SHE
Behold me installed in Dayton Manor House, and brought here for the
express purpose (so Charles has written me word) of my being studied,
that it may be seen whether I am worthy to be, on some august future
occasion--possibly--a member (Oh, so much to mumble!) of this great
family. Had I known it when I was leaving home, I should have
countermanded the cording of my boxes. If you please, I do the packing,
and not the cording. I must practise being polite, or I shall be
horrifying these good people.
I am mortally offended. I am very very angry. I shall show temper.
Indeed, I have shown it. Mr. Pollingray must and does think me a goose.
Dear sir, and I think you are justified. If any one pretends to guess
how, I have names to suit that person. I am a ninny, an ape, and mind
I call myself these bad things because I deserve worse. I am flighty,
I believe I am heartless. Charles is away, and I suffer no pangs.
The truth is, I fancied myself so exceedingly penetrating, and it was my
vanity looking in a glass. I saw something that answered to my nods and
howd'ye-do's and--but I am ashamed, and so penitent I might begin making
a collection of beetles. I cannot lift up my head.
Mr. Pollingray is such a different man from the one I had imagined!
What that one was, I have now quite forgotten. I remember too clearly
what the wretched guesser was. I have been three weeks at Dayton, and if
my sisters know me when I return to the vicarage, they are not foolish
virgins. For my part, I know that I shall always hate Mrs. Romer
Pattlecombe, and that I am unjust to the good woman, but I do hate her,
and I think the stories shocking, and wonder intensely what it was that I
could have found in them to laugh at. I shall never laugh again for many
years. Perhaps, when I am an old woman, I may. I wish the time had
come. All young people seem to me so helplessly silly. I am one of them
for the present, and have no hope that I can appear to be anything else.
The young are a crowd--a shoal of small fry. Their elders are the select
of the world.
On the morning of the day when I was to leave home for Dayton, a distance
of eight miles, I looked out of my window while dressing--as early as
halfpast seven--and I saw Mr. Pollingray's groom on horseback, leading up
and down the walk a darling little, round, plump, black cob that made my
heart leap with an immense bound of longing to be on it and away across
the downs. And then the maid came to my door with a letter:
'Mr. Pollingray, in return for her considerate good behaviour and saving
of trouble to him officially, begs his goddaughter to accept the
accompanying little animal: height 14 h., age 31 years; hunts, is sure-
footed, and likely to be the best jumper in the county.'
I flew downstairs. I rushed out of the house and up to my treasure, and
kissed his nose and stroked his mane. I could not get my fingers away
from him. Horses are so like the very best and beautifullest of women
when you caress them. They show their pleasure so at being petted. They
curve their necks, and paw, and look proud. They take your flattery like
sunshine and are lovely in it. I kissed my beauty, peering at his black-
mottled skin, which is like Allingborough Heath in the twilight. The
smell of his new saddle and bridle-leather was sweeter than a garden to
me. The man handed me a large riding-whip mounted with silver. I longed
to jump up and ride till midnight.
Then mama and papa came out and read the note and looked, at my darling
little cob, and my sisters saw him and kissed me, for they are not
envious girls. The most distressing thing was that we had not a riding-
habit in the family. I was ready to wear any sort. I would have ridden
as a guy rather than not ride at all. But mama gave me a promise that in
two days a riding-habit should be sent on to Dayton, and I had to let my
pet be led back from where he came. I had no life till I was following
him. I could have believed him to be a fairy prince who had charmed me.
I called him Prince Leboo, because he was black and good. I forgive
anybody who talks about first love after what my experience has been with
Prince Leboo.
What papa thought of the present I do not know, but I know very well what
mama thought: and for my part I thought everything, not distinctly
including that, for I could not suppose such selfishness in one so
generous as Mr. Pollingray. But I came to Dayton in a state of arrogant
pride, that gave assurance if not ease to my manners. I thanked Mr.
Pollingray warmly, but in a way to let him see it was the matter of a
horse between us. 'You give, I register thanks, and there's an end.'
'He thinks me a fool! a fool!
'My habit,' I said, 'comes after me. I hope we shall have some rides
together.'
'Many,' replied Mr. Pollingray, and his bow inflated me with ideas of my
condescension.
And because Miss Pollingray (Queen Elizabeth he calls her) looked half
sad, I read it--! I do not write what I read it to be.
Behold the uttermost fool of all female creation led over the house by
Mr. Pollingray. He showed me the family pictures.
'I am no judge of pictures, Mr. Pollingray.'
'You will learn to see the merits of these.'
'I'm afraid not, though I were to study them for years.'
'You may have that opportunity.'
'Oh! that is more than I can expect.'
'You will develop intelligence on such subjects by and by.'
