The Heir of Redclyffe

Eveleen was much pleased to have him for her partner, and told herself she would be on her good behaviour. It was a polka, and there was not much talk, which, perhaps, was all the better for her. She admired the review, and the luncheon, and spoke of Charles without any sauciness, and Philip was condescending and agreeable.

‘I must indulge myself in abusing that stupid cousin of yours!’ said she. Did you ever know a man of such wonderful crotchets?’

‘This is a very unexpected one,’ said Philip.

‘It came like a thunder clap. I thought till the last moment he was joking, for he likes dancing so much; he was the life of our ball, and how could any one suppose he would fly off at the last moment?’

‘He seems rather to enjoy doing things suddenly.’

‘I tell Laura she has affronted him,’ said Eveleen, laughing. ‘She has been always busy of late when we have wanted her; and I assure her his pride has been piqued. Don’t you think that is an explanation, Captain Morville?’

It was Captain Morvilles belief, but he would not say so.

‘Isn’t Laura looking lovely?’ Eveleen went on. ‘I am sure she is the beauty of the night!’ She was pleased to see Captain Morville’s attention gained. ‘She is even better dressed than at our ball—those Venetian pins suit the form of her head so well. Her beauty is better than almost any one’s, because she has so much countenance.’

‘True,’ said Philip.

‘How proud Maurice looks of having her on his arm. Does not he? Poor Maurice! he is desperately in love with her!’

‘As is shown by his pining melancholy.’

Eveleen laughed with her clear hearty laugh. ‘I see you know what we mean by being desperately in love! No,’ she added more gravely, ‘I am very glad it is only that kind of desperation. One could not think of Maurice and Laura together. He does not know the best part of Laura.’

Eveleen was highly flattered by Captain Morville conducting her a second time round the room, instead of at once restoring her to her aunt.

He secured Laura next, and leading her away from her own party, said, ‘Laura, have you been overdoing it?’

‘It is not that,’ said Laura, wishing she could keep from blushing.

‘It is the only motive that could excuse his extraordinary behaviour.’

‘Surely you know he says that he is growing unsettled. It is part of his rule of self discipline.’

‘Absurd!—exaggerated!—incredible! This is the same story as there was about the horse. It is either caprice or temper, and I am convinced that some change in your manner—nay, I say unconscious, and am far from blaming you—is the cause. Why else did he devote himself to Charles, and leave you all on my uncle’s hands in the crowd?’

‘We could shift for ourselves much better than Charlie.’

‘This confirms my belief that my warning was not mistimed. I wish it could have been done without decidedly mortifying him and rousing his temper, because I am sorry others should be slighted; but if he takes your drawing back so much to heart, it shows that it was time you should do so.’

‘If I thought I had!’

‘It was visible to others—to another, I should say.’

‘O, that is only Eveleen’s nonsense! The only difference I am conscious of having made, was keeping more up-stairs, and not trying to persuade him to come here to-night.’

‘I have no doubt it was this that turned the scale, He only waited for persuasion, and you acted very wisely in not flattering his self-love.’

‘Did I?—I did not know it.’

‘A woman’s instinct is often better than reasoning, Laura; to do the right thing without knowing why. But come, I suppose we must play our part in the pageant of the night.’

For that evening Laura, contrary to the evidence of her senses, was persuaded by her own lover that Guy was falling in love with her; and after musing all through the dance, she said, ‘What do you think of the scheme that has been started for my going to Ireland with papa?’

‘Your going to Ireland?’

‘Yes; you know none of us, except papa, have seen grandmamma since Charles began to be ill, and there is some talk of his taking me with him when he goes this summer.’

‘I knew he was going, but I thought it was not to be till later in the year—not till after the long vacation.’

‘So he intended, but he finds he must be at home before the end of October, and it would suit him best to go in August.’

‘Then what becomes of Guy?’

‘He stays at Hollywell. It will be much better for Charles to have him there while papa is away. I thought when the plan was first mentioned I should be sorry, except that it is quite right to go to grandmamma; but if it is so, about Guy, this absence would be a good thing—it would make a break, and I could begin again on different terms.’

‘Wisely judged, Laura. Yes, on that account it would be very desirable, though it will be a great loss to me, and I can hardly hope to be so near you on your return.’

‘Ah! yes, so I feared!’ sighed Laura.

