CONSULTATIONS.
The commotion produced in The Elms by the above event was very great. It
was the first experience of the family in this kind of thing, and it
affected everybody, from Mrs. Eastwood down to the kitchen-maid.
Frederick was perhaps the least moved of all. He intimated it as his
opinion that Molyneux was all right, seeing that he had a father before
him; that he wondered at Nelly’s taste, but supposed it was her own
look-out, and if she was pleased no one had any right to interfere. He
made this speech rather disagreeable to his sister from the little shrug
of the shoulders with which he announced his surprise at her taste; but
otherwise he was friendly enough. Dick, for his part, said little, but
he walked round her with a certain serious investigation in the
intervals of his studies.
“You look exactly as you did yesterday; I can’t see any difference,”
said Dick. “Why don’t you put on another kind of gown, or pin Molyneux’s
card on you, to show you are disposed of?”
To this, however, Nelly paid no more attention than she did to the
comments of Winks, who came and wagged his tail at her in a knowing,
good-humoured sort of way. When Molyneux came to see Mrs. Eastwood next
morning, Winks met him at the door, escorted him to the dining-room,
where he was to have his audience, and then trotted in on three legs to
where Nelly was sitting, and wagged his tail confidentially. “A very
good fellow, on the whole, I assure you,” he said as plainly as could be
said by that medium of communication.
Nelly did not sit in awful suspense while her lover was unfolding
himself to her mother. She knew that mother well enough to be sure that
nothing untoward would come in the course of her true love. But she
awaited their coming with a certain importance and expectation. They had
a long conversation in the dining-room, longer perhaps than Nelly
approved. Mr. Molyneux had a great deal to say to Mrs. Eastwood. No one
could be less disposed to “repent at leisure” after the hot haste of his
declaration, but yet it is very probable, had he had time to think, that
he would have decided on the prudence of waiting longer. When it
occurred to him that he must tell Mrs. Eastwood that he was earning
nothing, but lived on the allowance his father gave him, it made the
young man uncomfortably hot and nervous. He avoided the mother’s eye as
he told this part of the story, dwelling much upon what he would do in
the future, and his eagerness to provide for Nelly “all the comforts she
had been used to.” Mrs. Eastwood, though she was not a woman of
business, knew enough about the world to shake her head at this. She was
very well inclined to Molyneux, both for his own sake and for Nelly’s.
He was good-looking, well-mannered, and always nicely behaved to
herself, which naturally has a certain influence upon a mother. And his
connexions were all that could be wished. Mr. Molyneux, Q.C., who was
recognized by everybody as going to be Mr. Justice Molyneux at the very
first vacancy, was perfectly satisfactory as a father-in-law for Nelly,
and would secure for Nelly’s family a comfortable certainty of being
well lawyered all their lives. And they were “nice people;” there was,
on the whole, nothing in the world to be said against Mrs. Molyneux,
Ernest’s mother, or the Misses Molyneux, his sisters. But nevertheless,
as it is strictly necessary for a young couple to have something to live
on, Mrs. Eastwood shook her head.
“Nelly has five thousand pounds,” she said, “but with my boys to place
out in the world, I shall not be able to give her any more, and that is
not much to depend upon. And, as a matter of principle, I don’t like to
see young people depending upon allowances from their fathers and
mothers--unless it might be an eldest son, with landed property coming
to him. I don’t think it is the right way.”
Molyneux was rather surprised at this display of wisdom. He thought some
one must have put it into her head. He had meant to slur over his want
of income in his interview with the mother, as he could not have done
with a father. And then Mrs. Eastwood was so “jolly,” so good-natured,
and kind that he did not expect his position to be regarded as
involving any want of principle. It must not be supposed, however, that
the young man had any intention of deceiving, or that he was aware of
having done wrong in obeying his impulse, and hastening by so many weeks
or months his explanation with Nelly. Yet he felt that but for that
overwhelming impulse it might have been prudent to have postponed the
explanation; and now he received a sudden check, and for a moment
experienced the sensations of a man who has been proceeding on false
pretences, and did not know what to say.
“I am afraid you will think I have been premature,” he said. “The fact
is, I should have made my way first before I ventured--but then, Mrs.
Eastwood, you must make allowances for me, and recollect that to see
Nelly often, and yet to continue quite prudent and master of myself----”
“But you need not have seen Nelly quite so often,” said Mrs. Eastwood
with a smile.
