MRS. RODEN.
George Roden, the Post Office clerk, lived with his mother at
Holloway, about three miles from his office. There they occupied a
small house which had been taken when their means were smaller even
than at present;--for this had been done before the young man had
made his way into the official elysium of St. Martin's-le-Grand.
This had been effected about five years since, during which time he
had risen to an income of £170. As his mother had means of her own
amounting to about double as much, and as her personal expenses were
small, they were enabled to live in comfort. She was a lady of whom
none around knew anything, but there had gone abroad a rumour among
her neighbours that there was something of a mystery attached to her,
and there existed a prevailing feeling that she was at any rate a
well-born lady. Few people at Holloway knew either her or her son.
But there were some who condescended to watch them, and to talk about
them. It was ascertained that Mrs. Roden usually went to church on
Sunday morning, but that her son never did so. It was known, too,
that a female friend called upon her regularly once a week; and it
was noted in the annals of Holloway that this female friend came
always at three o'clock on a Monday. Intelligent observers had become
aware that the return visit was made in the course of the week, but
not always made on one certain day;--from which circumstances various
surmises arose as to the means, whereabouts, and character of the
visitor. Mrs. Roden always went in a cab. The lady, whose name was
soon known to be Mrs. Vincent, came in a brougham, which for a time
was supposed to be her own peculiar property. The man who drove it
was so well arrayed as to hat, cravat, and coat, as to leave an
impression that he must be a private servant; but one feminine
observer, keener than others, saw the man on an unfortunate day
descend from his box at a public-house, and knew at once that the
trousers were the trousers of a hired driver from a livery-stable.
Nevertheless it was manifest that Mrs. Vincent was better to do
in the world than Mrs. Roden, because she could afford to hire a
would-be private carriage; and it was imagined also that she was a
lady accustomed to remain at home of an afternoon, probably with the
object of receiving visitors, because Mrs. Roden made her visits
indifferently on Thursday, Friday, or Saturday. It was suggested also
that Mrs. Vincent was no friend to the young clerk, because it was
well known that he was never there when the lady came, and it was
supposed that he never accompanied his mother on the return visits.
He had, indeed, on one occasion been seen to get out of the cab with
his mother at their own door, but it was strongly surmised that she
had then picked him up at the Post Office. His official engagements
might, indeed, have accounted for all this naturally; but the
ladies of Holloway were well aware that the humanity of the
Postmaster-General allowed a Saturday half-holiday to his otherwise
overworked officials, and they were sure that so good a son as George
Roden would occasionally have accompanied his mother, had there been
no especial reason against it. From this further surmises arose. Some
glance had fallen from the eye of the visitor lady, or perhaps some
chance word had been heard from her lips, which created an opinion
that she was religious. She probably objected to George Roden because
he was anti-religious, or at any rate anti-church, meeting, or
chapel-going. It had become quite decided at Holloway that Mrs.
Vincent would not put up with the young clerk's infidelity. And it
was believed that there had been "words" between the two ladies
themselves on the subject of religion,--as to which probably there
was no valid foundation, it being an ascertained fact that the two
maids who were employed by Mrs. Roden were never known to tell
anything of their mistress.
It was decided at Holloway that Mrs. Roden and Mrs. Vincent were
cousins. They were like enough in face and near enough in age to
have been sisters; but old Mrs. Demijohn, of No. 10, Paradise Row,
had declared that had George been a nephew his aunt would not have
wearied in her endeavour to convert him. In such a case there would
have been intimacy in spite of disapproval. But a first cousin once
removed might be allowed to go to the Mischief in his own way. Mrs.
Vincent was supposed to be the elder cousin,--perhaps three or four
years the elder,--and to have therefore something of an authority,
but not much. She was stouter, too, less careful to hide what grey
hairs years might have produced, and showing manifestly by the
nature of her bonnets and shawls that she despised the vanities of
the world. Not but that she was always handsomely dressed, as Mrs.
Demijohn was very well aware. Less than a hundred a year could not
have clothed Mrs. Vincent, whereas Mrs. Roden, as all the world
perceived, did not spend half the money. But who does not know that
a lady may repudiate vanity in rich silks and cultivate the world in
woollen stuffs, or even in calico? Nothing was more certain to Mrs.
Demijohn than that Mrs. Vincent was severe, and that Mrs. Roden was
soft and gentle. It was assumed also that the two ladies were widows,
as no husband or sign of a husband had appeared on the scene. Mrs.
Vincent showed manifestly from her deportment, as well as from her
title, that she had been a married woman. As to Mrs. Roden, of
course, there was no doubt.
In regard to all this the reader may take the settled opinions of
Mrs. Demijohn and of Holloway as being nearly true. Riddles may be
read very accurately by those who will give sufficient attention
and ample time to the reading of them. They who will devote twelve
hours a day to the unravelling of acrostics, may discover nearly all
the enigmas of a weekly newspaper with a separate editor for such
difficulties. Mrs. Demijohn had almost arrived at the facts. The two
ladies were second cousins. Mrs. Vincent was a widow, was religious,
was austere, was fairly well off, and had quarrelled altogether with
her distant relative George of the Post Office. Mrs. Roden, though
she went to church, was not so well given to religious observances as
her cousin would have her. Hence words had come which Mrs. Roden had
borne with equanimity, but had received without effect. Nevertheless
the two women loved each other dearly, and it was a great part of the
life of each of them that these weekly visits should be made. There
was one great fact, as to which Mrs. Demijohn and Holloway were in
the wrong. Mrs. Roden was not a widow.
