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Graham B. Forbes - "The Boys of Columbia High on the Gridiron"

Georg Ebers - "The Sisters, v1"

George Meredith - "The Adventures of Harry Richmond, v3"

James Joyce - "Chamber Music "

Sandra Belloni, Complete

G >> George Meredith >> Sandra Belloni, Complete




Wilfrid's reply stated that he considered it unadviseable that he should
add his voice to the request, for the present.

The ladies submitted to this quietly until they heard from their father
one evening at dinner that he had seen Wilfrid in the city.

"He doesn't waste his time like some young people I know," said Mr. Pole,
with a wink.

"Papa; is it possible?" cried Adela.

"Everything's possible, my dear."

"Lady Charlotte?"

"There is a Lady Charlotte."

"Who would be Lady Charlotte still, whatever occurred!"

Mr. Pole laughed. "No, no. You get nothing out of me. All I say is, be
practical. The sun isn't always shining."

He appeared to be elated with some secret good news.

"Have you been over to Besworth, the last two or three days?" he asked.

The ladies smiled radiantly, acknowledging Wilfrid's wonderful persuasive
powers, in their hearts.

"No, papa; we have not been," said Adela. "We are always anxious to go,
as I think you know."

The merchant chirped over his glass. "Well, well! There's a way."

"Straight?"

"Over a gate; ha, ha!"

His gaiety would have been perplexing, but for the allusion to Lady
Charlotte.

The sisters, in their unfailing midnight consultation, persuaded one
another that Wilfrid had become engaged to that lady. They wrote
forthwith Fine Shades to him on the subject. His answer was Boeotian, and
all about Besworth. "Press it now," he said, "if you really want it. The
iron is hot. And above all things, let me beg you not to be inconsiderate
to the squire, when he and I are doing all we can for you. I mean, we are
bound to consider him, if there should happen to be anything he wishes us
to do."

What could the word 'inconsiderate' imply? The ladies were unable to
summon an idea to solve it. They were sure that no daughters could be
more perfectly considerate and ready to sacrifice everything to their
father. In the end, they deputed the volunteering Adela to sit with him
in the library, and put the question of Besworth decisively, in the name
of all. They, meantime, who had a contempt for sleep, waited aloft to
hold debate over the result of the interview.

An hour after midnight, Adela came to them, looking pale and uncertain:
her curls seeming to drip, and her blue eyes wandering about the room, as
if she had seen a thing that kept her in a quiver between belief and
doubt.

The two ladies drew near to her, expressing no verbal impatience, from
which the habit of government and great views naturally saved them, but
singularly curious.

Adela's first exclamation: "I wish I had not gone," alarmed them.

"Has any change come to papa?" breathed Arabella.

Cornelia smiled. "Do you not know him too well?"

An acute glance from Adela made her ask whether Besworth was to be
surrendered.

"Oh, no! my dear. We may have Besworth."

"Then, surely!"

"But, there are conditions?" said Arabella.

"Yes. Wilfrid's enigma is explained. Bella, that woman has seen papa."

"What woman?"

"Mrs. Chump."

"She has our permission to see him in town, if that is any consolation to
her."

"She has told him," continued Adela, "that no explanation, or whatever it
may be, was received by her."

"Certainly not, if it was not sent."

"Papa," and Adela's voice trembled, "papa will not think of
Besworth,--not a word of it!-until--until we consent to welcome that
woman here as our guest."

Cornelia was the first to break the silence that followed this astounding
intelligence. "Then," she said, "Besworth is not to be thought of. You
told him so?"

Adela's head drooped. "Oh!" she cried, "what shall we do? We shall be a
laughing-stock to the neighbourhood. The house will have to be locked up.
We shall live like hermits worried by a demon. Her brogue! Do you
remember it? It is not simply Irish. It's Irish steeped in brine. It's
pickled Irish!"

She feigned the bursting into tears of real vexation.

"You speak," said Cornelia contemptuously, "as if we had very humbly
bowed our heads to the infection."

"Papa making terms with us!" murmured Arabella.

"Pray, repeat his words."

Adela tossed her curls. "I will, as well as I can. I began by speaking of
Besworth cheerfully; saying, that if he really had no strong affection
for Brookfield, that would make him regret quitting it, we saw
innumerable advantages in the change of residence proposed.
Predilection,--not affection--that was what I said. He replied that
Besworth was a large place, and I pointed out that therein lay one of its
principal merits. I expected what would come. He alluded to the
possibility of our changing our condition. You know that idea haunts him.
I told him our opinion of the folly of the thing. I noticed that he grew
red in the face, and I said that of course marriage was a thing ordained,
but that we objected to being submerged in matrimony until we knew who
and what we were. I confess he did not make a bad reply, of its kind.
'You're like a youngster playing truant that he may gain knowledge.' What
do you think of it?"