“Supposing I had stayed away, what should you have thought of me? That I
was a despicable fellow, laying myself out to please her, and then
running away when I thought I had gone too far.”
“I don’t think I should have thought anything of the kind,” said Mrs.
Eastwood, in that easy way which is so disconcerting to people who feel
that the eyes of the world ought to be upon them. “I should have thought
you were occupied, or had other engagements. Indeed, until Nelly told me
last night, I never had distinctly identified you as being fond of her,
Mr. Molyneux. No doubt it was my stupidity, but I should not have
remarked it; I don’t know whether she might have done so.”
Molyneux felt considerably crushed by this calm and tolerant judgment,
but he went on,--
“You may be sure this state of things won’t last,” he said; “I have a
motive now, and I shall set to work. Of course I cannot press for an
early marriage, as I should otherwise have done had I been wise, and
made my preparations first----”
“No, of course not,” said Mrs. Eastwood. This gave her great pleasure,
practically, but theoretically I am obliged to confess that she half
despised her future son-in-law for his philosophy. It was quite right,
and relieved her mind from a load. But still a woman likes her child to
be wooed hotly, and prefers an impatient lover, unwilling to wait. Such
a one she would have talked to, and reasoned down into patience, but,
theoretically, she would have liked him the best.
“You will not oppose me?” said Molyneux, taking her hand; “you will be a
good mother to me, and let me see Nelly, and be a sort of new son, to
make up to me for having to wait? You are always good, to everybody--you
won’t keep _me_ at arm’s length?”
“No,” said Mrs. Eastwood, “I won’t keep you at arm’s length, for that
would be to punish Nelly; but I think you should not have spoken till
your prospects were a little more clear.”
“They are clear enough,” said the anxious lover. “It is only that I have
been idle, and wanted energy; but now no man can have a stronger
motive----”
Mrs. Eastwood shook her head again, but she smiled likewise, and gave
him her hand, and even permitted a filial salute, which reddened her
comely cheek, and softened her heart to Nelly’s betrothed. Perhaps,
under the circumstances, it was permissible for a man to be imprudent.
Molyneux spent the rest of the day in and about The Elms, appearing and
disappearing, hanging about Nelly, disturbing all the household
arrangements, and communicating to the visitors premature information as
to what had happened. Not that he made any confidences, but that his
mere presence there all the afternoon, his look of possession and
triumph, the little air of being at home, which the young man could not
resist taking upon himself, told the tale more clearly than words. Mrs.
Barclay ran in “just for a moment,” as she said, to beg Nelly to go with
her next day to a horticultural show, and “finish what you have begun,
you little puss,” she whispered in the girl’s ear. “What have I begun?”
Nelly asked, bewildered, while Molyneux, without any assignable reason,
was so rude as to burst out laughing in his enjoyment of the joke. He
put Mrs. Barclay into her carriage as if he had been the son of the
house, she said afterwards, a proceeding which sent her away with a
certain vague disquiet and resentment, though of course, as she allowed,
she had no right to interfere. Major Railton, too, when he called about
the plumber’s work, was infinitely disgusted to find Molyneux there, and
to leave him there, when, after long waiting, he was obliged to
relinquish the hope of out-staying his rival. “I must go,” he said at
length, in tart and ill-tempered tones, “for alas! I am not so lucky as
you young fellows with nothing to do. I have my duties to attend to.”
This was a poisoned arrow, and struck the whole happy group, mother,
daughter, and lover, with equal force.
“I am sure, Major Railton, you are an example to us all,” said Mrs.
Eastwood; “always so ready to serve others, and yet with so much of your
own work to do. But I hope Mr. Molyneux has his duties too.”
“Yes, I have my duties,” said the lover, in his insolent happiness
turning a beaming countenance upon the unsuccessful one. It was growing
dark, and he was so impertinent as to give a little twitch to Nelly’s
sleeve in the obscurity, under Major Railton’s very eyes; who did not,
indeed, see this flaunting in his face of his adversary’s banner, but
felt that there was some bond unrevealed which joined the three before
him in a common cause. He went away in a state of irritation for which
he could not have given any just reason, and tore the plumber’s estimate
to pieces when he emerged from the shrubbery in front of The Elms. Mrs.
