During a prolonged summer sojourn with kind friends resident in a
quiet country town, we became quite interested in the tactics of the
neighbours, and acquainted with their social condition.
'I think we have almost exhausted our visiting round,' said our
hostess, Mrs Smith, one morning, as she replenished her card-case,
'with the exception of _Really_, _Indeed_, and _Impossible_, to whom
we must introduce you. You look puzzled! but I mean the three Misses
Bonderlay, who are usually distinguished by these interjectional
names. We will forthwith send them an invitation to tea this very
evening, and they shall be their own etymologists.'
At the appointed hour, three ladies were ushered into the
drawing-room, bearing so startling a resemblance to each other in
person, manner, and costume, that we at once decided they must be
_trins_. Not so, however; there was a year or two's difference in age
between them, which rendered the strong resemblance more remarkable.
They were tall, well-formed, plump ladies, of middle or uncertain age;
with round, unmeaning faces, flaxen locks, and pale-blue eyes. There
was not a perceptible thread or pucker different in their three
dresses, which must have fitted all indiscriminately; the flaxen curls
were arranged in precisely the same waves round each mealy
countenance; and the neat caps, with bright-green ribbons, doubtless
had the same exact quantity of tulle and gauze in their fashioning.
Each sister owned a delicate work-basket--trinal baskets also; and in
each receptacle reposed a similar square of worsted-work, the same to
the last stitch. We heard the visitors named as Miss Bonderlay, Miss
Paulina Bonderlay, and Miss Constantia Bonderlay; but that was of no
use, since they were not ticketed, and our blunders became
embarrassing and ludicrous. We addressed Miss Bonderlay as Miss
Paulina, when the senior lady drew up with dignified composure, and
pointing to a sister, said: '_I_ am Miss Bonderlay: _that_ lady is
Miss Paulina Bonderlay.' And so on with the other two, who explained
that they were juniors, as they waved a lily hand towards their eldest
sister, indicative of her supremacy. But as the evening advanced, we
learned to distinguish them by a peculiarity of expression, which had
gained for these amiable maidens the somewhat singular cognomens of
Really! Indeed! and Impossible! for their conversation, if
conversation it could be called, consisted almost wholly of these
interjections, pronounced in an unvarying, monotonous voice, while no
shadow of emotion was perceptible on the cloudless expanse of their
unwrinkled physiognomies.
When they were addressed in the usual conversational appeal which
demands a reply of some kind, Miss Bonderlay, sipping her tea, or
bending over her work, softly ejaculated: 'Really!' If you turned to
Miss Paulina for some more tangible announcement of her opinion, she
responded, in precisely the same tone: 'Indeed!' And when, as a last
resource, you looked towards Miss Constantia, the word 'Impossible!'
and that word alone, fell in honeyed accents from her ruby lips. By
this means they were easily distinguished; and their most intimate
friends often failed to recognise which was which when apart, and
sometimes even when they were together, until the talismanic syllables
gave to each her individuality. The peculiarity gave rise to a little
good-humoured ridicule; but for our part, we thought it quite
wonderful how well they played their part in conversation with so
small a stock of words. There is much pliability of meaning, however,
in an interjection; and in company, where there are always several
persons who are anxious to be heard, it is a positive virtue. In Miss
Constantia's intonation of her favourite 'impossible!' it seemed to me
that there mingled a dash of sadness, a kind of musical and melancholy
cadence, which was followed by an unconscious absence of mind,
evidencing the fact, that her thoughts were what is vulgarly termed
'wool-gathering.' On mentioning this impression to Mrs Smith, she
complimented us on our keen observation, since, in truth, a tinge of
the romantic _did_ attach to the history of the fair Constantia; and
she then sketched the following outline, leaving all details to be
filled up by the imagination of the auditor:--
The Misses Bonderlay, it seems, had attained the age of womanhood,
when, by the decease of their surviving parent, a man of high moral
rectitude, but a stern disciplinarian, they were left in possession of
a comfortable independence, fully equal to their moderate wants. They
had been governed with such an iron rule, and treated as such absolute
automata from their childhood, that when the hand of death released
them from the despotic sway, its effects still continued apparent in
the constraint which habit had rendered second nature. They continued
to reside in their native town, only removing to a smaller house, and
pursued undeviatingly the routine they had always been accustomed
to--a routine which might well bear comparison, in its monotony and
apathy, with that of monastic seclusion. Rumour, with her thousand
tongues, had never singled out these vestal ladies as objects of
matrimonial schemes; no suitors darkened their doors or disturbed
their peace; they made no enemies, and, perhaps, no very enthusiastic
friends. They listened to the gossip retailed by their neighbours, as
in politeness bound, but the imperturbable 'Really!' Indeed!' and
'Impossible!' gave no encouragement to gossip: they never asked
questions, never propagated reports, but listened and ejaculated, and
ejaculated and listened, giving and receiving no offence. It never was
positively ascertained whether the Misses Bonderlay conversed among
themselves; but popular opinion maintained, that they did not,
assigning the ill-natured reason, that they had nothing to say. Being
neither oral inquirers nor readers, what could they have to talk
about? Still, popular opinion is often wrong, and perhaps it was so in
this instance. At anyrate, if they did not exchange confidential
sentiments, quarrels were avoided; and smoothly the three fair sisters
sailed down the troublous stream of time.
