“So you think, Grounsell, I may be able to leave this in a day or two?”
said Sir Stafford, as, on the day following the events we have just
related, he slowly walked up and down his dressing-room.
“By the end of the week, if the weather only continue fine, we may be on
the road again.”
“I'm glad of it, heartily glad of it! Not that, as regarded myself,
it mattered much where I was laid up in dock; but I find that this
isolation, instead of drawing the members of my family more closely
together, has but served to widen the breach between them. Lady Hester
and Sydney rarely meet; George sees neither of them, and rarely comes
near me, so that the sooner we go hence the better for all of us.”
Grounsell gave a dry nod of assent, without speaking.
“Sydney is very anxious to go and pass some time with her aunt Conway;
but I foresee that, if I consent, the difference between Lady Hester and
her will then become an irreconcilable quarrel. You don't agree with me,
Grounsell?”
“I do not. I never knew the ends of a fractured bone unite by grating
them eternally against each other.”
“And, as for George, the lounging habits of his service and cigars have
steeped him in an indolence from which there is no emerging. I scarcely
know what to do with him.”
“It's hard enough to decide upon,” rejoined Grounsell; “he has some
pursuits, but not one ambition.”
“He has very fair abilities, certainly,” said Sir Stafford, half
peevishly.
“Very fair!” nodded Grounsell.
“A good memory, a quick apprehension.”
“He has one immense deficiency, for which nothing can compensate,” said
the doctor, solemnly.
“Application, industry?”
“No, with his opportunities a great deal is often acquired with
comparatively light labor. I mean a greater and more important element.”
“He wants steadiness, you think?”
“No; I 'll tell you what he wants, he wants pluck!”
Sir Stafford's cheek became suddenly crimson, and his blue eyes grew
almost black in the angry expression of the moment.
“Pluck, sir? My son deficient in courage?”
“Not as you understand it now,” resumed Grouusell, calmly. “He has
enough, and more than enough, to shoot me or anybody else that would
impugn it. The quality I mean is of a very different order. It is the
daring to do a thing badly to-day in the certain confidence that you,
will do it better to-morrow, and succeed perfectly in it this day
twelvemonth. He has not pluck to encounter repeated failures, and yet
return every morning to the attack; he has not pluck to be bullied
by mediocrity in the sure and certain confidence that he will live to
surpass it; in a word, he has not that pluck which resists the dictation
of inferior minds, and inspires self-reliance through self-respect.”
“I confess I cannot see that in the station he is likely to occupy such
qualities are at all essential,” said Sir Stafford, almost haughtily.
“Twenty thousand a year is a fine thing, and may dispense with a great
many gifts in its possessor; and a man like myself, who never owned a
twentieth of the amount, may be a precious bad judge of the requisites
to spend it suitably; but I 'll tell you one thing, Onslow, that organ
the phrenologists call 'Combativeness' is the best in the whole skull.”
“I think your Irish friend Dalton must have been imparting some of his
native prejudices to you,” said Onslow, smiling; “and, by the way, when
have you seen him?”
“I went to call there last night, but I found a tea-party, and did n't
go in. Only think of these people, with beggary staring them on every
side, sending out for 'Caravan' tea at I don't know how many florins a
pound.”
“I heard of it; but then, once and away--”
“Once and away! Ay, but once is ruin.”
“Well, I hope Prichard has arranged everything by this time. He has gone
over this morning to complete the business; so that I trust, when we
leave Baden, these worthy people will be m the enjoyment of easier
circumstances.”
“I see him crossing over the street now. I'll leave you together.”
“No, no, Grounsell; wait and hear his report; we may want your advice
besides, for I 'm not quite clear that this large sum of arrears should
be left at Dalton's untrammelled disposal, as Mr. Prichard intended it
should be a test of that excellent gentleman's prudence.”
Mr. Prichard's knock was now heard at the door, and next moment
he entered. His pale countenance was slightly flushed, and in the
expression of his face it might be read that he had come from a scene of
unusual excitement.
“I have failed, completely failed, Sir Stafford,” said he, with a sigh,
as he seated himself, and threw a heavy roll of paper on the table
before him.
