The spring was very early that year. It had been a severe winter, and
even on the moors the leap of the fresh life of the grass out of the
snows was sudden; but when the ladies found themselves transported
to the fresh green in Cadogan Place, it is impossible to say what an
exhilarating effect this revelation had upon them. The elder sisters,
indeed, had visited London in their youth, but that was long ago, and
they had forgotten everything but the streets, and the crowd, and
the dust, an impression which was reproduced by the effect of the
long drive from Euston Square, which seemed endless, through lines
of houses and shops and flaring gaslights. That continuity of dreary
inhabitation, those long lines of featureless buildings, of which it
is so difficult to distinguish one from another, is the worse aspect
of London, and even Lilias, looking breathless from the window, ready
to be astonished at everything, was chilled a little when she found
nothing to be astonished at--for the great shops were closed which
furnish brightness to an evening drive, and it seemed to the tired
women as if they must have travelled half as far through those dreary,
half-lighted streets as they had done before over the open country. But
with a bright morning, and the sight of the opening leaves between them
and the houses opposite, a different mood came. Miss Jean in particular
hailed the vegetation as she might have greeted an old friend whose
face she had not hoped to see again.
"Just as green as our own trees, and far more forward," she said, with
delight, as she called Lilias next morning.
With the cheering revelation of this green, their minds were fully
tuned to see everything in the best light; but it is not necessary
to enter into the sight-seeing of the group of rural ladies, all
so fresh and unhackneyed, and ready to enjoy. Margaret preserved a
dignified composure in all circumstances. She had the feeling that
a great deal was expected from her as the head of the family. The
excitement which was quite becoming to the others would to her have
seemed unbecoming, and, as a matter of fact, she made out to herself
either that she "remembered perfectly," or, at least, was "quite well
aware from all she had heard" of the things which impressed her sisters
most profoundly. The work she had in hand was far more important than
sight-seeing, which, however, she encouraged in her sisters, being
anxious that Lilias should get all that over before she was "seen," and
had become an actual inhabitant of the great world. Margaret had made
every arrangement in what she hoped and believed was the most perfectly
good style. She spared no expense on this one episode of grandeur and
gaiety. All the little savings of Gowanbrae went to swell the purse
which she had made up for the occasion. Old Simon, the old family
servant, who had seen them all born, gave respectability to the little
open carriage which they had for fine days alternatively with the
brougham, by condescending to place himself on the box. He was not very
nimble, perhaps, in getting up and down, but he was highly respectable,
and indeed, in his best "blacks," was sometimes mistaken by ignorant
people for the head of the party. Simon, though he liked his ladies to
know that he was aware it was a condescension, in his heart enjoyed
his position, and laid up chapters of experience with which to keep
respectful audiences in rapt attention both at Murkley and Gowanbrae.
He made common cause with Lilias in her eagerness to see everything.
When Miss Jean held back, afraid that so much curiosity might seem
vulgar, Simon would take it upon himself to interpose.
"You'll excuse me, mem," he said, "but Miss Lilias is young, and it's
my opinion a young creature can never see too much. We are never
seventeen but wance in our lives."
"Dear me! that is very true, Simon," Miss Jean would say, and with
a little air of reserve, as if she herself knew all about it, would
accompany the eager girl, who sometimes called Simon forward to enjoy a
warmer sympathy.
"Look, Simon; that armour has been in battle. Knights have fought in
it," Lilias would say, her eyes dancing with excitement, while Miss
Jean stood a little apart with that benevolent smile.
Simon examined everything very minutely, and then he said,
"I'm saying naething against the knights, Miss Lilias, for I'm not
one that believes in mere stature without sense to guide it; but they
must have been awfu' little men. I would like to see one of those fine
fellows on the horses, with half a dozen of them round him," Simon
remarked. Lilias was somewhat indignant at this depreciation of the
heroes of the past, yet still was able to smile, for Simon's devotion
to the sentries at the Horse Guards was known. He thought at first
they were not real, and, when their movements undeceived him, was for
a long time disposed to think they were ingenious pieces of mechanism.