A dull sort of distant blow struck me in this remark; but I paid no heed
to it.
He led me over the gardens and the grounds. The Great John Methlyn
Pollingray planted those trees, and designed the house, and the flower-
garden still speaks of his task; but he is not my master, and
consequently I could not share his three great-grandsons' veneration for
him. There are high fir-woods and beech woods, and a long ascending
narrow meadow between them, through which a brook falls in continual
cascades. It is the sort of scene I love, for it has a woodland grandeur
and seclusion that leads, me to think, and makes a better girl of me.
But what I said was: 'Yes, it is the place of all others to come and
settle in for the evening of one's days.'
'You could not take to it now?' said Mr. Pollingray.
'Now?' my expression of face must have been a picture.
'You feel called upon to decline such a residence in the morning of your
days?'
He persisted in looking at me as he spoke, and I felt like something
withering scarlet.
I am convinced he saw through me, while his face was polished brass. My
self-possession returned, for my pride was not to be dispersed
immediately.
'Please, take me to the stables,' I entreated; and there I was at home.
There I saw my Prince Leboo, and gave him a thousand caresses.'
'He knows me already,' I said.
Then he is some degrees in advance of me,' said Mr. Pollingray.
Is not cold dissection of one's character a cruel proceeding? And I
think, too, that a form of hospitality like this by which I am invited to
be analysed at leisure, is both mean and base. I have been kindly
treated and I am grateful, but I do still say (even though I may have
improved under it) it is unfair.
To proceed: the dinner hour arrived. The atmosphere of his own house
seems to favour Mr. Pollingray as certain soils and sites favour others.
He walked into the dining-room between us with his hands behind him,
talking to us both so easily and smoothly cheerfully--naturally and
pleasantly--inimitable by any young man! You hardly feel the change of
room. We were but three at table, but there was no lack of
entertainment. Mr. Pollingray is an admirable host; he talks just enough
himself and helps you to talk. What does comfort me is that it gives him
real pleasure to see a hearty appetite. Young men, I know it for a
certainty, never quite like us to be so human. Ah! which is right?
I would not miss the faith in our nobler essence which Charles has.
But, if it nobler? One who has lived longer in the world ought to know
better, and Mr. Pollingray approves of naturalness in everything. I have
now seen through Charles's eyes for several months; so implicitly that I
am timid when I dream of trusting to another's judgement. It is,
however, a fact that I am not quite natural with Charles.
Every day Mr. Pollingray puts on evening dress out of deference to his
sister. If young men had these good habits they would gain our respect,
and lose their own self-esteem less early.
After dinner I sang. Then Mr. Pollingray read an amusing essay to us,
and retired to his library. Miss Pollingray sat and talked to me of
her brother, and of her nephew--for whom it is that Mr. Pollingray is
beginning to receive company, and is going into society. Charles's
subsequently received letter explained the 'receive company.' I could
not comprehend it at the time.
'The house has been shut up for years, or rarely inhabited by us for more
than a month in the year. Mr. Pollingray prefers France. All his
asociations, I may say his sympathies, are in France. Latterly he seems
to have changed a little; but from Normandy to Touraine and Dauphiny--we
had a triangular home over there. Indeed, we have it still. I am never
certain of my brother.'
While Miss Pollingray was speaking, my eyes were fixed on a Vidal crayon
drawing, faintly coloured with chalks, of a foreign lady--I could have
sworn to her being French--young, quite girlish, I doubt if her age was
more than mine.
She is pretty, is she not?' said Miss Pollingray.
She is almost beautiful,' I exclaimed, and Miss Pollingray, seeing my
curiosity, was kind enough not to keep me in suspense.
'That is the Marquise de Mazardouin--nee Louise de Riverolles. You will
see other portraits of her in the house. This is the most youthful of
them, if I except one representing a baby, and bearing her initials.'
I remembered having noticed a similarity of feature in some of the
portraits in the different rooms. My longing to look at them again was
like a sudden jet of flame within me. There was no chance of seeing them
till morning; so, promising myself to dream of the face before me,
I dozed through a conversation with my hostess, until I had got the
French lady's eyes and hair and general outline stamped accurately, as I
hoped, on my mind. I was no sooner on my way to bed than all had faded.
The torment of trying to conjure up that face was inconceivable. I lay,
and tossed, and turned to right and to left, and scattered my sleep;
but by and by my thoughts reverted to Mr. Pollingray, and then like
sympathetic ink held to the heat, I beheld her again; but vividly,
as she must have been when she was sitting to the artist. The hair was
naturally crisped, waving thrice over the forehead and brushed clean from
the temples, showing the small ears, and tied in a knot loosely behind.
