But these happy days, this renewed intimacy, did not last long. It was
partly the fault of Mrs. Smythe that it came to an end, but much more
the fault of Nora. She became a person of immense importance in her own
eyes. In her secret cogitations she thought her father must have seen
some hidden superior qualities, which prompted him thus to break the
common law in her favour; nay, further, she sometimes thought her
Heavenly Father must have chosen her for some special distinction. Her
heart was lifted up. The immediate consequence was a separation in her
thoughts from her mother. “We” vanished from her common speech, and the
unpleasant “I” became prominent.
There was not any real lack of affection in this--on the contrary,
already dim thoughts of being her mother’s protector were forming
themselves within; nor did any future dream commend itself to her eyes,
except as acted out before her mother. It was “_I_ will do, and _you_
will see;” it was, “And when I am this great woman, almost a queen,
shall you not be proud of me, mamma?”
Mrs. Smythe did not, however, make distinctions. She found herself put
by; her young daughter settling all things without inquiring into her
will, and her maternal pride was sorely wounded. Had she spoken in the
beginning, had she peevishly said out her peevish thoughts, the ill
would probably have been stayed; but the soreness was too sore. She
brooded on her grievance within, and it grew out of all bounds.
Things went on thus till Nora was within a few months of sixteen; and
then a blow fell upon her, which was a very natural consequence of Mrs.
Smythe’s state of mind, but one Nora had never even imagined. It arose
from the fact that, although concealing her sore heart from Nora and
from Mrs. Ratcliffe, the poor mother did make a confidant.
It has been said that the society of her medical advisers was peculiarly
agreeable to her. At Geneva, as usual, she found a medical friend.
Monsieur Jules d’Alberg was the son of a Swiss pastor and an English
woman. His delightful foreign manners, and his English conversation, had
early recommended him to Mrs. Smythe, and she poured her confidences
into his ear. He, on his side, was early attracted by the still youthful
widow--not attracted by herself, but by her circumstances. He was not a
very bad man, but the principle of self-interest was the most largely
developed of his qualities, and he saw the means of forwarding his
interests here. One thing only withheld him. He could not make out the
mother’s position. Sometimes she spoke like a princess, and sometimes as
if she was the most ill-used of mortals.
Nora from the first disliked him, and with her young tyranny forbade her
mother to invite him to tea, as she would have liked to do. Mrs.
Ratcliffe neither liked nor disliked, but knowing her mistress’s ways,
let her alone. She must always have her medical adviser and friend, that
she knew, but she and the rest of the household needed him not.
Monsieur d’Alberg, therefore, had no means of making discoveries
regarding the position of Mrs. Smythe. Meanwhile he invited her
confidence by his charm of demeanour.
It happened one day, when Nora was nearly sixteen, that she said to her
mother,
“I can hardly sleep at night, mamma, for thinking of it all. Oh! don’t
you long for the day when we shall go to England?” For Nora always
supposed that it was something connected with this event that kept them
abroad.
Mrs. Smythe was in a peevish humour, and she peevishly replied that she
did not see why they should go to England at all.
Nora stared.
“Not go to England, mamma? But it is the very first thing I mean to do
when I am of age. Surely you want to go to England”?
Mrs. Smythe reiterated, in the same tone, that she did not. She hated
England! Nora was silent for a moment from astonishment and dismay. She
then warmly expressed her feelings on the subject, ending with--
“I would rather be a beggar in England than a queen of gold here!”
“I wish you _were_ a beggar, or at least a baby again,” said her mother,
vexed beyond her poor powers; and when Nora, offended, walked with a
stately step out of the room, she burst into tears. She cried till her
head ached, and while her head was aching, Monsieur d’Alberg made his
call. He soothed and charmed as usual, and she shortly owned to him that
she was vexed. She had cried, and crying had made her head ache; and a
few further inquiries revealed the cause. Her daughter meant to go to
England, and she did not want to go.
“But how could that be?” he asked with quick diplomacy. “It was not
usually the young lady who ruled the house?”
And Mrs. Smythe then told him all things. Her whole life, vexations,
grievances, up to that moment. If she was prolix he could bear it, for
the tale was of interest to him.
While she spoke he revolved all in his mind. He was in the first instant
shocked, for he had supposed her to be enormously rich. But, after a
little consideration, he found he might stand on safer ground. He
summarily arranged in his mind that Mrs. Smythe’s private fortune should
be settled on himself and put away, and that he and she should content
themselves with her annuity of £1000 a year.
In a few seconds he was prepared to act, and before he left the house he
did act, and was not repulsed. After the first moments of delight,
however, in finding herself with a lover, a protector, and a home,
independent of Nora and her grandeur, the poor weak woman began to weep
and to tremble. The mother’s heart went after her daughter. How, she
said, if Nora persisted in going to England, should she live without
her; and how should she ever tell Nora what had occurred?
For the moment M. d’Alberg recommended delay. He soothed her tenderly,
and, in short, in a few days one thing he made clear to her mind--come
what might, she never could part from him.
A short time elapsed; and at last, one week before the coming of age,
Nora was informed that Monsieur d’Alberg was to be her stepfather. It
was Monsieur d’Alberg who performed the task. He saw that, unless he did
it, it would never be done. The information was given not without inward
trepidation, for Nora had inspired him with some degree of fear, but
outwardly with coolness and calmness. He hoped, he said, as he
concluded, that she would learn to love him.
It was the first blow in Nora’s life, and she was thunderstruck. She
could not collect her senses to understand all; but to his last words
replying with ineffable disdain, “Never!” she rushed from the room.
He was abashed, and after telling Mrs. Smythe what had passed, left her
to contend with Nora alone.