LUCY IS VERY FIRM.
It was just before the Tringles had returned from Rome, during the
winter, that Lucy Dormer had met Mr. Hamel in Kensington Gardens for
the second time, had walked there with him perhaps for half-an-hour,
and had then returned home with a conviction that she had done a
wicked thing. But she had other convictions also, which were perhaps
stronger. "Now that we have met, am I to lose you again?" he had
said. What could he mean by losing, except that she was the one thing
which he desired to find? But she had not seen him since, or heard a
word of his whereabouts, although, as she so well remembered, she had
given him an address at her Aunt Emmeline's,--not knowing then that
it would be her fate to become a resident in her Aunt Emmeline's
house. She had told him that Ayala would live there, and that perhaps
she might sometimes be found visiting Ayala. Now, she was herself
filling Ayala's place, and might so easily have been found. But she
knew nothing of the man who had once asked whether he was "to lose
her again."
Her own feelings about Isadore Hamel were clear enough to herself
now. Ayala in her hot humour had asked her whether she could give her
hand and her heart to such a one as their cousin Tom, and she had
found herself constrained to say that she could not do so, because
she was not free,--not quite free,--to do as she pleased with her
hand and her heart. She had striven hard not to acknowledge anything,
even to Ayala,--even to herself. But the words had been forced
from her, and now she was conscious, terribly conscious, that the
words were true. There could be no one else now, whether Tom or
another,--whether such as Tom or such as any other. It was just that
little word that had won her. "Am I to lose you again?" A girl loves
most often because she is loved,--not from choice on her part. She is
won by the flattery of the man's desire. "Am I to lose you again?" He
had seemed to throw all his soul into his voice and into his eyes as
he had asked the question. A sudden thrill had filled her, and, for
his sake,--for his sake,--she had hoped that she might not be lost to
him. Now she began to fear that he was lost to her.
Something has been told of the relations between Isadore Hamel and
his father. They were both sculptors, the father having become a
successful artist. The father was liberal, but he was essentially
autocratic. If he supplied to his son the means of living,--and
he was willing to supply the means of very comfortable life,--he
expected that his son should live to some extent in accordance with
his fancies. The father wished his son to live in Rome, and to live
after the manner of Romans. Isadore would prefer to live in London,
and after the manner of Londoners. For a time he had been allowed to
do so, and had achieved a moderate success. But a young artist may
achieve a moderate success with a pecuniary result that shall be
almost less than moderate. After a while the sculptor in Rome had
told his son that if he intended to remain in London he ought to do
so on the independent proceeds of his own profession. Isadore, if
he would return to Rome, would be made welcome to join his affairs
to those of his father. In other words, he was to be turned adrift
if he remained in London, and petted with every luxury if he would
consent to follow his art in Italy. But in Rome the father lived
after a fashion which was distasteful to the son. Old Mr. Hamel had
repudiated all conventions. Conventions are apt to go very quickly,
one after another, when the first has been thrown aside. The man who
ceases to dress for dinner soon finds it to be a trouble to wash his
hands. A house is a bore. Calling is a bore. Church is a great bore.
A family is a bore. A wife is an unendurable bore. All laws are
bores, except those by which inferiors can be constrained to do their
work. Mr. Hamel had got rid of a great many bores, and had a strong
opinion that bores prevailed more mightily in London than in Rome.
Isadore was not a bore to him. He was always willing to have Isadore
near to him. But if Isadore chose to enter the conventional mode of
life he must do it at his own expense. It may be said at once that
Isadore's present view of life was very much influenced by Lucy
Dormer, and by a feeling that she certainly was conventional. A small
house, very prettily furnished, somewhat near the Fulham Road, or
perhaps verging a little towards South Kensington, with two maids,
and perhaps an additional one as nurse in the process of some months,
with a pleasant English breakfast and a pleasant English teapot in
the evening, afforded certainly a very conventional aspect of life.
But, at the present moment, it was his aspect, and therefore he could
not go upon all fours with his father. In this state of things there
had, during the last twelvemonth, been more than one journey made
to Rome and back. Ayala had seen him at Rome, and Lady Tringle,
remembering that the man had been intimate with her brother, was
afraid of him. They had made inquiry about him, and had fully
resolved that he should not be allowed into the house if he came
after Ayala. He had no mother,--to speak of; and he had little
brothers and sisters, who also had no mother,--to speak of. Mr.
Hamel, the father, entertained friends on Sunday, with the express
object of playing cards. That a Papist should do so was to be
borne;--but Mr. Hamel was not a Papist, and, therefore, would
certainly be ----. All this and much more had been learned at Rome,
and therefore Lucy, though she herself never mentioned Mr. Hamel's
name in Queen's Gate, heard evil things said of the man who was so
dear to her.
