Dick Cavendish called at Half Moon Street next day: and found the ladies
just returned from a walk, and a little tired and very glad to see a
friendly face, which his was in the most eminent degree. They had been
out shopping, that inevitable occupation of women, and they had been
making calls, and informing their few acquaintances of their arrival.
Mrs. Benson, at whose house the dinner had been, was one of the few old
friends with whom Mrs. Warrender was in habits of correspondence, and
thus had known of their coming beforehand. Dick found himself received
with the greatest cordiality by Mrs. Warrender, and by Chatty with an
air of modest satisfaction which was very sweet. Then Mrs. Warrender
was desirous to have a little guidance in their movements, and took so
sincerely his offer to be of use that Dick found no means at all of
getting out of it. Indeed, when it came to that, he was by no means so
sure that it was so necessary to get out of it, as when he had begun his
reflections on the subject. He even proposed--why not?--that they should
all go to the play that very evening, there being nothing else on hand.
In those days the theatre was not so popular an institution as at present,
and it was not necessary to engage places for weeks in advance. This
sudden rush, however, was too much for the inexperienced country lady.
"We are not going to be so prodigal as that," she said, "it would
deprive us of all the pleasure of thinking about it; and as everything
is more delightful in anticipation than in reality----"
"Oh, mamma!" said Chatty, shocked by this pessimistic view.
"And what am I to do with myself all the evening?" said Dick, with mock
dismay, "after anticipating this pleasure all day? If anticipation is
the best part of it, you will allow that disappointment after is
doubly----"
"If you have nothing better to do, stay and dine with us," Mrs. Warrender
said. This proposal made Chatty look up with pleasure, and then look
down again lest she should show, more than was expedient, how glad she
was. And Dick, who had reflected and decided that to call once and to go
to the theatre once could do no harm, accepted with enthusiasm, without
even pausing to ask himself whether to dine with them once might be
added without further harm to his roll of permissions. The dinner was a
very commonplace, lodging-house dinner, and Chatty got out her muslin
work afterwards, and had a quiet industrious evening, very much like
her evenings at home. She was like a picture of domestic happiness
impersonified, as she sat in the light of the lamp with her head bent,
the movement of her arm making a soft rustle as she worked. She wore a
muslin gown after the fashion of the time, which was not in itself a
beautiful fashion, but pretty enough for the moment, and her hair, which
was light brown, fell in little curls over her soft cheek. She looked
up now and then, while the others talked, turning from one to another,
sometimes saying a word, most frequently giving only a smile or look of
assent. Let us talk as we will of highly educated women and of mental
equality and a great many other fine things: but as a matter of fact,
this gentle auditor and sympathiser, intelligent enough to understand
without taking much part, is a more largely accepted symbol of what the
woman ought to be, than anything more prominent and individual. Just so
Eve sat and listened when Adam discoursed with the angel, putting by
in her mind various questions to ask when that celestial but rather
long-winded visitor was gone. Perhaps this picture is not quite harmonious
with the few facts in our possession in respect to our first mother,
and does scant justice to that original-minded woman: but the type has
seized hold upon the imagination of mankind. Dick thought of it vaguely,
as he looked (having secured a position in which he could do so without
observation) at this impersonation of the woman's part. He thought if
another fellow should look in for a talk, which was his irreverent way
of describing to himself the visit of the angel, it would be highly
agreeable to have her there listening, and to clear up the knotty points
for her when they should be alone. He had little doubt that Eve would
have an opinion of her own, very favourable to _his_ way of stating the
subject, and would not mind criticising the other fellow, with a keen
eye for any little point of possible ridicule. He kept thinking this as
he talked to Mrs. Warrender, and also that the little cluster of curls
was pretty, and the bend of her head, and, indeed, everything about her;
not striking, perhaps, or out of the common, but most soothing and
sweet.
And next evening, having had those pleasures of anticipation which Mrs.
