The Meaning of Night

‘He may. I have Duport blood in me, and that is always of the greatest consideration to Lord Tansor. But I cannot count on things turning out to my advantage, and do not wish to be perpetually beholden to Lord Tansor.’

I then made the observation that a lady always had another means at her disposal to settle herself in a comfortable way of life.

‘You mean marriage, I suppose. But who would want to marry me? I have no money of my own, and my father left little enough. I am almost thirty years old – no, do not say that my age is of no account. I know very well that it is. No, Mr Glapthorn, I am a lost cause. I shall live and die a spinster.’

‘There is one person, surely, who would marry you.’

‘And who is that?’

‘Why, Mr Phoebus Daunt, of course.’

‘Really, Mr Glapthorn, you are quite obsessed by Mr Phoebus Daunt. He seems to have become a fixed idea for you.’

‘But you admit that I am right?’

‘I admit no such thing. Any inclinations in that direction that Mr Daunt might have harboured have long since withered away. Even if my father had approved of him, which he did not, I could never have reciprocated his feelings. I do not love Mr Daunt; and, for me, having had the example of my parents constantly before me, love is the only reason for marriage. And now, shall we agree to speak no more of Mr Daunt? He bores me in company, and it bores me even more to hear him spoken of. I am determined to find some way of settling my future, on my own terms and to my own satisfaction, without having to cast myself on Mr Daunt and his expectations. Now tell me, have you read Mr Currer Bell’s Villette?’^*

With this question she began to quiz me on my tastes and opinions. Was I an admirer of Mr Dickens? What was my estimation of the work of Mr Wilkie Collins? Was not Mr Tennyson’s In Memoriam an incomparably fine achievement?^† Had I been to any concerts or recitals lately? Did I see any merit in the work of Mr Rossetti and his associates?^‡

She showed an informed and discerning interest in each topic that arose in the course of our discussion, and we soon found that our views on the merits or otherwise of various authors and artists coincided most fortuitously; little by little, we began to speak like two people who had silently acknowledged a mutual liking for each other. Then Mademoiselle Buisson returned to where we were sitting.

‘It is getting a little cold, ma chere,’ she said, taking her friend by the hand to encourage her to stand up, ‘and I am hungry. Shall we go back? My compliments to you, Mr Glapthorn. I can see by her face that Emily has benefited from her conversation with you. What were you talking about?’

‘Nothing that would interest you, dear,’ said Miss Carteret as she pulled her shawl round her. ‘We have been quite serious, haven’t we, Mr Glapthorn?’

‘And yet it has made you happy,’ observed Mademoiselle thoughtfully. ‘You must visit her again soon, Mr Glapthorn, and be serious once more, and then I shall not worry about her when I return home.’

We walked back to Wilton-crescent in high spirits, with Mademoiselle chattering and laughing, Miss Carteret smiling with quiet satisfaction, whilst I glowed inside with a new happiness.

When we reached the house, Mademoiselle skipped nimbly up the steps.

‘Good-bye, Mr Glapthorn,’ she called back from the front door. Then she stopped and thought for a moment. ‘It is a curious name, is it not? Glapthorn. Most curious, and most suitable for a dark horse.’ And with that, she disappeared into the house, laughing.

I turned to Miss Carteret.

‘May I call again?’

She offered her hand to me, which I took in mine, and held for a most precious moment.

‘Do you need to ask?’

^*[‘Love is a credulous thing’. Ed.]

^*[‘Emily, my dear, aren’t you going to introduce me to this gentleman?’ Ed.

^*[The pseudonym, of course, of Charlotte Bronte. Villette was published in January 1853. Ed.]

^†[In Memoriam A.H.H. (i.e. Arthur Henry Hallam, 1811–33) was published by Edward Moxon (Daunt’s publisher) in 1850, the year that Tennyson was appointed Poet Laureate following the death of Wordsworth. Ed.]

^‡[The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, founded in 1848 by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828–82), John Everett Millais (1829–96), William Holman Hunt (1827–1910), and others. Ed.]

36

Amor vincit omnia^*

I paid my second visit to Wilton-crescent the following Friday, my heart full of bright hope that Miss Carteret would receive me with the same warmth with which our last meeting had concluded. I was more in love with her than ever; and now I was beginning to allow myself to believe that, in time, she might love me too. On this occasion, I was introduced to Mrs Fletcher Manners – a bustling, pretty-looking woman, only half a dozen years or so older than her niece – and invited to take luncheon with the two ladies. Afterwards, when Mrs Manners left to pay her afternoon calls, Miss Carteret and I were left alone in the drawing-room.

‘This has been most delightful, Mr Glapthorn,’ she said, as soon as her aunt had gone. ‘But I’m afraid I shall be returning to Evenwood tomorrow, and so will not have the pleasure of receiving you again for some time – unless …’

I immediately took the hint.

‘It is possible that I may have occasion to visit Evenwood in the near future. Dr Daunt and I are slaves to the bibliophilic passion – I mean that we love old books, and share a number of other antiquarian and scholarly