"So too may soothing Hope thy leave enjoy,
Sweet visions of long severed hearts to frame;
Though absence may impair or cares annoy,
Some constant mind may draw us still the same."
_Christian Year_.
"Here are two letters for you, Marian," said Mrs. Lyddell, meeting the
girls as they came in from a walk; "Lady Marchmont's servant left this
note."
"An invitation to dinner for this evening," said Marian opening it; "ah!
I knew they were to have a party; 'just recollected that Lady Julia
Faulkner used to know Fern Torr, and I must have you to meet her, if it
is not a great bore.'"
"Then, my dear, had you not better send an answer? James can take it
directly."
"No, no, thank you; the carriage will call at seven. Who can this Lady
Julia be? But--" by this time Marian had arrived at her other letter,
and, with a sudden start and scream of joy, she exclaimed, "They are
coming!"
"Coming? Who?" asked Caroline.
"Agnes--and Mr. and Mrs. Wortley! O! All coming to stay with their
friends in Cadogan Place. I shall see them at any time I please."
"I am very glad of it," said Caroline.
"Tell them that their earliest engagement must be to us," said Mrs.
Lyddell. "When do you expect them?"
"Next week, next week itself," cried Marian, "to stay a whole fortnight,
or perhaps three weeks. Mr. Wortley has business which will occupy
him--"
Few faces ever expressed more joy than Marian's in the prospect of a
meeting with these dearest of friends; Mrs. Lyddell and Caroline smiled
at her joy as she flew out of the room to make Saunders a partaker in
her pleasure.
"Strange girl," said Caroline; "so cold to some, so warm to others; I
shall be glad to see these incomparable Wortleys."
"So shall I," said Mrs. Lyddell; "but I expect that Marian's opinion of
them will soon alter, she has now become used to such different society.
However we must be very civil to them, be they what they may."
In the meantime Marian penned a letter to Agnes, in terms of delight and
affection twenty times warmer than any which had ever passed her lips,
and then resigned herself to Saunders' hands to be dressed, without
much free will on her own part; too excited to read as usual during
the operation, sometimes talking, sometimes trying to imagine Agnes in
London, a conjunction which seemed to her almost impossible.
The carriage came for her, and in due time she was entering the great
drawing-room, where Selina, looking prettier than ever in her evening
dress, sat reading a novel and awaiting her guests.
"O Selina, only think," she began; "the Wortleys are coming!"
"What say you? Why, Marian, you are in a wild state. Who are coming?"
"The Wortleys, Selina, my own Agnes."
"O, your old clergyman's daughter! You constant little dove, you don't
mean that you have kept up that romantic friendship all these years?"
"Why, Selina!"
"Yes, yes, I remember all about them now: the daughter was your great
friend."
"She was more yours," said Marian, "when you were at Fern Torr, because
you were more nearly the same age. Don't you remember how you used to
whisper under the sycamore tree, and send me out of the way?"
"Poor little Marian! Well, those were merry times, and I rather think
your Agnes promised to be very pretty."
"And shall not you be glad to see her?"
"When do they come?"
"Next Monday, to--Cadogan Place."
"Close to you. Well, that is lucky; but now, my dear, if you can come
down from the clouds for a moment, I want to tell you about Lady Julia."
"Who is she?" said Marian, bringing back her attention with an effort.
"A tiresome woman," whispered Selina, with a sort of affectation of
confidence; "but the fact is, Lord Marchmont used to know her husband,
or his father, or his great grandfather, sometime in the dark ages, and
so be wants me to make much of her. She is one of the people that it is
real toil to make talk for; but by good fortune I remembered that I had
heard some legend about her once knowing my uncles, and so I thought
that a cross-examination of you about Gerald and Fern Torr would be a
famous way of filling up the evening."
"O!" said Marian in a not very satisfied tone, "so she has a husband,
has she? I fancied from your note that she only consisted of herself,"
"She consists of a son and daughters," said Selina.
"Her husband is dead, but the rest of the house you will presently see."
"Eh?" said Lord Marchmont, coming out of the other room where he had
been writing, and greeting Marian.
