HARDENING.
"My dear Kate, what a perfect paradise of a place you have here!" said
Lady Henmarsh to her young hostess, when, having made a tour of
inspection of the house, the two ladies found themselves alone in
Katharine's morning-room. "I had no notion Mr. Streightley meant to
_méner grand train_ after this fashion. You are a fortunate girl,
Kate, and I hope you understand and appreciate your luck."
Lady Henmarsh spoke with the accent of strong conviction, and looked
around her approvingly as she did so. She and Sir Timothy had arrived
by a midday train from London: the first hours after their arrival
had been passed in the manner usual on similar occasions,--in seeing
the house, dawdling about the gardens, and inspecting the hothouses;
and now the moment had arrived which Katharine and her guest had each
felt disposed to defer as long as possible--that of a _tête-à-tête_,
in which the discussion of the past and present must necessarily have
its place.
Katharine was standing by a window which opened like a door upon a
small perfectly-kept flower-garden, and looking musingly out upon the
fair expanse of park and woodland which stretched away into the
distance. Lady Henmarsh was looking at her with more curious scrutiny
than she had ventured to indulge in in the presence of others; and the
result of her examination was, that Katharine was more beautiful than
ever. The assured demeanour, the perfect gracefulness, the lofty ease
of manner, which had been perhaps a little too pronounced in the girl,
were perfectly in their place as attributes of the young matron, who
did the honours of her splendid house with faultless elegance and
_aplomb_. The taste and richness of her dress, the judicious
assortment of her ornaments, the air of dignity and calm which dwelt
about her, made her indeed a being to be regarded with almost
wondering admiration. And Lady Henmarsh admired and wondered--wondered
how she liked it all; wondered how she and Robert got on together;
whether he was afraid of Katharine (she put the question to herself in
just such plain words),--thought it very likely, all things
considered; wondered whether Katharine ever heard of Gordon Frere, and
what she thought of him if she did; and finally wondered whether she
might venture to question her on these points: but while the thought
passed through her mind the answer passed through it also, and Lady
Henmarsh knew perfectly well that she would never dare to mention
Frere's name to Mrs. Streightley.
"This room is perfectly exquisite," Lady Henmarsh began again; "and I
suppose you keep it strictly to yourself; that you give audience here,
queen of Middlemeads, when it suits you; but shut out the profane
vulgar,--eh, Kate?"
"Yes," answered Katharine carelessly; "it is a pretty room, and I use
it a great deal,--that is to say, Ellen and I."
"Ellen and you!" repeated Lady Henmarsh with profound astonishment.
"You don't mean to tell me, Katharine, that you have really taken to
be intimate with that uninteresting creature--that sheep-like young
lady, the veriest type of the most detestable class of society girls
that I have ever encountered! A silly, pious, underbred girl, engaged
to a vulgar missionary preacher! Really you amaze me, Kate. Perhaps,"
she said, with a covert glance at Katharine, and a strong effort
to be perfectly familiar and natural, dictated by an instinctive
feeling that she had lost ground with one whom she had formerly
influenced--"perhaps you are doing the model wife, acting on the
'love-me-love-my-dog' principle, and cultivating this very modest
flower for her brother's sake. If so, I admire you for it, Katharine.
I am glad to see you have a due sense of the value of 'thorough' in
you; there is no more precious quality; but I confess I did not expect
it."
Katharine had fixed her large bright eyes upon Lady Henmarsh at the
beginning of this speech with an expression of cold surprise, which
succeeded in making the speaker feel very uncomfortable before she
reached the end of it. A few moments elapsed before Katharine answered
gravely:
"Miss Streightley is a person whom I like and _esteem_. I fear I shall
never imitate her good qualities; but I am glad to know that I have at
least the grace to admire them. Of course, as Mr. Streightley's
sister, I should have shown her every attention; but such a duty soon
became a pleasure."
Katharine spoke in a cold and dignified tone, which produced an
exceedingly unpleasant effect upon Lady Henmarsh, whose face assumed a
certain comical expression, suggestive of an instantly-repressed
inclination to whistle. Her feeling towards Katharine had always
hovered on the borders of dislike; but from the present moment it
crossed them, and she never tried to deceive herself more about its
nature. She had been a party to the wound inflicted upon the pride of
this haughty woman; she had witnessed her suffering, had spoken to her
of her humiliation, had had cognisance of the "transaction" of this
marriage; and Katharine would never forgive her. In her she would find
a polished, hospitable, and attentive hostess, observant of every
social duty, and resolute against every attempt on her part to
reestablish an intimacy which had never been more than superficial and
of convenience. Lady Henmarsh perceived the state of the case clearly;
but as she had no feelings to be hurt in the matter, she took very
kindly to a hearty dislike of Katharine.
