"I am curious to see what you will make of this gathering. I can cook a
small company myself. It requires the powers of a giantess to mix a body
of people in the open air; and all that is said of commanders of armies
shall be said of you, if you succeed."
This was Lady Gosstre's encouragement to the fair presidents of the fete
on Besworth Lawn. There had been a time when they would have cried out
internally: "We will do it, fail who may." That fallow hour was over.
Their sole thought was to get through the day. A little feverish impulse
of rivalry with her great pattern may have moved Arabella; but the
pressure of grief and dread, and the contrast between her actions and
feelings, forcibly restrained a vain display. As a consequence, she did
her duty better, and won applause from the great lady's moveable court on
eminences of the ground.
"These girls are clever," she said to Lady Charlotte. "They don't bustle
too much. They don't make too distinct a difference of tone with the
different sets. I shall propose Miss Pole as secretary to our Pin and
Needle Relief Society."
"Do," was the reply. "There is also the Polish Dance Committee; and, if
she has any energy left, she might be treasurer to the Ladies' General
Revolution Ball."
"That is an association with which I am not acquainted," said Lady
Gosstre, directing her eye-glass on the field. "Here comes young Pole.
He's gallant, they tell me, and handsome: he studies us too obviously.
That's a mistake to be corrected, Charlotte. One doesn't like to see a
pair of eyes measuring us against a preconception quelconque. Now, there
is our Ionian Am...but you have corrected me, Merthyr:--host, if you
please. But, see! What is the man doing? Is he smitten with madness?"
Mr. Pericles had made a furious dash at the band in the centre of the
lawn, scattered their music, and knocked over the stands. When his
gesticulations had been observed for some moments, Freshfield Sumner
said: "He has the look of a plucked hen, who remembers that she once
clapped wings, and tries to recover the practice."
"Very good," said Lady Gosstre. She was not one who could be unkind to
the professional wit. "And the music-leaves go for feathers. What has
the band done to displease him? I thought the playing was good."
"The instruments appear to have received a dismissal," said Lady
Charlotte. "I suppose this is a clearing of the stage for coming alarums
and excursions. Behold! the 'female element' is agitated. There are--
can you reckon at this distance, Merthyr?--twelve, fourteen of my sex
entreating him in the best tragic fashion. Can he continue stern?"
"They seem to be as violent as the women who tore up Orpheus," said Lady
Gosstre.
Tracy Runningbrook shrieked, in a paroxysm, "Splendid!" from his couch on
the sward, and immediately ran off with the idea, bodily.
"Have I stumbled anywhere?" Lady Gosstre leaned to Mr. Powys.
He replied with a satiric sententiousness that told Lady Gosstre what she
wanted to know.
"This is the isolated case where a little knowledge is truly dangerous,"
said Lady Gosstre. "I prohibit girls from any allusion to the classics
until they have taken their degree and are warranted not to open the
wrong doors. On the whole, don't you think, Merthyr, it's better for
women to avoid that pool?"
"And accept what the noble creature chooses to bring to us in buckets,"
added Lady Charlotte. "What is your opinion, Georgey? I forget: Merthyr
has thought you worthy of instruction."
"Merthyr taught me in camp," said Georgians, looking at her brother--her
face showing peace and that confirmed calm delight habitual to it. "We
found that there are times in war when you can do nothing, and you are
feverish to be employed. Then, if you can bring your mind to study, you
are sure to learn quickly. I liked nothing better than Latin Grammar."
"Studying Latin Grammar to the tune of great guns must be a new
sensation," Freshfield Sumner observed.
"The pleasure is in getting rid of all sensation," said she. "I mean you
command it without at all crushing your excitement. You cannot feel a
fuller happiness than when you look back on those hours: at least, I
speak for myself."
"So," said Lady Gosstre, "Georgey did not waste her time after all,
Charlotte."