It was not till the Kingsburys had left London that George told his
mother of his engagement. She was well acquainted with his intimacy
with Lord Hampstead, and knew that he had been staying at Hendon
Hall with the Kingsbury family. There had been no reticence between
the mother and son as to these people, in regard to whom she had
frequently cautioned him that there was danger in such associations
with people moving altogether in a different sphere. In answer to
this the son had always declared that he did not see the danger.
He had not run after Lord Hampstead. Circumstances had thrown them
together. They had originally met each other in a small political
debating society, and gradually friendship had grown. The lord had
sought him, and not he the lord. That, according to his own idea, had
been right. Difference in rank, difference in wealth, difference in
social regard required as much as that. He, when he had discovered
who was the young man whom he had met, stood off somewhat, and
allowed the friendship to spring from the other side. He had been
slow to accept favour,--even at first to accept hospitality. But
whenever the ice had, as he said, been thoroughly broken, then he
thought that there was no reason why they should not pull each
other out of the cold water together. As for danger, what was there
to fear? The Marchioness would not like it? Very probably. The
Marchioness was not very much to Hampstead, and was nothing at all
to him. The Marquis would not really like it. Perhaps not. But in
choosing a friend a young man is not supposed to follow altogether
his father's likings,--much less need the chosen friend follow them.
But the Marquis, as George pointed out to his mother, was hardly
more like other marquises than the son was like other marquis's sons.
There was a Radical strain in the family, as was made clear by that
tailor who was still sitting for the borough of Edgeware. Mrs. Roden,
however, though she lived so much alone, seeing hardly anything of
the world except as Mrs. Vincent might be supposed to represent the
world, had learned that the feelings and political convictions of
the Marquis were hardly what they had been before he had married his
present wife. "You may be sure, George," she had said, "that like to
like is as safe a motto for friendship as it is for love."
"Not a doubt, mother," he replied; "but before you act upon it you
must define 'like.' What makes two men like--or a man and a woman?"
"Outside circumstances of the world more than anything else," she
answered, boldly.
"I would fancy that the inside circumstances of the mind would have
more to do with it." She shook her head at him, pleasantly, softly,
and lovingly,--but still with a settled purpose of contradiction. "I
have admitted all along," he continued, "that low birth--"
"I have said nothing of low birth!" Here was a point on which there
did not exist full confidence between the mother and son, but in
regard to which the mother was always attempting to reassure the son,
while he would assume something against himself which she would not
allow to pass without an attempt of faint denial.
"That birth low by comparison," he continued, going on with his
sentence, "should not take upon itself as much as may be allowed
to nobility by descent is certain. Though the young prince may be
superior in his gifts to the young shoeblack, and would best show his
princeliness by cultivating the shoeblack, still the shoeblack should
wait to be cultivated. The world has created a state of things in
which the shoeblack cannot do otherwise without showing an arrogance
and impudence by which he could achieve nothing."
"Which, too, would make him black his shoes very badly."
"No doubt. That will have to come to pass any way, because the nobler
employments to which he will be raised by the appreciating prince
will cause him to drop his shoes."
"Is Lord Hampstead to cause you to drop the Post Office?"
"Not at all. He is not a prince nor am I a shoeblack. Though we are
far apart, we are not so far apart as to make such a change essential
to our acquaintance. But I was saying-- I don't know what I was
saying."
"You were defining what 'like' means. But people always get muddled
when they attempt definitions," said the mother.
"Though it depends somewhat on externals, it has more to do with
internals. That is what I mean. A man and woman might live together
with most enduring love, though one had been noble and wealthy and
the other poor and a nobody. But a thorough brute and a human being
of fine conditions can hardly live together and love each other."
"That is true," she said. "That I fear is true."
"I hope it is true."
"It has often to be tried, generally to the great detriment of the
better nature."
All this, however, had been said before George Roden had spoken a
word to Lady Frances, and had referred only to the friendship as it
was growing between her son and the young lord.
The young lord had come on various occasions to the house at
Holloway, and had there made himself thoroughly pleasant to his
friend's mother. Lord Hampstead had a way of making himself pleasant
in which he never failed when he chose to exercise it. And he did
exercise it almost always,--always, indeed, unless he was driven
to be courteously disagreeable by opposition to his own peculiar
opinion. In shooting, fishing, and other occupations not approved of,
he would fall into a line of argument, seemingly and indeed truly
good-humoured, which was apt, however, to be aggravating to his
opponent. In this way he would make himself thoroughly odious to his
stepmother, with whom he had not one sentiment in common. In other
respects his manners were invariably sweet, with an assumption
of intimacy which was not unbecoming; and thus he had greatly
recommended himself to Mrs. Roden. Who does not know the fashion
in which the normal young man conducts himself when he is making a
morning call? He has come there because he means to be civil. He
would not be there unless he wished to make himself popular. He is
carrying out some recognized purpose of society. He would fain be
agreeable if it were possible. He would enjoy the moment if he could.