As Sir Stafford did not break the pause that followed these words,
Prichard resumed,
“I told you last night that Mr. Dalton, not being able clearly to
understand my communication, which I own, to prevent any searching
scrutiny on his part, I did my best to envelop in a covering of
technicalities, referred me to his eldest daughter, in whose acuteness
he reposes much confidence. If I was not impressed with the difficulty
of engaging such an adversary from his description, still less was I
on meeting with the young lady this morning. A very quietly mannered,
unassuming person, with considerable good looks, which once upon a
time must have been actual beauty, was seated alone in the drawing-room
awaiting me. Her dress was studiously plain; and were it not for an
air of great neatness throughout, I should perhaps call it even poor.
I mention all these matters with a certain prolixity, because they bear
upon what ensued.
“Without waiting for me to open my communication, she began by a slight
apology for her presence there, occasioned, as she said, by her father's
ill-health and consequent incapacity to transact business; after
which she added a few words expressive of a hope that I would make my
statement in the most simple and intelligible form, divested so far as
might be of technical phraseology, and such as, to use her own words, a
very unlettered person like herself might comprehend.
“This opening, I confess, somewhat startled me; I scarcely expected so
much from her father's daughter; but I acquiesced and went on. As we
concocted the whole plot together here, Sir Stafford, it is needless
that I should weary you by a repetition of it. It is enough that I say
I omitted nothing of plausibility, either in proof of the bequest, or in
the description of the feeling that prompted its fulfilment. I descanted
upon the happy event which, in the course of what seemed an accident,
had brought the two families together, and prefaced their business
intercourse by a friendship. I adverted to the good influence increased
comforts would exercise upon her father's health. I spoke of her sister
and her brother in the fuller enjoyment of all that became their name
and birth. She heard me to the very end with deep attention, never once
interrupting, nor even by a look or gesture expressing dissent.
“At last, when I had concluded, she said, 'This, then, is a bequest?'
“I replied affirmatively.
“'In that case,' said she, 'the terms on which it is conveyed will solve
all the difficulty of our position. If my uncle Godfrey intended this
legacy to be a peace-offering, however late it has been in coming,
we should have no hesitation in accepting it; if he meant that his
generosity should be trammelled by conditions, or subject in any way
to the good pleasure of a third party, the matter will have a different
aspect. Which is the truth?'
“I hesitated at this point-blank appeal, so different from what I looked
for, and she at once asked to see the will. Disconcerted still more, I
now prevaricated, stating that I had not brought the document with
me; that a memorandum of its provisions would, I had supposed, prove
sufficient; and finally assured her that acceptance of the bequest
involved neither a condition nor a pledge.
“'It may, however, involve an obligation, sir,' said she, firmly. 'Let
us learn if such be the case.'
“'Are you so proud, Miss Dalton,' said I, 'that you cannot even submit
to an obligation?'
“She blushed deeply, and with a weak voice answered,
“'We are too poor to incur a debt.'
“Seeing it was useless to dwell longer on this part of the subject, I
adverted to her father's increasing age, his breaking health, and the
necessity of affording him a greater share of comforts; but she suddenly
stopped me, saying, “'You may make my refusal of this favor for such
it is, and nothing less a more painful duty than I deemed it, but you
cannot alter my resolution, sir. Poverty, so long as it is honorable,
has nothing mean nor undeserving about it, but dependence can never
bestow happiness. It is true, as you say, that my dear father might
have around him many of those little luxuries that he once was used to;
but with what changed hearts would not his children minister them
to him? Where would be that high prompting sense of duty that every
self-sacrifice is met by now? Where that rich reward of an approving
spirit that lightens toil and makes even weariness blessed? Our humble
fortunes have linked us closer together; the storms of the world have
made us draw nearer to each other, have given us one heart, hope,
and love alike. Leave us, then, to struggle on, nor cast the gloom of
dependence over days that all the ills of poverty could not darken. We
are happy now; who can tell what we should become hereafter?'
“I tried to turn her thoughts upon her brother, but she quickly stopped
me, saying,
“'Frank is a soldier; the rewards in his career are never withheld from
the deserving; at all events, wealth would be unsuitable to him. He
never knew but narrow fortunes, and the spirit that becomes a more
exalted condition is not the growth of a day.'