What the latter thought was: "She could not handle a sword or fire a
pistol. Would I have consented to be mere camp-baggage?" Yet no woman
admired Georgiana Ford so much. Disappointment vitiated many of Lady
Charlotte's first impulses; and not until strong antagonism had thrown
her upon her generosity could she do justice to the finer natures about
her. There was full life in her veins; and she was hearing the thirty
fatal bells that should be music to a woman, if melancholy music; and she
had not lived. Time, that sounded in her ears, as it kindled no past,
spoke of no future. She was in unceasing rivalry with all of her sex who
had a passion, or a fixed affection, or even an employment. A sense that
she was wronged by her fate haunted this lady. Rivalry on behalf of a
man she would have held mean--she would have plucked it from her bosom at
once. She was simply envious of those who in the face of death could
say, "I have lived." Pride, and the absence of any power of self-
inspection, kept her blind to her disease. No recollection gave her boy
save of the hours in the hunting-field. There she led gallantly; but it
was not because of leading that she exulted. There the quick blood
struck on her brain like wine, and she seemed for a time to have some one
among the crowns of life. An object--who cared how small?--was ahead: a
poor old fox trying to save his brush; and Charlotte would have it if the
master of cunning did not beat her. "It's my natural thirst for blood,"
she said. She did not laugh as she thought now and then that the old red
brush dragging over grey dews toward a yellow yolk in the curdled winter-
morning sky, was the single thing that could make her heart throb.
Brookfield was supported in its trial by the discomfiture of the Tinleys.
These girls, with their brother, had evidently plotted to 'draw out' Mrs.
Chump. They had asked concerning her, severally; and hearing that she
had not returned from town, had each shown a blank face, or had been
doubtful of the next syllable. Of Wilfrid, Emilia, and Mr. Pole,
question and answer were interchanged. "Wilfrid will come in a few
minutes. Miss Belloni, you know, is preparing for Italy. Papa? Papa, I
really do fear will not be able to join us." Such was Brookfield's
concerted form of reply. The use of it, together with the gaiety of
dancing blood, gave Adela (who believed that she ought to be weeping, and
could have wept easily) strange twitches of what I would ask permission
to call the juvenile 'shrug-philosophy.' As thus: 'What creatures we
are, but life is so!' And again, 'Is not merriment dreadful when a
duty!' She was as miserable as she could be but not knowing that youth
furnished a plea available, the girl was ashamed of being cheerful at
all. Edward Burley's sketch of Mr. Pericles scattering his band, sent
her into muffled screams of laughter; for which she did internal penance
so bitter that, for her to be able to go on at all, the shrug-philosophy
was positively necessary; Mr. Pericles himself saw the sketch, and
remarked critically, "It is zat I have more hair:" following which, he
tapped the signal for an overture to commence, and at the first stroke
took a run, with his elbows clapping exactly as the shrewd hand of Edward
had drawn him.
"See him--zat fellow," Mr. Pericles said to Laura Tinley, pointing to the
leader. "See him pose a maestro! zat leads zis tintamarre. He is a hum-
a-bug!"
Laura did the vocal caricaturing, when she had gathered plenty of matter
of this kind. Altogether, as host, Mr. Pericles accomplished his duty in
furnishing amusement.
Late in the afternoon, Sir Twickenham Pryme and Wilfrid arrived in
company. The baronet went straight to Cornelia. Wilfrid beckoned to
Adela, from whom he heard of his father's illness at the hotel in town,
and the conditions imposed on them. He nodded, said lightly, "Where's
Emilia?" and nodded again to the answer, "With papa," and then stopped as
he was walking off to one of the groups. "After all, it won't do for us
to listen to the whims of an invalid. I'm going back. You needn't say
you've seen me."
"We have the doctor's most imperative injunction, dearest," pleaded
Adela, deceived for a moment. "Papa's illness is mental chiefly. He is
able to rise and will be here very soon, if he is not in any way crossed.
For heaven's sake, command yourself as we have done--painfully indeed!
Besides, you have been seen."
"Has she--?" Wilfrid began; and toned an additional carelessness. "She
writes, of course?"