"Thae _men_!" he had said. "I canna believe it! That's what ye call
an occupation for a rational being! Na, na; I canna believe it." But
he would walk all the way from Cadogan Place in the morning before
breakfast to see these wonders of the world. And he acknowledged that
St. Paul's was grander than St. George's in Edinburgh, which showed he
had an impartial mind. "But, if ye test them by the congregation that
worships in them, it is we that will gain the day--and is that not
the best beauty of a kirk?" Simon said. These were days when popular
sermons and services were unthought of. But this history has no space
for the humours of this new exploration of London sights. It would be
difficult to say which of the party enjoyed them most: Lilias, all
eagerness and frank curiosity, or Miss Jean, holding back with that
protesting smile, asking no question lest she should show an ignorance
which did not become her position as the head of the party, or Simon,
who never forgot his _rôle_ of critic and moralist. But, while they
all enjoyed themselves, Miss Margaret sat in her parlour much more
seriously engaged. She had everything to contrive and to decide, and
Lilias' dress and all the preliminaries of her introduction to settle.
For herself, what could be more imposing than her velvet and all that
beautiful lace? The only thing that was wanted was a longer train. The
countess had been very ready to undertake the presentation, and had
asked the party to dinner, and sent them cards for a great reception.
She was very amiable, and delighted to see the Miss Murrays in town.
"And as for your little sister, she ought to make a sensation. She
ought to be one of the beauties of the season," the countess said.
"No, no; that is not to be desired for so young a thing. She is just
a country girl," said Miss Margaret, half-hoping that the great lady
would protest and declare it impossible that a Murray of Murkley should
be so described; but the countess, who was but slightly occupied
with Lilias, only smiled graciously and shook hands warmly, as she
dismissed her visitors. When they had left her noble mansion, Miss
Jean, mild as she was, on this occasion, took upon her to remonstrate.
"You must not speak of Lilias so," she said. "If you will think for a
moment, she has just a great deal of presence for so young a person,
and Lady Lilias' daughter. People are too civil to contradict you. I
would not call her just a country girl."
Margaret gazed at her sister with something of the astonishment which
Balaam must have felt on a certain remarkable occasion. "I would not
say but you are right," the candid woman said.
The Drawing-room was in the beginning of May. Lilias was greatly
interested in all the preparations for it. She was put into the hands
of a nice old lady who had been a great dancer in her day to be taught
her curtseys, which was a proceeding that amused the girl greatly. She
persuaded her instructress to talk, and learned with astonished soul a
great many things of which she had no idea, but fortunately no harm:
which was the merest chance, the sisters having given her over in the
utmost confidence to her teacher, not suspicious of anything injurious
that youth could hear from a nice old woman. These lessons were as good
as a play to the girl, and sometimes also to the spectators as she
practised her _trois obeisances_. To see her sink into the furbelows
of her fashionable dress, and recover herself with elastic grace and
without a sign of faltering, filled even Margaret with admiring wonder.
The elder lady's majestic curtsey was a far more difficult proceeding,
but even she condescended to practise it, to the delight of Lilias and
the admiration of Miss Jean, throned all the time in the biggest chair,
and representing Her Majesty.
"I would just bid you kneel down and make you Lady Margaret on the
spot, if it was me," Jean said.
"My dear, you are just a haverel: for it is men that have to kneel down
and be made knights of--and you would not have me made a Sir, I hope?"
said Margaret, with a laugh.
"I must say," said Miss Jean, "that there is injustice in that. Your
forefathers have been Sirs far longer than Her Majesty's family has
been upon the throne, and why should there be no trace of it left to
give pleasure, just because you and me--and Lilias too, more is the
pity--were born women?"
"I have yet to learn," said Miss Margaret, drawing herself up, "that
a title would make any difference to a Murray of Murkley; we are well
enough known without that."
"Oh! but, Margaret, you should be my lady," cried Lilias, springing up
and making curtseys in pure wantonness all round the room. "Miss is
not suitable for you. Mistress would be better, or Madam, but my lady
best of all. I think Jean is a wise woman; and if the queen--"
"You are a grand judge of wisdom," said her sister. "Jean and you, you
might just go in a show together, the female Solomon and the person
that explains the oracle; but you will just go to your bed, and take
a good rest, for it will be a fatiguing day to-morrow. You will have
plenty to do looking after your dress, and remembering your manners,
without taking it upon you to give your advice to Her Majesty, who has
been longer at the trade than you."
"To-morrow!--is it really to-morrow? Oh!" cried Lilias, "when I come
before her I will forget everything: and what will she say to me?" This
made the elder sister look a little confused, but she had herself but
little idea what the royal lady would do in the circumstances; and the
safest plan was to send Lilias to bed.