"It is a comfort to know that Ned has got what he wanted, at all
events," she thought, as she looked at the moody frown which had come
over Katharine's countenance as she spoke the last sentences; "and if
she's fool enough to _filer le parfait amour_ with this City lout and
all his kin, or hypocrite enough to pretend to do so, so much the
better,--things will be easier for Ned, and that's the main point."
But Lady Henmarsh said aloud, and with the most perfect suavity,
"My dear Katharine, you are surely not so silly as to suppose I blame
you for any attention to Mr. Streightley's sister. I daresay I shall
like her very much when I know her better; and I'm sure it's quite
charming to find you getting on so admirably with your people-in-law.
And now, I think, having seen as much of your beautiful house as I can
manage for to-day, I will disappear until dinner-time. I must look
after Sir Timothy. Thank you, dear; I know my way to my rooms. How
delightfully you have chosen for me, Kate! just the situation and
aspect I like best. Sir Timothy is perfectly charmed."
Lady Henmarsh, safely secluded within her own apartment, proceeded to
indite a piquant epistle to her "cousin Ned," in which she painted the
Streightley _ménage_ in colours highly agreeable to that gentleman's
feelings, and indulged herself with some of the ridicule of Ellen and
her brother, whose flow had been so peremptorily arrested by
Katharine. She knew that it would be rather agreeable than otherwise
to Mr. Guyon to be told, on the authority of an eye-witness, that his
daughter was perfectly happy; so she gave him that pleasant assurance,
inquired affectionately when he proposed coming to witness the
felicity of Middlemeads in person, and hinted that his presence would
add considerably to the attractions of that sojourn in her own
estimation.
Robert's reception of Sir Timothy and Lady Henmarsh had been all that
the most exacting guests could desire. The poor fellow felt unbounded
gratitude towards Lady Henmarsh, who had, as he said to himself,
"always been his friend,"--gratitude which it was a pleasure and a
relief to him to feel,--gratitude which he could not extend to Mr.
Guyon,--no; he was an accomplice, not a friend; and the tie between
them was, one of pain, which made itself felt, and of shame, to which
no effort, no triumph, could render him insensible. He was totally
ignorant of Lady Henmarsh's complicity in Mr. Guyon's manoeuvres; he
knew only that he had received the warmest welcome from her when his
pretensions were announced; that she had appeared to regard his
marriage as all that it should be; and even now that the prize was
won, the treasure he had paid so high a price for all his own, he
attached an unreasonable importance to Lady Henmarsh's presence, to
her approbation. He did not say so in plain terms to himself; but he
felt that she would support his cause with Katharine, that she would
lend him additional importance. In the timidity of his sore
conscience, he felt that it was a great thing to be strengthened by
the presence of a person unconscious and unsuspicious of the means by
which his success had been effected, and who had welcomed it on its
own merits. So little did he understand his wife's proud isolation of
heart, that he mistook her courtesy to her guest for respect for her
opinion, and looked to Lady Henmarsh's aid in gaining Katharine's
heart as ardently as he had hailed her support in his suit for her
hand.
The truth was just the opposite of that which Robert believed it to
be. From the moment Lady Henmarsh arrived at Middlemeads, Katharine's
mood underwent a change unfavourable to the prospect of domestic
happiness which had begun to dawn upon her. An atmosphere of
heartlessness and worldliness surrounded this woman; and then she was
associated in Katharine's mind with all the bitterness and humiliation
of the past. The pain, now grown almost old, began to revive again;
the restlessness and weariness of spirit, the terrible anger, the
unavailing self-contempt, which rendered Katharine unapproachable to
all, despite her suave and gracious manner, and especially to him who
had afforded her the occasion to incur it. These feelings did not
return in their intensity all at once; but their first approach to the
invasion of Katharine's heart was made when the girl perceived the
hardly veiled contempt with which her _ci-devant_ chaperone regarded
her spontaneous effort to be good and happy. It needed little to turn
the balance in which the fate of Robert and Katharine Streightley hung
at that moment, and Lady Henmarsh's disdainful touch did it. Not
directly--she had no direct influence with Katharine now--but
indirectly, by the pain of humiliating association, by the sudden
revival of the old bitterness, and the sense that all this was but a
sordid bargain after all. The evil leaven began its work when Lady
Henmarsh left Katharine, still standing by the window of her morning
room, in the self-same attitude in which she had stood by the window
in Queen Anne Street, and watched in vain for the coming of Gordon
Frere. She moved away at length, with a restless and impatient sigh,
and went to seek for Ellen.