"No, not once; and we are angry with her. It looks like ingratitude, or
stupidity. She can write."
"People might say that we are not behaving well," returned Wilfrid,
repeating that he must go to town. But now Edward Burley camp running
with a message from the aristocratic heights, and thither Wilfrid walked
captive--saying in Adela's ear, "Don't be angry with her."
Adela thought, very justly, "I shall, if you've been making a fool of
her, naughty boy!"
Wilfrid saluted the ladies, and made his bow of introduction to Georgiana
Ford, at whom he looked twice, to confirm an impression that she was the
perfect contrast to Emilia; and for this reason he chose not to look at
her again. Lady Charlotte dropped him a quick recognition.
If Brookfield could have thrown the burden from its mind, the day was one
to feel a pride in. Three Circles were present, and Brookfield
denominated two that it had passed through, and patronized all--from Lady
Gosstre (aristocracy) to the Tinley set (lucre), and from these to the
representative Sumner girls (cultivated poverty). There were also
intellectual, scientific, and Art circles to deal with; music, pleasant
to hear, albeit condemned by Mr. Pericles; agreeable chatter, courtly
flirtation and homage, and no dread of the defection of the letter H from
their family.
"I feel more and more convinced," said Adela, meeting Arabella, "that we
can have really no cause for alarm; otherwise papa would not have been
cruel to his children." Arabella kindly reserved her opinion. "So let
us try and be happy," continued Adela, determining to be encouraged by
silence. With that she went on tiptoe gracefully and blew a kiss to her
sister's lips. Running to Captain Gambier, she said, "Do you really
enjoy this?"
"Charming," replied the ever-affable gentleman. "If I might only venture
to say what makes it so infinitely!"
Much to her immediate chagrin at missing a direct compliment, which would
have had to be parried, and might have led to 'vistas,' the too sprightly
young lady found herself running on: "It's as nice as sin, without the
knowledge that you are sinning."
"Oh! do you think that part of it disagreeable?" said the captain.
"I think the heat terrific:" she retrieved her ground.
"Coquet et coquette," muttered Lady Charlotte, observing them from a
distance; and wondered whether her sex might be strongly represented in
this encounter.
It was not in the best taste, nor was it perhaps good policy (if I may
quote the Tinley set), for the ladies of Brookfield to subscribe openly
to the right of certain people present to be exclusive. Arabella would
have answered: "Lady Gosstre and her party cannot associate with you to
your mutual pleasure and profit; and do you therefore blame her for not
attempting what would fail ludicrously?" With herself, as she was not
sorry to show, Lady Gosstre could associate. Cornelia had given up work
to become a part of the Court. Adela made flying excursions over the
lawn. Laura Tinley had the field below and Mr. Pericles to herself.
That anxious gentleman consulted his watch from time to time, as if he
expected the birth of an event.
Lady Gosstre grew presently aware that there was more acrimony in
Freshfield Sumner's replies to Sir Twickenham (whom he had seduced into a
political argument) than the professional wit need employ; and as Mr.
Powys's talk was getting so attractive that the Court had become crowded,
she gave a hint to Georgiana and Lady Charlotte, prompt lieutenants,
whose retirement broke the circle.
"I never shall understand how it was done," Adela said subsequently. It
is hoped that everybody sees the importance of understanding such points.
She happened to be standing alone when a messenger came up to her and
placed a letter in her hand, addressed to her sister Cornelia. Adela
walked slowly up to the heights. She knew Mr. Barrett's handwriting.
"Good heavens!"--her thought may be translated out of Fine Shades--"does
C. really in her heart feel so blind to our situation that she can go on
playing still?" When she reached the group it was to hear Mr. Powys
speaking of Mr. Barrett. Cornelia was very pale, and stood wretchedly in
contrast among the faces. Adela beckoned her to step aside. "Here is a
letter," she said: "there's no postmark. What has been the talk of that
man?"