‘But we must give up something; and for Guy’s own sake, poor fellow, it will be better to make a break, as you say. It will save him pain by and by.’

‘I dare say papa will consult you about when his journey is to be. His only doubt was whether it would do to leave Guy so long alone, and if you say it would be safe, it would decide him at once.’

‘I see little chance of mischief. Guy has few temptations here, and a strong sense of honour; besides, I shall be at hand. Taking all things into consideration, Laura, I think that, whatever the sacrifice to ourselves, it is expedient to recommend his going at once, and your accompanying him.’

All the remainder of the evening Philip was occupied with attentions to the rest of the world, but Laura’s eyes followed him everywhere, and though she neither expected nor desired him to bestow more time on her, she underwent a strange restlessness and impatience of feeling. Her numerous partners teased her by hindering her from watching him moving about the room, catching his tones, and guessing what he was talking of;—not that she wanted to meet his eye, for she did not like to blush, nor did she think it pleased him to see her do so, for he either looked away immediately or conveyed a glance which she understood as monitory. She kept better note of his countenance than of her own partner’s.

Mr. Thorndale, meanwhile, kept aloof from Lady Eveleen de Courcy, but Captain Morville perceived that his eyes were often turned towards her, and well knew it was principle, and not inclination, that held him at a distance. He did indeed once ask her to dance, but she was engaged, and he did not ask her to reserve a future dance for him, but contented himself with little Amy.

Amy was doing her best to enjoy herself, because she thought it ungrateful not to receive pleasure from those who wished to give it, but to her it wanted the zest and animation of Lady Kilcoran’s ball. Besides, she knew she had been as idle as Guy, or still more so, and she thought it wrong she should have pleasure while he was doing penance. It was on her mind, and damped her spirits, and though she smiled, and talked, and admired, and danced lightly and gaily, there was a sensation of weariness throughout, and no one but Eveleen was sorry when Mrs. Edmonstone sent Maurice to see for the carriage.

Philip was one of the gentlemen who came to shawl them. As he put Laura’s cloak round her shoulders he was able to whisper, ‘Take care; you must be cautious—self-command.’

Laura, though blushing and shrinking the moment before was braced by his words and tone to attempt all he wished. She looked up in what she meant to be an indifferent manner, and made some observation in a careless tone—anything rather than let Philip think her silly. After what he had said, was she not bound more than ever to exert herself to the utmost, that he might not be disappointed in her? She loved him only the better for what others might have deemed a stern coldness of manner, for it made the contrast of his real warmth of affection more precious. She mused over it, as much as her companions’ conversation would allow, on the road home. They arrived, Mrs. Edmonstone peeped into Charles’s room, announced that he was quietly asleep, and they all bade each other good night, or good morning, and parted.

CHAPTER 10

      Leonora. Yet often with respect he speaks of thee.      Tasso.   Thou meanest with forbearance, prudent, subtle,               ‘Tis that annoys me, for he knows to use               Language so smooth and so conditional,               That seeming praise from him is actual blame.—GOETHE’S Tasso

When the Hollywell party met at breakfast, Charles showed himself by no means the worse for his yesterday’s experiment. He said he had gone to sleep in reasonable time, lulled by some poetry, he knew not what, of which Guy’s voice had made very pretty music, and he was now full of talk about the amusement he had enjoyed yesterday, which seemed likely to afford food for conversation for many a week to come. After all the care Guy had taken of him, Mrs. Edmonstone could not find it in her heart to scold, and her husband, having spent his vexation upon her, had none left to bestow on the real culprit. So when Guy, with his bright morning face, and his hair hanging shining and wet round it, opened the dining-room door, on his return from bathing in the river, Mr. Edmonstone’s salutation only conveyed that humorous anger that no one cares for.

‘Good morning to you, Sir Guy Morville! I wonder what you have to say for yourself.’

‘Nothing,’ said Guy, smiling; then, as he took his place by Mrs. Edmonstone, ‘I hope you are not tired after your hard day’s work?’

‘Not at all, thank you.’

‘Amy, can you tell me the name of this flower?’

‘Oh! have you really found the arrow-head? How beautiful! Where did you get it? I didn’t know it grew in our river.’

‘There is plenty of it in that reedy place beyond the turn. I thought it looked like something out of the common way.’

‘Yes! What a purple eye it has! I must draw it. O, thank you.’