Next morning it was a sight to see the two _débutantes_. Miss Margaret
had a train of velvet sweeping from her shoulders that made her look,
Lilias declared, like Margaret of Anjou, though why this special
resemblance was hit upon, the young lady declined to say. As for
herself, in clouds of virgin white, it seemed to her sisters that
nothing had ever been seen so lovely as this little lily, who would,
however, have been more aptly termed a rose, with the colour of
excitement coming and going upon her cheeks, her eyes like dew with the
sun on it, her dazzling sweetness of complexion. Perhaps her features
were not irreproachable, perhaps her little figure wanted filling out;
but at seventeen these are faults that lean to virtue's side. She was
dazzling to behold in that first exquisite youthful bloom, which is
like nothing else in the world. When she came into the room where they
were awaiting her, she made them a curtsey to show her perfection, her
face running over with smiles. And then Lilias grew grave, a flutter
came to her child's heart. Her eyes grew serious with the awe of a
neophyte on the edge of the mysteries of life.
"When I come back I will be a woman," she said, with a little catch of
her breath.
"No, no, not till you are one-and-twenty, my darling," cried Jean, who
did not always know when to hold her peace.
"I shall be a woman," Lilias repeated. "I shall be introduced to the
world--I shall be able to go where I please----"
"There may be two words about that," said Margaret, interfering; "but
this is not a time for discoursing. So just you gather up your train,
Lilias, and let us go away."
Miss Jean went downstairs after them; she watched them drive
away, waving her hand. She thought Margaret was just beautiful
notwithstanding her age. "But, after all, forty is not such an
extraordinary age," Jean said to herself; and, as for Lilias, words
could not express what her sister felt. The Court must be splendid
indeed, and a great deal of beauty in it, if two ladies like that
were not observed. She took out her table-cover, which had been much
neglected, and sat down at the window and arranged her silks as of old.
There was no carnation now for a pattern, but indeed she was done with
that flower. When a woman has seen her best-beloved go forth in full
panoply to conquer, and feels the domestic silence close down upon
herself, there is, if she is the kind of woman, an exquisite repose and
pleasure in it. The mother who comes out to the door to watch her gay
party go away, and, closing it again with all their pleasure in her
mind, goes back to the quiet, either to work for them or to wait for
them, has her share both real and vicarious, and doubles the pleasure.
She goes with them along the way, she broods over their happiness at
home. Miss Jean, who was this kind of woman, had thus a double share,
and worked into her flowers the serene and delicious calm, the soft
expectation, the flutter of an excitement out of which everything harsh
was gone. She could not help thinking that it would be a real pleasure
to Her Majesty, who had girls of her own and a kind heart, to see such
a creature as Lilias just in the opening of her flower. The Queen would
be glad to know that General Murray had left such representatives,
though, no doubt, she would be sorry there was no son. Jean felt too,
modestly, that it was always possible, seeing Margaret and Lilias,
and admiring them as she must, that Her Majesty might graciously ask
whether there was no more of a family, and command that "next time"
the other sister should be brought to see her. "But, oh, she would be
disappointed in me!" Miss Jean said to herself. All these thoughts kept
her amused and happy, so that she wanted no other entertainment. She
even forgot Lewis and the confidence which had so touched her heart.
She thought it so likely that some young duke, some glorious lord in
waiting, would clasp his hands together and say, in the very presence
chamber, "Here, by God's word, is the one maid for me." Lewis had
floated from her mind, which was beguiled by higher things.
When the carriage drove up to the door, she rushed downstairs to meet
the victorious pair. Lilias was the first to appear, a little crushed
and faded, like a rose that has been bound into a bouquet and suffered
from the pressure: but that did not matter, for everybody knows there
is a great crowd. But the face was not radiant as it had been, Miss
Jean could not but perceive. There was a great deal of gravity in it.
The corners of the mouth were slightly, very slightly turned the wrong
way. She came in quite seriously, calmed out of all her excitement.
Margaret followed with the same serious air.
"Well, my darling!" Jean cried, running forward to meet the girl.
"Oh, it has all passed very well," Margaret said over Lilias' head.
Jean drew them into the little dining-room, which was on the ground
floor, to hear everything.
"And were the dresses beautiful, and the jewels? and was Her Majesty
looking well? and what did she say to you?" cried the eager spectator.
"You will just make Lilias take some wine, for the child is like to
drop with tiredness; and as for me, before I say a syllable, I must get
rid of this train, for it weighs me to the earth," said Margaret.