"A smart piece of City-speech," was Arabella's remark: Cornelia placidly
observing, "Vulgarity never contains more than a minimum of the truth."

"I said," Adela went on, "Think as you will, papa, we know we are right.
He looked really angry. He said, that we have the absurdest ideas--you
tell me to repeat his words--of any girls that ever existed; and then he
put a question: listen: I give it without comment: 'I dare say, you all
object to widows marrying again.' I kept myself quiet. 'Marrying again,
papa! If they marry once they might as well marry a dozen times.' It was
the best way to irritate him. I did not intend it; that is all I can say.
He jumped from his chair, rubbed his hair, and almost ran up and down the
library floor, telling me that I prevaricated. 'You object to a widow
marrying at all--that's my question!' he cried out loud. Of course I
contained my voice all the more. 'Distinctly, papa.' When I had spoken, I
could scarcely help laughing. He went like a pony that is being broken
in, crying, I don't know how many times, 'Why? What's your reason?' You
may suppose, darlings, that I decline to enter upon explanation. If a
person is dense upon a matter of pure sentiment, there is no ground
between us: he has simply a sense wanting. 'What has all this to do with
Besworth?' I asked. 'A great deal more than you fancy,' was his answer.
He seemed to speak every word at me in capital letters. Then, as if a
little ashamed, he sat down, and reached out his hand to mine, and I saw
his eyes were moist. I drew my chair nearer to him. Now, whether I did
right or wrong in this, I do not know I leave it entirely to your
judgement. If you consider how I was placed, you will at all events
excuse me. What I did was--you know, the very farthest suspicion one has
of an extreme possibility one does not mind mentioning: I said 'Papa, if
it should so happen that money is the objection to Besworth, we will not
trouble you.' At this, I can only say that he behaved like an insane
person. He denounced me as wilfully insulting him that I might avoid one
subject."

"And what on earth can that be?" interposed Arabella.

"You may well ask. Could a genie have guessed that Mrs. Chump was at the
bottom of it all? The conclusion of the dreadful discussion is this, that
papa offers to take the purchase of Besworth into his consideration, if
we, as I said before, will receive Mrs. Chump as our honoured guest. I am
bound to say, poor dear old man, he spoke kindly, as he always does, and
kissed me, and offered to give me anything I might want. I came from him
stupefied. I have hardly got my senses about me yet."

The ladies caressed her, with grave looks; but neither of them showed a
perturbation of spirit like that which distressed Adela.

"Wilfrid's meaning is now explained," said Cornelia. "He is in league
with papa; or has given in his adhesion to papa's demands, at least. He
is another example of the constant tendency in men to be what they call
'practical' at the expense of honour and sincerity."

"I hope not," said Arabella. "In any case, that need not depress you so
seriously, darling."

She addressed Adela.

"Do you not see?" Adela cried, in response. "What! are you both blind to
the real significance of papa's words? I could not have believed it! Or
am I this time too acute? I pray to heaven it may be so!"

Both ladies desired her to be explicit; Arabella, eagerly; Cornelia with
distrust.

"The question of a widow marrying! What is this woman, whom papa wishes
to force on us as our guest? Why should he do that? Why should he evince
anxiety with regard to our opinion of the decency of widows contemplating
re-union? Remember previous words and hints when we lived in the city!"

"This at least you may spare us," said Cornelia, ruffling offended.

Adela smiled in tenderness for her beauty.

"But, it is important, if we are following a track, dear. Think over it."

"No!" cried Arabella. "It cannot be true. We might easily have guessed
this, if we ever dreamed of impossibilities."

"In such cases, when appearances lean in one direction, set principles in
the opposite balance," added Cornelia. "What Adela apprehends may seem to
impend, but we know that papa is incapable of doing it. To know that,
shuts the gates of suspicion. She has allowed herself to be troubled by a
ghastly nightmare."

Adela believed in her own judgement too completely not to be sure that
her sisters were, perhaps unknowingly, disguising a slowness of
perception they were ashamed of, by thus partially accusing her of
giddiness. She bit her lip.

"Very well; if you have no fears whatever, you need not abandon the idea
of Besworth."