"Do you mean of Mr. Barrett?" Cornelia replied:--"that his father was a
baronet, and a madman, who has just disinherited him."
"Just?" cried Adela. She thought of the title. Cornelia had passed on.
A bizarre story of Mr. Barrett's father was related to Adela by Sir
Twickenham. She grappled it with her sense, and so got nothing out of
it. "Disinherited him because he wrote to his father, who was dying, to
say that he had gained a livelihood by playing the organ! He had a
hatred of music? It's incomprehensible! You know, Sir Twickenham, the
interest we take in Mr. Barrett." The masked anguish of Cornelia's voice
hung in her ears. She felt that it was now possible Cornelia might throw
over the rich for the penniless baronet, and absolutely for an instant
she thought nakedly, "The former ought not to be lost to the family."
Thick clouds obscured the vision. Lady Gosstre had once told her that
the point of Sir Twickenham's private character was his susceptibility to
ridicule. Her ladyship had at the same time complimented his discernment
in conjunction with Cornelia. "Yes," Adela now thought; "but if my
sister shows that she is not so wise as she looks!" Cornelia's figure
disappeared under the foliage bordering Besworth Lawn.
As usual, Arabella had all the practical labour--a fact that was noticed
from the observant heights. "One sees mere de famille written on that
young woman," was the eulogy she won from Lady Gosstre. How much would
the great dame have marvelled to behold the ambition beneath the bustling
surface! Arabella was feverish, and Freshfield Sumner reported brilliant
things uttered by her. He became after a time her attendant, aide, and
occasional wit-foil. They had some sharp exchanges: and he could not but
reflect on the pleasure her keen zest of appreciation gave him compared
with Cornelia's grave smile, which had often kindled in him profane
doubts of the positive brightness, or rapidity of her intelligence.
"Besworth at sunset! What a glorious picture to have living before you
every day!" said Lady Charlotte to her companion.
Wilfrid flushed. She read his look; and said, when they were out of
hearing, "What a place for old people to sit here near the end of life!
The idea of it makes one almost forgive the necessity for getting old--
doesn't it? Tracy Runningbrook might make a poem about silver heads and
sunset--something, you know! Very easy cantering then--no hunting! I
suppose one wouldn't have even a desire to go fast--a sort of cock-horse,
just as we began with. The stables, let me tell you, are too near the
scullery. One is bound to devise measures for the protection of the
morals of the household."
While she was speaking, Wilfrid's thoughts ran: "My time has come to
strike for liberty."
This too she perceived, and was prepared for him.
He said: "Lady Charlotte, I feel that I must tell you...I fear that I
have been calculating rather more hopefully..." Here the pitfall of
sentiment yawned before him on a sudden. "I mean" (he struggled to avoid
it, but was at the brink in the next sentence) "--I mean, dear lady, that
I had hopes...Besworth pleased you... to offer you this..."
"With yourself?" she relieved him. A different manner in a protesting
male would have charmed her better. She excused him, knowing what stood
in his way.
"That I scarcely dared to hope," said Wilfrid, bewildered to see the
loose chain he had striven to cast off gather tightly round him.
"You do hope it?"
"I have."
"You have hoped that I..." (she was not insolent by nature, and corrected
the form) "--to marry me?"
"Yes, Lady Charlotte, I--I had that hope...if I could have offered this
place--Besworth. I find that my father will never buy it; I have
misunderstood him."
He fixed his eyes on her, expecting a cool, or an ironical, rejoinder to
end the colloquy;--after which, fair freedom! She answered, "We may do
very well without it."
Wilfrid was not equal to a start and the trick of rapturous astonishment.
He heard the words like the shooting of dungeon-bolts, thinking, "Oh,
heaven! if at the first I had only told the woman I do not love her!"
But that sentimental lead had ruined him. And, on second thoughts, how
could he have spoken thus to the point, when they had never previously
dealt in anything save sentimental implications? The folly was in his
speaking at all. The game was now in Lady Charlotte's hands.
