rushed to one of her violent conclusions, and became a prophetess. Conceive a woman's imagining it could happen twice to the same man! I am not sure she did not send the identical present that arrived and returned once before: you know, the Durham engagement. She told me last night she had it back. I watched her listening very suspiciously to Professor Crooklyn. My dear, it is her passion to foretell disasters — her passion! And when they are confirmed, she triumphs, of course. We shall have her domineering over us with sapient nods at every trifle occurring. The county will be unendurable. Unsay it, my Middleton! And don't answer like an oracle because I do all the talking. Pour out to me. You'll soon come to a stop and find the want of reason in the want of words. I assure you that's true. Let me have a good gaze at you. No,' said Mrs. Mountstuart, after posturing herself to peruse Clara's features, 'brains you have; one can see it by the nose and the mouth. I could vow you are the girl I thought you; you have your wits on tiptoe. How of the heart?'
'None,' Clara sighed.
The sigh was partly voluntary, though unforced; as one may with ready sincerity act a character that is our own only through sympathy.
Mrs. Mountstuart felt the extra weight in the young lady's falling breath. There was no necessity for a deep sigh over an absence of heart or confession of it. If Clara did not love the man to whom she was betrothed, sighing about it signified what? some pretence; and a pretence is the cloak of a secret. Girls do not sigh in that way with compassion for the man they have no heart for, unless at the same time they should be oppressed by the knowledge or dread of having a heart for some one else. As a rule, they have no compassion to bestow on him: you might as reasonably expect a soldier to bewail the enemy he strikes in action: they must be very disengaged to have it. And supposing a show of the thing to be exhibited, when it has not been worried out of them, there is a reserve in the background: they are pitying themselves under a mask of decent pity of their wretch.
So ran Mrs. Mountstuart's calculations, which were like her suspicion, coarse and broad, not absolutely incorrect, but not of an exact measure with the truth. That pin's head of the truth is rarely hit by design. The search after it of the professionally penetrative in the dark of a bosom may bring it forth by the heavy knocking all about the neighbourhood that we call good guessing, but it does not come out clean; other matter adheres to it; and being more it is less than truth. The unadulterate is to be had only by faith in it or by waiting for it.
A lover! thought the sagacious dame. There was no lover: some love there was: or, rather, there was a preparation of the chamber, with no lamp yet lighted.
'Do you positively tell me you have no heart for the position of first lady of the county?' said Mrs. Mountstuart.
Clara's reply was firm: 'None whatever.'
'My dear, I will believe you on one condition. Look at me. You have eyes. If you are for mischief, you are armed for it. But how much better, when you have won a prize, to settle down and wear it! Lady Patterne will have entire occupation for her flights and whimsies in leading the county. And the man, surely the man — he behaved badly last night: but a beauty like this,' she pushed a finger at Clara's cheek, and doated a half instant, 'you have the very beauty to break in an ogre's temper. And the man is as governable as he is presentable. You have the beauty the French call — no, it's the beauty of a queen of elves: one sees them lurking about you, one here, one there. Smile — they dance: be doleful — they hang themselves. No, there's not a trace of satanic; at least, not yet. And come, come, my Middleton, the man is a man to be proud of. You can send him into Parliament to wear off his humours. To my thinking, he has a fine style: conscious? I never thought so before last night. I can't guess what has happened to him recently. He was once a young Grand Monarque. He was really a superb young English gentleman. Have you been wounding him?'
'It is my misfortune to be obliged to wound him,' said Clara.
'Quite needlessly, my child, for marry him you must.'
Clara's bosom rose: her shoulders rose too, narrowing, and her head fell slight back.
Mrs. Mountstuart exclaimed: 'But the scandal! You would never, never think of following the example of that Durham girl? — whether she was provoked to it by jealousy or not. It seems to have gone so astonishingly far with you in a very short time, that one is alarmed as to where you will stop. Your look just now was downright revulsion.'
'I fear it is. It is. I am past my own control. Dear madam, you have my assurance that I will not behave scandalously or dishonourably. What I would entreat of you is to help me. I know this of myself… I am not the best of women. I am impatient, wickedly. I should be no good wife. Feelings like mine teach me unhappy things of myself.'
'Rich, handsome, lordly, influential, brilliant health, fine estates,' Mrs. Mountstuart enumerated in petulant accents as there started across her mind some of Sir Willoughby's attributes for the attraction of the soul of woman. 'I suppose you wish me to take you in earnest?'
'I appeal to you for help.'
'What help?'
'Persuade him of the folly of pressing me to keep my word.'
'I will believe you, my dear Middleton, on one condition: your talk of no heart is nonsense. A change like this, if one is to believe in the change, occurs through the heart, not because there is none. Don't you see that? But if you want me for a friend, you must not sham stupid. It's bad enough in itself: the imitation's horrid. You have to be honest with me, and answer me right out. You came here on this visit intending to marry Willoughby Patterne.'
'Yes.'
'And gradually you suddenly discovered, since you came here, that you did not intend it, if you could find a means of avoiding it.'
'Oh, madam, yes, it is true.'
'Now comes the test. And, my lovely Middleton, your flaming cheeks won't suffice for me this time. The old serpent can blush like an innocent maid on occasion. You are to speak, and you are to tell me in six words why that was: and don't waste one on 'madam', or 'Oh! Mrs. Mountstuart' Why did you change?'
'I came — When I came I was in some doubt. Indeed I speak the truth. I found I could not give him the admiration he has, I dare say, a right to expect. I turned — it surprised me; it surprises me now. But so completely! So that to think of marrying him is…'
'Defer the simile,' Mrs. Mountstuart interposed. 'If you hit on a clever one, you will never get the better of it. Now, by just as much as you have outstripped my limitation of words to you, you show me you are dishonest.'
'I could make a vow.'
'You would forswear yourself.'
'Will you help me?'
'If you are perfectly ingenuous, I may try.'
'Dear lady, what more can I say?'
'It may be difficult. You can reply to a catechism.'
'I shall have your help?'
'Well, yes; though I don't like stipulations between friends. There is no man living to whom you could willingly give your hand? That is my question. I cannot possibly take a step unless I know. Reply briefly: there is or there is not.' Clara sat back with bated breath, mentally taking the leap into the abyss, realizing it, and the cold prudence of abstention, and the delirium of the confession. Was there such a man? It resembled freedom to think there was: to avow it promised freedom.
'Oh, Mrs. Mountstuart!'
'Well?'
'You will help me?'
'Upon my word, I shall begin to doubt your desire for it.'
'Willingly give my hand, madam?'
'For shame! And with wits like yours, can't you perceive where hesitation in answering such a question lands you?'
'Dearest lady, will you give me your hand? may I whisper?'
'You need not whisper; I won't look.'
Clara's voice trembled on a tense chord.
'There is one… compared with him I feel my insignificance. If I could aid him.'
'What necessity have you to tell me more than that there is one?'
