The drawing-room after dinner always looked cheerful. Perhaps the fact
that it was a sort of little oasis in the desert, and that the light
from those windows shone into three counties, made the interior more
cosy and bright. (There are houses now upon every knoll, and the wind
cannot blow on Windyhill for the quantity of obstructions it meets
with.) There was the usual log burning on the hearth, and the party in
general kept away from it, for the night was warm. Only Mr. Sharp, the
London lawyer, was equal to bearing the heat. He stood with his back to
it, and his long legs showing against the glow behind, a sharp-nosed,
long man in black, who had immediately suggested Mephistopheles to
Elinor, even though he was on the Compton side. He had taken his coffee
after dinner, and now he stood over the fire slowly sipping a cup of
tea. There was a look of acquisitiveness about him which suggested an
inclination to appropriate anything from the unnecessary heat of the
fire to the equally unnecessary tea. But Mr. Sharp had been on the
winning side. He had demonstrated the superior sense of making the
money--which was not large enough sum to settle--of real use to the
young pair by an investment which would increase Mr. Compton's
importance in his company, besides producing very good dividends--much
better dividends than would be possible if it were treated in the
old-fashioned way by trustees. This was how the bride wished it, which
was the most telling of arguments: and surely, to insure good interest
and an increase of capital to her, through her husband's hands, was
better than to secure some beggarly hundred and fifty pounds a year for
her portion, though without any risks at all.
Mr. Sharp had also taken great pains to point out that there were only
three brothers--one an invalid and the other two soldiers--between Mr.
Phil and the title, and that even to be the Honourable Mrs. Compton was
something for a young lady, who was, if he might venture to say so,
nobody--not to say a word against her charms. Lord St. Serf was hourly
getting an old man, and the chances that his client might step over a
hecatomb of dead relations to the height of fortune was a thing quite
worth taking into account. It was a much better argument, however, to
return to the analogy of other poor young people, where the bride's
little fortune would be put into the husband's business, and thus
their joint advantage considered. Mr. Sharp, at the same time, did not
hesitate to express politely his opinion that to call him down to the
country for a discussion which could have been carried on much better
in one or other of their respective offices was a most uncalled for
proceeding, especially as even now the other side was wavering, and
would not consent to conclude matters, and make the signatures that were
necessary at once. Mr. Lynch, it must be allowed, was of the same
opinion too.
"Your country is a little bleak at night," said Mr. Sharp, partially
mollified by a good dinner, but beginning to remember unpleasantly the
cold drive in a rattletrap of a little rustic pony carriage over the
hills and hollows. "Do you really remain here all the year? How wonderful!
Not even a glimpse of the world in summer, or a little escape from the
chills in winter? How brave of you! What patience and powers of
endurance must be cultivated in that way!"
"One would think Windyhill was Siberia at least," said Mrs. Dennistoun,
laughing; "we do not give ourselves credit for all these fine
qualities."
"Some people are heroes--or heroines--without knowing it," said Mr.
Sharp, with a bow.
"And yet," said the mother, with a little indignation, "there was some
talk of Mr. Compton doing me the honour to share my hermitage for a part
of the year."
"Mr. Compton! my dear lady! Mr. Compton would die of it in a week," said
Mr. Sharp.
"I am quite well aware of it," said Mrs. Dennistoun; and she added,
after a pause, "so should I."
"What a change it will be for your daughter," said Mr. Sharp. "She will
see everything that is worth seeing. More in a month than she would see
here in a dozen years. Trust Mr. Compton for knowing all that's worth
going after. They have all an instinct for life that is quite remarkable.
There's Lady Mariamne, who has society at her feet, and the old lord is
a most remarkable old gentleman. Your daughter, Mrs. Dennistoun, is a
very fortunate young lady. She has my best congratulations, I am sure."
"Sharp," said Mr. Lynch from the background, "you had better be thinking
of starting, if you want to catch that train."
"I'll see if the pony is there," said John.
Mr. Sharp put down his teacup with precipitation. "Is it as late as
that?" he cried.
"It is the last train," said Mrs. Dennistoun, with great satisfaction.
"And I am afraid, if you missed it, as the house is full, there would be
nothing but a bed at the public-house to offer----"
"Oh, not another word," the lawyer said: and fortunately he never knew
how near that rising young man at the bar, John Tatham, who had every
object in conciliating a solicitor, was to a charge of manslaughter, if
killing an attorney can thus be called. But the feelings of the party
were expressed only in actions of the greatest kindness. They helped him
on with his coat, and covered him with rugs as he got in, shivering, to
the little pony carriage. It was a beautiful night, but the wind is
always a thing to be considered on Windyhill.