"You don't mean that you have invited that young Faulkner?"
"You would, not have me leave out the only agreeable one of the
party--something to sweeten the infliction."
Lord Marchmont smiled at the arch, bold, playful manner with which she
looked up in his face, as if to defy him to be displeased; but still he
was evidently vexed, and said, "It is hard upon Marian only to take her
from Elliot Lyddell's society to bring her into Mr. Faulkner's."
"Indeed! but that is hard on Mr. Faulkner," said his wife. "As to worth,
I suppose he and Marian's cousin are pretty much on a par, but it is but
justice to say that he has considerably the advantage in externals."
"It cannot be helped now," said Lord Marchmont; "but I wish I had told
you before, Selina. The esteem I had for that young man's father would
make me still more reluctant to cultivate him, considering his present
way of going on."
"Well, one invitation to dinner is not such a very agricultural
proceeding, that you need waste such a quantity of virtuous
indignation," said Selina; "I daresay he will not grow _very_ much the
faster for it."
The arrival of some of the party put a stop to the conversation, and
presently Lady Julia Faulkner, Mr. and Miss Faulkner, were announced.
The first was a fair, smooth, handsome matron, who looked as if she had
never been preyed upon by either thought or care; her daughter was a
well-dressed, fashionable young lady; and her son, so gentlemanlike
and sensible looking, as to justify Lady Marchmont in saying that in
externals he had the advantage of Elliot Lyddell. Marian sat next him at
dinner, and though she meant to dislike him, she could not succeed in
doing so; he talked with so much spirit and cleverness of the various
exhibitions and other things, which are chiefly useful as food for
conversation. Something too might be ascribed to the store of happiness
within her, which would not let her be ungracious or unwilling to let
herself be entertained, for on the whole, she had never been so well
amused at a dinner party.
In the drawing-room the examination took place with which she had been
threatened, but she had grown hardened to such things with time, and
could endure them much better than she used to do. It was always the
custom for her to outstay the guests, so as to talk them over with her
cousins; and, on this occasion the first exclamation was, how very
agreeable and clever Mr. Faulkner was.
"So much the worse," said Lord Marchmont gravely; "I think worse of him
than I did before, for I find he has taken up Germanism."
Marian had some notion that Germanism meant that the foundations of his
faith were unsettled, and she looked extremely horrified, but she had
not time to dwell on the subject, for the carriage came to the door,
and she was glad to be alone to hug herself with delight. The gas lamps
looked as bright to her eyes as if there were an illumination specially
got up in honour of her happiness, and the drive to Mr. Lyddell's was
far too short to settle a quarter of what Agnes was to see and do.
It was almost four years since she had parted with her, but the
correspondence had scarcely slackened, nor the earnestness of her
affection and confidence diminished. There was no one, excepting Edmund,
to whom she could look for counsel in the same manner, and the hope of
long conversations with Mrs. Wortley was almost as delightful as the
thought of seeing Agnes once more.
She had begged them to call the first thing, and accordingly soon after
breakfast one fine Tuesday morning, a loud double-knock caused her heart
to leap into her mouth, or rather her throat, and almost choke her. Mrs.
Lyddell, Elliot, and Caroline were all present, and she wished them
forty miles off, when the announcement was the very thing she wished to
hear!
There they were, Mrs. Wortley giving that fond, motherly kiss, Agnes
catching both hands, and kissing both cheeks, Mr. Wortley giving one
hearty squeeze to her hand! There they really were, she was by Mrs.
Wortley's side, their own familiar tones were in her ears! She hardly
dared to look up, for fear Agnes should be altered, but no, she could
not call her altered, though she was more formed, the features were less
childish, and there was more thought, though not less life and light
than of old, in the blue eyes. Indeed it came upon Marian by surprise,
that she had not known before that Agnes was uncommonly pretty as well
as loveable. She was surprised not to see her friend more shy, but able
to answer Elliot's civilities with readiness and ease; whereas she who
still felt stiff and awkward with a stranger, had supposed that such
must be doubly the case with one who had lived so much less in the
world.
That day was to be devoted by the Wortleys to visits and business, but
they reckoned on having Marian to themselves all the next, and were to
call for her early on their way to some of the sights of London. Mrs.
Lyddell made them fix an early day for coming to dinner, and they took
their leave, Marian feeling as if the visit had not been everything that
she expected, and yet as if it was happiness even to know that the same
city contained herself and them.
No sooner were they gone than the Lyddells began with one voice to
admire Agnes, even Elliot was very much struck with her, and positively
gained himself some degree of credit with Marian, by confirming her
opinion of her friend's beauty. It was delightful indeed that Agnes
should be something to be proud of; Marian would not have loved her one
whit the less if she had been a plain, awkward country girl, but it was
something to have her affection justified in their eyes, and to have no
fear of Agnes being celebrated only for her cricket.
They called for Marian early the next morning, and now she received the
real greeting, corresponding to her parting, as Mrs. Wortley's second
daughter. Then began the inquiries for everything at Fern Torr, animate
or inanimate, broken into by Agnes's exclamations of surprise at
everything new and wonderful in the streets, a happy, but a most
desultory conversation.
At last they got into a quiet street where Mr. and Mrs. Wortley went to
choose a carpet, and the two girls were left to sit in the carriage.
"O Marian!" began Agnes, "so you have not quite lost your old self! I
am glad to see how it all is at least, for I have something tangible to
pity you for."
"I wonder what it is," said Marian, too happy for pity at that moment.
"O, my dear! that Mr. Elliot Lyddell!"
"He is hardly ever in my way," said Marian.
"And his sister! Her dress! What study it must have taken! In the
extreme of fashion."
"Caroline's dress is not exactly what she would choose herself," said
Marian.
"That must be only an excuse, Marian; for though you have a
well-turned-out look, it is not as if you were in a book of fashions."
"I am not Mrs. Lyddell's daughter, and though I do expect a battle or
two when I come out, it will not be a matter of obedience with me, as it
is with Caroline."
"Is it very painful obedience?" said Agnes laughingly; "well, you do
deserve credit for not being spoilt among such people."
"In the first place, how do you know they are 'such people?' and next,
how do you know I am not spoilt?"
"You must be the greatest hypocrite in the world, if you are spoilt, to
write me such letters, and sit so boldly looking me in the face. And as
to their being 'such people,' have not I seen them, have not I
heard them, and, above all, has not Mr. Arundel given me their full
description?"
"But that was three years and a half ago," said Marian.
"And have they changed since then?" asked Agnes.
"I don't know."
"O how glad I am to hear that!" cried Agnes. "Never mind them; but to
hear you say 'I don't know' in that old considering tone is proof enough
to me that you are my own old Marian, which is all I care for."
"I don't--" began Marian; then stopping short and laughing, she added,
"I mean I was thinking whether it is really so. Can any person live four
years without changing? Especially at our age. What a little girl I was
then!"
"Yes, to be sure, you have grown into a tall--yes, quite a tall woman,
and you have got your black hair into a very pretty broad braid, and you
wear a bracelet and carry a parasol, and don't let your veil stream down
your back; I don't see much more alteration. Your eyes are as black and
your face as white, and altogether you are quite as provoking as ever in
never telling one anything that one wishes to know."
Marian gave a stiff smile, one which she had learnt in company, and
grew frightened at herself to find that she was treating Agnes, as she
treated the outer world. She did not know what to say; her love was
deep, strong and warm within, but it was too soon to "rend the silken
veil;" and this awkwardness, this consciousness of coldness was positive
suffering. She was relieved that the return of Mr. and Mrs. Wortley put
an end to the _tête-à-tête_, then shocked that it should be a relief;
for, poor girl, her extreme embarrassment overpowering the happiness
in her friend's presence, made her doubt whether it could be that her
affection was really departing, a thought too dreadful to be dwelt upon.
Who would have told her that she should endure so much pain in her first
drive with the Wortleys?
They went to call on Lady Marchmont that day, and, as Marian expected,
did not find her at home. Agnes renewed the old lamentation that Marian
could not live with her and thus avoid Mrs. Lyddell's finery and
fashion. "Now why do you laugh, Marian? you don't mean that Selina
Grenville can have turned into a fashionable lady? she was the simplest
creature in the world."
