"MRS. TUDOR is a perfect lady," said my wife, Mrs. Sunderland, to me
one day, after having received a visit from the individual she
named.
"She may have the manners of a lady," I replied, "when abroad; but
whether she be a lady at home or not, is more than I can tell. It is
easy to put on the exterior of a lady; but to be a lady is a very
different thing."
"All that is true enough; but why do you connect such remarks with
the name of Mrs. Tudor? Do you know any thing to the contrary of her
being a lady?--a lady at home, as you say, for instance?"
"No, I can't say that I do; but, somehow or other, I am a little
inclined to be doubtful of the genuineness of Mrs. Tudor's claims to
being a lady. Once or twice I have thought that I perceived an air
of superciliousness to persons who were considered inferior. This is
a rigid but true test of any one's claims to being either a lady or
a gentleman. No true lady is less careful of the feelings of those
below her than she is of those who are upon an equality."
"But you only thought you saw this," said Mrs. Sunderland.
"True, and my thought may be only a thought," I returned, "and
unjust to Mrs. Tudor, who may be as much of a lady at home and under
all circumstances, as she appears to be when abroad."
"What she is, I have not the least doubt," said my wife.
I never altogether fancied this Mrs. Tudor, although Mrs. Sunderland
liked her very much. Before we built our new house, Mrs. Tudor did
not know us, notwithstanding the fact that our pews had adjoined for
two or three years. But after that event, Mrs. Tudor found out that
we had an existence, and became uncommonly gracious with my wife.
Not long after I had spoken out my mind in regard to Mrs. Tudor,
that lady, in company with her husband, paid us a visit one evening,
and after sitting an hour, invited us to come around and take tea
with them on a certain evening in the ensuing week.
When the time came, as we had accepted the invitation, we went. We
found about a dozen persons assembled, half of whom were entire
strangers to us. Among these I soon perceived that there were two or
three who, in the eyes of Mrs. Tudor, were a little superior to her
other guests. On our entrance, we were introduced to them first, and
with particular formality, our lady hostess pronouncing their names
in a very distinct manner, while her articulation of ours was so low
that they were scarcely, if at all, heard. During the hour that
passed before tea was announced, Mrs. Tudor confined her attentions
almost exclusively to these two or three individuals, who were
evidently persons of more consequence than the rest of us. So
apparent was all this, that most of those who were in the room,
instead of joining in the conversation, sat looking at the more
favoured guests.
"They must be persons of some importance," I could not help saying
to my wife in an undertone, in which her quick ear detected
something of sarcasm.
"For mercy's sake, Mr. Sunderland!" she replied, in a voice that
only reached my own ears, "don't make remarks upon any of the
company."
If she had said, "It is not gentlemanly to do so," she could not
have conveyed what she wished to utter more distinctly than she did.
I felt the force of her reproof, but could not resist the
inclination I felt to reply.
"We have so good an example of what is polite and genteel, that it
is not to be wondered if we profit a little."
"Mr. Sunderland! Why, will you!" My wife seemed distressed.
I said no more on the subject, content with having let her know that
I was noticing the conduct of her perfect lady. I believe, if I
could have seen her thoughts, that among them I would have detected
this one among the rest; that it was not exactly fair and
gentlemanly in me to remind her so promptly of the error she had
probably committed in her estimate of Mrs. Tudor's character.
Fully absorbed as she was in showing attentions to her more favoured
guests, Mrs. Tudor did not perceive the cold, uncomfortable,
unsocial feeling that had crept over the rest of her company.
Tea was at last announced. I felt relieved at this, and so, I
perceived, did most of those around me. At the tea-table I expected
to find Mrs. Tudor more general in her attentions. But no. These
favoured ones were served first, and "Mrs.--, will you have this?"
and "Mrs.--, will you have that?" were almost exclusively confined
to three persons at the table. Mr. Tudor, I remarked, noticed this,
for he exerted himself in order to make all the rest feel at ease,
which he succeeded in doing to some extent.
Waiting upon the table was a female domestic, a young girl of good
manners and appearance. To her Mrs. Tudor uniformly spoke in a way
that must have been felt as peculiarly disagreeable. The blandest
smile; and the most winning expression of voice, would instantly
change, when Lucy was addressed, to a cold, supercilious look, and
an undertone of command. Several times I saw the blood mount to the
girl's forehead, as a word or tone more marked and offensive than
usual would be given so loudly as to be perceived by all. Once or
twice, at such times, I could not resist a glance at Mrs.
Sunderland, which was generally met with a slight, rebuking
contraction of her brow.
