value in your eyes--accept it yourself.
Your affectionate friend,
SOPHIA FURNIVAL.
I feel very confident that Mrs. Furnival was right in declining
to inquire very closely into the circumstances of her daughter's
correspondence. A young lady who could write such a letter to her
lover as that requires but little looking after; and in those points
as to which she may require it, will--if she be so minded--elude it.
Such as Miss Furnival was, no care on her mother's part would, I
think, have made her better. Much care might have made her worse, as,
had she been driven to such resources, she would have received her
letters under a false name at the baker's shop round the corner.
But the last letter was not written throughout without interruption.
She was just declaring how on her part she hoped that her present
uncertain tenure of her lover's hand might at some future time become
certain, when Augustus Staveley was announced. Sophia, who was
alone in the drawing-room, rose from her table, gracefully, slipped
her note under the cover of the desk, and courteously greeted her
visitor. "And how are they all at dear Noningsby?" she asked.
[Illustration: "And how are they all at Noningsby?"]
"Dear Noningsby is nearly deserted. There is no one there but my
mother and Madeline."
"And who more would be wanting to make it still dear,--unless it be
the judge? I declare, Mr. Staveley, I was quite in love with your
father when I left. Talk of honey falling from people's mouths!--he
drops nothing less than champagne and pineapples."
"How very difficult of digestion his conversation must be!"
"By no means. If the wine be good and the fruit ripe, nothing can be
more wholesome. And is everybody else gone? Let me see;--Mr. Graham
was still there when I left."
"He came away shortly afterwards,--as soon, that is, as his arm would
allow him."
"What a happy accident that was for him, Mr. Staveley!"
"Happy!--breaking three of his ribs, his arm, and his collar-bone! I
thought it very unhappy."
"Ah, that's because your character is so deficient in true chivalry.
I call it a very happy accident which gives a gentleman an
opportunity of spending six weeks under the same roof with the lady
of his love. Mr. Graham is a man of spirit, and I am by no means sure
that he did not break his bones on purpose."
Augustus for a moment thought of denying the imputation with regard
to his sister, but before he had spoken he had changed his mind. He
was already aware that his friend had been again invited down to
Noningsby, and if his father chose to encourage Graham, why should
he make difficulties? He had conceived some general idea that Felix
Graham was not a guest to be welcomed into a rich man's family as a
son-in-law. He was poor and crotchety, and as regards professional
matters unsteady. But all that was a matter for his father to
consider, not for him. So he held his peace as touching Graham, and
contrived to change the subject, veering round towards that point of
the compass which had brought him into Harley Street.
"Perhaps then, Miss Furnival, it might answer some purpose if I were
to get myself run over outside there. I could get one of Pickford's
vans, or a dray from Barclay and Perkins', if that might be thought
serviceable."
"It would be of no use in the world, Mr. Staveley. Those very
charitable middle-aged ladies opposite, the Miss Mac Codies, would
have you into their house in no time, and when you woke from your
first swoon, you would find yourself in their best bedroom, with one
on each side of you."
"And you in the mean time--"
"I should send over every morning at ten o'clock to inquire after
you--in mamma's name. 'Mrs. Furnival's compliments, and hopes Mr.
Staveley will recover the use of his legs.' And the man would bring
back word: 'The doctor hopes he may, miss; but his left eye is gone
for ever.' It is not everybody that can tumble discreetly. Now you, I
fancy, would only disfigure yourself."
"Then I must try what fortune can do for me without the brewer's
dray."
"Fortune has done quite enough for you, Mr. Staveley; I do not advise
you to tempt her any further."
"Miss Furnival, I have come to Harley Street to-day on purpose to
tempt her to the utmost. There is my hand--"
"Mr. Staveley, pray keep your hand for a while longer in your own
possession."
"Undoubtedly I shall do so, unless I dispose of it this morning. When
we were at Noningsby together, I ventured to tell you what I felt for
you--"
"Did you, Mr. Staveley? If your feelings were anything beyond the
common, I don't remember the telling."
"And then," he continued, without choosing to notice her words, "you
affected to believe that I was not in earnest in what I said to you."
"And you must excuse me if I affect to believe the same thing of you
still."
Augustus Staveley had come into Harley Street with a positive resolve
to throw his heart and hand and fortune at the feet of Miss Furnival.
