“What do you think of her, mamma?” said Adriana, with glistening eyes,
as she ran into Mrs. Neuchatel’s dressing-room for a moment before
dinner.
“I think her manners are perfect,” replied Mrs. Neuchatel; “and as there
can be no doubt, after all we have heard, of her principles, I think we
are most fortunate. But what do you think of her, Adriana? For, after
all, that is the main question.”
“I think she is divine,” said Adriana; “but I fear she has no heart.”
“And why? Surely it is early to decide on such a matter as that!”
“When I took her to her room,” said Adriana, “I suppose I was nervous;
but I burst into tears, and threw my arms round her neck and embraced
her, but she did not respond. She touched my forehead with her lips, and
withdrew from my embrace.”
“She wished, perhaps, to teach you to control your emotions,” said Mrs.
Neuchatel. “You have known her only an hour, and you could not have done
more to your own mother.”
It had been arranged that there should be no visitors to-day; only a
nephew and a foreign consul-general, just to break the formality of the
meeting. Mr. Neuchatel placed Myra next to himself at the round table,
and treated her with marked consideration--cordial but courteous, and
easy, with a certain degree of deference. His wife, who piqued herself
on her perception of character, threw her brown velvet eyes on her
neighbour, Mr. Penruddock, and cross-examined him in mystical whispers.
She soon recognised his love of nature; and this allowed her to dissert
on the subject, at once sublime and inexhaustible, with copiousness
worthy of the theme. When she found he was an entomologist, and that it
was not so much mountains as insects which interested him, she shifted
her ground, but treated it with equal felicity. Strange, but nature is
never so powerful as in insect life. The white ant can destroy fleets
and cities, and the locusts erase a province. And then, how beneficent
they are! Man would find it difficult to rival their exploits: the bee,
that gives us honey; the worm, that gives us silk; the cochineal, that
supplies our manufactures with their most brilliant dye.
Mr. Penruddock did not seem to know much about manufactures, but always
recommended his cottagers to keep bees.
“The lime-tree abounds in our village, and there is nothing the bees
love more than its blossoms.”
This direct reference to his village led Mrs. Neuchatel to an inquiry as
to the state of the poor about Hurstley, and she made the inquiry in a
tone of commiseration.
“Oh! we do pretty well,” said Mr. Penruddock.
“But how can a family live on ten or twelve shillings a week?” murmured
Mrs. Neuchatel.
“There it is,” said Mr. Penruddock. “A family has more than that. With a
family the income proportionately increases.”
Mrs. Neuchatel sighed. “I must say,” she said, “I cannot help feeling
there is something wrong in our present arrangements. When I sit down
to dinner every day, with all these dishes, and remember that there are
millions who never taste meat, I cannot resist the conviction that it
would be better if there were some equal division, and all should have,
if not much, at least something.”
“Nonsense, Emily!” said Mr. Neuchatel, who had an organ like Fine-ear,
and could catch, when necessary, his wife’s most mystical revelations.
“My wife, Mr. Penruddock, is a regular Communist. I hope you are not,”
he added, with a smile, turning to Myra.
“I think life would be very insipid,” replied Myra, “if all our lots
were the same.”
When the ladies withdrew, Adriana and Myra walked out together
hand-in-hand. Mr. Neuchatel rose and sate next to Mr. Penruddock, and
began to talk politics. His reverend guest could not conceal his alarm
about the position of the Church and spoke of Lord John Russell’s
appropriation clause with well-bred horror.
“Well, I do not think there is much to be afraid of,” said Mr.
Neuchatel. “This is a liberal age, and you cannot go against it. The
people must be educated, and where are the funds to come from? We must
all do something, and the Church must contribute its share. You know I
am a Liberal, but I am not for any rash courses. I am not at all sorry
that Sir Robert Peel gained so much at the last general election. I like
parties to be balanced. I am quite content with affairs. My friends, the
Liberals, are in office, and, being there, they can do very little. That
is the state of things, is it not, Melchior?” he added, with a smile to
his nephew, who was an M.P. “A balanced state of parties, and the house
of Neuchatel with three votes--that will do. We poor City men get a
little attention paid to us now, but before the dissolution three votes
went for nothing. Now, shall we go and ask my daughter to give us a
song?”
Mrs. Neuchatel accompanied her daughter on the piano, and after a time
not merely on the instrument. The organ of both was fine and richly
cultivated. It was choice chamber music. Mr. Neuchatel seated himself
by Myra. His tone was more than kind, and his manner gentle. “It is a
little awkward the first day,” he said, “among strangers, but that will
wear off. You must bring your mind to feel that this is your home, and
we shall all of us do everything in our power to convince you of it. Mr.
Penruddock mentioned to me your wish, under present circumstances, to
enter as little as possible into society, and this is a very social
house. Your feeling is natural, and you will be in this matter entirely
your own mistress. We shall always be glad to see you, but if you are
not present we shall know and respect the cause. For my own part, I am
one of those who would rather cherish affection than indulge grief, but
every one must follow their mood. I hear you have a brother, to whom
you are much attached; a twin, too, and they tell me strongly resembling
you. He is in a public office, I believe? Now, understand this; your
brother can come here whenever he likes, without any further invitation.
Ask him whenever you please. We shall always be glad to see him. No
sort of notice is necessary. This is not a very small house, and we can
always manage to find a bed and a cutlet for a friend.”