‘And, Charlotte, Bustle has found you a moorhen’s nest.’

‘How delightful! Is it where I can go and see the dear little things?’

‘It is rather a swamp; but I have been putting down stepping-stones for you, and I dare say I can jump you across. It was that which made me so late, for which I ought to have asked pardon,’ said he to Mrs. Edmonstone, with his look of courtesy.

Never did man look less like an offended lover, or like a morose self-tormentor.

‘There are others later,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone, looking at Lady Eveleen’s empty chair.

‘So you think that is all you have to ask pardon for,’ said Mr. Edmonstone. ‘I advise you to study your apologies, for you are in pretty tolerable disgrace.’

‘Indeed, I am very sorry,’ said Guy, with such a change of countenance that Mr. Edmonstone’s good nature could not bear to see it.

‘Oh, ‘tis no concern of mine! It would be going rather the wrong way, indeed, for you to be begging my pardon for all the care you’ve been taking of Charlie; but you had better consider what you have to say for yourself before you show your face at Broadstone.’

‘No?’ said Guy, puzzled for a moment, but quickly looking relieved, and laughing, ‘What! Broadstone in despair for want of me?’

‘And we perfectly exhausted with answering questions as to what was become of Sir Guy.’

‘Dreadful,’ said Guy, now laughing heartily, in the persuasion that it was all a joke.

‘O, Lady Eveleen, good morning; you are come in good time to give me the story of the ball, for no one else tells me one word about it.’

‘Because you don’t deserve it,’ said she. ‘I hope you have repented by this time.’

‘If you want to make me repent, you should give me a very alluring description.’

‘I shan’t say one word about it; I shall send you to Coventry, as Maurice and all the regiment mean to do,’ said Eveleen, turning away from him with a very droll arch manner of offended dignity.

‘Hear, hear! Eveleen send any one to Coventry!’ cried Charles. ‘See what the regiment say to you.’

‘Ay, when I am sent to Coventry?’

‘O, Paddy, Paddy!’ cried Charles, and there was a general laugh.

‘Laura seems to be doing it in good earnest without announcing it,’ added Charles, when the laugh was over, ‘which is the worst sign of all.’

‘Nonsense, Charles,’ said Laura, hastily; then afraid she had owned to annoyance, she blushed and was angry with herself for blushing.

‘Well, Laura, do tell me who your partners were?’

Very provoking, thought Laura, that I cannot say what is so perfectly natural and ordinary, without my foolish cheeks tingling. He may think it is because he is speaking to me. So she hurried on: ‘Maurice first, then Philip,’ and then showed, what Amy and Eveleen thought, strange oblivion of the rest of her partners.

They proceeded into the history of the ball; and Guy thought no more of his offences till the following day, when he went to Broadstone. Coming back, he found the drawing-room full of visitors, and was obliged to sit down and join in the conversation; but Mrs. Edmonstone saw he was inwardly chafing, as he betrayed by his inability to remain still, the twitchings of his forehead and lip, and a tripping and stumbling of the words on his tongue. She was sure he wanted to talk to her, and longed to get rid of Mrs. Brownlow; but the door was no sooner shut on the visitors, than Mr. Edmonstone came in, with a long letter for her to read and comment upon. Guy took himself out of the way of the consultation, and began to hurry up and down the terrace, until, seeing Amabel crossing the field towards the little gate into the garden, he went to open it for her.

She looked up at him, and exclaimed—‘Is anything the matter?’

‘Nothing to signify,’ he said; ‘I was only waiting for your mother. I have got into a mess, that is all.’

‘I am sorry,’ began Amy, there resting in the doubt whether she might inquire further, and intending not to burthen him with her company, any longer than till she reached the house door; but Guy went on,—

‘No, you have no occasion to be sorry; it is all my own fault; at least, if I was clear how it is my fault, I should not mind it so much. It is that ball. I am sure I had not the least notion any one would care whether I was there or not.’

‘I am sure we missed you very much.’

‘You are all so kind; beside, I belong in a manner you; but what could it signify to any one else? And here I find that I have vexed every one.’

‘Ah!’ said Amy, ‘mamma said she was afraid it would give offence.’

‘I ought to have attended to her. It was a fit of self-will in managing myself,’ said Guy, murmuring low, as if trying to find the real indictment; ‘yet I thought it a positive duty; wrong every way.’