Warrender thought so much of, he went with them to the play, and spent
an exceedingly pleasant evening, pointing out such people as he knew
(who were anybody) to Mrs. Warrender between the acts, and enjoying
the sight of Chatty's absorption in the play, which made it twice as
interesting to himself. The play was one in which there was a great deal
of pretty love-making along with melodramatic situations of an exciting
kind. The actors, except one, were not of sufficient reputation to
interest any reader save those with a special inclination to the study
of the stage. But though the performance was not on the very highest
level, there was a great deal in it that thrilled this young man and
woman sitting next to each other, and already vaguely inclined towards
each other in that first chapter of mutual attraction which is, perhaps,
in its vagueness and irresponsibility, the most delightful of all. Dick
would have laughed at the idea of feeling himself somehow mixed up
with the lover on the stage, who was not only a good actor, but a much
handsomer fellow than he was; but Chatty had no such feeling, and with a
blush and quiver felt herself wooed in that romantic wooing, with a half
sense that the lights should be lowered and nobody should see, and at
the same time an enchantment in the sight which only that sense of a
personal share in it could have given.
After this beginning Dick's reflections went to the wind.
He felt injured when he found that, not knowing their other friends in
town, he had no invitation to accompany them, when those persons did
their duty by their country acquaintances, and asked them, one to
dinner, another--oh, happiness to Chatty--to a dance. But it did not
turn out unmingled happiness for Chatty after all, though she got a new
dress for it, in which she looked prettier (her mother thought, who was
no flattering mother) than she had ever done in her life. Mrs. Warrender
saw the awakening in Chatty's face which gave to her simple good looks a
something higher, a touch of finer development; but the mother neither
deceived herself as to the cause of this, nor was at all alarmed by it.
Dick was a quite suitable match for Chatty; he was well connected, he
was not poor, he was taking up his profession, if somewhat late, yet
with good prospects. If there had been escapades in his youth, these
were happily over, and as his wild oats had been sown on the other side
of the Atlantic, no one knew anything about them. Why, then, should she
be alarmed to see that Chatty opened like a flower to the rising of this
light which in Dick, too, was so evident as to be unmistakable? In such
circumstances as these the course of true love would be the better of a
little obstacle or two; the only difficulty was that it might run too
smooth. Mrs. Warrender thought that, perhaps, it was well to permit
such a little fret in the current as this dance proved to be. She could
have got Dick an invitation had she pleased, but was hard-hearted and
refrained. And Chatty did not enjoy it. She said (with truth) that there
was very little room for dancing; that to sit outside upon the stairs
with a gentleman you didn't know, among a great many other girls and men
whom you didn't know, was not her idea of a hall; and that if this was
the London way, she liked a dance in the country much better. The time
when she did enjoy it was next day, when she gave her impressions of
it to Dick, who exulted as having not been there secretly over Mrs.
Warrender, who would not have him asked. Chatty grew witty in the
excitement of her little revenge on society, and on fate which had
drifted her into that strange country, without the ever-ready aid to
which she had grown accustomed of "some one she knew." "Yes, I danced,"
she said, "now and then, as much as we could. It was not Lady Ascot's
fault, mamma; she introduced a great many gentlemen to me, but sometimes
I could not catch their names, and when I did, how was I to remember
which was Mr. Herbert and which was Mr. Sidney, when I had never seen
either of them before? and gentlemen," she said, with a little glance
(almost saucy: Chatty had developed so much) at Dick, "are so like each
other in London."
At which Dick laughed, not without, gratification, with a secret
consciousness that though this little arrow was apparently levelled at
him, he was the exception to the rule, the one man who was recognisable
in any crowd. "Yes," he said, "we should wear little labels with our
names. I have heard that suggested before."
"They put down initials on my programme. I don't know what half of them
mean: and I suppose they came and looked for me when the dance was going
to begin, or perhaps in the middle of the dance, or towards the end;
they didn't seem to be very particular," proceeded Chatty, with a certain
exhilaration in the success of her description. "And how were they to
find me among such a lot of girls? I saw two or three prowling about
looking for me."
"And never made the smallest sign?"