“I next ventured, but with every caution and delicacy, to inquire
whether your aid and influence might not avail them in any future plans
of life they might form?
“'We have no plans,” said she, simply; 'or, rather, we have had so many
that they all resolve themselves into mere castle-building. My
dear father longs for Ireland again, for home as he still calls it,
forgetting that we have no longer a home there. He fancies warm-hearted
friends and neighbors, an affectionate people, attached to the very
traditions of his name; but it is now wiser to feed this delusion than
destroy it, by telling him that few, scarcely one, of his old companions
still live, that other influences, other fortunes, other names, have
replaced ours; we should go back there as strangers, and without even
the stranger's claim to kind acceptance. Then, we had thought of the new
world beyond seas; but these are the lauds of the young, the ardent, and
the enterprising, high in hope and resolute of heart; and so, at last,
we deemed it wisest to seek out some quiet spot, in some quiet country,
where our poverty would, at least, present nothing remarkable, and
there to live for each other; and we are happy, so happy that, save the
passing dread that this delicious calm of life may not be lasting, we
have few sorrows.'
“Again and again I tried to persuade her to recall her decision, but
in vain. Once only did she show any sign of hesitation. It was when I
charged her with pride as the reason of refusal. Then suddenly her
eyes filled up, and her lip trembled, and such a change came over her
features that I grew shocked at my own words.
“'Pride!' cried she. 'If you mean that inordinate self-esteem that
prefers isolation to sympathy, that rejects an obligation from
mere haughtiness, I know not the feeling. Our pride is not in our
self-sufficiency, for every step in life teaches us how much we owe to
others; but in this, that low in lot, and humble in means, we have kept,
and hope still to keep, the motives and principles that guided us in
happier fortunes. Yes, you may call us proud, for we are so, proud that
our poverty has not made us mean; proud that in a strange land we have
inspired sentiments of kindness, and even of affection; proud that,
without any of the gifts or graces which attract, we have drawn towards
us this instance of noble generosity of which you are now the messenger.
I am not ashamed to own pride in all these.'
“To press her further was useless; and only asking, that if by any
future change of circumstances she might be induced to alter her
resolve, she would still consider the proposition as open to her
acceptance, I took my leave.”
“This is most provoking,” exclaimed Onslow.
“Provoking!” cried Grounsell; “you call it provoking! That where you
sought to confer a benefit you discover a spirit greater than all the
favors wealth ever gave, or ever will give! A noble nature, that soars
above every accident of fortune, provoking!”
“I spoke with reference to myself,” replied Onslow, tartly; “and I
repeat, it is most provoking that I am unable to make a recompense where
I have unquestionably inflicted a wrong!”
“Rather thank God that in this age of money-seeking and gold-hunting
there lives one whose heart is uncorrupted and incorruptible,” cried
Grouusell.
“If I had not seen it I could not have believed it!” said Prichard.
“Of course not, sir,” chimed in Grounsell, bluntly. “Yours is not the
trade where such instances are frequently met with; nor have I met with
many myself!”
“I beg to observe,” said Prichard, mildly, “that even in my career I
have encountered many acts of high generosity.”
“Generosity! Yes, I know what that means. A sister who surrenders her
legacy to a spendthrift brother; a childless widow that denies herself
the humblest means of comfort to help the ruined brother of her lost
husband; a wife who places in a reckless husband's hand the last
little remnant of fortune that was hoarded against the day of utter
destitution; and they are always women who do these things, saving,
scraping, careful creatures, full of self-denial and small
economies. Not like your generous men, as the world calls them, whose
free-heartedness is nothing but selfishness, whose liberality is the
bait to catch flattery. But it is not of generosity I speak here. To
give, even to one's last farthing, is far easier than to refuse help
when you are needy. To draw the rags of poverty closer, to make their
folds drape decently, and hide the penury within, that is the victory,
indeed.”
“Mark you,” cried Onslow, laughing, “it is an old bachelor says all
this.”
Grounsell's face became scarlet, and as suddenly pale as death; and
although he made an effort to speak, not a sound issued from his lips.
For an instant the pause which ensued was unbroken, when a tap was
heard at the door. It was a message from Lady Hester, requesting, if Sir
Stafford were disengaged, to be permitted to speak with him.