"Well, that's a good thing over," said Mr. Lynch, going to the fire as
he came in from the night air at the door and rubbing his hands.
"It would have been a relief to one's feeling to have kicked that fellow
all the way down and up the other side of the combe, and kept him warm,"
said John, with a laugh of wrath.
"It is a pity a man should have so little taste," said Mrs. Dennistoun.
Elinor still stood where she had been standing, with every feeling in
her breast in commotion. She had not taken any part in the insidious
kindnesses of speeding the parting guest; and now she remembered that he
was her Phil's representative: whatever she might herself think of the
man, how could she join in abuse of one who represented Phil?
"He is no worse, I suppose, than others," she said. "He was bound to
stand up for those in whose interest he was. Mr. Lynch would have made
himself quite as disagreeable for me."
"Not I," said the old gentleman; "for what is the good of standing up
for you? You would throw me over on the first opportunity. You have
taken all the force out of my sword-arm, my dear, as it is. How can I
make myself disagreeable for those who won't stand up for themselves? I
suppose you must have it your own way."
"Yes, I suppose it will be the best," said Mrs. Dennistoun, in subdued
tones.
"It would come to about the same thing, however you settled it," said
John.
Elinor looked from one to another with eyes that began to glow. "You are
a cheerful company," she said. "You speak as if you were arranging my
funeral. On the whole I think I like Mr. Sharp best; for if he was
contemptuous of me and my little bit of money, he was at all events
cheerful about the future, and that is always something; whereas you
all----"
There was a little pause, no one responding. There was no pleasant jest,
no bright augury for Elinor. The girl's heart rose against this gloom
that surrounded her. "I think," she said, with an angry laugh, "that I
had better run after Mr. Sharp and bring him back, for he had at least a
little sympathy with me!"
"Don't be too sure of that," said Mr. Lynch, "for if we think you are
throwing yourself away, Elinor, so does he on his side. He thinks the
Honourable Mr. Compton is going dreadfully cheap for five thousand
pounds."
"Elinor need not take any of us _au pied de la lettre_--of course we are
all firm for our own side," said John.
Elinor turned her head from one to another, growing pale and red by
turns. There was a certain surprise in her look, as she found herself
thus at bay. The triumph of having got the better of their opposition
was lost in the sense of isolation with which the girl, so long the
first object of everybody about her, felt herself thus placed alone. And
the tears were very ready to start, but were kept back by jealous pride
which rose to her help. Well! if they put her outside the circle she
would remain so; if they talked to her as one no longer of them, but
belonging to another life, so be it! Elinor determined that she would
make no further appeal. She would not even show how much it hurt her.
After that pale look round upon them all, she went into the corner of
the room where the piano stood, and where there was little light. She
was too proud to go out of the room, lest they should think she was
going to cry. She went with a sudden, quick movement to the piano
instead, where perhaps she might cry too, but where nobody should see.
Poor Elinor! they had made her feel alone by their words, and she made
herself more alone by this little instinctive withdrawal. She began to
play softly one thing after another. She was not a great performer. Her
little "tunes" were of the simplest--no better indeed than tunes, things
that every musician despises: they made a little atmosphere round her, a
voluntary hermitage which separated her as if she had been a hundred
miles away.
"I wish you could have stayed for the marriage," Mrs. Dennistoun said.
"My dear lady, it would spoil my holiday--the middle of September.
You'll have nobody except, of course, the people you have always. To
tell the truth," John added. "I don't care tuppence for my holiday. I'd
have come--like a shot: but I don't think I could stand it. She has
always been such a pet of mine. I don't think I could bear it, to tell
the truth."
"I shall have to bear it, though she is more than a pet of mine," said
Mrs. Dennistoun.
"I know, I know! the relatives cannot be let off--especially the mother,
who must put up with everything. I trust," said Mr. Lynch, with a sigh,
"that it may all turn out a great deal better than we hope. Where are
they going after the marriage?"
"Some one has lent them a place--a very pretty place--on the Thames,
where they can have boating and all that--Lord Sudbury, I think. And
later they are going on a round of visits, to his father, Lord St. Serf,
and to Lady Mariamne, and to his aunt, who is Countess of--something or
other." Mrs. Dennistoun's voice was not untouched by a certain vague
pleasure in these fine names.
