We were living very quietly. Mr Farrar was getting no nearer to
convalescence, and all gaiety was still in abeyance. The few callers
who made their appearance at Fairview were mostly new acquaintances,
made since Lilian had returned home and her father had commenced giving
large entertainments; and their visits were very 'few and far between.'
They were politely interested in Mr Farrar's health; hoped his charming
daughter would keep up her spirits; felt _quite_ sure he was safe in
Sir Clement's hands--Sir Clement was _always_ successful; and so forth:
then rustled smilingly away in their rich dresses; no doubt with the
pleasant consciousness of having done all that could be expected. We
on our side could well have spared them that amount of labour. Dear
old Mrs Tipper was always depressed and conscious of her shortcomings
after such visits; and Lilian would nestle up closer to me, as though
making a silent protest of her own against such friendship as they had
to offer. In truth, the greater part of those who came were merely
rich; and the two or three elderly ladies who were not unlike Mrs
Tipper, were too completely under the control of fashionable daughters
to forget their grandeur and compare notes with her about past times,
as they would have been only too glad to do. Mr Farrar had passed his
old friends on the road to wealth, and had not yet quite succeeded in
overtaking more distinguished ones. The little his daughter had seen of
their great friends had not made her desire to see more.
'Arthur says I shall enjoy being in society when once I get used to it;
but---- Do you think I shall, dear Miss Haddon?'
'There must be some advantage in mixing with people, dear; but you know
I have been as little accustomed to what is called society as you have.'
'I sometimes think it is that which makes it so nice to be with you.
You are so different from the people who come here, and so like those
I knew in the dear old vicarage-life. You never say a thing merely
because it is polite to say it.'
'I hope I do not say things it is impolite to say, goosy,' I smilingly
replied. It was so pleasant to know that I found favour in her sight.
'I wish Arthur's sister were more like you, Mary;' hesitatingly and
gravely. 'She makes more loving speeches--she is always saying that she
longs for the time to come when we can be more together; and yet we
never seem to draw a bit nearer to each other; sometimes I almost fear
we never shall.'
No; they never would. I had seen quite enough of Mr Trafford's sister
to know that Lilian and she would always be far enough apart in spirit.
Mrs Chichester was a great favourite with, and in much request by the
world to which she belonged. 'A young and attractive woman--a charming
widow, who had been unfortunate in her marriage;' said her friends.
'A manœuvrer, who had married an old man for his money, and found too
late that it was all settled upon his grown-up children by a former
marriage;' said others. She was called very sensitive and good and
sweet. I only know that her sweetness and goodness were of a very
different texture from Lilian's.
As I watched them together, Mrs Chichester, with her pretty vapid
face, graceful languid air, and soft voice, uttering a string of
ultra-affectionate speeches, and Lilian shyly responding in her own
fashion with a low murmured word, a warm flush on her cheeks, or a
little half-gesture, I think I rated them both at their true value.
Mrs Chichester was the only lady who came to Fairview upon intimate
terms; and she only came when she could make her escape, as she termed
it, from a host of engagements. I had my suspicions that she did not
find her 'dearest Lilian' quite so congenial as she affirmed. There
was a grave uncompromising truth about Lilian which I believe Mrs
Chichester found rather difficult to get on with for any length of
time. In time I noticed something else: Mrs Chichester's visits were
generally made on the days we expected Robert Wentworth.
For the first two or three times of our meeting, she took great
pains to cultivate me, declaring that she foresaw we were to become
great friends. But after a while I appear to have ceased to interest
her; although she was none the less sweet and pleasant to me on the
occasions we had anything to say to each other. In truth, I believe
that neither her brother nor she took very cordially to me; though both
seemed to consider it necessary to keep up the appearance of doing so.
Had they been more open about their sentiments, they would not have
offended me. I had no right to expect more from them than I gave; and I
really gave very little.
Arthur Trafford might perhaps have been taken more into my favour than
was his sister, but for his engagement to Lilian. As an every-day young
man, with artistic tastes, there was nothing in him to positively
object to. But such negative goodness was not, I told myself,
sufficient for Lilian's husband. Her husband ought to be able to
appreciate her in quite a different way from that of Arthur Trafford. I
am not sure that he even knew the best part of her.
I think the principal reason for his not taking to me was jealousy.
Lilian was a little too much absorbed in her new friend to please
him. With his sister it was different; and I was very much amused by
her tactics. It requires little intelligence to defeat schemers, who
generally plan on the supposition that some complicated machinery
will be used to circumvent them, and who are thrown out in their
calculations when one does nothing. Mrs Chichester began to adopt the
tone of being rather afraid of Miss Haddon; and some of her little
speeches about my unapproachableness and so forth, reached the ears
they were not intended for.
'If I did not see that you take to her so much, dearest, I should fancy
her unsympathetic and cold--one of those natures one never can feel at
home with.--O yes;' in reply to an earnest protest from Lilian; 'good
of course; extremely, I have no doubt; but I am so enthusiastic in my
friendships, and she quite chills me.'
It so happened that there was another hearer of this little speech
besides myself. Our dinner-party had been enlarged that evening by
the presence of Mr Wentworth as well as Mrs Chichester, and we had
all dispersed afterwards, leaving Mr Farrar and his sister in the
drawing-room for their after-dinner rest. I had contrived to slip away
from the others, and went down to my favourite seat on the low wall a
little more readily than usual, turning my back upon Fairview. As Mrs
Chichester's speech sounded very close to me, I stood up. She would
be able to see me across the gooseberry and currant bushes, and so be
warned not to say more than she would like to do in my presence. But
she and her companion had passed on, and were, I thought, already out
of sight. I was sitting down again, when a voice by my side quietly
asked: 'Of whom were they speaking?'
'Mr Wentworth!' I ejaculated in some surprise at his having found out
my retreat. I thought no one penetrated beyond the kitchen gardens.
Robert Wentworth and I were becoming fast friends. The few times we
had met at Fairview had been sufficient to shew me that I had found a
friend, and no ordinary one. Moreover, I had built up a little romance
about him. Though I had so soon discovered the mistake I had made in
supposing that he was engaged to Lilian, I believed that he loved her,
as only such men can love; and while I heartily wished he held Arthur
Trafford's place in her heart, I felt all a woman's sympathy for one
whose hopes were wrecked, and who yet could bear himself so manfully.
This had in the outset inclined me to make friends with him more than
with any one else who visited Fairview. The more I knew of him, the
more I found to respect.
As I have said, I was not without a suspicion that Mrs Chichester
regarded him with favourable eyes; and I will do her the justice to say
that I believe she was in this instance false to her creed, and loved
him for himself, though he was as yet said to be only a rising man.
'He had not worked and struggled in vain, thought one or two who had
watched him with some interest; and there was now some chance of his
succeeding at the bar,' said Arthur Trafford.
'Of whom were they speaking?' he repeated. It was his habit always to
get an answer.
'Of me. I think you must have guessed as much as that.'
He laughed; sitting down by my side.
'Then why are you so philosophic about it? Do you think it is good to
be cold and unsympathetic?'
'It may be good to be cold and unsympathetic--to _some_ things.'
'What things?'
But I was not going to be drawn into a discussion in that direction.
He was always trying to lead me into abstract talk, and sometimes I
enjoyed taking a little flight with him; but I reserved to myself the
right of choosing the direction we should take.
'What things?'