"I abandon nothing," said Arabella. "If I have to make a choice, I take
that which is least objectionable. I am chagrined, most, at the idea that
Wilfrid has been treacherous."

"Practical," Cornelia suggested. "You are not speaking of one of our
sex."

Questions were then put to Adela, whether Mr. Pole had spoken in the
manner of one who was prompted: whether he hesitated as he spoke:
whether, in short, Wilfrid was seen behind his tongue. Adela resolved
that Wilfrid should have one protectress.

"You are entirely mistaken in ascribing treachery to him," she said. "It
is papa that is changed. You may suppose it to be without any reason, if
you please. I would tell you to study him for yourselves, only I am
convinced that these special private interviews are anything but good
policy, and are strictly to be avoided, unless of course, as in the
present instance, we have something directly to do."

Toward dawn the ladies had decreed that it was policy to be quite
passive, and provoke no word of Mrs. Chump by making any allusion to
Besworth, and by fencing with the mention of the place.

As they rarely failed to carry out any plan deliberately conceived by
them, Mr. Pole was astonished to find that Besworth was altogether
dropped. After certain scattered attempts to bring them upon Besworth, he
shrugged, and resigned himself, but without looking happy.

Indeed he looked so dismal that the ladies began to think he had a great
longing for Besworth. And yet he did not go there, or even praise it to
the discredit of Brookfield! They were perplexed.

"Let me ask you how it is," said Cornelia to Mr. Barrett, "that a person
whom we know--whose actions and motives are as plain to us as though
discerned through a glass, should at times produce a completer
mystification than any other creature? Or have you not observed it?"

"I have had better opportunities of observing it than most people," Mr.
Barren replied, with one of his saddest amused smiles. "I have come to
the conclusion that the person we know best is the one whom we never
understand."

"You answer me with a paradox."

"Is it not the natural attendant on an assumption?"

"What assumption?"

"That you know a person thoroughly."

"May we not?"

"Do you, when you acknowledge this 'complete mystification'?"

"Yes." Cornelia smiled when she had said it. "And no."

Mr. Barrett, with his eyes on her, laughed softly. "Which is paradox at
the fountain-head! But, when we say we know any one, we mean commonly
that we are accustomed to his ways and habits of mind; or, that we can
reckon on the predominant influence of his appetites. Sometimes we can
tell which impulse is likely to be the most active, and which principle
the least restraining. The only knowledge to be trusted is a grounded or
scientific study of the springs that move him, side by side with his
method of moving the springs. If you fail to do this, you have two
classes under your eyes: you have sane and madman: and it will seem to
you that the ranks of the latter are constantly being swollen in an
extraordinary manner. The customary impression, as we get older, is that
our friends are the maddest people in the world. You see, we have grown
accustomed to them; and now, if they bewilder us, our judgement, in
self-defence, is compelled to set them down lunatic."

Cornelia bowed her stately head with gentle approving laughter.

"They must go, or they despatch us thither," she said, while her fair
face dimpled into serenity. The remark was of a lower nature than an
intellectual discussion ordinarily drew from her: but could Mr. Barrett
have read in her heart, he might have seen that his words were beginning
to rob that organ of its native sobriety. So that when he spoke a cogent
phrase, she was silenced, and became aware of a strange exultation in her
blood that obscured grave thought. Cornelia attributed this display of
mental weakness altogether to Mr. Barrett's mental force. The
interposition of a fresh agency was undreamt of by the lady.

Meanwhile, it was evident that Mr. Pole was a victim to one of his fevers
of shyness. He would thrum on the table, frowning; and then, as he met
the look of one of the ladies, try to disguise the thought in his head
with a forced laugh. Occasionally, he would turn toward them, as if he
had just caught a lost idea that was peculiarly precious. The ladies
drawing up to attend to the communication, had a most trivial matter
imparted to them, and away he went. Several times he said to them "You
don't make friends, as you ought;" and their repudiation of the charge
made him repeat: "You don't make friends--home friends."

"The house can be as full as we care to have it, papa."

"Yes, acquaintances! All very well, but I mean friends--rich friends."

"We will think of it, papa," said Adela, "when we want money."

"It isn't that," he murmured.

Adela had written to Wilfrid a full account of her interview with her
father. Wilfrid's reply was laconic. "If you cannot stand a week of the
brogue, give up Besworth, by all means." He made no further allusion to
the place. They engaged an opera-box, for the purpose of holding a
consultation with him in town. He wrote evasively, but did not appear,
and the ladies, with Emilia between them, listened to every foot-fall by
the box-door, and were too much preoccupied to marvel that Emilia was
just as inattentive to the music as they were. When the curtain dropped
they noticed her dejection.