"Ah," said the old lawyer, nodding his head at each, "all among the
aristocracy, I see. Well, my dear lady, I hope you will be able to find
some satisfaction in that; it is better than to fall among--nobodies at
least."
"I hope so," said Mrs. Dennistoun, with a sigh.
They were speaking low, and fondly hoped that they were not heard; but
Elinor's ears and every faculty were quickened and almost every word
reached her. But she was too proud to take any notice. And perhaps these
dreary anticipations, on the whole, did her good, for her heart rose
against them, and any little possible doubts in her own mind were put
to sudden flight by the opposition and determination which flooded her
heart. This made her playing a little more unsteady than usual, and she
broke down several times in the middle of a "tune;" but nobody remarked
this: they were all fully occupied with their own thoughts.
All, at least, except John, who wandered uneasily about the room, now
studying the names of the books on the bookshelves--which he knew by
heart, now pulling the curtain aside to look out at the moonlight, now
pulling at the fronds of the great maidenhair in his distraction till
the table round was scattered with little broken leaves. He wanted to
keep out of that atmosphere of emotion which surrounded Elinor at the
piano. But it attracted him, all the same, as the light attracts a moth.
To get away from that, to make the severance which so soon must be a
perfect severance, was the only true policy he knew; for what was he to
her, and what could she be to him? He had already said everything which
a man in his position ought to say. He took out a book at last, and sat
down doggedly by the table to read, thus making another circle of
atmosphere, so to speak, another globe of isolated being in the little
room, while the two elder people talked low in the centre, conventionally
inaudible to the girl who was playing and the young man who was reading.
But John might as well have tried to solve some tremendous problem as to
read that book. He too heard every word the elders were saying. He heard
them with his own ears, and also he heard them through the ears of
Elinor, gauging the effect which every word would have upon her. At last
he could bear it no longer. He was driven to her side to bear a part of
her burden, even to prevent her from hearing, which would be something.
He resisted the impulse to throw down his book, and only placed it very
quietly on the table, and even in a deliberate way, that there might be
no appearance of feeling about him--and made his way by degrees, pausing
now and then to look at a picture, though he knew them all by heart.
Thus he arrived at last at the piano, in what he flattered himself was
an accidental way.
"Elinor, the stars are so bright over the combe, do come out. It is not
often they are so clear."
"No," she said, more with the movement of her lips than with any sound.
"Why not? You can't want to play those old pieces just at this moment.
You will have plenty of time to play them to-morrow."
She said "No" again, with a little impatient movement of her hands on
the keys and a look towards the others.
"You are listening to what they are saying? Why should you? They don't
want you to hear. Come along, Elinor. It's far better for you not to
listen to what is not intended----"
"Oh, go away, John."
"I must say no in my turn. Leave the tunes till to-morrow, and come out
with me."
"I thought," she said, roused a little, "that you were fond of music,
John."
This brought John up suddenly in an unexpected way. "Oh, as for
that,"--he said, in a dubious tone. Poor Elinor's tunes were not music
in his sense, as she very well knew.
She laughed in a forlorn way. "I know what you mean; but this is quite
good enough for what I shall want. I am going down, you know, to a
different level altogether. Oh, you can hear for yourself what mamma and
Mr. Lynch are saying."
"Going up you mean, Elinor. I thought them both very complaisant over
all those titles."
"Ah," she said, "they say that mocking. They think I am going down; so
do you, too, to the land of mere fast people, people with no sense.
Well; there is nothing but the trial will teach any of us. We shall
see."
"It is rather a dreadful risk to run, if it's only a trial, Elinor."
"A trial--for you, not for me--I am not the one that thinks so, except
so far as the tunes are concerned," she said with a laugh. "I confess so
far as that Lady Mariamne is fond of a comic song. I don't think she
goes any further. I shall be good enough for them in the way of music."
"I should be content never to hear another note of music all my life,
Elinor, if----"
"Ah, there you begin again. Not you, John, not you! I can't bear any
more. Neither stars, nor walks, nor listening; no more! This rather,"
and she brought down her hands with a great crash upon the piano, making
every one start. Then Elinor rose, having produced her effect. "I think
it must be time to go to bed, mamma. John is talking of the stars, which
means that he wants his cigar, and Mr. Lynch must want just to look at
the tray in the dining-room. And you are tired by all this fuss, all
this unnatural fuss about me, that am not worth---- Come, mother, to
bed."