Eastwood had not taken kindly even to his plumber. She had stood by a
certain old Sclater, an old jobbing Scotsman, for whom she had a
national partiality.
“Why should I bother myself about their concerns? Let them get Molyneux
to look after things,” the Major said to himself, with scorn that
transcended all other expression; and he laughed what is sometimes
described in literature as a “hollow laugh” of bitterness and sarcasm.
Indeed, I think Major Railton was right, and that Molyneux’s supervision
of the roofs and water-butts would have come to very little good.
It had been resolved in the family that nothing was to be said about the
engagement for the present, as it would in all probability be a long
one; and this was how they began to carry out their resolution. I do not
need to add that the servants knew it the first evening, and had already
settled where the young people were to live, and what sort of an
establishment they would keep up. Winks, too, was aware of the fact from
the first, and, as I have said, was confidentially humorous about it
with Nelly, and kept up her courage during the interview between her
mother and her lover. But notwithstanding all we have been hearing
lately about the communications made by dogs to their friends, I do not
think he spread the news out of doors, or if he did whisper it to a
crony, that crony was discreet.
On Saturday, which was the day following, Jenny came up from Eton to
spend the Sunday with his adoring family. Jenny was extremely unlike his
name--a big and bony boy of sixteen, promising to be the biggest of the
family, though neither Frederick nor Dick were short. He had big joints
and long limbs, and red wrists and prodigious knuckles projecting from
the short sleeve of his coat. But notwithstanding so many appearances
against him, he was the most intellectual of Mrs. Eastwood’s sons--a
“sap” at school, and addicted to reading away from school, a fashion of
Eton boy with which the world is not familiar. By way of making up for
this, he was somewhat rough in his manners, and great in such exercises
as demanded strength rather than skill. He was tremendous at football,
though no one gave him the credit for clever play; and though his “form”
was bad, and precluded all hope of “the boats,” he could carry a skiff
along at a pace which no one could keep up with, and against the stream
was the greatest oar of his years afloat on the Thames. In consideration
of these qualifications the youth of Eton graciously looked over his
“sapping,” or rather were vaguely impressed by it--as, to do him
justice, the modern schoolboy generally is when intellectual power is
combined with the muscular force, of which he has a clearer
understanding. Jenny was not yet a “swell,” but he was in a fair way for
being a swell--a title which at Eton bears a very different meaning
from its meaning elsewhere. But he was very good to his family when he
went home, and tolerant of their ignorance. Jenny’s name in the school
list was all starred and ribboned, so to speak, with unknown orders of
merit, such as the profane eye comprehends not. He had a big Roman
letter before his name, and a little Greek one after it, and a double
number after that--mystic signs of honours which the Eton man
understands, but which I will not attempt to explain. It might have been
confusing to a more mature intellect to contemplate all the novelties
which were to dawn upon him on this visit; but Jenny was not emotional.
He shook hands with his brother-in-law who was to be, with extreme
composure.
“I suppose they have told you,” said Mr. Molyneux, good-humouredly
permitting himself to be inspected by this big boy.
“Yes, they have told me,” said Jenny, “but I knew you before.”
“You did not know me in my present capacity. Indeed, I am not generally
known in my present capacity,” said Molyneux; “and I don’t quite see why
you should have been told. You would never have found out.”
“Oh, shouldn’t I!” said Jenny. “Last time I was at home, I said, ‘He’s
going to be Mr. Nelly, that fellow;’ didn’t I, mamma? Of course you are
Mr. Nelly. Women don’t get half justice in this world. I like her better
than you, as a matter of course; so that’s your distinction to me.”
“Jenny goes in for Women’s Rights,” said his mother, with a smile.
“Of course I do; I’m a woman’s son; oughtn’t I to stand up for them? If
you mean to tell me old Brownlow there has more sense than my mother, I
tell you you’re a fool, that’s all. Nor Frederick hasn’t--not half so
much--though he thinks himself such a swell,” said Jenny.
In point of negatives, boys, however learned in Greek and Latin, permit
themselves occasionally, in English, a style of their own.
“I don’t want a vote, you silly boy,” said Mrs. Eastwood; “it is not in
my way.”
“You may please yourself about that--but it’s a disgrace to England that
you shouldn’t have it if you like,” cried the young politician hotly.