It was the custom of her life to be driven out every day with her
aunt and Gertrude. Not to be taken two or three times round the
park would be to Lady Tringle to rob her of the best appreciated of
all those gifts of fortune which had come to her by reason of the
banker's wealth. It was a stern law;--and as stern a law that Lucy
should accompany her. Gertrude, as being an absolute daughter of
the house, and as having an almost acknowledged lover of her own,
was allowed some choice. But for Lucy there was no alternative. Why
should she not go and be driven? Two days before they left town she
was being driven, while her aunt was sitting almost in a slumber
beside her, when suddenly a young man, leaning over the railings,
took off his hat so close to Lucy that she could almost have put out
her hand to him. He was standing there all alone, and seemed simply
to be watching the carriages as they passed. She felt that she
blushed as she bowed to him, and saw also that the colour had risen
to his face. Then she turned gently round to her aunt, whom she hoped
to find still sleeping; but Aunt Emmeline could slumber with one eye
open. "Who was that young man, my dear?" said Aunt Emmeline.
"It was Mr. Hamel."
"Mr. Isadore Hamel!" said Aunt Emmeline, horrified. "Is that the
young man at Rome who has got the horrible father?"
"I do not know his father," said Lucy; "but he does live at Rome."
"Of course, it's the Mr. Hamel I mean. He scraped some acquaintance
with Ayala, but I would not have it for a moment. He is not at all
the sort of person any young girl ought to know. His father is a
horrible man. I hope he is no friend of yours, Lucy!"
"He is a friend of mine." Lucy said this in a tone of voice which was
very seldom heard from her, but which, when heard, was evidence that
beneath the softness of her general manner there lay a will of her
own.
"Then, my dear, I hope that such friendship may be discontinued as
long as you remain with us."
"He was a friend of papa's," said Lucy.
"That's all very well. I suppose artists must know artists, even
though they are disreputable."
"Mr. Hamel is not disreputable."
Aunt Emmeline, as she heard this, could almost fancy that she
was renewing one of her difficulties with Ayala. "My dear," she
said,--and she intended to be very impressive as she spoke,--"in
a matter such as this I must beg you to be guided by me. You must
acknowledge that I know the world better than you do. Mr. Hamel is
not a fit person to be acquainted with a young lady who occupies the
place of my daughter. I am sure that will be sufficient." Then she
leant back in the carriage, and seemed again to slumber; but she
still had one eye open, so that if Mr. Hamel should appear again at
any corner and venture to raise his hand she might be aware of the
impropriety. But on that day Mr. Hamel did not appear again.
Lucy did not speak another word during the drive, and on reaching
the house went at once to her bed-room. While she had been out with
her aunt close to her, and while it had been possible that the man
she loved should appear again, she had been unable to collect her
thoughts or to make up her mind what she would do or say. One thing
simply was certain to her, that if Mr. Hamel should present himself
again to her she would not desert him. All that her aunt had said to
her as to improprieties and the like had no effect at all upon her.
The man had been welcomed at her father's house, had been allowed
there to be intimate with her, and was now, as she was well aware,
much dearer to her than any other human being. Not for all the Aunt
Emmelines in the world would she regard him otherwise than as her
dearest friend.
When she was alone she discussed the matter with herself. It was
repugnant to her that there should be any secret on the subject
between herself and her aunt after what had been said,--much more
that there should be any deceit. "Mr. Hamel is not fit to be
acquainted with a lady who occupies the position of my daughter." It
was thus that her aunt had spoken. To this the proper answer seemed
to be,--seemed at least to Lucy,--"In that case, my dear aunt, I
cannot for a moment longer occupy the position of your daughter,
as I certainly am acquainted and shall remain acquainted with Mr.
Hamel." But to such speech as this on her own part there were two
impediments. In the first place it would imply that Mr. Hamel was her
lover,--for implying which Mr. Hamel had given her no authority; and
then what should she immediately do when she had thus obstinately
declared herself to be unfit for that daughter's position which she
was supposed now to occupy? With all her firmness of determination
she could not bring herself to tell her aunt that Mr. Hamel was her
lover. Not because it was not as yet true. She would have been quite
willing that her aunt should know the exact truth, if the exact
truth could be explained. But how could she convey to such a one
as Aunt Emmeline the meaning of those words,--"Am I to lose you
again?" How could she make her aunt understand that she held herself
to be absolutely bound, as by a marriage vow, by such words as
those,--words in which there was no promise, even had they come from
some fitting suitor, but which would be regarded by Aunt Emmeline
as being simply impertinent coming as they did from such a one as
Isadore Hamel. It was quite out of the question to tell all that to
Aunt Emmeline, but yet it was necessary that something should be
told. She had been ordered to drop her acquaintance with Isadore, and
it was essential that she should declare that she would do nothing
of the kind. She would not recognise such obedience as a duty on her
part. The friendship had been created by her father, to whom her
earlier obedience had been due. It might be that, refusing to render
such obedience, her aunt and her uncle might tell her that there
could be no longer shelter for her in that house. They could not
cherish and foster a disobedient child. If it must be so, it must.
Though there should be no home left to her in all the wide world she
would not accept an order which should separate her from the man
she loved. She must simply tell her aunt that she could not drop Mr.
Hamel's acquaintance,--because Mr. Hamel was a friend.