"My darling," cried Jean, throwing her arms about Lilias, "something
has happened!"
Upon which Lilias burst into a laugh, which, compared with the extreme
gravity of her face, had a somewhat rueful effect. It was a laugh which
was not mirthful and spontaneous as the laughter of Lilias generally
was, but produced itself of a sudden as by some quick impulse of
ridicule.
"No," she said, "Jean, that is just the thing, nothing has happened;"
and then the rueful look melted away, and a gleam of real fun came back.
"Dear me! dear me! something has gone wrong. You never got to the
drawing-room at all?"
"Oh yes," cried the girl, "and all went off very well, didn't you hear
Margaret say?"
"Well, then, my dear, I don't understand," Jean said, puzzled.
"It is just that that was all," said Lilias, with her laugh. "It all
went off very well. Everything was quite right, I suppose. Me that
thought it was the great, beautiful court itself, and that we would see
everybody, and that it would be known who you were, and everything!
I said to Margaret, 'Is that all?' And I think she was quite as
astonished as me, for she said, 'I suppose so.' And then we waited, and
at last we got the carriage, and we came away! Now that I think of it,
it was _awfully_ funny," said Lilias, with tears, which were no doubt
tears of merriment, but which were also tears of vexation, in her eyes.
"To think we should have thought of it for months and months, and got
such dresses, and played such pranks with Madame Ballerina--all for
that!"
"But, my dear," said Miss Jean, always consolatory, "it is not only for
that, it is for everything. It is just the beginning, you know. You
will see better society, and you will be asked to more places, and, if
ever you go abroad, they say it is such an advantage, and----Besides,
my darling, it is your duty to your sovereign," Miss Jean added, with a
little solemnity.
Upon this Lilias laughed more and more.
"Oh," she cried, "that is just the thing, Jean! I saw my sovereign
yawn. I am sure she did. I was so astonished. I noticed everything,
but the queen saw nothing to be surprised at, she has gone over it so
often. I am sure I saw her yawn, though she concealed it. Could there
nothing be invented," cried Lilias, with a liveliness in which there
was a sparkle of annoyance and passion, "that would be better than
that? And this was what we came to town for," she said, sitting down
upon her pretty train and her flowers, which were all tumbled. The
laugh went out of her face. "It is so funny," Lilias said, as grave as
a judge, "when you think upon it; so little, and yet so much."
"And did Her Majesty say nothing then about papa? She would not know it
was you, that must have been how it was. There are many Murrays, you
know. You will see the name even over shops. And never asked where you
were staying, or said that she would see you again--?"
"Jean," said Miss Margaret, appearing suddenly in a dressing-gown,
"what nonsense is that you are talking? Did anybody ever suppose that
the queen was to make remarks, and ask questions, with crowds of women
in their best gowns just ready to eat you to get past? It all went off
very well," she said, seating herself on the sofa. "Lilias, I just
cannot bide to see you at this hour of the day in that ridiculous
dress. I've taken off mine, and thankful to get rid of it. A girl of
your age can stand a great deal, but you are far nicer, to my opinion,
in your natural clothes. As I was saying, it went off just extremely
well. We got through really without so much crushing as I expected, and
the dresses were beautiful, and diamonds enough to make the sun think
shame of himself. No doubt it is just a little ridiculous, as Lilias
says, to see the ladies in all their finery in the daylight; but then
it is the custom. You can put up with anything when you know it is the
custom. People like us that just go once in a way, we never get into
the way of it; but for those that go often, you know, they just never
mind. And of course it was a beautiful sight."
"It must have been that," cried Jean, seizing hold upon this certainty;
"you will call it to mind, Lilias, when it's long past, and it will
always be a pleasure to think of. It must have been a wonderful sight."
"As for expecting," continued Margaret, "that it would be an occasion
for rational intercourse, or anything like making acquaintance either
with the Court or Her Majesty, I could have told you from the beginning
that was nonsense. Just think of such crowds of women, one at the back
of another, like birds in a net. It would be out of the question to
think of it. Now, Lilias, go and get your things off, and, if you are
tired, you can lie down a little----"
"Yes, my dear, you must just lie down a little--it will do you good."
"Jean and Margaret," cried Lilias, jumping up, "do you think I am
old, like you? What am I to lie down for?--and besides, you never lie
down, that are old. It is only me you say that to. I will go and take
my things off, and then I will take Susan and go out, and look in at
all the vulgar shops, and see the common folk, for I think I like them
best."