"Oh, it is not the right thing for a girl to make any sign, is it,
mamma? One can't say, Here I am! If they don't manage to find you, you
must just put up with it, though you may see them prowling all the time.
It is tiresome when you want very much to dance; but when you are
indifferent----"
"The pleasures of society are all for the indifferent," said Dick;
"everything comes to you, so the wise people say, when you don't care
for it: but my brothers, who are dancing men, don't know how malicious
ladies are, who make fun of their prowling. I shall remember it next
time when I can't find my partner, and imagine her laughing at me in a
corner."
"The amusement is after," said Chatty, with candour.
"I think it funny now when I think of it, but it seemed stupid at the
time. I don't think I shall care to go to a dance in London again."
But as she said these words there escaped a mutual glance from two pairs
of eyes, one of which said in the twitching of an eyelash, "Unless I am
there!" while the other, taken unawares, gave an answer in a soft flash,
"Ah, if you were there!" But there was nothing said: and Mrs. Warrender,
though full of observation, never noticed this telegraphic, or shall we
say heliographic, communication at all.
This little hindrance only made them better friends. They made expeditions
to Richmond, where Dick took the ladies out on the river; to Windsor and
Eton, where Theo and he had both been to school. Long before now he had
been told the secret about Theo, which in the meantime had become less
and less of a secret, though even now it was not formally made known.
Lady Markland! Dick had been startled by the news, though he declared
afterwards that he could not tell why: for that it was the most natural
thing in the world. Had not they been thrown together in all kinds of
ways; had not Theo been inevitably brought into her society, almost
compelled to see her constantly?
"The compulsion was of his own making," Mrs. Warrender said. "Perhaps
Lady Markland, with more experience, should have perceived what it was
leading to."
"It is so difficult to tell what anything is leading to, especially in
such matters. What may be but a mutual attraction one day becomes a bond
that never can be broken the next."
Dick's voice changed while he was speaking. Perhaps he was not aware
himself of the additional gravity in it, but his audience was instantly
aware of it. That was the evening they had gone to Richmond; the softest
summer evening, twilight just falling; Chatty, very silent, absorbed (as
appeared) in the responsibilities of steering; the conversation going on
entirely between her mother and Dick, who sat facing them, pulling long,
slow, meditative strokes. Even when one is absorbed by the responsibilities
of the steerage, one can enter into all the lights and shades of a
conversation kept up by two other people, almost better than they can do
themselves.
"That is true in some cases. Not in Theo's, I think. It seems to me that
he gave himself over from the first. I am not sure that I think her a
very attractive woman."
"Oh yes, mamma!" from Chatty, in an undertone.
"I am not talking of looks. She has a good deal of power about her, she
will not be easily swayed; and after having suffered a great deal in her
first marriage I think she has very quickly developed the power of acting
for herself which some women never attain."
"So much the better," said Dick. "Theo doesn't want a puppet of a wife."
"But he wants a wife who will give in to him," said Mrs. Warrender
slightly shaking her head.
"I suppose we all do that, in theory: then glide into domestic servitude
and like it, and find it the best for us."
"Let us hope you will do that," she said, with a smile; "but not Theo, I
fear. He has been used to be made much of. The only boy, they say, is
always spoiled. You have brothers, Mr. Cavendish,--and he has a temper
which is a little difficult."
"Oh, mamma," from Chatty again. "Theo is always kind."
"That does not make much difference, my dear. When a young man is
accustomed to be given in to, it is easy to be kind. But when he meets
for the first time one who will not give in, who will hold her own--I do
not blame her for that: she is in a different position from a young
girl."
"And how is it all to be settled?" asked Dick; "where are they to live?
how about the child?"
"All these questions make my heart sink. He is not in the least prepared
to meet them. Her name even; she will of course keep her name."