‘What has happened?’ said Amy, turning back with him, though she had reached the door.

‘Why, the first person I met was Mr. Gordon; and he spoke like your father, half in joke, and I thought entirely so; he said something about all the world being in such a rage, that I was a bold man to venture into Broadstone. Then, while I was at Mr. Lascelles’, in came Dr. Mayerne. ‘We missed you at the dinner,’ he said; ‘and I hear you shirked the ball, too.’ I told him how it was, and he said he was glad that was all, and advised me to go and call on Colonel Deane and explain. I thought that the best way—indeed, I meant it before, and was walking to his lodgings when Maurice de Courcy met me. ‘Ha!’ he cries out, ‘Morville! I thought at least you would have been laid up for a month with the typhus fever! As a friend, I advise you to go home and catch something, for it is the only excuse that will serve you. I am not quite sure that it will not be high treason for me to be seen speaking to you.’ I tried to get at the rights of it, but he is such a harum-scarum fellow there was no succeeding. Next I met Thorndale, who only bowed and passed on the other side of the street—sign enough how it was with Philip; so I thought it best to go at once to the Captain, and get a rational account of what was the matter.’

‘Did you?’ said Amy, who, though concerned and rather alarmed, had been smiling at the humorous and expressive tones with which he could not help giving effect to his narration.

‘Yes. Philip was at home, and very—very—’

‘Gracious?’ suggested Amy, as he hesitated for a word.

‘Just so. Only the vexatious thing was, that we never could succeed in coming to an understanding. He was ready to forgive; but I could not disabuse him of an idea—where he picked it up I cannot guess—that I had stayed away out of pique. He would not even tell me what he thought had affronted me, though I asked him over and over again to be only straightforward; he declared I knew.’

‘How excessively provoking!’ cried Amy. ‘You cannot guess what he meant?’

‘Not the least in the world. I have not the most distant suspicion. It was of no use to declare I was not offended with any one; he only looked in that way of his, as if he knew much better than I did myself, and told me he could make allowances.’

‘Worse than all! How horrid of him.’

‘No, don’t spoil me. No doubt he thinks he has grounds, and my irritation was unjustifiable. Yes, I got into my old way. He cautioned me, and nearly made me mad! I never was nearer coming to a regular outbreak. Always the same! Fool that I am.’

‘Now, Guy, that is always your way; when other people are provoking, you abuse yourself. I am sure Philip was so, with his calm assertion of being right.’

‘The more provoking, the more trial for me.’

‘But you endured it. You say it was only nearly an outbreak. You parted friends? I am sure of that.’

‘Yes, it would have been rather too bad not to do that.’

‘Then why do you scold yourself, when you really had the victory?’

‘The victory will be if the inward feeling as well as the outward token is ever subdued.’

‘O, that must be in time, of course. Only let me hear how you got on with Colonel Deane.’

‘He was very good-natured, and would have laughed it off, but Philip went with me, and looked grand, and begged in a solemn way that no more might be said. I could have got on better alone; but Philip was very kind, or, as you say, gracious.’

‘And provoking,’ added Amy, ‘only I believe you do not like me to say so.’

‘It is more agreeable to hear you call him so at this moment than is good for me. I have no right to complain, since I gave the offence.’

‘The offence?’

‘The absenting myself.’

‘Oh! that you did because you thought it right.’

‘I want to be clear that it was right.’

‘What do you mean?’ cried she, astonished. ‘It was a great piece of self-denial, and I only felt it wrong not to be doing the same.’

‘Nay, how should such creatures as you need the same discipline as I?’

She exclaimed to herself how far from his equal she was—how weak, idle, and self-pleasing she felt herself to be; but she could not say so—the words would not come; and she only drooped her little head, humbled by his treating her as better than himself.

He proceeded:—

‘Something wrong I have done, and I want the clue. Was it self-will in choosing discipline contrary to your mother’s judgment? Yet she could not know all. I thought it her kindness in not liking me to lose the pleasure. Besides, one must act for oneself, and this was only my own personal amusement.’

‘Yes,’ said Amy, timidly hesitating.

‘Well?’ said he, with the gentle, deferential tone that contrasted with his hasty, vehement self-accusations. ‘Well?’ and he waited, though not so as to hurry or frighten her, but to encourage, by showing her words had weight.