“You're not going, Grounsell?” cried Sir Stafford, as he saw the doctor
seize his hat; but he hastened out of the room without speaking, while
the lawyer, gathering up his papers, prepared to follow him.
“We shall see you at dinner, Prichard?” said Sir Stafford. “I have some
hope of joining the party myself to-day.”
Mr. Prichard bowed his acknowledgments and departed.
And now the old baronet sat down to ponder in his mind the reasons for
so strange an event as a visit in the forenoon from Lady Hester. “What
can it mean? She can't want money,” thought he; “'t is but the other
day I sent her a large check. Is she desirous of going back to England
again? Are there any new disagreements at work?” This last thought
reminded him of those of whom he had been so lately hearing, of those
whose narrow fortunes had drawn them nearer to each other, rendering
them more tolerant and more attached, while in his own family, where
affluence prevailed, he saw nothing but dissension.
As he sat pondering over this not too pleasant problem, a tall and
serious-looking footman entered the room, rolling before him an
armchair. Another and not less dignified functionary followed, with
cushions and a foot-warmer, signs which Sir Stafford at once read as
indicative of a long interview; for her Ladyship's preparations were
always adopted with a degree of forethought and care that she very
rarely exhibited in matters of real consequence.
Sir Stafford was contemplating these august demonstrations, when the
solemn voice of an upper servant announced Lady Hester; and, after a
second's pause, she swept into the room in all that gauzy amplitude of
costume that gives to the wearer a seeming necessity of inhabiting the
most spacious apartments of a palace.
“How d'ye do?” said she, languidly, as she sank down into her chair. “I
had not the least notion how far this room was off; if Clements has not
been taking me a tour of the whole house.”
Mr. Clements, who was still busily engaged in disposing and arranging
the cushions, blandly assured her Ladyship that they had come by the
most direct way.
“I'm sorry for it,” said she, peevishly, “for I shall have the more
fatigue in going back again. There, you 're only making it worse. You
never can learn that I don't want to be propped up like an invalid. That
will do; you may leave the room. Sir Stafford, would you be good enough
to draw that blind a little lower? the sun is directly in my eyes. Dear
me, how yellow you are! or is it the light in this horrid room? Am I so
dreadfully bilious-looking?”
“On the contrary,” said he, smiling, “I should pronounce you in the most
perfect enjoyment of health.”
“Oh, of course, I have no doubt of that. I only wonder you didn't call
it 'rude health.' I cannot conceive anything more thoroughly provoking
than the habit of estimating one's sufferings by the very efforts made
to suppress them.”
“Sufferings, my dear? I really was not aware that you had sufferings.”
“I am quite sure of that; nor is it my habit to afflict others with
complaint. I 'm sure your friend, Mr. Grounsell, would be equally unable
to acknowledge their existence. How I do hate that man! and I know,
Stafford, he hates us. Oh, you smile, as if to say, 'Only some of us;
'but I tell you he detests us all, and his old school-fellow, as he
vulgarly persists in calling you, as much as the others.”
“I sincerely hope you are mistaken.”
“Polite, certainly; you trust that his dislike is limited to myself.
Not that, for my own part, I have the least objection to any amount of
detestation with which he may honor me; it is the tribute the low and
obscure invariably render the well-born, and I am quite ready to accept
it; but I own it is a little hard that I must submit to the infliction
beneath my own roof.”
“My dear Hester, how often have I assured you that you were mistaken;
and that what you regard as disrespect to yourself is the roughness of
an unpolished but sterling nature. The ties which have grown up between
him and me since we were boys together ought not to be snapped for the
sake of a mere misunderstanding; and if you cannot or will not estimate
him for the good qualities he unquestionably possesses, at least bear
with him for my sake.”
“So I should, so I strive to do; but the evil does not end there; he
inspires everybody with the same habits of disrespect and indifference.
Did you remark Clements, a few moments since, when I spoke to him about
that cushion?”
“No, I can't say that I did.”
“Why should you? nobody ever does trouble his head about anything that
relates to my happiness! Well, I remarked it, and saw the supercilious
smile he assumed when I told him that the pillow was wrong. He looked
over at you, too, as though to say, 'You see how impossible it is to
please her'.”
“I certainly saw nothing of that.”