"What ails you?" they asked.

"Let us go out of London to-night," she whispered, and it was difficult
to persuade her that she would see Brookfield again.

"Remember," said Adela, "it is you that run away from us, not we from
you."

Soft chidings of this description were the only reproaches for her
naughty conduct. She seemed contrite very still and timid, since that
night of adventure. The ladies were glad to observe it, seeing that it
lent her an air of refinement, and proved her sensible to correction.

At last Mr. Pole broke the silence. He had returned from business,
humming and rubbing his hands, like one newly primed with a suggestion
that was the key of a knotty problem. Observant Adela said: "Have you
seen Wilfrid, papa?"

"Saw him in the morning," Mr. Pole replied carelessly.

Mr. Barrett was at the table.

"By the way, what do you think of our law of primogeniture?" Mr. Pole
addressed him.

He replied with the usual allusion to a basis of aristocracy.

"Well, it's the English system," said Mr. Pole. "That's always in its
favour at starting. I'm Englishman enough to think that. There ought to
be an entail of every decent bit of property, eh?"

It was observed that Mr. Barrett reddened as he said, "I certainly think
that a young man should not be subject to his father's caprice."

"Father's caprice! That isn't common. But, if you're founding a family,
you must entail."

"We agree, sir, from my point of view, and from yours."

"Knits the family bond, don't you think? I mean, makes the trunk of the
tree firm. It makes the girls poor, though!"

Mr. Barrett saw that he had some confused legal ideas in his head, and
that possibly there were personal considerations in the background; so he
let the subject pass.

When the guest had departed, Mr. Pole grew demonstrative in his paternal
caresses. He folded Adela in one arm, and framed her chin in his fingers:
marks of affection dear to her before she had outgrown them.

"So!" he said, "you've given up Besworth, have you?"

At the name, Arabella and Cornelia drew nearer to his chair.

"Given up Besworth, papa? It is not we who have given it up," said Adela.

"Yes, you have; and quite right too. You say, 'What's the use of it, for
that's a sort of thing that always goes to the son.'"

"You suppose, papa, that we indulge in ulterior calculations?" came from
Cornelia.

"Well, you see, my love!--no, I don't suppose it at all. But to buy a
place and split it up after two or three years--I dare say they wouldn't
insure me for more, that's nonsense. And it seems unfair to you, as you
must think--"

"Darling papa! we are not selfish!" it rejoiced Adela to exclaim.

His face expressed a transparent simple-mindedness that won the
confidence of the ladies and awakened their ideal of generosity.

"I know what you mean, papa," said Arabella. "But, we love Besworth; and
if we may enjoy the place for the time that we are all together, I shall
think it sufficient. I do not look beyond."

Her sisters echoed the sentiment, and sincerely. They were as little
sordid as creatures could be. If deeply questioned, it would have been
found that their notion of the position Providence had placed them in (in
other words, their father's unmentioned wealth), permitted them to be as
lavish as they pleased. Mr. Pole had endowed them with a temperament
similar to his own; and he had educated it. In feminine earth it
flourished wonderfully. Shy as himself, their shyness took other forms,
and developed with warm youth. Not only did it shut them up from others
(which is the first effect of this disease), but it tyrannized over them
internally: so that there were subjects they had no power to bring their
minds to consider. Money was in the list. The Besworth question, as at
present considered, involved the money question. All of them felt that;
father and children. It is not surprising, therefore, that they hurried
over it as speedily as they could, and by a most comical exhibition of
implied comprehension of meanings and motives.

"Of course, we're only in the opening stage of the business," said Mr.
Pole. "There's nothing decided, you know. Lots of things got to be
considered. You mean what you say, do you? Very well. And you want me to
think of it? So I will. And look, my dears, you know that--" (here his
voice grew husky, as was the case with it when touching a shy topic even
beneath the veil; but they were above suspicion) "you know that--a--that
we must all give way a little to the other, now and then. Nothing like
being kind."

"Pray, have no fear, papa dear!" rang the clear voice of Arabella.

"Well, then, you're all for Besworth, even though it isn't exactly for
your own interest? All right."

The ladies kissed him.

"We'll each stretch a point," he continued. "We shall get on better if we
do. Much! You're a little hard on people who're not up to the mark.
There's an end to that. Even your old father will like you better."