"I am afraid, Margaret, the poor child is disappointed," said Jean,
when Lilias had gone away.
"It will be because you have been putting things into her head, then,"
said Margaret; "everything went off just as well as possible. You are
surely later than usual with the tea? My back is just broken with that
train. It is really as warm as a summer day, and to go dragging about
miles of velvet after you is something terrible. She made her reverence
as well as you could have desired, and looked just as bonnie. I cannot
say as much for Lady Ida, though she is nice enough; and oh, but that
dress is dreadful for women that have lost their figures, and are just
mountains of flesh, like so many of these English ladies. When I see
them, I am just thankful I never married. Husband and bairns are dear
bought at that cost. Where are you going? Now, Jean, just sit and
listen to me, and give me my cup of tea. There is Susan to take care of
Lilias."
"But if the poor thing is disappointed, Margaret? I am sure, for my
part, I expected----"
"And if you expected nonsense, will that do Lilias any good to let her
see it?" cried Margaret, testily. "When she comes to herself, she will
see that we have all been fools, and those that have the most sense
will say nothing about it. That is the part I am intending to take.
When you think of it, there could be nothing more ridiculous. When
you speak to Lilias, you must just laugh at her. You must say that a
drawing-room means nothing--it is just a formality. It means that you
have come into the world, and that you are of the class of people that
are beholden to pay their duty to the queen. That is all it means. I
cannot tell," said Margaret, with irritation, "what other ridiculous
idea the child has got into her head, or who put it there. Will you
give me my cup of tea?"
Lilias came down after awhile in her ordinary dress, and with a
countenance divided between mirth and melancholy.
"I thought I should feel a different person," she said, "but I am just
the same. I thought the world was going to be changed, but there is no
difference. All the same, I am a woman. I never can be sent back to the
school-room, and made to refuse parties, and stay at home, and give up
all the fun, now."
"All the fun is a vulgar expression," said Margaret. "It is just to
take you to parties and give you pleasure that we have come here."
"Ah, but there is more than that. I am not going to be taken, but to
go. I am grown-up now. It is curious," said Lilias, with a reflective
air, "how you understand things just by doing them. I was thinking of
something else; I was not thinking of this; and, of course, it turns
out to be the most important. All this time I have been your child,
yours and Jean's--now I am just _me_."
"So long as you do not carry it too far, my dear."
"I will carry it just as far as I can go," cried Lilias, with a laugh.
She rejected the tea, out of which Margaret was getting much comfort,
and ran upstairs again, where they could hear her at the piano, playing
over everything she knew, which was not very much. The sound and
measure were a little ease to her excitement. By-and-by Miss Jean was
allowed by Margaret to get free, and, going upstairs, found Lilias
standing with her forehead pressed against the window, looking out.
There was not very much to see--the upper windows opposite across the
light green foliage, a few carriages passing under the windows. When
she heard some one coming into the room behind her, the girl broke
forth suddenly.
"What are we here for in this strange place? I don't want to go to
parties; they will just be like seeing the Queen. What has that to do
with us? We may fancy we are great people, but we are only little small
people, and nobody ever heard of us before."
"Lilias, my love," said Jean, with her arms round her little sister,
"you must not say that."
"Why shouldn't I say it when it is true? To see all these grand ladies,
and none of them knew us. Oh yes, Margaret had known them--two or
three--but they had forgotten her and she only remembered them when she
heard their names. But when we are at home everybody knows us. What is
the use of pretending that we are great people like these? When we are
at home we are great enough--as great as I want to be."
"Your nerves are just a little upset, my darling, and you are
disappointed (and little wonder)."
"I am not disappointed--that is, I can see it was foolish all through;
and I have no nerves; but I have made a fool of myself, and I could
kill myself," cried Lilias; "and everybody----"
"Whisht! whisht! my bonnie dear. Put on your hat, and we will go out.
Margaret is resting, and I have got some little things to do."
After a while this simple project delivered Lilias out of her trouble;
to walk about in the air and sunshine, to see the other people, so
many of them, going about their business, to watch the movement of the
living world, even to go into the shops and buy "little things" here
and there, a bit of ribbon in one, some gloves in another, a pretty bit
of china Miss Jean had set her heart on, was enough to restore her to
her usual light-heartedness. Nothing very tragical had happened, after
all.