It was a great and stirring event in their tranquil lives, when a
maternal uncle, as if to vindicate the fidelity of old romance, did
actually return from India to his native land with a large fortune. Mr
Elliston, a childless widower, took up his abode at a watering-place,
and sent for his eldest niece, Miss Bonderlay. She promptly obeyed the
summons, and of course it was generally reported, and with some
colouring, that the bulk of the nabob's fortune would be hers if she
'played her cards well.' But she did not play her cards well, as the
event turned out; for the old splenetic Indian tired very soon of the
monotonous 'Really!'--the sole response to his wonderful narratives of
tiger-hunting and Eastern marvels in general. At length, Mr Elliston
bluntly gave his visitor to understand that he wished to see Miss
Paulina; and poor, crestfallen Miss Bonderlay returned home, and Miss
Paulina departed in her turn to fill the vacant place at the nabob's
board. She remained a considerable time longer than her elder sister
had done; and it was surmised that 'Indeed!' had proved more agreeable
than 'Really!' But, alas! for human foresight and conjecture, the
second Miss Bonderlay re-appeared in her native town for the purpose
of despatching the third relief in the person of Miss Constantia. 'The
young one will have a human tongue,' muttered the choleric Indian: 'I
want a companion, not a parrot.' The poor gentleman never imagined
that there could be three parrots in one family; and he naturally
concluded, that his choice had fallen on the right niece at last.
When he found out his mistake--and we need hardly say that he was not
long about that--his chagrin and consternation may be imagined.
Indeed, had it not been for the presence of a certain Major George,
there is no doubt that when he heard the sweet 'Impossible!' of Miss
Constantia, he would instantly have consigned her to the banishment
and oblivion of her sisters. But Major George's quiet influence
restrained the threatened ebullition of wrath; though when his best
stories and jokes after dinner were received with a gentle
'impossible!' which meant either 'really,' or 'indeed,' or anything
else it might pass for, Uncle Elliston struck the table violently with
his clenched hand, exclaiming in a passion: 'Impossible?
madam--impossible? Do you mean to give me the lie? I tell you, the
anecdote I have just related is perfectly possible, and, moreover,
perfectly true. What do you mean by impossible? I hate impossibles.
Nothing is impossible! Do you mean to insult me, madam--heigh?'
'Impossible, dear uncle--impossible!' meekly ejaculated the gentle
fair, affrighted at such an unusual display of excitement; and it was
fortunate that Major George called off her uncle's attention from poor
Miss Constantia's unconscious delinquency.
Major George was an Indian crony of Uncle Elliston's; considerably
younger, however, than the latter, and, as the spinsters remarked
sententiously, only sallow enough to be interesting, and only old
enough to be sedate! His purse was amply filled, and Major George was
on the look-out for a wife; but being most painfully shy and
sensitive, it seemed rather a doubtful case if he would succeed in his
aspirings. With the nabob, Major George was an immense favourite; but
except that they had hunted tigers together, there seemed no adequate
reason for so strong a preference--the taciturnity of the one being as
remarkable as the communicativeness of the other. Mr Elliston called
George a 'good fellow,' and slapped his shoulder approvingly; and
introduced him to Miss Constantia with sly and peculiar
_empressement_. Major George's visit was prolonged, and Miss
Constantia's visit was prolonged far beyond the period allotted to her
sisters; and Uncle Elliston gradually ceased to rave at 'Impossible!'