Ellen Streightley had been rather frightened by Lady Henmarsh, whose
rapid talk on a variety of subjects removed from Ellen's comprehension
and experience had oppressed her considerably. She had accordingly
kept out of the way, since she had contrived to make her escape during
the tour of inspection; and Katharine ultimately discovered her in a
quiet corner of the library, deeply engaged in the manufacture of an
unspeakably hideous pair of embroidered slippers. She laid aside her
work at Katharine's approach, and they proceeded to discuss the time
and manner of Miss Gould's expected arrival on the ensuing day, Ellen
losing herself in conjectures as to what Katharine would think of
Hester, and what Hester would think of Katharine. She had most of the
discourse to herself, and also enjoyed a secret satisfaction in the
reflection that to-morrow she would have her friend--a more important
person than Lady Henmarsh--too, to make a fuss about. She wondered how
Robert could like that woman so much, and be so deferential to her;
she might be very grand and all that, but she had a way of making
people feel small and uncomfortable, which was not like a real
lady--not like dear Katharine, for instance; however, there was one
comfort, she could not put down Hester.
"Is Miss Gould likely to marry, Ellen?" asked Katharine in the course
of their conversation. "It would be a terrible take-in for the
fortune-hunters, you know, or rather you don't know, if the prize of
the season were found to be already won."
Ellen looked at her sister-in-law with the half-solemn, half-stupid
gaze habitual to her when she was puzzled. Katharine had never uttered
any such _banale_ sarcasm to her before; that she did so now was the
first symptom of the evil influence that was upon her.
"No," said Ellen slowly; "I do not think Hester ever cared for any
one; she gave all her mind, she used to say, to her work. But O,
Katharine, how nice it is to think that she can marry a man as poor as
Decimus now, if she likes!--that is the only thing that makes it worth
while to be an heiress, is it not?"
"I am not sure of that, Ellen," said Katharine; "it is a great
recommendation certainly, but heiress-ship has some other advantages
too. But there's the first bell; let us go and make ourselves
beautiful for Sir Timothy."
"And for Robert, Katharine," said Ellen archly; "but you are always
beautiful for _him_."
"Ay, she may marry a poor man if she likes," thought Robert's wife, as
she sat before a long glass in her room, and looked at her beautiful
face framed in the unbound masses of her glossy hair. "She may buy,
instead of being bought--that's all the difference; the distinction is
valuable, however."
* * * * *
Robert Streightley drove his sister to the station where he and
Yeldham had hired a trap on the occasion of their visit to
Middlemeads, to meet her friend on the day following Lady Henmarsh's
arrival. The drive was a pleasant one, for Ellen talked of Katharine,
with only occasional and brief interludes and digressions in favour of
the absent missionary; and Robert was ready to extend his sympathy to
his sister to a degree which would have seemed incredible to him a
short time before. He was very happy that day; his face showed the
gladness that was at his heart, as it reflected the smile with which
Katharine had nodded a farewell to him and Ellen, as the open carriage
passed the window where she was standing with her little white dog in
her arms. How bright and beautiful and girlish she looked! he thought;
how truly she harmonised with all around her! surely she was happy
now--happier than at first.
"There's the smoke, Nelly; we are just in time," said Robert; and in
another minute they were on the platform, and Ellen had caught sight
of Hester's dark eyes, with a smile of recognition in them, as the
train came slowly up, and stopped. Robert stood aside while the two
women exchanged their greeting, after the manner characteristic of
each; and during that brief interval he regarded Hester with some
interest and curiosity. He had not seen her since she had so
unexpectedly inherited her uncle's wealth,--he had hardly thought of
her; the old time in which they had been familiar, if not intimate,
seemed very far past now; he had lived all of his life that had been
worth living since then. It occurred to him now for the first time
that it might be curious to see how this young woman had borne a
transition which could hardly fail to be trying. In the first place,
he recognised that Hester Gould was elegantly dressed. He had become
skilful in such observation now; he who had not formerly had an idea
on the subject, and could not have told whether his sister was attired
in velvet or cotton; but his close attention to every thing in which
Katharine was concerned or interested, his ceaseless admiration of
her, his keen perception of every thing which adorned the beauty which
he worshipped, had educated his eyes, and he perceived at once that
Hester's toilette was perfect in its taste and appropriateness.