Adela, in another part of the field, had released herself by a consummate
use of the same weapon Wilfrid had so clumsily handled. Her object was
to put an end to the absurd and compromising sighs of Edward Buxley; and
she did so with the amiable contempt of a pupil dismissing a first
instructor in an art "We saw from the beginning it could not be, Edward."
The enamoured caricaturist vainly protested that he had not seen it from
the beginning, and did not now. He recalled to her that she had said he
was 'her first.' She admitted the truth, with eyes dwelling on him,
until a ringlet got displaced. Her first. To be that, sentimental man
would perish in the fires. To have been that will sometimes console him,
even when he has lived to see what a thing he was who caught the budding
fancy. The unhappy caricaturist groaned between triumph as a leader, and
anguish at the prospect of a possible host of successors. King in that
pure bosom, the thought would come--King of a mighty line, mayhap! And
sentimental man, awakened to this disastrous view of things, endures
shrewder pangs of rivalry in the contemplation of his usurping posterity
than if, as do they, he looked forward to a tricked, perfumed, pommaded
whipster, pirouetting like any Pierrot--the enviable image of the one who
realized her first dream, and to whom specially missioned angels first
opened the golden gates of her heart.
"I have learnt to see, Edward, that you do not honour me with a love you
have diverted from one worthier than I am;" and in answer to the question
whether, though having to abjure her love, she loved him: "No, no; it is
my Arabella I love. I love, I will love, no one but her"--with sundry
caressing ejaculations that spring a thirst for kisses, and a tender
'putting of the case,' now and then.
So much for Adela's part in the conflict. Edward was unaware that the
secret of her mastering him was, that she was now talking common-sense in
the tone of sentiment. He, on the contrary, talked sentiment in the tone
of common-sense. Of course he was beaten: and O, you young lovers, when
you hear the dear lips setting what you call the world's harsh language
to this music, know that an hour has struck for you! It is a fatal sound
to hear. Edward believed that his pleading had produced an effect when
he saw Miss Adela's bosom rise as with a weight on it. The burden of her
thoughts was--"How big and heavy Edward's eyes look when he is not
amusing!" To get rid of him she said, as with an impassioned coldness,
"Go." Her figure, repeating this under closed eyelids, was mysterious,
potent. When he exclaimed, "Then I will go," her eyelids lifted wide:
she shut them instantly, showing at the same time a slight tightening-in
of the upper lip. You beheld a creature tied to the stake of Duty.
But she was exceedingly youthful, and had not reckoned upon man's being a
live machine, possessing impulses of his own. A violent seizure of her
waist, and enough of kisses to make up the sum popularly known as a
'shower,' stopped her performance. She struggled, and muttered
passionately to be released. "We are seen," she hazarded. At the
repetition, Edward, accustomed to dread the warning, let her go and fled.
Turning hurriedly about, Adela found that she had spoken truth unawares,
and never wished so much that she had lied. Sir Twickenham Pryme came
forward to her, with his usual stiff courtly step.
"If you could have been a little--a little earlier," she murmured, with
an unflurried face, laying a trembling hand in his; and thus shielded
herself from a suspicion.
"Could I know that I was wanted?" He pressed her hand.
"I only know that I wish I had not left your side," said she--adding,
"Though you must have thought me what, if I were a man, you Members of
Parliament would call 'a bore,' for asking perpetual questions."
"Nay, an apposite interrogation is the guarantee of a proper interest in
the subject," said the baronet.
Cornelia was very soon reverted to.
"Her intellect is contemplative," said Adela, exhibiting marvellous
mental composure. "She would lose her unerring judgement in active life.
She cannot weigh things in her mind rapidly. She is safe if her course
of action is clear."
Sir Twickenham reserved his opinion of the truth of this. "I wonder
whether she can forgive those who offend or insult her, easily?"
A singular pleasure warmed Adela's veins. Her cheeks kindling, she
replied, giving him her full face. "No; if they are worthy of
punishment. But--" and now he watched a downcast profile--"one must have
some forgiveness for fools."
