"And now thou knowest thy father's will,
All that thy sex hath need to know:
'Twas mine to teach obedience still--
The way to love thy lord may show."
From that dark distant corner I heard a sigh, ending in a nervous
catching of the breath, and then a muttered word unpleasantly like an
oath, as Forrester sprang to his feet.
Livingstone rose slowly.
"I'll go and receive him. Let Mr. Raymond know, Wise. I suppose he will
not care to see any one else before dressing-time; it must be near that
now."
As he passed his cousin, he whispered something inaudible to us; and I
saw his heavy hand fall on Charley's shoulder, crushing him down again
like a child.
Then Flora went to Miss Raymond, and asked her, with more kindness in
her manner than usual, to come to her rooms for some tea; they always
seriously inclined to the consumption of that cheerful herb about this
hour. Isabel clung to her companion as they went out with a meek
helplessness which was sad to see.
Charley had vanished before them. After that first involuntary movement
he had become _nonchalant_ as ever, so I remained alone to ruminate. I
confess, after some thought, I was still in the dark as to where things
would end.
The meeting had been got over somehow, for, when I came down before
dinner, Bruce was sitting on a sofa by Miss Raymond's side.
Why does a man in such a position invariably look as if he were on the
stool of repentance, expiating some misdeed of unutterable shame? He has
sat by the same woman before, when it was only a strong flirtation; more
eyes, curious and spiteful, were upon him then, and he met them with
perfect self-possession. Now that he is in his right, why does he look
blushingly uneasy, as if he would call on the curtains to hide him, and
the cushions to cover him? Have any mortals existed so good, or great,
or wise, as to be exempt from that dreadful poll-tax levied on all males
unprivileged to woo by proxy--the necessity of looking ridiculous from
the moment their engagement is announced to that when they leave the
church as Benedicts? I should like to have watched Burke, or Herschel,
or the Iron Duke, or _any_ Archbishop of Canterbury, through the ordeal
of a recognized courtship. Would the dignity of the statesman, the sage,
the soldier, or the saint have been sustained? I trow not.
In truth, it is a sight full of sad warning, that ever-recurring
spectacle of an engaged man (the lady is always provokingly at her ease)
in general society. His friends turn away in compassion and charity; the
girls, whom he ought to have married and--didn't, look on, exchanging
smiles with their mothers; it is their hour of savage triumph. The
French manage things more comfortably, I think. The promessi sposi meet
so seldom before the contract is signed--between sentence and execution
the time is so brief that there is little space for intermediate
terrors.
Nature had not been bountiful to Mr. Bruce in externals. He was very
tall, with round shoulders, long, lean limbs, large feet and hands, and
immense joints. There was a good deal of strength about him, but it
wanted concentration and arrangement. His features were rather
exaggerated and coarse in outline, with the high cheek-bones common on
the north side of the Tweed; his hair of an unhappy vacillating color
that could not make its mind up to be red; and his eyes, that rarely met
you fairly, of a light cold gray. About the mouth, in particular, there
was a very unpleasant expression, alternately vicious and cunning.
I do not believe that his intimates, if he had any, in their wildest
moments of conviviality, ever called him "Jack;" nor his mother, in his
earliest childhood, "Johnnie." Plain "John Bruce" was written
uncompromisingly in every line of his face; just the converse of
Forrester, whom old maids of rigid virtue, after seeing him twice, were
irresistibly impelled to speak of as "Charley."
I wish some profound psychologist would give us his theory on the
question of "The influence of nomenclature on disposition and destiny."
It is all very well to ask, "What's in a name?" I think there is a great
deal; and that our sponsors have much to answer for in indulging their
baptismal fancies. Not to go into the subject (which some have already
done without exhausting it), have you not remarked that Georgiana is
always pretty and slightly sarcastic; that Isabella has large, soft,
lustrous eyes--generally they are dark; that Fanny invariably flirts;
and that Kate is decided in character, if not haughty?
Tragedy and comedy both are forced to observe these nominal
proprieties. Who was it that illuminated his house, and had the church
bells rung, on finding a name for his hero? We should never have
believed in Iago's treacheries if he had appeared before us as simple
"James."
The new arrival seemed to have chilled us all into stupidity. Dinner
languished; and afterward, Guy, after trying at first to be laboriously
civil--the sense of duty was painfully evident--lapsed into silence,
passing the claret rather faster than usual, so that Mr. Raymond, to his
intense disgust, had to make an effort and force the conversation.
When we entered, Isabel was nestling under Miss Bellasys' wing, from
which shelter she had to emerge at Bruce's request for some music. She
went directly, and played several pieces that he asked for straight
through, while he stood gravely behind her with a complacent air of
proprietorship which was inexpressibly aggravating.
When her task was done she went back to her sofa again; there she was
safe, for all Bruce's devotion to his ladye-love and stubbornness of
character could not give him courage enough to affront, at close
quarters, the mingled dislike and scornful humor that played round
Flora's lips, and gleamed in her eyes like summer lightning. He had to
retreat upon Lady Catharine, who, thinking him hardly used, in her
inextinguishable charity exerted herself to entertain him.
We were all glad when that first evening was over, and we got into the
smoking-room, whither Mr. Bruce was not entreated to follow. It was
always an augury of foul weather in Livingstone's temper when, instead
of the decent evening cigar, he smoked the short black _brule-gueule_,
loaded to the muzzle with cavendish. He sat thus for some minutes,
rolling out stormy puffs from under his mustache, and then broke out,
"I haven't an idea what to do with him" (there was no need to name the
object of his thoughts); "I made up my mind to risk a horse or two, for,
of course, he would have broken their knees; but when I offered him a
mount, he thanked me and said, 'He didn't hunt.' It would have got him
away from home, at all events. Poor Bella! how heavy on hand she _will_
find him."
"Ah! and he might have come to a timely end over timber; Providence does
interfere so benevolently sometimes." This was Forrester's pious
reflection.
"Well, that's over," Guy went on. "He must shoot, though; every one
shoots, or thinks he does. We have all the pheasants to kill yet
(by-the-by, Fallowfield comes over on Thursday for the Home Wood); that
will keep him employed for some time; but it's only putting off the evil
day. My match-making aunt, of blessed memory, how much she has to answer
for! I hate to think of Bella's _mignonne_ face alongside of that
flinty-cheeked Scotchman's."
"Don't be angry, Guy," suggested Charley, with some diffidence; "but, if
it's not an impertinent question, do you think he ever tries to kiss
your cousin?"
"I never thought of that," replied Livingstone, not without an oath;
"there's another pleasant reflection. No, I should think not. He _is_
ceremonious, to give the devil his due. I'll find out to-morrow, though,
without making Bella blush. Miss Bellasys is sure to know. I saw them
exchanging confidences all this evening, and I am certain there were
instigations to rebellion. Flora would delight in an _émeute_; she's a
perfect Red Republican, that girl."
"The opposition seems organizing," I remarked; "ministers will find
themselves soon, I fear, without a working majority."
"Not unlikely," said Guy, filling another pipe; "but they won't resign.
Some men never know when they are beaten. Well, he who lives will see.
If this wind lasts, we shall have a cracker from Lilbourne to-morrow.
You ride the young one, don't you, Charley?"