Nothing appeared in her which could annoy Katharine's refined ideas;
not the least touch of vulgarity, not the most transient embarrassment
or pretension of manner, nothing to convey the smallest suggestion of
the _nouveau riche_. With the same frank courtesy that she had
displayed in their former relations Miss Gould received her host's
welcome; with precisely the correct degree of interest she inquired
for Mrs. Streightley; and with a totally unchanged manner she entered
into conversation with Ellen, during the necessary delay which took
place while the servants were securing the luggage.
As they drove to Middlemeads, Robert talked with his guest of the
country around, of the gentlemen's seats which they passed, of the
Buckinghamshire backwoods, and other topics appropriate to the
occasion, but which had little interest for Ellen, who was anxious to
put one of her idols _en rapport_ with the other as soon as possible.
Hester had said something very civil, and perfectly sincere, about the
pleasure she anticipated from seeing Middlemeads, and was listening
attentively to Robert's anecdotes of the historical importance of the
place, when Ellen said, in her peculiar interjectional fashion,
"O yes, it's all most delightful, and ever so grand, Hester; so
different, you know, to Brighton and that, that I really should have
been half afraid of it if it hadn't been for Katharine. She is so
delightful, you can't think, Hester. I think she could make a cabin
feel like a palace. I do so long for you to see her."
"You forget that I have already seen Mrs. Streightley several times,
Ellen; and I cannot believe that my admiration can be increased on
better acquaintance."
Robert looked delighted, but surprised; and was just about to speak,
when Ellen began again.
"Yes, yes, I remember; you saw her at the famous _fête_--that _fête_
which I shall always think, in spite of Decimus, a most fortunate and
praiseworthy piece of worldliness and dissipation, for there Robert
fell in love with Katharine, and there I am sure Katharine fell in
love with him, though I have never got her to tell me any thing about
it--I suppose it's not the correct thing among fashionable people to
talk about falling in love!--and then you just had a glimpse of her on
her wedding-day; but I mean I want you to see her constantly in her
own house, and to admire her as we do."
"I could hardly venture to do that, Ellen," said Miss Gould, in a tone
which conveyed the lightest possible suggestion of ridicule of Ellen's
enthusiasm, and would, therefore, have betrayed to any one thoroughly
acquainted with Hester--supposing such an individual to exist--that
her temper was momentarily disturbed. She was instantly conscious of
the tone herself; and turning to Robert with unaffected good-humour,
she said:
"The occasions which Ellen mentions were not the only ones on which I
had the pleasure of seeing Mrs. Streightley. I think I know her by
sight longer than you do."
"Indeed! how was that?" asked Robert rather eagerly, for every thing
in the past, as in the present, which regarded Katharine had a potent
interest for him.
"I taught music to the Miss Morisons, who lived next door to Mr.
Guyon, during two seasons," said Hester simply; "and as they seized
upon every conceivable opportunity for neglecting their lessons, they
made it a point to rush to the windows to see Miss Guyon going out to
ride, and I never could resist the temptation of looking out with
them. I like to see a woman on horseback who looks and rides as she
does. I am not sure that I did not envy the gay cavalcade sometimes,
when I used to see them set off, and had to turn to 'one, two, three,
four--pray attend to your fingering,' and so forth, again."
"You will have horses in town too, Hester, won't you?" said Ellen;
"and have cavalcades on your own account, and gallant cavaliers to
escort you, as Katharine had?"
"I am not so sure of that," said Hester demurely; "the Morison girls,
who were very slang, used to talk about Miss Guyon's escort being
always the 'best' men in London; and there was a Mr. Frere--her
cousin, is he not?--whom they used to admire almost as enthusiastically
as they admired her. Caroline, who was horribly silly, used to quote
Tennyson's 'Guinevere' as they went by the windows: very appropriate
to a London street, was it not?"
"Look, look, Hester!" said Ellen, jumping up in the carriage, "there's
the first glimpse of Middlemeads;" and then the young lady occupied
herself with pointing out every detail of the approach, until the
carriage passed under the arch and drew up at the entrance, where
Katharine was standing in the open doorway, pleased to gratify her
sister-in-law to the utmost by the demonstrative kindness of her
reception of Miss Gould.