Her eyebrows were thick and dark, but soft; flowing eyebrows; far
lovelier, to my thinking, than any pencilled arch. Dark eyes, and full,
not prominent. I find little expression of inward sentiment in very
prominent eyes. On the contrary they seem to have a fish-like dependency
of gaze on what is without, and show fishy depths, if any. For instance,
my eyes are rather prominent, and I am just the little fool--but the
French lady is my theme. Madame la Marquise, your eyes are sweeter to me
than celestial. I never saw such candour and unaffected innocence in
eyes before. Accept the compliment of the pauvre Anglaise. Did you do
mischief with them? Did Vidal's delicate sketch do justice to you? Your
lips and chin and your throat all repose in such girlish grace, that if
ever it is my good fortune to see you, you will not be aged to me!
I slept and dreamed of her.
In the morning, I felt certain that she had often said: 'Mon cher
Gilbert,' to Mr. Pollingray. Had he ever said: 'Ma chere Louise?' He
might have said: 'Ma bien aimee!' for it was a face to be loved.
My change of feeling towards him dates from that morning. He had
previously seemed to me a man so much older. I perceived in him now a
youthfulness beyond mere vigour of frame. I could not detach him from my
dreams of the night. He insists upon addressing me by the terms of our
'official' relationship, as if he made it a principle of our intercourse.
'Well, and is your godpapa to congratulate you on your having had a quiet
rest?' was his greeting.
I answered stupidly: 'Oh, yes, thank you,' and would have given worlds
for the courage to reply in French, but I distrusted my accent. At
breakfast, the opportunity or rather the excuse for an attempt, was
offered. His French valet, Francois, waits on him at breakfast. Mr.
Pollingray and his sister asked for things in the French tongue, and,
as if fearing some breach of civility, Mr. Pollingray asked me if I knew
French.
Yes, I know it; that is, I understand it,' I stuttered. Allons, nous
parlerons francais,' said he. But I shook my head, and remained like a
silly mute.
I was induced towards the close of the meal to come out with a few French
words. I was utterly shamefaced. Mr. Pollingray has got the French
manner of protesting that one is all but perfect in one's speaking. I
know how absurd it must have sounded. But I felt his kindness, and in my
heart I thanked him humbly. I believe now that a residence in France
does not deteriorate an Englishman. Mr. Pollingray, when in his own
house, has the best qualities of the two countries. He is gay, and, yes,
while he makes a study of me, I am making a study of him. Which of us
two will know the other first? He was papa's college friend--papa's
junior, of course, and infinitely more papa's junior now. I observe that
weakness in him, I mean, his clinging to youthfulness, less and less; but
I do see it, I cannot be quite in error. The truth is, I begin to feel
that I cannot venture to mistrust my infallible judgement, or I shall
have no confidence in myself at all.
After breakfast, I was handed over to Miss Pollingray, with the
intimation that I should not see him till dinner.
'Gilbert is anxious to cultivate the society of his English neighbours,
now that he has, as he supposes, really settled among them,' she remarked
to me. 'At his time of life, the desire to be useful is almost a malady.
But, he cherishes the poor, and that is more than an occupation, it is a
virtue.'
Her speech has become occasionally French in the construction of the
sentences.
'Mais oui,' I said shyly, and being alone with her, I was not rebuffed by
her smile, especially as she encouraged me on.
I am, she told me, to see a monde of French people here in September.
So, the story of me is to be completer, or continued in September.
I could not get Miss Pollingray to tell me distinctly whether Madame la
Marquise will be one of the guests. But I know that she is not a widow.
In that case, she has a husband. In that case, what is the story of her
relations towards Mr. Pollingray? There must be some story. He would
not surely have so many portraits of her about the house (and they travel
with him wherever he goes) if she were but a lovely face to him.
I cannot understand it. They were frequent, constant visitors to one
another's estates in France; always together. Perhaps a man of Mr.
Pollingray's age, or perhaps M. le Marquis--and here I lose myself.
French habits are so different from ours. One thing I am certain of:
no charge can be brought against my Englishman. I read perfect rectitude
in his face. I would cast anchor by him. He must have had a dreadful
unhappiness.
Mama kept her promise by sending my riding habit and hat punctually, but
I had run far ahead of all the wishes I had formed when I left home, and
I half feared my ride out with Mr. Pollingray. That was before I had
received Charles's letter, letting me know the object of my invitation
here. I require at times a morbid pride to keep me up to the work. I
suppose I rode befittingly, for Mr. Pollingray praised my seat on
horseback. I know I can ride, or feel the 'blast of a horse like my own'
--as he calls it. Yet he never could have had a duller companion. My
conversation was all yes and no, as if it went on a pair of crutches like
a miserable cripple. I was humiliated and vexed. All the while I was
trying to lead up to the French lady, and I could not commence with a
single question. He appears to, have really cancelled the past in every
respect save his calling me his goddaughter. His talk was of the English
poor, and vegetation, and papa's goodness to his old dames in Ickleworth
parish, and defects in my education acknowledged by me, but not likely to
restore me in my depressed state. The ride was beautiful. We went the
length of a twelve-mile ridge between Ickleworth and Hillford, over high
commons, with immense views on both sides, and through beech-woods,
oakwoods, and furzy dells and downs spotted with juniper and yewtrees--
old picnic haunts of mine, but Mr. Pollingray's fresh delight in the
landscape made them seem new and strange. Home through the valley.