“Even Prichard, that formerly was the most diffident of men, is now
so much at his ease, so very much at home in my presence, it is quite
amusing. It was but yesterday he asked me to take wine with him at
dinner. The anachronism was bad enough, but only fancy the liberty!”
“And what did you do?” asked Sir Stafford, with difficulty repressing a
smile.
“I affected not to hear, hoping he would not expose himself before the
servants by a repetition of the request. But he went on, 'Will your
Ladyship' I assure you he said that 'will your Ladyship do me the honor
to drink wine with me?' I merely stared at him, but never took any
notice of his speech. Would you believe it? he returned to the charge
again, and with his hand on his wine-glass, began, 'I have taken
the liberty' I could n't hear more; so I turned to George, and said,
'George, will you tell that man not to do that?'”
Sir Stafford could not restrain himself any longer, but broke out into
a burst of hearty laughter. “Poor Prichard,” said he, at last, “I almost
think I see him before me!”
“You never think of saying, 'Poor Hester, these are not the associates
you have been accustomed to live with!' But I could be indifferent
to all these if my own family treated me with proper deference. As
for Sydney and George, however, they have actually coventried me; and
although I anticipated many sacrifices when I married, this I certainly
never speculated upon. Lady Wallingcroft, indeed, warned me to a certain
extent of what I should meet with; but I fondly hoped that disparity
of years and certain differences, the fruits of early prejudices and
habits, would be the only drawbacks on my happiness; but I have lived to
see my error!”
“The event has, indeed, not fulfilled what was expected from it,” said
Sir Stafford, with a slow and deliberate emphasis on each word.
“Oh, I comprehend you perfectly,” said she, coloring slightly, and for
the first time displaying any trait of animation in her features. “You
have been as much disappointed as I have. Just what my aunt Wallingcroft
prophesied. 'Remember,' said she, and I 'm sure I have had good cause
to remember it, 'their ideas are not our ideas; they have not the same
hopes, ambitions, or objects that we have; their very morality is not
our morality!'”
“Of what people or nation was her Ladyship speaking?” asked Sir
Stafford, mildly.
“Of the City, generally,” replied Lady Hester, proudly.
“Not in ignorance, either,” rejoined Sir Stafford; “her own father was a
merchant in Lombard Street.”
“But the family are of the best blood in Lancashire, Sir Stafford.”
“It may be so; but I remember Walter Crofts himself boasting that he
had danced to warm his feet on the very steps of the door in Grosvenor
Square which afterwards acknowledged him as the master; and as he owed
his wealth and station to honest industry and successful enterprise,
none heard the speech without thinking the better of him.”
“The anecdote is new to me,” said Lady Hester, superciliously; “and
I have little doubt that the worthy man was merely embellishing an
incident to suit the tastes of his company.”
“It was the company around his table, as Lord Mayor of London!”
“I could have sworn it,” said she, laughing; “but what has all this to
do with what I wished to speak about if I could but remember what it
was! These eternal digressions have made me forget everything.”
Although the appeal was palpably directed to Sir Stafford, he sat silent
and motionless, patiently awaiting the moment when recollection might
enable her to resume.
“Dear me! how tiresome it is! I cannot think of what I came about, and
you will not assist me in the least.”
“Up to this moment you have given me no clew to it,” said Sir Stafford,
with a smile. “It was not to speak of Grounsell?”
“Of course not. I hate even to think of him!”
“Of Prichard, perhaps?” he said, with a half-sly twinkle of the eye.
“Just as little!”
“Possibly your friend Colonel Haggerstone was in your thoughts?”
“Pray do not call him my friend. I know very little of the gentleman; I
intend even to know less. I declined to receive him this morning, when
he sent up his card.”
“An attention I fear he has not shown that poor creature he wounded,
Grounsell tells me.”
“Oh, I have it!” said she, suddenly; the allusion to Hans at once
recalling the Daltons, and bringing to mind the circumstances she
desired to remember. “It was exactly of these poor people I came to
speak. You must know, Sir Stafford, that I have made the acquaintance
of a most interesting family here, a father and two daughters named
Dalton.”
“Grounsell has already told me so,” interrupted Sir Stafford.