"Indeed, you speak like charity out of the windows of wisdom," said the
baronet.
"Do you not require in Parliament to be tolerant at times?" Adela
pursued.
Ho admitted it, and to her outcry of "Oh, that noble public life!" smiled
deprecatingly--"My dear young lady, if you only knew the burden it
brings!"
"It brings its burden," said Adela, correcting, with a most proper
instinct, another enthusiastic burst. "At the same time the honour is
above the load. Am I talking too romantically? You are at least
occupied."
"Nine-tenths of us to no very good purpose," the baronet appended.
She rejoined: "If it were but a fraction, the good done would survive."
"And be more honourable to do, perhaps," he ejaculated. "The consolation
should be great."
"And is somehow small," said she; and they laughed softly.
At this stage, Adela was 'an exceedingly interesting young person' in Sir
Twickenham's mental register. He tried her on politics and sociology.
She kept her ears open, and followed his lead carefully--venturing here
and there to indicate an opinion, and suggesting dissent in a pained
interrogation. Finally, "I confess," she said, "I understand much less
than I am willing to think; and so I console myself with the thought
that, after all, the drawing-room, and the...the kitchen?--well, an
educated 'female' must serve her term there, if she would be anything
better than a mere ornament, even in the highest walks of life--I mean
the household is our sphere. From that we mount to companionship--if we
can."
Amazement of Sir Twickenham, on finding his own thought printed, as it
were, on the air before him by these pretty lips!
The conversation progressed, until Adela, by chance, turned her eyes up a
cross pathway and perceived her sister Cornelia standing with Mr. Barrett
under a beech. The man certainly held one of her hands pressed to his
heart; and her attitude struck a doubt whether his other hand was
disengaged or her waist free. Adela walked nervously on without looking
at the baronet; she knew by his voice presently that his eyes had also
witnessed the sight. "Two in a day," she thought; "what will he imagine
us to be!" The baronet was thinking: "For your sister exposed, you
display more agitation than for yourself insulted."
Adela found Arabella in so fresh a mood that she was sure good news had
been heard. It proved that Mrs. Chump had sent a few lines in a letter
carried by Braintop, to this effect: "My dears all! I found your father
on his back in bed, and he discharged me out of the room; and the sight
of me put him on his legs, and you will soon see him. Be civil to Mr.
Braintop, who is a faithful young man, of great merit, and show your
gratitude to--Martha Chump."
Braintop confirmed the words of the letter: and then Adela said--"You
will do us the favour to stay and amuse yourself here. To-night there
will be a bed at Brookfield."
"What will he do?" Arabella whispered.
"Associate with the Tinleys," returned Adela.
In accordance with the sentiment here half concealed, Brookfield soon
showed that it had risen from the hour of depression when it had simply
done its duty. Arabella formed an opposition-Court to the one in which
she had studied; but Mr. Pericles defeated her by constantly sending to
her for advice concerning the economies of the feast. Nevertheless, she
exhibited good pretensions to social queendom, both personal and
practical; and if Freshfield Sumner, instead of his crisp waspish
comments on people and things, had seconded her by keeping up a two-
minutes' flow of talk from time to time, she might have thought that Lady
Gosstre was only luckier than herself--not better endowed.
Below, the Tinleys and their set surrounded Mr. Pericles--prompting him,
as was seen, to send up continual messages. One, to wit, "Is there to be
dancing to-night?" being answered, "Now, if you please," provoked
sarcastic cheering; and Laura ran up to say, "How kind of you! We
appreciate it. Continue to dispense blessings on poor mortals."
"By the way, though" (Freshfield took his line from the calm closed lips
of his mistress), "poor mortals are not in the habit of climbing Olympus
to ask favours."
"I perceived no barrier," quoth Laura.
"Audacity never does."
"Pray, how am I to be punished?"
Freshfield paused for a potent stroke. "Not like Semele. She saw the
God:--you never will!"