But it is clearly his conviction that he is bound to get through a
certain amount of altogether uninteresting conversation, and then
to get himself out of the room with as little awkwardness as may be.
Unless there be a pretty girl, and chance favour him with her special
companionship, he does not for a moment suppose that any social
pleasure is to be enjoyed. That rational amusement can be got out
of talking to Mrs. Jones does not enter into his mind. And yet
Mrs. Jones is probably a fair specimen of that general society in
which every one wishes to mingle. Society is to him generally made
up of several parts, each of which is a pain, though the total
is deemed to be desirable. The pretty girl episode is no doubt
an exception,--though that also has its pains when matter for
conversation does not come readily, or when conversation, coming too
readily, is rebuked. The morning call may be regarded as a period
of unmitigated agony. Now it has to be asserted on Lord Hampstead's
behalf that he could talk with almost any Mrs. Jones freely and
pleasantly while he remained, and take his departure without that
dislocating struggle which is too common. He would make himself at
ease, and discourse as though he had known the lady all his life.
There is nothing which a woman likes so much as this, and by doing
this Lord Hampstead had done much, if not to overcome, at any rate to
quiet the sense of danger of which Mrs. Roden had spoken.
But this refers to a time in which nothing was known at Holloway as
to Lady Frances. Very little had been said of the family between the
mother and son. Of the Marquis George Roden had wished to think
well, but had hardly succeeded. Of the stepmother he had never even
wished to do so. She had from the first been known to him as a woman
thoroughly wedded to aristocratic prejudices,--who regarded herself
as endowed with certain privileges which made her altogether superior
to other human beings. Hampstead himself could not even pretend to
respect her. Of her Roden had said very little to his mother, simply
speaking of her as the Marchioness, who was in no way related to
Hampstead. Of Lady Frances he had simply said that there was a girl
there endowed with such a spirit, that of all girls of her class she
must surely be the best and noblest. Then his mother had shuddered
inwardly, thinking that here too there might be possible danger; but
she had shrunk from speaking of the special danger even to her son.
"How has the visit gone?" Mrs. Roden asked, when her son had already
been some hours in the house. This was after that last visit to
Hendon Hall, in which Lady Frances had promised to become his wife.
"Pretty well, taking it altogether."
"I know that something has disappointed you."
"No, indeed, nothing. I have been somewhat abashed."
"What have they said to you?" she asked.
"Very little but what was kind,--just one word at the last."
"Something, I know, has hurt you," said the mother.
"Lady Kingsbury has made me aware that she dislikes me thoroughly. It
is very odd how one person can do that to another almost without a
word spoken."
"I told you, George, that there would be danger in going there."
"There would be no danger in that if there were nothing more."
"What more is there then?"
"There would be no danger in that if Lady Kingsbury was simply
Hampstead's stepmother."
"What more is she?"
"She is stepmother also to Lady Frances. Oh, mother!"
"George, what has happened?" she asked.
"I have asked Lady Frances to be my wife."
"Your wife?"
"And she has promised."
"Oh, George!"
"Yes, indeed, mother. Now you can perceive that she indeed may be
a danger. When I think of the power of tormenting her stepdaughter
which may rest in her hands I can hardly forgive myself for doing as
I have done."
"And the Marquis?" asked the mother.
"I know nothing as yet as to what his feelings may be. I have had
no opportunity of speaking to him since the little occurrence took
place. A word escaped me, an unthought-of word, which her ladyship
overheard, and for which she rebuked me. Then I left the house."
"What word?"
"Just a common word of greeting, a word that would be common among
dear friends, but which, coming from me to her, told all the story.
I forgot the prefix which was due from such a one as I am to such
as she is. I can understand with what horror I must henceforward be
regarded by Lady Kingsbury."
"What will the Marquis say?"
"I shall be a horror to him also,--an unutterable horror. The idea
of contact so vile will cure him at once of all his little Radical
longings."
"And Hampstead?"
"Nothing, I think, can cure Hampstead of his convictions;--but even
he is not well pleased."
"Has he quarrelled with you?"
"No, not that. He is too noble to quarrel on such offence. He is too
noble even to take offence on such a cause. But he refuses to believe
that good will come of it. And you, mother?"
"Oh, George, I doubt, I doubt."
"You will not congratulate me?"
"What am I to say? I fear more than I can hope."
"When I tell you that she is noble at all points, noble in heart,
noble in beauty, noble in that dignity which a woman should always
carry with her, that she is as sweet a creature as God ever created
to bless a man with, will you not then congratulate me?"
"I would her birth were other than it is," said the mother.
"I would have her altered in nothing," said the son. "Her birth is
the smallest thing about her, but such as she is I would have her
altered in nothing."