"She is what she was then," said Marian; "but as to being fashionable--.
My dear Agnes, you don't understand."
"We have not to reproach Marian for want of knowledge of the world now,
Agnes," said Mr. Wortley, smiling at his daughter's bewildered look.
"Ah!" cried Marian, and there stopped, thinking how grievously she must
be altered, since this was the reproach that the Lyddells used so often
to make her. Some wonderful sight here engaged Agnes, and Marian's
exclamation fell unheeded.
She spent a good many hours with the Wortleys while they were in London,
but usually in the midst of confusion and bustle: Mr. and Mrs. Wortley
were busy, and Agnes almost wild with the novelties around. Marian's
heart ached as she recollected a saying which she had read, that a
thread once broken can never be united again. Her greatest comfort was
in the prospect of a visit to Fern Torr; for Mrs. Lyddell willingly
consented to her accepting Mrs. Wortley's invitation to return with
them, and to stay even to the end of her brother's holidays, which he
was also to spend at _home_. She should know better there whether she
was really changed; she could take it all up again there, and now she
could afford to wait, and not feel the necessity of saying everything
that would not be said in so short a time.
One thing was certain, she did not like to hear Agnes talk against the
Lyddells. She could have done it herself; nay, she did so sometimes when
with Lady Marchmont, but then that was only about "nonsense." She had
lived with them too long, had shared in too many of their conversations
and employments, was, in fact, too much one of the family, to like to
hear them condemned. She thought it very strange, and she could not tell
whether it was from having grown like them, or from a genuine dislike to
injustice; at any rate it was this which convinced her that she had come
to regard them in some degree as friends.
She wished them to appear to as much advantage as possible, but this
they really seemed resolved not to do, at least not what was in her eyes
and those of the Wortleys, to advantage. Mrs. Lyddell _would_ have
a grand dinner party to do honour to her friends, and the choice of
company was not what she would have made. To make it worse, Elliot
sat next Agnes, Walter was not at home, and the conversation was upon
religious subjects, which had better not have been discussed at all in
such a party, and which were viewed by most present, in the wrong way.
All this, however, Marian could have endured, for she did not care
to defend Mr. and Mrs. Lyddell or Elliot, individually, only when
considered as forming part of "the Lyddells," but she really wished
Agnes to like Caroline and Clara.
She did not know whether Agnes was not perverse about Caroline, whom she
continued to call a mere fashionable young lady, not being able to find
any other reproach than this vague one; but as to Clara, Marian herself
could have found it in her heart to beat her when she made sillier
speeches than usual in Agnes' hearing, and, above all, for having at
this time a violent fit of her affection for Marian herself, whom she
perseveringly called a dear girl, and followed about so closely as to be
always in the way.
Marian would have been still more provoked with Clara, had Agnes not had
forbearance enough to abstain from telling her all that Clara had said,
when once, by some chance, left alone with her for ten minutes. After a
great deal about her extreme friendship for "dearest Marian," she said,
"Some people think her pretty,--do you, Miss Wortley?"
"Not exactly pretty," said Agnes, "but hers is a fine face."
"Ah! she has not colour enough to be pretty. She is much too pale, poor
dear, but some people say that is aristocratic. And she is like her
cousin, Lady Marchmont, the beauty. Do you know Lady Marchmont?"
"I used to know her as a girl."
"Ah! she is very handsome, and so much the fashion. It is such an
advantage for Marian to be there, and I hope she will slyly bring us
acquainted some of these days. But then all the Arundels are proud;
Marian has a good deal of pride in her own way, though she is a dear
girl!"
"Marian!" exclaimed Agnes.
"O yes! She is a dear girl, but every one in Wiltshire speaks of her
pride; all our friends do, I assure you. I always defend her, of course,
but every one remarks it."
Agnes was wondering whether simply to disbelieve anything so
preposterous as that all Wiltshire should be remarking on poor Marian's
pride, or whether to explain it by her well-known shyness, when Clara
made another sudden transition. "Do you know Mr. Arundel?"