"We were in capital time, Katharine," said Ellen, as the three ladies
passed through the hall, "and had a delightful drive, hadn't we,
Robert? O, he's gone off to the library, I suppose."
Katharine was much pleased with Hester Gould, and the little party at
Middlemeads was apparently composed of the most harmonious elements.
The great heiress was naturally an object of curiosity in that
character; and Katharine was no more slow than Hester herself to
perceive that her guest's presence lent an additional attraction in
the eyes of the neighbourhood to the newly-mounted _ménage_ at
Middlemeads. It was not every country-house which had two such
specimens of womanhood to show,--the one so beautiful, the other so
rich; and the neighbourhood proved itself not undeserving of its
opportunities. Lady Henmarsh had experienced some not unnatural pangs
of apprehension lest the dignified dulness which her soul abhorred
should beset her at Middlemeads. She had had her doubts about Robert
Streightley's fitness for his new _rôle_ in society; she had dreaded,
she did not exactly know what, in Katharine; but her apprehensions
proved utterly unfounded. She did not care to look beneath the
surface, and that was all that could be desired. Mrs. Streightley
dispensed a splendid hospitality with perfect grace, and Robert had no
desire save that in all things her pleasure should be done. Her
pleasure was to fill her house with company, and to pass her life in a
round of such amusements as were attainable in the country, previous
to entering upon the London season with a brilliancy and splendour
which should convince the world that she was one of the most fortunate
persons in it, and leave herself no time to recur to any of the absurd
fancies which had once beguiled her for a little. How absurd they
were! She laughed at them now, and at herself; and yet the laugh was
not entirely real. And sometimes she would think of Hester Gould's
wealth with a dreadful pang of envy, but in which there was not an
atom of sordid feeling.
Hester Gould turned every hour of her stay at Middlemeads to account.
She was incapable of such a blunder as copying any one's manner; but
she studied the best types with which she was brought in contact, and
profited by them. She knew exactly the extent and value of such
personal attractions as she possessed, as well as she knew the exact
sum of money which she owned; she understood her own advantages and
defects to a nicety; she appreciated the utility of the interval thus
attained for studying phases of society hitherto unknown, before
entering on the great world; and she made the most of it. Impossible
to unite self-possession, simplicity of tastes and manners, and sound
common sense, more admirably than they were combined in Hester Gould.
Impossible to be more popular and more impenetrable. Had she been in
possession of all the truth, she could hardly have understood the
"situation" more clearly than she understood it, aided only by her
remarkable penetration and the quickening influence of concentrated
anger. Had her heart been concerned in the scheme in which she had
been defeated by the unconscious Katharine, and in which only her
brain and her will had been active, she would have felt more acutely
and more transiently; but as it was, her anger neither cooled nor
decreased. It was characteristic of Hester that her changed position
made not the least difference in her feelings. She knew that her
wealth gave her opportunities in comparison with which a marriage with
Robert Streightley would have been but a meagre triumph; she knew that
her defeat had been practically rendered no defeat at all by the freak
of fortune winch had endowed her with riches; but the knowledge had no
effect on her. The ruling principle of her character, the egotism of
an inflexible will, had suffered a deep wound, and she admitted no
balm in such considerations to heal it. Katharine's had been the hand
to deal this wound. As for Robert, "he never would have loved me," she
said in her heart; "but I should have married him for all that." And
she would punish Katharine--unless, indeed, fate should spare her the
trouble. Of this vicarious vengeance she discerned a promising
probability; for day by day she saw that Katharine was hardening. She
was satisfied to perceive the result, without analysing the process
very closely; and she discerned that her own presence, though the most
unexceptionable relations subsisted between her and her hosts, had as
sinister an influence as she could desire. She was not the woman to
employ unnecessary activity. If she could do mischief passively, so
much the better, so much the safer. Hester's character had received by
her defeat the impulse towards the development of evil which had
hitherto been wanting, and more than once she had to recall her
determination never to permit any passion to gain dominion over her.
Hitherto her will had been stronger than any indication of passion she
had ever felt; if it only proved so for the future, life would have no
great harm in store for her.
Lady Henmarsh had taken the young heiress under her especial patronage
(she had a genuine admiration for rich people); and before her visit
to Middlemeads had terminated, it was arranged that Miss Gould should
be promoted to the place vacated by Katharine, and should make her
_début_ in London society under the auspices of Lady Henmarsh.