“Of course, then, every step I have taken in this intimacy has been
represented in the most odious light. The amiable doctor will have,
doubtless, imputed to me the least worthy motives for knowing persons in
their station?”
“On the contrary, Hester. If he expressed any qualification to the
circumstance, it was in the form of a fear lest the charms of your
society and the graces of your manner might indispose them to return
with patience to the dull round of their daily privations.”
“Indeed!” said she, superciliously. “A weak dose of his own acquaintance
would be, then, the best antidote he could advise them! But, really,
I must not speak of this man; any allusion to him is certain to jar
my nerves, and irritate my feelings for the whole day after. I want to
interest you about these Daltons.”
“Nothing more easy, my dear, since I already know something about them.”
“The doctor being your informant,” said she, snappishly.
“No, no, Hester; many, many years ago, certain relations existed between
us, and I grieve to say that Mr. Dalton has reason to regard me in no
favorable light; and it was but the very moment I received your message
I was learning from Prichard the failure of an effort I had made to
repair a wrong. I will not weary you with a long and a sad story, but
briefly mention that Mr. Dalton's late wife was a distant relative of my
own.”
“Yes, yes; I see it all. There was a little love in the business, an old
flame revived in after life; nothing serious, of course but jealousies
and misconstructions to any extent. Dear me, and that was the reason
she died of a broken heart!” It was hard to say if Sir Stafford was
more amused at the absurdity of this imputation, or stung by the cool
indifference with which she uttered it; nor was it easy to know how the
struggle, within him would terminate, when she went on: “It does appear
so silly to see a pair of elderly gentlemen raking up a difference out
of an amourette of the past century. You are very fortunate to have so
quiet a spot to exhibit in!”
“I am sorry to destroy an illusion so very full of amusement, Lady
Hester; but I owe it to all parties to say that your pleasant fancy has
not even the shadow of a color. I never even saw Mrs. Dalton; never have
yet met her husband. The event to which I was about to allude, when you
interrupted me, related to a bequest--”
“Oh, I know the whole business, now! It was at your suit that dreadful
mortgage was foreclosed, and these dear people were driven away from
their ancient seat of Mount Dalton. I 'm sure I 've heard the story at
least ten times over, but never suspected that your name was mixed up
with it. I do assure you, Sir Stafford, that they have never dropped the
most distant hint of you in connection with that sad episode.”
“They have been but just, Lady Hester,” said he, gravely. “I never did
hold a mortgage over this property; still less exercised the severe
right you speak of. But it is quite needless to pursue a narrative that
taxes your patience so severely; enough to say, that through Prichard's
mediation I have endeavored to persuade Mr. Dalton that I was
the trustee, under a will, of a small annuity on his life. He has
peremptorily refused to accept it, although, as I am informed, living in
circumstances of great poverty.”
“Poor they must be, certainly. The house is wretchedly furnished, and
the girls wear such clothes as I never saw before; not that they are
even the worn and faded finery of better days, but actually the coarse
stuffs such as the peasants wear!”
“So I have heard.”
“Not even an edging of cheap lace round their collars; not a bow of
ribbon; not an ornament of the humblest kind about them.”
“And both handsome, I am told?”
“The younger, beautiful! the deepest blue eyes in the world, with long
fringed lashes, and the most perfect mouth you can imagine. The elder
very pretty, too, but sad-looking, for she has a fearful lameness, poor
thing! They say it came from a fall off a horse, but I suspect it must
have begun in infancy; one of those dreadful things they call 'spine.'
Like all persons in her condition, she is monstrously clever; carves the
most beautiful little groups in boxwood, and models in clay and plaster.
She is a dear, mild, gentle thing; but I suspect with all that infirmity
of temper that comes of long illness at least, she is seldom in high
spirits like her sister. Kate, the younger girl, is my favorite; a fine,
generous, warm-hearted creature, full of life and animation, and so fond
of me already.”
If Sir Stafford did not smile at the undue emphasis laid upon the last
few words, it was not that he had not read their full significance.
“And Mr. Dalton himself, what is he like?”
“Like nothing I ever met before; the oddest mixture of right sentiments
and wrong inferences; of benevolence, cruelty, roughness, gentleness;
the most refined consideration, and the most utter disregard for other
people and their feelings, that ever existed. You never can guess what
will be his sentiments at any moment, or on any subject, except on the
question of family, when his pride almost savors of insanity. I believe,
in his own country, he would be nothing strange nor singular; but out of
it, he is a figure unsuited to any landscape.”