While Laura was hanging on the horrid edge between a false laugh and a
starting blush, Arabella said: "That visual excommunication has been
pronounced years ago, Freshfield."
"Ah! then he hasn't changed his name in heaven?" Laura touched her thus
for the familiar use of the gentle-man's Christian name.
"You must not imagine that very great changes are demanded of those who
can be admitted."
"I really find it hotter than below," said Laura, flying.
Arabella's sharp eyes discerned a movement in Lady Gosstre's circle; and
she at once went over to her, and entreated the great lady, who set her
off so well, not to go. The sunset fronted Besworth Lawn; the last light
of day was danced down to inspiriting music: and now Arabella sent word
for Besworth hall-doors and windows to be opened; and on the company
beginning to disperse, there beckoned promise of a brilliant supper-table.
"Admirable!" said Lady Gosstre, and the encomium was general among the
crowd surrounding Arabella; for up to this point the feasting had been
delicate, and something like plain hunger prevailed. Indeed, Arabella
had heard remarks of a bad nature, which she traced to the Tinley set,
and bore with, to meet her present reward. Making light of her triumph,
she encouraged Freshfield to start a wit-contest, and took part in it
herself, with the gaiety of an unoccupied mind. Her sisters had
aforetime more than once challenged her supremacy, but they bowed to it
now; and Adela especially did when, after a ringing hit to Freshfield
(which the Tinleys might also take to their own bosoms), she said in an
undertone, "What is there between C. and--?" Surprised by this
astonishing vigilance and power of thinking below the surface while she
performed above it, Adela incautiously turned her face toward the
meditative baronet, and was humiliated by Arabella's mute indication of
contempt for her coming answer. This march across the lawn to the
lighted windows of Besworth was the culmination of Brookfield's joy, and
the crown for which it had striven; though for how short a term it was to
be worn was little known. Was it not a very queenly sphere of Fine
Shades and Nice Feelings that Brookfield had realized?
In Arabella's conscience lay a certain reproach of herself for permitting
the "vice of a lower circle" to cling to her--viz., she had still
betrayed a stupid hostility to the Tinleys: she had rejoiced to see them
incapable of mixing with any but their own set, and thus be stamped
publicly for what they were. She had struggled to repress it, and yet,
continually, her wits were in revolt against her judgement. Perhaps one
reason was that Albert Tinley had haunted her steps at an early part of
the day; and Albert--a sickening City young man, "full of insolence, and
half eyeglass," according to Freshfield--had once ventured to propose for
her.
The idea that the Tinleys strove to catch at her skirts made Arabella
spiteful. Up to the threshold of Besworth, Freshfield, Mr. Powys, Tracy,
and Arabella kept the wheel of a dazzling run of small-talk, throwing
intermittent sparks. Laura Tinley would press up, apparently to hear,
but in reality (as all who knew her could see) with the object of being a
rival representative of her sex in this illustrious rare encounter of
divine intelligences. "You are anxious to know?" said Arabella,
hesitatingly.
"To know, dear?" echoed Laura.
"There was, I presumed, something you did not hear." Arabella was half
ashamed of the rudeness to which her antagonism to Laura's vulgarity
forced her.
"Oh! I hear everything," Laura assured her.
"Indeed!" said Arabella. "By the way, who conducts you?" (Laura was on
Edward Burley's arm.) "Oh! will you go to"--such and such an end of the
table. "And if, Lady Gosstre, I may beg of you to do me the service to
go there also," was added aloud; and lower, but quite audibly, "Mr.
Pericles will have music, so there can be no talking." This, with the
soupcon of a demi-shrug; "You will not suffer much" being implied. Laura
said to herself, "I am not a fool." A moment after, Arabella was
admitting in her own mind, as well as Fine Shades could interpret it,
that she was. On entering the dining-hall, she beheld two figures seated
at the point whither Laura was led by her partner. These were Mrs. Chump
and Mr. Pole, with champagne glasses in their hands. Arabella was pushed
on by the inexorable crowd of hungry people behind.