I fear that I shall not raise him in the estimation of my readers by
saying so. But then my readers will judge him unfairly. They will
forget that they have had a much better opportunity of looking into
the character of Miss Furnival than he had had; and they will also
forget that they have had no such opportunity of being influenced by
her personal charms. I think I remarked before that Miss Furnival
well understood how best to fight her own battle. Had she shown
herself from the first anxious to regard as a definite offer the
first words tending that way which Augustus had spoken to her,
he would at once have become indifferent about the matter. As a
consequence of her judicious conduct he was not indifferent. We
always want that which we can't get easily. Sophia had made herself
difficult to be gotten, and therefore Augustus fancied that he wanted
her. Since he had been in town he had been frequently in Harley
Street, and had been arguing with himself on the matter. What match
could be more discreet or better? Not only was she very handsome, but
she was clever also. And not only was she handsome and clever, but
moreover she was an heiress. What more could his friends want for
him, and what more could he want for himself? His mother did in truth
regard her as a nasty, sly girl; but then his mother did not know
Sophia, and in such matters mothers are so ignorant!
Miss Furnival, on his thus repeating his offer, again chose to affect
a belief that he was not in earnest. I am inclined to think that she
rather liked this kind of thing. There is an excitement in the game;
and it is one which may be played without great danger to either
party if it be played cautiously and with some skill. As regards
Augustus at the present moment, I have to say--with some regret--that
he abandoned all idea of caution, and that he showed very little
skill.
"Then," said he, "I must beg you to lay aside an affectation which is
so very injurious both to my honour and to my hopes of happiness."
"Your honour, Mr. Staveley, is quite safe, I am certain."
"I wish that my happiness were equally so," said he. "But at any rate
you will let me have an answer. Sophia--"
And now he stood up, looking at her with something really like love
in his eyes, and Miss Furnival began to understand that if she so
chose it the prize was really within her reach. But then was it a
prize? Was not the other thing the better prize? The other thing was
the better prize;--if only that affair about the Orley Farm were
settled. Augustus Staveley was a good-looking handsome fellow, but
then there was that in the manner and gait of Lucius Mason which
better suited her taste. There are ladies who prefer Worcester ware
to real china; and, moreover, the order for the Worcester ware had
already been given.
"Sophia, let a man be ever so light-hearted, there will come to him
moments of absolute and almost terrible earnestness."
"Even to you, Mr. Staveley."
"I have at any rate done nothing to deserve your scorn."
"Fie, now; you to talk of my scorn! You come here with soft words
which run easily from your tongue, feeling sure that I shall be proud
in heart when I hear them whispered into my ears; and now you pretend
to be angry because I do not show you that I am elated. Do you think
it probable that I should treat with scorn anything of this sort that
you might say to me seriously?"
"I think you are doing so."
"Have you generally found yourself treated with scorn when you have
been out on this pursuit?"
"By heavens! you have no right to speak to me so. In what way shall I
put my words to make them sound seriously to you? Do you want me to
kneel at your feet, as our grandfathers used to do?"
"Oh, certainly not. Our grandmothers were very stupid in desiring
that."
"If I put my hand on my heart will you believe me better?"
"Not in the least."
"Then through what formula shall I go?"
"Go through no formula, Mr. Staveley. In such affairs as these very
little, as I take it, depends on the words that are uttered. When
heart has spoken to heart, or even head to head, very little other
speaking is absolutely necessary."
"And my heart has not spoken to yours?"
"Well;--no;--not with that downright plain open language which a
heart in earnest always knows how to use. I suppose you think you
like me?"
"Sophia, I love you well enough to make you my wife to-morrow."
"Yes; and to be tired of your bargain on the next day. Has it ever
occurred to you that giving and taking in marriage is a very serious
thing?"
"A very serious thing; but I do not think that on that account it
should be avoided."
"No; but it seems to me that you are always inclined to play at
marriage. Do not be angry with me, but for the life of me I can never
think you are in earnest."
"But I shall be angry--very angry--if I do not get from you some
answer to what I have ventured to say."
"What, now; to-day;--this morning? If you insist upon that, the
answer can only be of one sort. If I am driven to decide this morning
on the question that you have asked me, great as the honour is--and
coming from you, Mr. Staveley, it is very great--I must decline it. I
am not able, at any rate at the present moment, to trust my happiness
altogether in your hands." When we think of the half-written letter
which at this moment Miss Furnival had within her desk, this was not
wonderful.
And then, without having said anything more that was of note,
Augustus Staveley went his way. As he walked up Harley Street, he
hardly knew whether or no he was to consider himself as bound to Miss
Furnival; nor did he feel quite sure whether or no he wished to be so
bound. She was handsome, and clever, and an heiress; but yet he was
not certain that she possessed all those womanly charms which are
desirable in a wife. He could not but reflect that she had never yet
said a soft word to him.