‘I was thinking of one thing,’ said Amy; ‘is it not sometimes right to consider whether we ought to disappoint people who want us to be pleased?’

‘There it is, I believe,’ said Guy, stopping and considering, then going on with a better satisfied air, ‘that is a real rule. Not to be so bent on myself as to sacrifice other people’s feelings to what seems best for me. But I don’t see whose pleasure I interfered with.’

Amy could have answered, ‘Mine;’ but the maidenly feeling checked her again, and she said, ‘We all thought you would like it.’

‘And I had no right to sacrifice your pleasure! I see, I see. The pleasure of giving pleasure to others is so much the best there is on earth, that one ought to be passive rather than interfere with it.’

‘Yes,’ said Amy, ‘just as I have seen Mary Ross let herself be swung till she was giddy, rather than disappoint Charlotte and Helen, who thought she liked it.’

‘If one could get to look at everything with as much indifference as the swinging! But it is all selfishness. It is as easy to be selfish for one’s own good as for one’s own pleasure; and I dare say, the first is as bad as the other.’

‘I was thinking of something else,’ said Amy. ‘I should think it more like the holly tree in Southey. Don’t you know it? The young leaves are sharp and prickly, because they have so much to defend themselves from, but as the tree grows older, it leaves off the spears, after it has won the victory.’

‘Very kind of you, and very pretty, Amy,’ said he, smiling; ‘but, in the meantime, it is surely wrong to be more prickly than is unavoidable, and there is the perplexity. Selfish! selfish! selfish! Oneself the first object. That is the root.’

‘Guy, if it is not impertinent to ask, I do wish you would tell me one thing. Why did you think it wrong to go to that ball?’ said Amy, timidly.

‘I don’t know that I thought it wrong to go to that individual ball,’ said Guy; ‘but my notion was, that altogether I was getting into a rattling idle way, never doing my proper quantity of work, or doing it properly, and talking a lot of nonsense sometimes. I thought, last Sunday, it was time to make a short turn somewhere and bring myself up. I could not, or did not get out of the pleasant talks as Laura does, so I thought giving up this ball would punish me at once, and set me on a new tack of behaving like a reasonable creature.’

‘Don’t call yourself too many names, or you won’t be civil to us. We all, except Laura, have been quite as bad.’

‘Yes; but you had not so much to do.’

‘We ought,’ said Amy; ‘but I meant to be reasonable when Eveleen is gone.’

Perhaps I ought to have waited till then, but I don’t know. Lady Eveleen is so amusing that it leads to farther dawdling, and it would not do to wait to resist the temptation till it is out of the way.’

As he spoke, they saw Mrs. Edmonstone coming out, and went to meet her. Guy told her his trouble, detailing it more calmly than before he had found out his mistake. She agreed with him that this had been in forgetting that his attending the ball did not concern only himself, but he then returned to say that he could not see what difference it made, except to their own immediate circle.

‘If it was not you, Guy, who made that speech, I should call it fishing for a compliment. You forget that rank and station make people sought after.’

‘I suppose there is something in that,’ said Guy, thoughtfully; ‘at any rate, it is no bad thing to think so, it is so humiliating.’

‘That is not the way most people would take it.’

‘No? Does not it prevent one from taking any attention as paid to one’s real self? The real flattering thing would be to be made as much of as Philip is, for one’s own merits, and not for the handle to one’s name.’

‘Yes, I think so,’ said Amy.

‘Well, then,’ as if he wished to gather the whole conversation into one resolve, the point is to consider whether abstaining from innocent things that may be dangerous to oneself mortifies other people. If so, the vexing them is a certain wrong, whereas the mischief of taking the pleasure is only a possible contingency. But then one must take it out of oneself some other way, or it becomes an excuse for self-indulgence.’

‘Hardly with you,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone, smiling.

‘Because I had rather go at it at once, and forget all about other people. You must teach me consideration, Mrs. Edmonstone, and in the meantime will you tell me what you think I had better do about this scrape?’

‘Let it alone,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone. ‘You have begged every one’s pardon, and it had better be forgotten as fast as possible. They have made more fuss already than it is worth. Don’t torment yourself about it any more; for, if you have made a mistake, it is on the right side; and on the first opportunity, I’ll go and call on Mrs. Deane, and see if she is very implacable.’