These last remarks were unintelligible to the withdrawing ladies.

On the morning that followed, Mr. Pole expressed a hope that his
daughters intended to give him a good dinner that day; and he winked
humorously and kindly by which they understood him to be addressing a
sort of propitiation to them for the respect he paid to his appetite.

"Papa," said Adela, "I myself will speak to Cook."

She added, with a smile thrown to her sisters, without looking at them,
"I dare say, she will know who I am."

Mr. Pole went down to his wine-cellar, and was there busy with bottles
till the carriage came for him. A bason was fetched that he might wash
off the dust and cobwebs in the passage. Having rubbed his hands briskly
with soap, he dipped his head likewise, in an oblivious fit, and then
turning round to the ladies, said, "What have I forgotten?" looking
woebegone with his dripping vacant face. "Oh, ah! I remember now;" and he
chuckled gladly.

He had just for one moment forgotten that he was acting, and a pang of
apprehension had caught him when the water covered his face, to the
effect that he must forfeit the natural artistic sequence of speech and
conduct which disguised him so perfectly. Away he drove, nodding and
waving his hand.

"Dear, simple, innocent old man!" was the pitiful thought in the bosoms
of the ladies; and if it was accompanied by the mute exclamation, "How
singular that we should descend from him!" it would not have been for the
first time.

They passed one of their delightful quiet days, in which they paved the
future with gold, and, if I may use so bold a figure, lifted parasols
against the great sun that was to shine on them. Now they listened to
Emilia, and now strolled in the garden; conversed on the social skill of
Lady Gosstre, who was nevertheless narrow in her range; and on the
capacities of mansions, on the secret of mixing people in society, and
what to do with the women! A terrible problem, this latter one. Not
terrible (to hostesses) at a mere rout or drum, or at a dance pure and
simple, but terrible when you want good talk to circulate for then they
are not, as a body, amused; and when they are not amused, you know, they
are not inclined to be harmless; and in this state they are vipers; and
where is society then? And yet you cannot do without them!--which is the
revolting mystery. I need not say that I am not responsible for these
critical remarks. Such tenderness to the sex comes only from its sisters.

So went a day rich in fair dreams to the ladies; and at the hour of their
father's return they walked across the parvenu park, in a state of
enthusiasm for Besworth, that threw some portion of its decorative light
on the donor of Besworth. When his carriage was heard on the road, they
stood fast, and greeted his appearance with a display of
pocket-handkerchiefs in the breeze, a proceeding that should have
astonished him, being novel; but seemed not to do so, for it was
immediately responded to by the vigorous waving of a pair of
pocket-handkerchiefs from the carriage-window! The ladies smiled at this
piece of simplicity which prompted him to use both his hands, as if one
would not have been enough. Complacently they continued waving. Then
Adela looked at her sisters; Cornelia's hand dropped and Arabella, the
last to wave, was the first to exclaim: "That must be a woman's arm!"

The carriage stopped at the gate, and it was one in the dress of a woman
at least, and of the compass of a big woman, who descended by the aid of
Mr. Pole. Safely alighted, she waved her pocket-handkerchief afresh. The
ladies of Brookfield did not speak to one another; nor did they move
their eyes from the object approaching. A simultaneous furtive extinction
of three pocket-handkerchiefs might have been noticed. There was no
further sign given.




CHAPTER XV

A letter from Brookfield apprised Wilfrid that Mr. Pole had brought Mrs.
Chump to the place as a visitor, and that she was now in the house.
Formal as a circular, the idea of it appeared to be that the bare fact
would tell him enough and inspire him with proper designs. No reply being
sent, a second letter arrived, formal too, but pointing out his duty to
succour his afflicted family, and furnishing a few tragic particulars.
Thus he learnt, that while Mr. Pole was advancing toward the three
grouped ladies, on the day of Mrs. Chump's arrival, he called Arabella by
name, and Arabella went forward alone, and was engaged in conversation by
Mrs. Chump. Mr. Pole left them to make his way to Adela and Cornelia.
"Now, mind, I expect you to keep to your agreement," he said. Gradually
they were led on to perceive that this simple-minded man had understood
their recent talk of Besworth to signify a consent to the stipulation he
had previously mentioned to Adela. "Perfect simplicity is as deceiving as
the depth of cunning," Adela despairingly wrote, much to Wilfrid's
amusement.

A third letter followed. It was of another tenor, and ran thus, in
Adela's handwriting: