Basil

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"I ought to have been plainer, Mr. Sherwin; I ought perhaps to have
told you at the outset, in so many words, that I came to--" (I was
about to say, "to ask your daughter's hand in marriage;" but a thought
of my father moved darkly over my mind at that moment, and the words
would not pass my lips).

"Well, Sir! to what?"

The tone in which he said this was harsh enough to rouse me. It gave
me back my self-possession immediately.

"To ask your permission to pay my addresses to Miss Sherwin--or, to be
plainer still, if you like, to ask of you her hand in marriage."

The words were spoken. Even if I could have done so, I would not have
recalled what I had just said; but still, I trembled in spite of
myself as I expressed in plain, blunt words what I had only
rapturously thought over, or delicately hinted at to Margaret, up to
this time.

"God bless me!" cried Mr. Sherwin, suddenly sitting back bolt upright
in his chair, and staring at me in such surprise, that his restless
features were actually struck with immobility for the moment--"God
bless me, this is quite another story. Most gratifying, most
astonishing--highly flattered I am sure; highly indeed, my dear Sir!
Don't suppose, for one moment, I ever doubted your honourable feeling.
Young gentlemen in your station of life do sometimes fail in respect
towards the wives and daughters of their--in short, of those who are
not in their rank exactly. But that's not the question--quite a
misunderstanding--extremely stupid of me, to be sure. _Pray_ let me
offer you a glass of wine!"

"No wine, thank you, Mr. Sherwin. I must beg your attention a little
longer, while I state to you, in confidence, how I am situated with
regard to the proposals I have made. There are certain
circumstances--"

"Yes--yes?"

He bent forward again eagerly towards me, as he spoke; looking more
inquisitive and more cunning than ever.

"I have acknowledged to you, Mr. Sherwin, that I have found means to
speak to your daughter--to speak to her twice. I made my advances
honourably. She received them with a modesty and a reluctance worthy
of herself, worthy of any lady, the highest lady in the land." (Mr.
Sherwin looked round reverentially to his print of the Queen; then
looked back at me, and bowed solemnly.) "Now, although in so many
words she directly discouraged me--it is her due that I should say
this--still, I think I may without vanity venture to hope that she did
so as a matter of duty, more than as a matter of inclination."

"Ah--yes, yes! I understand. She would do nothing without my
authority, of course?"

"No doubt that was one reason why she received me as she did; but she
had another, which she communicated to me in the plainest terms--the
difference in our rank of life."

"Ah! she said that, did she? Exactly so--she saw a difficulty there?
Yes--yes! high principles, Sir--high principles, thank God!"

"I need hardly tell you, Mr. Sherwin, how deeply I feel the delicate
sense of honour which this objection shows on your daughter's part.
You will easily imagine that it is no objection to _me,_ personally.
The happiness of my whole life depends on Miss Sherwin; I desire no
higher honour, as I can conceive no greater happiness, than to be your
daughter's husband. I told her this: I also told her that I would
explain myself on the subject to you. She made no objection; and I am,
therefore, I think, justified in considering that if you authorised
the removal of scruples which do her honour at present, she would not
feel the delicacy she does now at sanctioning my addresses."

"Very proper--a very proper way of putting it. Practical, if I may be
allowed to say so. And now, my dear Sir, the next point is: how about
your own honoured family--eh?"

"It is exactly there that the difficulty lies. My father, on whom I am
dependent as the younger son, has very strong prejudices--convictions
I ought perhaps to call them--on the subject of social inequalities."

"Quite so--most natural; most becoming, indeed, on the part of your
respected father. I honour his convictions, sir. Such estates, such
houses, such a family as his--connected, I believe, with the nobility,
especially on your late lamented mother's side. My dear Sir, I
emphatically repeat it, your father's convictions do him honour; I
respect them as much as I respect him; I do, indeed."

"I am glad you can view my father's ideas on social subjects in so
favourable a light, Mr. Sherwin. You will be less surprised to hear
how they are likely to affect me in the step I am now taking."

"He disapproves of it, of course--strongly, perhaps. Well, though my
dear girl is worthy of any station; and a man like me, devoted to
mercantile interests, may hold his head up anywhere as one of the
props of this commercial country," (he ran his fingers rapidly through
his hair, and tried to look independent), "still I am prepared to
admit, under all the circumstances--I say under all the
circumstances--that his disapproval is very natural, and was very much
to be expected--very much indeed."

"He has expressed no disapproval, Mr. Sherwin."

"You don't say so!"

"I have not given him an opportunity. My meeting with your daughter
has been kept a profound secret from him, and from every member of my
family; and a secret it must remain. I speak from my intimate
knowledge of my father, when I say that I hardly know of any means
that he would not be capable of employing to frustrate the purpose of
this visit, if I had mentioned it to him. He has been the kindest and
best of fathers to me; but I firmly believe, that if I waited for his
consent, no entreaties of mine, or of any one belonging to me, would
induce him to give his sanction to the marriage I have come to you to
propose."

"Bless my soul! this is carrying things rather far, though--dependent
as you are on him, and all that. Why, what on earth can we do--eh?"

"We must keep both the courtship and the marriage secret."

"Secret! Good gracious, I don't at all see my way--"

"Yes, secret--a profound secret among ourselves, until I can divulge
my marriage to my father, with the best chance of--"

"But I tell you, Sir, I can't see my way through it at all. Chance!
what chance would there be, after what you have told me?"

"There might be many chances. For instance, when the marriage was
solemnised, I might introduce your daughter to my father's
notice--without disclosing who she was--and leave her, gradually and
unsuspectedly, to win his affection and respect (as with her beauty,
elegance, and amiability, she could not fail to do), while I waited
until the occasion was ripe for confessing everything. Then if I said
to him, 'This young lady, who has so interested and delighted you, is
my wife;' do you think, with that powerful argument in my favour, he
could fail to give us his pardon? If, on the other hand, I could only
say, 'This young lady is about to become my wife,' his prejudices
would assuredly induce him to recall his most favourable impressions,
and refuse his consent. In short, Mr. Sherwin, before marriage, it
would be impossible to move him--after marriage, when opposition could
no longer be of any avail, it would be quite a different thing: we
might be sure of producing, sooner or later, the most favourable
results. This is why it would be absolutely necessary to keep our
union secret at first."

I wondered then--I have since wondered more--how it was that I
contrived to speak thus, so smoothly and so unhesitatingly, when my
conscience was giving the lie all the while to every word I uttered.

"Yes, yes; I see--oh, yes, I see!" said Mr. Sherwin, rattling a bunch
of keys in his pocket, with an expression of considerable perplexity;
"but this is a ticklish business, you know--a very queer and ticklish
business indeed. To have a gentleman of your birth and breeding for a
son-in-law, is of course--but then there is the money question.
Suppose you failed with your father after all--_my_ money is out in my
speculations--_I_ can do nothing. Upon my word, you have placed me in
a position that I never was placed in before."

"I have influential friends, Mr. Sherwin, in many directions--there
are appointments, good appointments, which would be open to me, if I
pushed my interests. I might provide in this way against the chance of
failure."

"Ah!--well--yes. There's something in that, certainly."

"I can only assure you that my attachment to Miss Sherwin is not of a
nature to be overcome by any pecuniary considerations. I speak in all
our interests, when I say that a private marriage gives us a chance
for the future, as opportunities arise of gradually disclosing it. My
offer to you may be made under some disadvantages and difficulties,
perhaps; for, with the exception of a very small independence, left me
by my mother, I have no certain prospects. But I really think my
proposals have some compensating advantages to recommend them--"

"Certainly! most decidedly so! I am not insensible, my dear Sir, to
the great advantage, and honour, and so forth. But there is something
so unusual about the whole affair. What would be my feelings, if your
father should not come round, and my dear girl was disowned by the
family? Well, well! that could hardly happen, I think, with her
accomplishments and education, and manners too, so
distinguished--though perhaps I ought not to say so. Her schooling
alone was a hundred a-year, Sir, without including extras--"

"I am sure, Mr. Sherwin--"

"--A school, Sir, where it was a rule to take in no thing lower than
the daughter of a professional man--they only waived the rule in my
case--the most genteel school, perhaps, in all London! A
drawing-room-deportment day once every week--the girls taught how to
enter a room and leave a room with dignity and ease--a model of a
carriage door and steps, in the back drawing-room, to practise the
girls (with the footman of the establishment in attendance) in getting
into a carriage and getting out again, in a lady-like manner! No
duchess has had a better education than my Margaret!--"

"Permit me to assure you, Mr. Sherwin--"

"And then, her knowledge of languages--her French, and Italian, and
German, not discontinued in holidays, or after she left school (she
has only just left it); but all kept up and improved every evening, by
the kind attention of Mr. Mannion--"

"May I ask who Mr. Mannion is?" The tone in which I put this question,
cooled his enthusiasm about his daughter's education immediately. He
answered in his former tones, and with one of his former bows:

"Mr. Mannion is my confidential clerk, Sir--a most superior person,
most highly talented, and well read, and all that."

"Is he a young man?"

"Young! Oh, dear no! Mr. Mannion is forty, or a year or two more, if
he's a day--an admirable man of business, as well as a great scholar.
He's at Lyons now, buying silks for me. When he comes back I shall be
delighted to introduce---"

"I beg your pardon, but I think we are wandering away from the point,
a little."

"I beg _yours_--so we are. Well, my dear Sir, I must be allowed a day
or two--say two days--to ascertain what my daughter's feelings are,
and to consider your proposals, which have taken me very much by
surprise, as you may in fact see. But I assure you I am most
flattered, most honoured, most anxious--".

"I hope you will consider my anxieties, Mr. Sherwin, and let me know
the result of your deliberations as soon as possible."

"Without fail, depend upon it. Let me see: shall we say the second day
from this, at the same time, if you can favour me with a visit?"

"Certainly."

"And between that time and this, you will engage not to hold any
communication with my daughter?"

"I promise not, Mr. Sherwin--because I believe that your answer will
be favourable."

"Ah, well--well! lovers, they say, should never despair. A little
consideration, and a little talk with my dear girl--really now, won't
you change your mind and have a glass of sherry? (No again?) Very
well, then, the day after tomorrow, at five o'clock."

With a louder crack than ever, the brand-new drawing-room door was
opened to let me out. The noise was instantly succeeded by the
rustling of a silk dress, and the banging of another door, at the
opposite end of the passage. Had anybody been listening? Where was
Margaret?

Mr. Sherwin stood at the garden-gate to watch my departure, and to
make his farewell bow. Thick as was the atmosphere of illusion in
which I now lived, I shuddered involuntarily as I returned his parting
salute, and thought of him as my father-in-law!

XI.

The nearer I approached to our own door, the more reluctance I felt to
pass the short interval between my first and second interview with Mr.
Sherwin, at home. When I entered the house, this reluctance increased
to something almost like dread. I felt unwilling and unfit to meet the
eyes of my nearest and dearest relatives. It was a relief to me to
hear that my father was not at home. My sister was in the house: the
servant said she had just gone into the library, and inquired whether
he should tell her that I had come in. I desired him not to disturb
her, as it was my intention to go out again immediately.

I went into my study, and wrote a short note there to Clara; merely
telling her that I should be absent in the country for two days. I had
sealed and laid it on the table for the servant to deliver, and was
about to leave the room, when I heard the library door open. I
instantly drew back, and half-closed my own door again. Clara had got
the book she wanted, and was taking it up to her own sitting-room. I
waited till she was out of sight, and then left the house. It was the
first time I had ever avoided my sister--my sister, who had never in
her life asked a question, or uttered a word that could annoy me; my
sister, who had confided all her own little secrets to my keeping,
ever since we had been children. As I thought on what I had done, I
felt a sense of humiliation which was almost punishment enough for the
meanness of which I had been guilty.

I went round to the stables, and had my horse saddled immediately. No
idea of proceeding in any particular direction occurred to me. I
simply felt resolved to pass my two days' ordeal of suspense away from
home--far enough away to keep me faithful to my promise not to see
Margaret. Soon after I started, I left my horse to his own guidance,
and gave myself up to my thoughts and recollections, as one by one
they rose within me. The animal took the direction which he had been
oftenest used to take during my residence in London--the northern
road.

It was not until I had ridden half a mile beyond the suburbs that I
looked round me, and discovered towards what part of the country I was
proceeding. I drew the rein directly, and turned my horse's head back
again, towards the south. To follow the favourite road which I had so
often followed with Clara; to stop perhaps at some place where I had
often stopped with her, was more than I had the courage or the
insensibility to do at that moment.

I rode as far as Ewell, and stopped there: the darkness had overtaken
me, and it was useless to tire my horse by going on any greater
distance. The next morning, I was up almost with sunrise; and passed
the greater part of the day in walking about among villages, lanes,
and fields, just as chance led me. During the night, many thoughts
that I had banished for the last week had returned--those thoughts of
evil omen under which the mind seems to ache, just as the body aches
under a dull, heavy pain, to which we can assign no particular place
or cause. Absent from Margaret, I had no resource against the
oppression that now overcame me. I could only endeavour to alleviate
it by keeping incessantly in action; by walking or riding, hour after
hour, in the vain attempt to quiet the mind by wearying out the body.
Apprehension of the failure of my application to Mr. Sherwin had
nothing to do with the vague gloom which now darkened my thoughts;
they kept too near home for that. Besides, what I had observed of
Margaret's father, especially during the latter part of my interview
with him, showed me plainly enough that he was trying to conceal,
under exaggerated surprise and assumed hesitation, his secret desire
to profit at once by my offer; which, whatever conditions might clog
it, was infinitely more advantageous in a social point of view, than
any he could have hoped for. It was not his delay in accepting my
proposals, but the burden of deceit, the fetters of concealment forced
on me by the proposals themselves, which now hung heavy on my heart.

That evening I left Ewell, and rode towards home again, as far as
Richmond, where I remained for the night and the forepart of the next
day. I reached London in the afternoon; and got to North
Villa--without going home first--about five o'clock.

The oppression was still on my spirits. Even the sight of the house
where Margaret lived failed to invigorate or arouse me.

On this occasion, when I was shown into the drawing-room, both Mr. and
Mrs. Sherwin were awaiting me there. On the table was the sherry which
had been so perseveringly pressed on me at the last interview, and by
it a new pound cake. Mrs. Sherwin was cutting the cake as I came in,
while her husband watched the process with critical eyes. The poor
woman's weak white fingers trembled as they moved the knife under
conjugal inspection.

"Most happy to see you again--most happy indeed, my dear Sir," said
Mr. Sherwin, advancing with hospitable smile and outstretched hand.
"Allow me to introduce my better half, Mrs. S."

His wife rose in a hurry, and curtseyed, leaving the knife sticking in
the cake; upon which Mr. Sherwin, with a stern look at her,
ostentatiously pulled it out, and set it down rather violently on the
dish.

Poor Mrs. Sherwin! I had hardly noticed her on the day when she got
into the omnibus with her daughter--it was as if I now saw her for the
first time. There is a natural communicativeness about women's
emotions. A happy woman imperceptibly diffuses her happiness around
her; she has an influence that is something akin to the influence of a
sunshiny day. So, again, the melancholy of a melancholy woman is
invariably, though silently, infectious; and Mrs. Sherwin was one of
this latter order. Her pale, sickly, moist-looking skin; her large,
mild, watery, light-blue eyes; the restless timidity of her
expression; the mixture of useless hesitation and involuntary rapidity
in every one of her actions--all furnished the same significant
betrayal of a life of incessant fear and restraint; of a disposition
full of modest generosities and meek sympathies, which had been
crushed down past rousing to self-assertion, past ever seeing the
light. There, in that mild, wan face of hers--in those painful
startings and hurryings when she moved; in that tremulous, faint
utterance when she spoke--_there,_ I could see one of those ghastly
heart-tragedies laid open before me, which are acted and re-acted,
scene by scene, and year by year, in the secret theatre of home;
tragedies which are ever shadowed by the slow falling of the black
curtain that drops lower and lower every day--that drops, to hide all
at last, from the hand of death.

"We have had very beautiful weather lately, Sir," said Mrs. Sherwin,
almost inaudibly; looking as she spoke, with anxious eyes towards her
husband, to see if she was justified in uttering even those piteously
common-place words. "Very beautiful weather to be sure," continued the
poor woman, as timidly as if she had become a little child again, and
had been ordered to say her first lesson in a stranger's presence.

"Delightful weather, Mrs. Sherwin. I have been enjoying it for the
last two days in the country--in a part of Surrey (the neighbourhood
of Ewell) that I had not seen before."

There was a pause. Mr. Sherwin coughed; it was evidently a warning
matrimonial peal that he had often rung before--for Mrs. Sherwin
started, and looked up at him directly.

"As the lady of the house, Mrs. S., it strikes me that you might offer
a visitor, like this gentleman, some cake and wine, without making any
particular hole in your manners!"

"Oh dear me! I beg your pardon! I'm very sorry, I'm sure"--and she
poured out a glass of wine, with such a trembling hand that the
decanter tinkled all the while against the glass. Though I wanted
nothing, I ate and drank something immediately, in common
consideration for Mrs. Sherwin's embarrassment.