And then he sunk suddenly from this lofty elevation, and asked, “Where’s
the other girl?”
“Do you mean Innocent?”
“I mean her, if that’s her name,” said the boy, colouring slightly.
“Don’t she stay with the rest of us? Ain’t you good to her? Where has
she gone?”
“We are as good as we know how to be,” said Mrs. Eastwood, glad to
plunge into a grievance, and with a new listener. “We don’t know what to
make of her, Jenny. She does not care for Nelly and me. We have tried to
coax her, and we have tried to scold her; but she will stay by herself.
She comes down when the bell rings, and she speaks when she is spoken
to: that is all; and I am at my wit’s end what to do.”
“But that is everything a woman ought to be,” said Molyneux. “Isn’t
there a proverb about being seen and not heard, &c.? What a difference
from some people! When I came in to-day, the first thing I heard was
some one singing up-stairs--singing so that I felt inclined to dance. I
suppose it was not this Innocent?”
“It must be your fault,” said Jenny seriously, taking no notice of this
interpellation.
“My fault, Jenny!” cried Mrs. Eastwood, getting red; and then she
paused, and subdued her tones. “Do you know, dear, I often think it must
be. But what can I do?” she said humbly. “I try talking to her, and that
fails; and then I try taking no notice. Yes, Jenny, I believe you are
right. If I could love her heartily, right out, as I love Nelly----”
“That’s unreasonable,” said Jenny. “You can’t do that, because, you see,
we love Nelly by instinct, not for anything in her. She’s not bad, for a
girl--but if she were as disagreeable as an old cat, still we should
have instinct to fall back upon. You have no instinct in respect to the
other girl.”
“What an odd boy you are!” said Mrs. Eastwood, half affronted, half
laughing; “and yet I believe there’s something in it. But I do blame
myself. I want to be kind, very kind, to her; whereas, you know, if I
had not been kind to her, but only had loved her at once, I should have
done better, I am sure. As for girls being seen and not heard, I don’t
think it applies to their families, Mr. Molyneux. It is all very well
out in the world----”
“Out in the world one would rather they did say something now and then,”
said Molyneux. “It may be good, but it is dull. We are in a new cycle of
opinion, and don’t think as our grandfathers did. At the domestic hearth
it might be very nice to have some one who would only speak when she was
spoken to. There would be no quarrels then, Nelly; no settings up of
independent judgment; no saying ‘Hold your tongue, sir----’”
“That ought to be said, however, sometimes,” said Nelly, making a little
_moue_.
These were the light-horse skirmishings of conversation, part of that
running dialogue about everything which these two young persons carried
on in every corner, over everybody’s head, and through everybody’s talk.
The others, to tell the truth, paid very little attention to their
chatter, and Jenny came in with a steady march, as of the main body of
the army along the beaten road.
“The question is, has she anything to say?” said Jenny. “I have felt
myself, sometimes, What is the good of talking? I don’t blame you for
not being fond of her, mother; for that, I suppose, you could not help.
But she should not be left to go about like a ghost. I don’t believe in
ghosts,” said the youth, propping himself up against the mantelpiece;
“they are generally deceptions, or else it is quite impossible to prove
them. But when I saw that girl I thought _she_ was one. Her face is a
face out of a picture: I saw it once at the Louvre, the year we were
abroad. And she has something very queer in her eyes; and she glides as
if she had not any feet. Altogether she is queer. Don’t she take to
anybody in the house?”
“She is fond of Frederick, I think,” said Mrs. Eastwood, faltering.
Jenny formed his lips into the appearance of “Whew!” He was taken by
surprise.
“Fond of Frederick, and not care for _them_!” he said to himself, under
his breath; this was a very curious indication of character. I am not
sure that Jenny did not think, like most other human creatures, that it
was possible his own attractions and influence might “bring out”
Innocent. He gave her a considerable share of his attention that
evening, and kept his eyes upon her. He was a theoretical sort of boy,
and had read a great deal of modern poetry, and liked to think that he
could analyze character like Mr. Browning. He tried to throw himself so
strongly into her position that he should see the workings of her mind,
and why she looked like a ghost. How Jenny succeeded in this noble
pursuit of his will be seen hereafter. It occupied his mind very much
all that Sunday, during which Nelly and young Molyneux were still in the
ascendant, though the first novelty of their glory was beginning to
fade.