“It is hard to say how much of this peculiarity may have come of adverse
fortune,” said Sir Stafford, thoughtfully.
“I 'm certain he was always the same; at least, it would be impossible
to imagine him anything different. But I have not come to speak of him,
but of his daughter Kate, in whom I am deeply interested. You must know,
Sir Stafford, that I have formed a little plan, for which I want your
aid and concurrence. It is to take this dear girl along with us to
Italy.”
“Take her to Italy! In what position, Lady Hester? You surely never
intended any menial station?”
“Of course not; a kind of humble friend what they call a 'companion' in
the newspapers to have always with one. She is exactly the creature
to dissipate low spirits and banish ennui, and, with the advantages of
training and teaching, will become a most attractive girl. As it is, she
has not been quite neglected. Her French accent is very pure; German, I
conclude, she talks fluently, she plays prettily, at least, as well as
one can judge on that vile tinkling old harpsichord, whose legs dance
every time it is touched, and sings very pleasingly those little German
ballads that are now getting into fashion. In fact, it is the tone
of society that mannerism of the world she is deficient in more than
anything else.”
“She certainly could not study in a better school than yours, Lady
Hester; but I see some very great objections to the whole scheme, and
without alluding to such as relate to ourselves, but simply those that
regard the young lady herself. Would it be a kindness to withdraw her
from the sphere wherein she is happy and contented, to mingle for a
season or so in another and very different rank, contracting new habits
of thought, new ideas, new associations, learning each day to look down
upon that humble lot to which she must eventually return?”
“She need not return to it. She is certain to marry, and marry well. A
girl with so many attractions as she will possess may aspire to a very
high match indeed!”
“This is too hazardous a game of life to please my fancy,” said Sir
Stafford, dubiously. “We ought to look every contingency in the face in
such a matter as this.”
“I have given the subject the very deepest consideration,” replied Lady
Hester, authoritatively. “I have turned the question over and over in
my mind, and have not seen a single difficulty for which there is not an
easy remedy.”
“Sydney certainly ought to be consulted.”
“I have done so already. She is charmed with the project. She sees,
perhaps, how few companionable qualities she herself possesses, and
anticipates that Miss Dalton will supply that place towards me that she
is too indolent and too indifferent to fill.”
“How would the family receive such a proposition? They seem to be very
proud. Is it likely that they would listen to a project of this nature?”
“There lies the only difficulty; nor need it be an insuperable one, if
we manage cleverly. The affair will require delicate treatment, because
if we merely invite her to accompany us, they will naturally enough
decline an invitation, to comply with which would involve a costly
outlay in dress and ornament, quite impossible in their circumstances.
This must be a matter of diplomacy, of which the first step is, however,
already taken.”
“The first step! How do you mean?”
“Simply, that I have already, but in the deepest confidence, hinted the
possibility of the project to Kate Dalton, and she is wild with delight
at the bare thought of it. The dear child! with what rapture she heard
me speak of the balls, and fetes, and theatres of the great world!
of the thousand fascinations society has in store for all who have a
rightful claim to its homage, the tribute rendered to beauty, greater
than that conceded to rank or genius itself! I told her of all these,
and I showed her my diamonds!”
Sir Stafford made, involuntarily, a slight gesture with his hand, as
though to say, “This last was the coup de grace.”
“So far, then, as Kate is concerned, she will be a willing ally; nor do
I anticipate any opposition from her quiet, submissive sister, who seems
to dote upon her. The papa, indeed, is like to prove refractory; but
this must be our business to overcome.”
Lady Hester, who at the opening of the interview had spoken with all the
listlessness of ennui, had gradually worked herself up to a species
of ardor that made her words flow rapidly, a sign well known to Sir
Stafford that her mind was bent upon an object that would not admit
of gainsay. Some experience had taught him the impolicy of absolute
resistance, and trained him to a tactic of waiting and watching for
eventualities, which, whether the campaign be civil, military, or
conjugal, is not without a certain degree of merit. In the present case
there were several escape-valves. The Daltons were three in number,
and should be unanimous. All the difficulties of the plan should be
arranged, not alone to their perfect satisfaction, but without a wound
to their delicacy. Grounsell was certain to be a determined opponent to
the measure, and would, of course, be consulted upon it. And, lastly,
if everything worked well and favorably, Lady Hester herself was by
no means certain to wish for it the day after she had conquered all
opposition.