Mr. Sherwin filled himself a glass--held it up admiringly to the
light--said, "Your good health, Sir, your very good health;" and drank
the wine with the air of a connoisseur, and a most expressive smacking
of the lips. His wife (to whom he offered nothing) looked at him all
the time with the most reverential attention.

"You are taking nothing yourself, Mrs. Sherwin," I said.

"Mrs. Sherwin, Sir," interposed her husband, "never drinks wine, and
can't digest cake. A bad stomach--a very bad stomach. Have another
glass yourself. Won't you, indeed? This sherry stands me in six
shillings a bottle--ought to be first-rate wine at that price: and so
it is. Well, if you won't have any more, we will proceed to business.
Ha! ha! business as _I_ call it; pleasure I hope it will be to _you_."

Mrs. Sherwin coughed--a very weak, small cough, half-stifled in its
birth.

"There you are again!" he said, turning fiercely towards.
her--"Coughing again! Six months of the doctor--a six months' bill to
come out of my pocket--and no good done--no good, Mrs. S."

"Oh, I am much better, thank you--it was only a little--"

"Well, Sir, the evening after you left me, I had what you may call an
explanation with my dear girl. She was naturally a little confused
and--and embarrassed, indeed. A very serious thing of course, to
decide at her age, and at so short a notice, on a point involving the
happiness of her whole life to come."

Here Mrs. Sherwin put her handkerchief to her eyes--quite noiselessly;
for she had doubtless acquired by long practice the habit of weeping
in silence. Her husband's quick glance turned on her, however,
immediately, with anything but an expression of sympathy.

"Good God, Mrs. S.! what's the use of going on in that way?" he said,
indignantly. "What is there to cry about? Margaret isn't ill, and
isn't unhappy--what on earth's the matter now? Upon my soul this is a
most annoying circumstance: and before a visitor too! You had better
leave me to discuss the matter alone--you always _were_ in the way of
business, and it's my opinion you always will be."

Mrs. Sherwin prepared, without a word of remonstrance, to leave the
room. I sincerely felt for her; but could say nothing. In the impulse
of the moment, I rose to open the door for her; and immediately
repented having done so. The action added so much to her embarrassment
that she kicked her foot against a chair, and uttered a suppressed
exclamation of pain as she went out.

Mr. Sherwin helped himself to a second glass of wine, without taking
the smallest notice of this.

"I hope Mrs. Sherwin has not hurt herself?" I said. "Oh dear no! not
worth a moment's thought--awkwardness and nervousness, nothing
else--she always was nervous--the doctors (all humbugs) can do nothing
with her--it's very sad, very sad indeed; but there's no help for it."

By this time (in spite of all my efforts to preserve some respect for
him, as Margaret's father) he had sunk to his proper place in my
estimation.

"Well, my dear Sir," he resumed, "to go back to where I was
interrupted by Mrs. S. Let me see: I was saying that my dear girl was
a little confused, and so forth. As a matter of course, I put before
her all the advantages which such a connection as yours promised--and
at the same time, mentioned some of the little embarrassing
circumstances--the private marriage, you know, and all that--besides
telling her of certain restrictions in reference to the marriage, if
it came off, which I should feel it my duty as a father to impose; and
which I shall proceed, in short, to explain to you. As a man of the
world, my dear Sir, you know as well as I do, that young ladies don't
give very straightforward answers on the subject of their
prepossessions in favour of young gentlemen. But I got enough out of
her to show me that you had made pretty good use of your time--no
occasion to despond, you know--I leave _you_ to make her speak plain;
it's more in your line than mine, more a good deal. And now let us
come to the business part of the transaction. All I have to say is
this:--if you agree to my proposals, then I agree to yours. I think
that's fair enough--Eh?"

"Quite fair, Mr. Sherwin."

"Just so. Now, in the first place, my daughter is too young to be
married yet. She was only seventeen last birthday."

"You astonish me! I should have imagined her three years older at
least."

"Everybody thinks her older than she is--everybody, my dear Sir--and
she certainly looks it. She's more formed, more developed I may say,
than most girls at her age. However, that's not the point. The plain
fact is, she's too young to be married now--too young in a moral point
of view; too young in an educational point of view; too young
altogether. Well: the upshot of this is, that I could not give my
consent to Margaret's marrying, until another year is out--say a year
from this time. One year's courtship for the finishing off of her
education, and the formation of her constitution--you understand me,
for the formation of her constitution."

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