"That always seems a little absurd; that a woman should keep her own
name, as they do more or less everywhere but in England--yes; well, a
Frenchwoman says _nee_ So-and-so; an Italian does something still more
distinct than that, I am not quite clear how she does it. That's quite
reasonable I think: for why should she wipe out her own individuality
altogether when she marries? But to keep one husband's name when you are
married to another----"
"It is because of the charm of the title. I suppose when a woman has
been once called my lady, she objects to come down from those heights.
But I think if I were a man, I should not like it, and Theo will not
like it. At the same time there is her son, you know, to be considered.
I don't like complications in marriages. They bring enough trouble
without that."
"Trouble!" said Dick, in a tone of lively protest, which was a little
fictitious. And Chatty, though she did not say anything, gave her mother
a glance.
"Yes, trouble. It breaks as many ties as it makes. How much shall I see
of Theo, do you think, when this marriage takes place? and yet by nature
you would say I had some right to him. Oh, I do not complain. It is
the course of nature. And Minnie is gone; she is entering into all the
interests of the Thynnes, by this time: and a most bigoted Thynne she
will be, if there are any special opinions in the family. I don't know
them well enough to know. Fancy giving up one's child to become bigoted
to another family, whom one doesn't even know!"
"It seems a little hard, certainly. The ordinary view is that mothers
are happy when their daughters marry."
"Which is also true in its way: for the mother has a way of being older
than her daughter, Mr. Cavendish, and knows she cannot live for ever;
beside, marriage being the best thing for a woman, as most people think,
it should be the mother's duty to do everything she can to secure it for
her daughter. Yes, I go as far as that--in words," Mrs. Warrender added,
with a little laugh.
"But not for her son?"
"I don't say that: no, not at all. I should rejoice in Theo's marriage,
but for the complications, which I think he is not the right person to
get through, with comfort. You, now, I think," she added, cheerfully,
"might marry Lady----Anybody, with a family of children, and make it
succeed."
"Thank you very much for the compliment. I don't mean to try that mode
of success," he said quickly.
"Neither did Theo mean it until he was brought in contact with Lady
Markland: and who can tell but you too--Oh yes, marriage almost always
makes trouble; it breaks as well as unites; it is very serious; it is
like the measles when it gets into a family." Mrs. Warrender felt that
the conversation was getting much too significant, and broke off with a
laugh. "The evening is delightful, but I think we should turn homewards.
It will be quite late before we get back to town."
Dick obeyed without the protest he would have made half an hour before.
He resumed the talk when he was walking up with the ladies to the hotel,
where they had left their carriage. "One laughs, I don't know why," he
said, "but it is very serious in a number of ways. A man when he is in
love doesn't ask himself whether he's the sort of man to make a girl
happy. There are some things, you know, which a man has to give up too.
Generally, if he hesitates, it seems a sort of treason; and often he
cannot tell the reason why. Now Theo will have a number of sacrifices to
make."
"He is like Jacob, he will think nothing of them for the love he bears
to Rachel," said Theo's mother. "I wish that were all."
"But I wish I could make you see it from a man's point of view." Dick
did not himself know what he meant by this confused speech. He wanted to
make some sort of plea for himself, but how, or in what words, he did
not know. She paused for a moment expecting more, and Chatty, on the
other side of her mother, felt a little puncture of pain, she could
scarcely tell why. "There are some things which a man has to give up
too." What did he mean by that? A little vague offence which flew
away, a little pain which did not, a sort of needle point, which she
kept feeling all the rest of the evening, came to Chatty from this
conversation. And Mrs. Warrender paused, thinking he was going to
say more. But he said no more, and when he had handed them into the
carriage, broke out into an entirely new subject, and was very gay and
amusing all the way home.
The two ladies did not say a syllable to each other on this subject,
neither had they said anything to each other about Dick, generally,
except that he was very nice, that it was kind of him to take so much
trouble, and so forth. Whether experienced mothers do discuss with their
daughters what So-and-so meant, or whether he meant anything, as Dick
supposed, is a question I am not prepared to enter into. But Mrs.
Warrender had said nothing to Chatty on the subject, and did not now:
though it cannot be said that she did not ponder it much in her heart.