These, and many similar reasons, showed Sir Stafford that he might
safely concede a concurrence that need never become practical, and
making a merit of his necessity, he affected to yield to arguments that
had no value in his eyes.
“How do you propose to open the campaign, Hester?” asked he, after a
pause.
“I have arranged it all,” said she, with animation. “We must visit the
Daltons together, or better still you shall go alone. No, no; a letter
will be the right thing, a very carefully written letter, that shall
refute by anticipation every possible objection to the plan, and show
the Daltons the enormous advantages they must derive from it.”
“As, for instance?” said Sir Stafford, with apparent anxiety to be
instructed.
“Enormous they certainly will be!” exclaimed she. “First of all, Kate,
as I have said, is certain to marry well, and will be thus in a position
to benefit the others, who, poor things, can do nothing for themselves.”
“Very true, my dear, very true. You see all these things far more
rapidly and more clearly than I do.”
“I have thought so long and so much about it, I suppose there are few
contingencies of the case have escaped me; and now that I learn how you
once knew and were attached to the poor girl's mother--”
“I am sorry to rob you of so harmless an illusion,” interrupted he,
smiling; “but I have already said I never saw her.”
“Oh, you did say so! I forget all about it. Well, there was something or
other that brought the families in relation, no matter what, and it must
be a great satisfaction to you to see the breach restored, and through
my intervention, too; for I must needs say, Sir Stafford, there are
many women who would entertain a silly jealousy respecting one who once
occupied the first place in their husband's esteem.”
“Must I once more assure you that this whole assumption is groundless;
that I never--”
“Quite enough; more than I ask for, more than I have any right to ask
for,” broke she in. “If you did not interrupt me, and pardon me if I
say that this habit of yours is calculated to produce innumerable
misconceptions, I say that, if I had not been interrupted, I would have
told you that I regard such jealousies as most mean and unworthy. We
cannot be the arbiters of our affections any more than of our
fortunes; and if in early life we may have formed attachments imprudent
attachments.” Here her Ladyship, who had unwittingly glided from the
consideration of Sir Stafford's case to that of her own, became confused
and flurried, her cheek flushing and her chest heaving. She looked
overwhelmed with embarrassment, and it was only after a long struggle to
regain the lost clew to her discourse she could falteringly say, “Don't
you agree with me? I 'm sure you agree with me.”
“I 'm certain I should if I only understood you aright,” said he,
good-naturedly, and by his voice and look at once reassuring her.
“Well, so far, all is settled,” said she, rising from her chair. “And
now for this letter; I conclude the sooner it be done the better. When
may we hope to get away from this dreary place?”
“Grounsell tells me, by Friday or Saturday next I shall be able for the
journey.”
“If it had not been to provoke me, I 'm certain he would have pronounced
you quite well ten days ago.”
“You forget, Hester, my own sensations not to say sufferings could
scarcely deceive me.”
“On the contrary, Dr. Clarus assured me there is nothing in the world so
very deceptive; that pain is only referred to the diseased part by the
brain, and has no existence whatever, and that there is no such thing as
pain at all. He explained it perfectly, and I understood it all at the
time. He is so clever, Dr. Clarus, and gives people such insight into
the nature of their malady, that it really becomes quite interesting to
be ill under his care. I remember when William, the footman, broke his
arm, Clarus used to see him every day; and to show that no union, as it
is called, could take place so long as motion continued, he would gently
grate the fractured ends of the bone together.”
“And was William convinced of the no-pain doctrine?” cried Sir Stafford,
his cheek flashing with momentary anger.
“The ignorant creature actually screamed out every time he was touched;
but Clarus said it would take at least two centuries to conquer the
prejudices of the common people.”
“Not improbable, either!” said Sir Stafford.
“Dear me, how very late it is,” cried she, suddenly; “and we dine at
six!” And with a graceful motion of the hand, she said, “By-by!” and
left the room.