CHAPTER III.
OUR DINNER PARTY AT BRANDON.
I was curious. I had heard a great deal of her beauty; and it hadexceeded all I heard; so I talked my sublimest and brightest chit-chat,in my most musical tones, and was rather engaging and amusing, I venturedto hope. But the best man cannot manage a dialogue alone. Miss Brandonwas plainly not a person to make any sort of exertion towards what istermed keeping up a conversation; at all events she did not, and after awhile the present one got into a decidedly sinking condition. Anacquiescence, a faint expression of surprise, a fainter smile--shecontributed little more, after the first few questions of courtesy hadbeen asked, in her low silvery tones, and answered by me. To me thenatural demise of a _tete-a-tete_ discourse has always seemed a disgrace.But this apathetic beauty had either more moral courage or more stupiditythan I, and was plainly terribly indifferent about the catastrophe. I'vesometimes thought my struggles and sinkings amused her cruel serenity.
Bella ma stupida!--I experienced, at last, the sort of pique with whichGeorge Sand's hero apostrophises _la derniere Aldini_. Yet I could notthink her stupid. The universal instinct honours beauty. It is sodifficult to believe it either dull or base. In virtue of some mysteriousharmonies it is 'the image of God,' and must, we feel, enclose theGod-like; so I suppose I felt, for though I wished to think her stupid, Icould not. She was not exactly languid, but a grave and listless beauty,and a splendid beauty for all that.
I told her my early recollections of Brandon and Gylingden, and how Iremembered her a baby, and said some graceful trifles on that theme,which I fancied were likely to please. But they were only received, andled to nothing. In a little while in comes Lord Chelford, always naturaland pleasant, and quite unconscious of his peerage--he was above it, Ithink--and chatted away merrily with that handsome animated blonde--whoon earth, could she be?--and did not seem the least chilled in the stiffand frosted presence of his mother, but was genial and playful even withthat Spirit of the Frozen Ocean, who received his affectionate triflingwith a sort of smiling, though wintry pride and complacency, reflectingback from her icy aspects something of the rosy tints of that kindlysunshine.
I thought I heard him call the young lady Miss Lake, and there rosebefore me an image of an old General Lake, and a dim recollection of somereverse of fortune. He was--I was sure of that--connected with theBrandon family; and was, with the usual fatality, a bit of a _mauvaissujet_. He had made away with his children's money, or squandered hisown; or somehow or another impoverished his family not creditably. So Iglanced at her, and Miss Brandon divined, it seemed, what was passing inmy mind, for she said:--
'That is my cousin, Miss Lake, and I think her very beautiful--don'tyou?'
'Yes, she certainly is very handsome,' and I was going to say somethingabout her animation and spirit, but remembered just in time, that thatline of eulogy would hardly have involved a compliment to Miss Brandon.'I know her brother, a little--that is, Captain Lake--Stanley Lake; he'sher brother, I fancy?'
'_Oh?_' said the young lady, in that tone which is pointed with anunknown accent, between a note of enquiry and of surprise. 'Yes; he's herbrother.'
And she paused; as if something more were expected. But at that momentthe bland tones of Larcom, the solemn butler, announced the Rev. WilliamWylder and Mrs. Wylder, and I said--
'William is an old college friend of mine;' and I observed him, as heentered with an affectionate and sad sort of interest. Eight years hadpassed since we met last, and that is something at any time. It hadthinned my simple friend's hair a little, and his face, too, was morecareworn than I liked, but his earnest, sweet smile was there still.Slight, gentle, with something of a pale and studious refinement in hisface. The same gentle voice, with that slight, occasional hesitation,which somehow I liked. There is always a little shock after an absence ofsome years before identities adjust themselves, and then we find thechange is not, after all, so very great. I suspect it is, rather, thatsomething of the old picture is obliterated, in that little interval, toreturn no more. And so William Wylder was vicar now instead of thatstraight wiry cleric of the mulberry face and black leggings.
