Ushered into the well-known little drawing-room of the corner house of
The Terrace, whose windows had a commanding view of the main
thoroughfare of our suburb, I had ample leisure, before the ladies
appeared, of observing the arrangement of certain fuchsias in a monster
flower-stand that took up half the room, on the growth and excellence of
which Lady Dasher prided herself greatly. Praise her fuchsias, and you
were the most excellent of men; pass them by unnoticed, and you might be
capable of committing the worst sin in the decalogue.
Is it not curious, how particular scents of flowers and their appearance
will call up old scenes and circumstances to your memory? To this day,
the mere sight of a fuchsia will bring back to my mind Lady Dasher's
little drawing-room; and I can fancy myself sitting in the old easy-
chair by the window, and listening to that morbid lady's chit-chat.
Presently my lady came in, pale and melancholy, as usual, and with her
normal expression of acutest woe.
"Dear me, Mr Lorton! how very ill you are looking, to be sure. Is
there not consumption in your family?"
"Not that I'm aware of, Lady Dasher, thank you," I replied; "but how
well _you_ are looking, if one may judge by appearances."
"Ah!" she sighed with deep sadness, "appearances, my young friend, are
very deceptive. I am _not_ well--far from it, in fact. I believe, Mr
Lorton, that I am fast hastening to that bourne from whence no traveller
ever returns. I would not be at all surprised to wake up some morning
and find that I was dead!"
"Indeed!" I said, for the fact she hinted at would have been somewhat
astonishing to a weak-minded person. I then tried to change the
conversation from this sombre subject to one I had more at heart; but it
was very hard to lead her on the track I wished. "We had a good
congregation to-day, Lady Dasher, I think," said I; "the church seemed
to be quite crammed."
"Really, now; do you think so? _I_ did not consider it at all a large
gathering. When poor dear papa was alive, I've seen twice the number
there, I am certain. _You_ may say that the falling off is due to the
hot weather and people going out of town, but _I_ think it is owing to
the spread of unbelief. We are living in terrible times, Mr Lorton.
It seems to me that every one is becoming more atheistic and wicked
every day. I don't know what we shall come to, unless we have another
deluge, or something of that sort, to recall us to our senses!"
Fortunately at this juncture, before Lady Dasher, could get into full
swing on her favourite theological hobby-horse--the degeneracy of the
present age--Bessie and Seraphine entered the room. The conversation
then became a trifle livelier, and we discussed the weather, the
fashions, and various items of clerical gossip.
I discreetly asked if they had seen any new faces in church. But no;
neither of them had, it was evident, seen my ladies in half-mourning,
about whom I was diffident of inquiring directly.
Were any fresh people coming to reside in the neighbourhood that they
had heard of?
"No," said Lady Dasher, with a melancholy shake of her head. "No; how
should they? It is not very likely that any new residents would come
_here_! The place may suit poor people like _me_, but would not take
the fancy of persons having plenty of money to spend, who can select a
house where they like. Ah! the miseries of poverty, Mr Lorton, and to
be poor but proud! I hope _you_ will never have my bitter experience,
I'm sure!"--with another sad shake of her head, and an expression on her
face that she was pretty certain that I _would_ one day arrive at the
same hollow estimate of life as herself. "No," she continued, "no new
people are at all likely to come here. I saw Mr Shuffler yesterday,
and asked if that house which he has to let in The Terrace were yet
taken, but he said, `not that he knew of;' he had `heard of nobody
coming'--had I? I assure you he was quite impertinent about it. He
would not have spoken to me so uncivilly had poor dear papa been alive,
I know! But it is always the way with that class of people:--they only
look upon you in the light of how much you are worth!"
"Oh, ma!" said Bessie Dasher, "I think Mr Shuffler very civil and
polite. He always makes me quite a low bow whenever he sees me."
"Ah! my dear," said her mother, "that's because you are young and
pretty, as I was once. He never bows to me as he used to do when your
grandpapa lived."
After a little more harping on the same string, the conversation
drooped; and, as none of them could give me any further information
towards assisting my quest, I took my leave of Lady Dasher and her
daughters, in a much less buoyant frame of mind than when I had first
thought of my visit an hour or so previously.
I had made certain that they would know something of the mysterious
ladies in half-mourning; consequently, I was all the more disappointed.
However, they had given me one hint; I would ask Shuffler himself, on
the morrow, whether any new residents were expected in the suburb.
Shuffler was a house-agent who had to do with all the letting and
taking, overhauling and repairing, of most of the habitations in our
neighbourhood. He was a portly, oily personage; one who clipped his
English royally, and walked, through the effects of bunions, I believe--
although some mistook it for gout, and gave him the credit of being
afflicted with that painful but aristocratic malady--as if he were
continuously on pattens, or wore those clumsy wooden sabots which the
Normandy peasantry use. He was also one-eyed, like Cyclops, the place
of the missing organ being temporarily filled with a round glass orb,
whose nature could be detected at a glance; this seemed to stare at you
with a dull, searching look and take mental and disparaging stock of
your person, while the sound eye was winking and blinking at you as
jovially as you please.
Shuffler was affable enough to me, as usual, in despite of Lady Dasher
having such a bad opinion of his manners; but, he could give me no
information such as I wanted to hear. Everybody, really, appeared to be
as cautious as "Non mi recordo" was on Queen Caroline's trial. Nobody
had heard of anybody coming to our neighbourhood. Nobody had seen any
strange faces about. Nobody knew anything!
It was quite vexatious.
I haunted the Prebend's Walk. I went to church three times every
Sunday, but did not meet her. The only thing I had to assure me that it
was not all a dream, and that I had really seen her, was the little
spray of mignonette, which I carried next my heart.
It was now July.
Sultry August came and passed; dull September followed suit; dreary
October ensued, in the natural cycle of the seasons; foggy, suicidal
November came; and yet, _she_ came not!
I felt almost weary of waiting and looking out and longing,
notwithstanding the inward assurance I had, and the fact of my whole
nature being imbued with the belief that we should meet again. We
_must_ meet. I knew _that_, I felt firmly convinced of it.
Thus the year wore on. Weeks and months elapsed since our meeting in
church, which I should never, never forget.
Dreary, dreary expectation! I lost interest regarding things in which I
had formerly been interested. The society of people which I had
previously coveted became distasteful to me.
Lady Dasher, you may be sure, I never went nigh; _she_ would have
altogether overwhelmed me.
As for that insufferable ass, Horner, he was always asking me whenever
we met, which was much oftener than I cared about, with a provoking
simper and his unmeaning, eye-glass stare and drawling voice--coupled
with a tone of would-be-facetious irony--"Bai-ey Je-ove! I say, old
fellah, seen those ladies in hawf-mawning yet, ah?"
Brute! I could have kicked him; and I wonder now that I didn't!