The next day Miss Pollingray joined us, wearing a feutre gris and green
plume, which looked exceedingly odd until you became accustomed to it.
Her hair has decided gray streaks, and that, and the Queen Elizabeth
nose, and the feutre gris!--but she is so kind, I could not even smile in
my heart. It is singular that Mr. Pollingray, who's but three years her
junior, should look at least twenty years younger--at the very least.
His moustache and beard are of the colour of a corn sheaf, and his blue
eyes shining over them remind me of summer. That describes him. He is
summer, and has not fallen into his autumn yet. Miss Pollingray helped
me to talk a little. She tried to check her brother's enthusiasm for our
scenery, and extolled the French paysage. He laughed at her, for when
they were in France it was she who used to say, 'There is nothing here
like England!' Miss Fool rode between them attentive to the jingling of
the bells in her cap: 'Yes' and 'No' at anybody's command, in and out of
season.
Thank you, Charles, for your letter! I was beginning to think my
invitation to Dayton inexplicable, when that letter arrived. I cannot
but deem it an unworthy baseness to entrap a girl to study her without a
warning to her. I went up to my room after I had read it, and wrote in
reply till the breakfast-bell rang. I resumed my occupation an hour
later, and wrote till one o'clock. In all, fifteen pages of writing,
which I carefully folded and addressed to Charles; sealed the envelope,
stamped it, and destroyed it. I went to bed. 'No, I won't ride out to-
day, I have a headache!' I repeated this about half-a-dozen times to
nobody's knocking on the door, and when at last somebody knocked I tried
to repeat it once, but having the message that Mr. Pollingray
particularly wished to have my company in a ride, I rose submissively
and cried. This humiliation made my temper ferocious. Mr. Pollingray
observed my face, and put it down in his notebook. 'A savage
disposition,' or, no, 'An untamed little rebel'; for he has hopes of me.
He had the cruelty to say so.
'What I am, I shall remain,' said I.
He informed me that it was perfectly natural for me to think it; and on
my replying that persons ought to know themselves best: 'At my age,
perhaps,' he said, and added, 'I cannot speak very confidently of my
knowledge of myself.'
'Then you make us out to be nothing better than puppets, Mr. Pollingray.'
'If we have missed an early apprenticeship to the habit of self-command,
ma filleule.'
'Merci, mon parrain.'
He laughed. My French, I suppose.
I determined that, if he wanted to study me, I would help him.
'I can command myself when I choose, but it is only when I choose.'
This seemed to me quite a reasonable speech, until I found him looking
for something to follow, in explanation, and on coming to sift my
meaning, I saw that it was temper, and getting more angry, continued:
'The sort of young people who have such wonderful command of themselves
are not the pleasantest.'
'No,' he said; 'they disappoint us. We expect folly from the young.'
I shut my lips. Prince Leboo knew that he must go, and a good gallop
reconciled me to circumstances. Then I was put to jumping little furzes
and ditches, which one cannot pretend to do without a fair appearance of
gaiety; for, while you are running the risk of a tumble, you are
compelled to look cheerful and gay, at least, I am. To fall frowning
will never do. I had no fall. My gallant Leboo made my heart leap with
love of him, though mill-stones were tied to it. I may be vexed when I
begin, but I soon ride out a bad temper. And he is mine! I am certainly
inconstant to Charles, for I think of Leboo fifty times more. Besides,
there is no engagement as yet between Charles and me. I have first to be
approved worthy by Mr. and Miss Pollingray: two pairs of eyes and ears,
over which I see a solemnly downy owl sitting, conning their reports of
me. It is a very unkind ordeal to subject any inexperienced young woman
to. It was harshly conceived and it is being remorselessly executed.
I would complain more loudly--in shrieks--if I could say I was unhappy;
but every night I look out of my window before going to bed and see the
long falls of the infant river through the meadow, and the dark woods
seeming to enclose the house from harm: I dream of the old inhabitant,
his ancestors, and the numbers and numbers of springs when the
wildflowers have flourished in those woods and the nightingales have sung
there. And I feel there will never be a home to me like Dayton.