Early on the next morning she did so. "Are you aware," said Aunt
Emmeline, with a severe face, "that he is--illegitimate." Lucy
blushed, but made no answer. "Is he--is he--engaged to you?"
"No," said Lucy, sharply.
"Has he asked you to marry him?"
"No," said Lucy.
"Then what is it?" asked Lady Tringle, in a tone which was intended
to signify that as nothing of that kind had taken place such a
friendship could be a matter of no consequence.
"He was papa's friend."
"My dear, what can that matter? Your poor papa has gone, and you are
in my charge and your uncle's. Surely you cannot object to choose
your friends as we should wish. Mr. Hamel is a gentleman of whom we
do not approve. You cannot have seen very much of him, and it would
be very easy for you, should he bow to you again in the park, to let
him see that you do not like it."
"But I do like it," said Lucy, with energy.
"Lucy!"
"I do like to see Mr. Hamel, and I feel almost sure that he will come
and call here now that he has seen me. Last winter he asked me my
address, and I gave him this house."
"When you were living with your Aunt Dosett?"
"Yes, I did, Aunt Emmeline. I thought Aunt Margaret would not like
him to come to Kingsbury Crescent, and, as Ayala was to be here, I
told him he might call at Queen's Gate."
Then Lady Tringle was really angry. It was not only that her house
should have been selected for so improper a use but that Lucy should
have shown a fear and a respect for Mrs. Dosett which had not been
accorded to herself. It was shocking to her pride that that should
have appeared to be easy of achievement at Queen's Gate which was
too wicked to be attempted at Kingsbury Crescent. And then the thing
which had been done seemed in itself to her to be so horrible! This
girl, when living under the care of her aunt, had made an appointment
with an improper young man at the house of another aunt! Any
appointment made by a young lady with a young man must, as she
thought, be wrong. She began to be aghast at the very nature of the
girl who could do such a thing, and on reflecting that that girl was
at present under her charge as an adopted daughter. "Lucy," she said,
very impressively, "there must be an end of this."
"There cannot be an end of it," said Lucy.
"Do you mean to say that he is to come here to this house whether I
and your uncle like it or not?"
"He will come," said Lucy; "I am sure he will come. Now he has seen
me he will come at once."
"Why should he do that if he is not your lover?"
"Because," said Lucy,--and then she paused; "because--. It is very
hard to tell you, Aunt Emmeline."
"Why should he come so quickly?" demanded Aunt Emmeline again.
"Because--. Though he has said nothing to me such as that you mean,"
stammered out Lucy, determined to tell the whole truth, "I believe
that he will."
"And you?"
"If he did I should accept him."
"Has he any means?"
"I do not know."
"Have you any?"
"Certainly not."
"And you would consent to be his wife after what I've told you?"
"Yes," said Lucy, "I should."
"Then it must not be in this house. That is all. I will not have him
here on any pretence whatsoever."
"I thought not, Aunt Emmeline, and therefore I have told you."
"Do you mean that you will make an appointment with him elsewhere?"
"Certainly not. I have not in fact ever made an appointment with him.
I do not know his address. Till yesterday I thought that he was in
Rome. I never had a line from him in my life, and of course have
never written to him." Upon hearing all this Lady Tringle sat in
silence, not quite knowing how to carry on the conversation. The
condition of Lucy's mind was so strange to her, that she felt herself
to be incompetent to dictate. She could only resolve that under no
circumstances should the objectionable man be allowed into her house.
"Now, Aunt Emmeline," said Lucy, "I have told you everything. Of
course you have a right to order, but I also have some right. You
told me I was to drop Mr. Hamel, but I cannot drop him. If he comes
in my way I certainly shall not drop him. If he comes here I shall
see him if I can. If you and Uncle Tom choose to turn me out of
course you can do so."
"I shall tell your uncle all about it," said Aunt Emmeline, angrily,
"and then you will hear what he says." And so the conversation was
ended.
At that moment Sir Thomas was, of course, in the City managing his
millions, and as Lucy herself had suggested that Mr. Hamel might not
improbably call on that very day, and as she was quite determined
that Mr. Hamel should not enter the doors of the house in Queen's
Gate, it was necessary that steps should be taken at once. Some hours
afterwards Mr. Hamel did call and asked for Miss Dormer. The door was
opened by a well-appointed footman, who, with lugubrious face,--with
a face which spoke much more eloquently than his words,--declared
that Miss Dormer was not at home. In answer to further inquiries he
went on to express an opinion that Miss Dormer never would be at
home;--from all which it may be seen that Aunt Emmeline had taken
strong measures to carry out her purpose. Hamel, when he heard his
fate thus plainly spoken from the man's mouth, turned away, not
doubting its meaning. He had seen Lucy's face in the park, and had
seen also Lady Tringle's gesture after his greeting. That Lady
Tringle should not be disposed to receive him at her house was not
matter of surprise to him.
When Lucy went to bed that night she did not doubt that Mr. Hamel had
called, and that he had been turned away from the door.