"O yes."
"Is not he a fine, distinguished looking man? We did admire him so when
he was here. I assure you we are all quite jealous of Marian. Miss
Morley says there can be but one _dénouement_."
Here Marian came into the room, and Agnes proceeded to question within
herself which was most wonderful,--the extreme folly of Clara, or of the
governess.
Another vexation to Marian was the behaviour of Lady Marchmont. She
herself was invited as often as usual to come to her cousin, but she
could not spare a minute from her dear friends, and only was surprised
and vexed that they were not included, and that Selina had not yet
called upon them. She knew that one of her parties consisted of persons
whom Mr. Wortley would have been particularly glad to meet, and she
watched most anxiously for a card for him; she even went so far, as in
her own note of refusal to give a very far distant hint, thinking that
Selina only required to be put in mind of his being in London.
At last, only two days before they left town, Lady Marchmont left her
card for Mrs. Wortley, but without asking if she was at home; and
Marian, who was in the house at the time, felt the neglect most acutely.
Mrs. Wortley saw the bright glow of red spread all over the pale check,
and was heartily sorry on her account. Agnes broke out into exclamations
that there must be a mistake,--the servants must have misunderstood,
and she would have asked questions; but Marian said, in a voice of deep
feeling, "No, Agnes, it is no mistake. You understand me now when I say
Selina Marchmont is more of a fine lady than Mrs. Lyddell. But O, I
never thought she would have neglected you!"
"Say no more, my dear," said Mrs. Wortley; "Lady Marchmont must have too
many engagements to attend to us dull country folks. Indeed, it gives me
no pain, my dear, except to see it grieve you. You know she has done her
duty by us."
"Her duty by herself, she may think," said Marian, "in not doing what
would be called rude, but not her duty by you; you, to whom all who
ever--who ever loved _them_, owe so much."
The tears glittered in Marian's eyes, and her cheek was flushed.
"Marian, my dear, cool down a little," said Mrs. Wortley; "think how
long it is since Lady Marchmont knew us, and recollect that the--the
causes, which you think you have for caring for us, may not appear the
same to her. She only thinks of us as dimly remembered neighbours of
her cousin's, coming to London for a little while; she is full of
engagements, and has no time for us, and just follows the fashions of
other people."
"That is it," said Marian. "How shall I ever wish her good-bye in
charity?"
They were interrupted; and it was not till Marian was gone that Agnes
had the satisfaction of a full outbreak of indignation at all fine
ladies, and of triumph in the impossibility of their ever spoiling her
own dear Marian.
Marian had to spend the evening with the Marchmonts, and she was more
constrained with them at first than she had ever been before. Yet it
was not easy to continue constrained with Selina, who was perfectly
unconscious that she had given any offence; and the feeling was quite
removed by half an hour's play with little Willy, who was now promoted
to be a drawing-room child for various short intervals of the day. He
was under a nursery governess, who let his mamma have a little more
property in him.
Selina asked about the intended journey, and thus renewed Marian's
feeling of the wrongs of the Wortleys; but when Selina scolded her for
not coming oftener, supposed she had been very happy, and envied her for
going to dear old Fern Torr, Marian began to forgive, and did so quite
when she wished she could have seen them, and lamented that she had been
so much engaged. Three times she had gone out, fully meaning to call on
them, and have a good long chat, but each time something delayed her;
and the last, and fourth, she really was obliged to be at home early,
and could not possibly make a call.
The charm of manner made all this appease Marian; but when the immediate
spell of Selina's grace and caressing ways was removed, she valued it
rightly, and thought, though with pain, of the expressive epithet,
"fudge!" Could not Selina have gone to her aunt's old friends if she
would? Had not Marian known her to take five times the trouble for her
own gratification? Marian gained a first glimpse of the selfishness of
refined exclusiveness, and doubted whether it had not been getting a
hold of herself, when she had learnt of Selina to despise and neglect
all that was unpleasing.
O the joy of knowing that she should turn her back on the great wicked
world again, and measure herself by the old standard of home! And yet
she trembled, lest she should find that the world had touched her more
than she had thought.