But a terrible climax approached, and how it came about no one ever
knew: Major George set off for Paris early one fine morning, and Miss
Constantia appeared at the breakfast-table with eyes red and swollen
with weeping. The nabob insisted on knowing what was the matter, and
why his favourite had taken flight so unceremoniously.
'You don't mean to say you've refused him, Niece Con?' cried her
uncle, 'for I know he meant to make you an offer of his hand and
heart.'
'O no, uncle, no!--impossible!' sobbed the weeping lady.
'Oh! deuce take your _impossibles_, Con Bonderlay. Tell me if the lad
asked you to marry him, and what your answer was?'
She hesitated--looked up--looked down--looked startled; and then
murmured, as if examining for the first time the word, as it slipped
musically from between her lips, 'Impossible!'
'Well, Niece Con, I think you're said _impossible_ once too often in
your life, if this is to be the upshot. Come now, be candid and don't
be a fool! Did you intend to refuse Major George?'
'Impossible!' was the reply; which, habitual as it was, burst forth
this time in a passion of tears and blushes.
Mr Elliston always affirmed that he saw at a glance how the matter
stood: that, in short, Major George had made a 'fool of himself.' The
lady had not _intended_ to reject him; but the major, from his shy,
shamefaced nature, on hearing Miss Constantia's fatal 'impossible!' in
reply to his love-suit, had flown from the scene of disappointment
without an attempt at explanation. Acting on such a supposition (for
mere supposition it remained, neither the lady nor gentleman making
the slightest confession), Mr Elliston addressed his niece with more
gentleness, a dash of pity mingling in his tone: 'Niece Constantia, I
shall write to Major George, and bring him back again; but mind you
don't say "impossible" a second time!'
However, Mr Elliston indulged in the fault of procrastination, which
in him often led to results he did not anticipate: he rarely
remembered that excellent maxim, which advises us never to postpone
till to-morrow what can be performed as well to-day. To-morrow came,
indeed; but with it also came an attack of gout, which incapacitated
him from exertion for weeks: and scarcely was he convalescent, when a
letter was put into his hands from the absentee, announcing the
marriage of Major George with a very pretty and charming young lady.
Mr Elliston handed the missive to his niece: she perused it in
silence; but her uncle told Mrs Smith, in strict confidence, that he
felt almost sure a tear fell on the paper. Be that as it might,
shortly afterwards, when Mr Elliston signified his intention of
inviting Major George, Major George's young bride, and the young
bride's elder sister, to pay him a visit, Miss Constantia expressed a
desire to return home. Her uncle acquiesced with rather too much
alacrity for conventional _politesse_, exclaiming as he did so: 'I
only hope, Niece Con, that George's wife won't be a "Dear me!" or a
"Well, I never!" but a hearty, comfortable, chattering woman, with a
will and a way of her own!'
Nor were Mr Elliston's hopes in this instance doomed to
disappointment; for Mrs Major George had not only an actual tongue,
but a way and a will of her own so decided, that ere the expiration of
their visit, she succeeded in bringing about a union between the nabob
and her elder sister. Some folks affirmed, that Mr Elliston came
speedily to endure the flat contradictions of his wife with the
humility of a broken spirit, and to speak with tender regret of his
meek and inoffensive nieces. They, quiet souls, heard of their uncle
the nabob's marriage without surprise, and without expressing emotion
of any kind, beyond the 'Really!' 'Indeed!' and 'Impossible!'
appertaining to each, as her distinguishing characteristic or mark of
identity. When we first met the Misses Bonderlay, with their trinal
baskets and squares of worsted-work, they were preparing a beautiful
hearth-rug as a present for their uncle's wife, to be formed of these
identical squares, with numerous others of a similar construction, and
surrounded by a corresponding handsome border. Since that period, we
have been favoured with exquisite specimens of their united industry;
for the greatest pleasure of their lives consists in bestowing
such-like gifts of handiwork on their friends and acquaintance.
But we have derived another benefit from our intercourse with the
sisters. Whenever we find ourselves at a loss for an inoffensive
reply, or are unwilling to pursue a discussion, we find a safe refuge
in copying their harmless peculiarity; for, after all, the meaning of
words depends very much on intonation: and we have not unfrequently
had confirmed, by our own experience, the theory we have ventured to
promulgate--that there is much virtue in such interjections as Really!
Indeed! and Impossible!