Through the efforts of Mr. Tudor, who certainly did his part well,
the tea-table party was a good deal more social than had been the
individuals composing it while in the parlour. The favoured guests,
notwithstanding the incense offered them by our hostess, appeared in
no way to esteem themselves as better than the rest, and, as soon as
opportunity was afforded them, tried to be at home with every one.
Once more in the parlours, and arranged there by a kind of social
crystallization, I perceived that Mrs. Tudor was sitting between two
of the ladies who were considered by her worthy of the most marked
attention. There she sat during nearly the whole of the evening,
except when refreshments were introduced, when she accompanied Lucy
round the room, occasionally speaking to her in a tone of offensive
command or cutting rebuke.
For one, I was glad when the time came to go home, and I rather
think that all present were as much relieved, in getting away, as I
was.
"What is your opinion now?" said I, triumphantly, to Mrs.
Sunderland, the moment we were in the street.
"My opinion," she replied, a little sharply, "is, that you did not
act, in several instances, this evening, like a gentleman!"
"I did not!" I spoke with affected surprise only; for I thought I
knew what it was she meant.
"No, I am sorry to say that you did not. Nothing could have been
more improper than the notice you took of what was passing. A true
gentlemanly spirit would have led you to look away from, rather than
at the weakness of our hostess."
"Look away from it, Mrs. Sunderland! How could I do that, pray? It
was before my eyes all the time."
"You ought to have shut your eyes, then."
"Nonsense."
"Very far from it, Mr. Sunderland! You are ready enough to see the
faults of other people!"--(in this, I must confess, my wife did not
err very much)--"but quite willing to shut your eyes to your own.
Now, I think you acted just as bad as Mrs. Tudor; and, in fact,
worse."
"Worse! You are complimentary, Mrs. Sunderland."
"I can't help it if I am. Mrs. Tudor was led by her weakness to
conduct herself in an unlady-like manner; but you, with her example
before your eyes, and in a mood to reflect, permitted yourself to
remark upon her conduct in a way calculated to give pain."
"In the name of wonder, what are you driving at, Mrs. Sunderland? No
one but you heard any remark I made."
"I wish I could think so."
"Who, besides yourself, heard what I said?"
"Mr. Tudor."
"Impossible!"
"He was sitting very near us when you so far forgot yourself as to
notice, verbally, what was passing, and I am well satisfied, either
heard distinctly what was said, or enough to enable him to
understand the nature of all you said."
"You are surely mistaken," said I, feeling a good deal mortified,
and perceiving much more clearly than I did before the nature of my
offence against good manners and propriety of conduct.
"I wish I were. But I fear I am not. I know that Mr. Tudor looked
around toward you suddenly, and I noticed that he was much more
particular afterward in his attentions to the rest of the company.
At table, you may have yourself remarked this."
"Yes, I noticed it."
"And yet, even at the table, when he was doing his best, you again
hurt his feelings."
"Me!"
"Yes, you. When Mrs. Tudor spoke harshly to Lucy, or did something
or other that you thought out of the way, you must look your sarcasm
at me, notwithstanding the eyes of her husband were upon you."
"But he didn't see me, then."
"Yes, but he did. I saw him looking directly at you."
"Oh, no! it cannot be." I was unwilling to believe this.
"I wish it were not so for my husband's sake," returned Mrs.
Sunderland. "But the evidence of my senses I generally find it
necessary to credit."
I must own that I felt considerably cut up, or cut down, whichever
is the most mortifying state to be in. To look and whisper my
censure in company, I had thought no great harm; but now that I had
found I had been discovered in the act, I had a mortifying sense of
its impropriety.
"Well, anyhow," said I, rallying myself, and speaking with some
lightness of tone, "it is clear that Mrs. Tudor is no lady, for all
you thought her such a pattern-card of gentility."
"And I have not the least doubt," retorted my wife, "that it is
equally clear to Mr. Tudor that you are no gentleman. So, on that
score, the account stands fairly balanced between the two families."
This was a pretty hard hit; and I felt a little "riled up," as the
Yankees say, but I concluded that the uttering of a few sharp
sayings to my wife, under the circumstances, would not prove my
claim to being a gentleman, especially against the facts of the
case; so I cooled down, and walked home rather silently, and in not
the best humour with myself.
On the next morning, I took up a little book from my wife's bureau,
and sat down to look over it while waiting for the breakfast bell.
It was a book of aphorisms, and I opened at once to a page where a
leaf was turned down. A slight dot with a pencil directed my eyes to
a particular line, which read--
"_He who lives in a glass house shouldn't throw stones_."
I am not sure that Mrs. Sunderland turned down that leaf in the
book, and marked the sentiment for my especial benefit; though I
strongly suspected her. At any rate, I deemed it best not to ask the
question.