And who was this little Mrs. William Wylder who came in, so homely offeature, so radiant of goodhumour, so eager and simple, in a very plaindress--a Brandon housemaid would not have been seen in it, leaning sopleasantly on his lean, long, clerical arm--made for reaching books downfrom high shelves, a lank, scholarlike limb, with a somewhat threadbarecuff--and who looked round with that anticipation of pleasure, and thatsimple confidence in a real welcome, which are so likely to insure it?Was she an helpmeet for a black-letter man, who talked with the Fathersin his daily walks, could extemporise Latin hexameters, and dream inGreek. Was she very wise, or at all learned? I think her knowledge laychiefly in the matters of poultry, and puddings, and latterly, of thenursery, where one treasure lay--that golden-haired little boy, fouryears old, whom I had seen playing among the roses before the parsonagedoor, asleep by this time--half-past seven, 'precise,' as old LadyChelford loved to write on her summons to dinner.
When the vicar, I dare say, in a very odd, quaint way, made his proposalof marriage, moved thereto assuredly, neither by fortune, nor by beauty,to good, merry, little Miss Dorothy Chubley, whom nobody was supposed tobe looking after, and the town had, somehow, set down from the first as anatural-born old maid--there was a very general amazement; somedisappointment here and there, with customary sneers and compassion, anda good deal of genuine amusement not ill-natured.
Miss Chubley, all the shopkeepers in the town knew and liked, and, in away, respected her, as 'Miss Dolly.' Old Reverend John Chubley, D.D., whohad been in love with his wife from the period of his boyhood; and yet sogrudging was Fate, had to undergo an engagement of nigh thirty yearsbefore Hymen rewarded their constancy; being at length made Vicar ofHuddelston, and master of church revenues to the amount of three hundredpounds a year--had, at forty-five, married his early love, now forty-two.
They had never grown old in one another's fond eyes. Their fidelity wasof the days of chivalry, and their simplicity comical and beautiful.Twenty years of happy and loving life were allotted them and onepledge--poor Miss Dorothy--was left alone, when little more than nineteenyears old. This good old couple, having loved early and waited long, andlived together with wonderful tenderness and gaiety of heart theirallotted span, bid farewell for a little while--the gentle little ladygoing first, and, in about two years more, the good rector following.
I remembered him, but more dimly than his merry little wife, though shewent first. She made raisin-wine, and those curious biscuits that tastedof Windsor soap.
And this Mrs. William Wylder just announced by soft-toned Larcom, is thedaughter (there is no mistaking the jolly smile and lumpy odd littlefeatures, and radiance of amiability) of the good doctor and Mrs.Chubley, so curiously blended in her loving face. And last comes in oldMajor Jackson, smiling largely, squaring himself, and doing hiscourtesies in a firm but florid military style, and plainly pleased tofind himself in good company and on the eve of a good dinner. And so ourdinner-list is full.
The party were just nine--and it is wonderful what a row ninewell-behaved people will contrive to make at a dinner-table. The inferioranimals--as we see them caged and cared for, and fed at one o'clock,'precise,' in those public institutions provided for theirmaintenance--confine their uproar to the period immediately antecedent totheir meal, and perform the actual process of deglutition with silentattention, and only such suckings, lappings, and crunchings, asillustrate their industry and content. It is the distinctive privilege ofman to exert his voice during his repast, and to indulge also in thosespecially human cachinnations which no lower creature, except thatdisreputable Australian biped known as the 'laughing jackass,' presumesto imitate; and to these vocal exercises of the feasters respond theendless ring and tinkle of knife and fork on china plate, and theministering angels in white chokers behind the chairs, those murmuredsolicitations which hum round and round the ears o
f the revellers.
Of course, when great guns are present, and people talk _pro bonopublico_, one at a time, with parliamentary regularity, things aredifferent; but at an ordinary symposium, when the garrulous and diffidentmake merry together, and people break into twos or threes and talk acrossthe table, or into their neighbours' ears, and all together, the noise isnot only exhilarating and peculiar, but sometimes perfectlyunaccountable.
The talk, of course, has its paroxysms and its subsidences. I have onceor twice found myself on a sudden in total silence in the middle of asomewhat prolix, though humorous story, commenced in an uproar for thesole recreation of my pretty neighbour, and ended--patched up,_renounced_--a faltering failure, under the converging gaze of a sternlyattentive audience.
On the other hand, there are moments when the uproar whirls up in acrescendo to a pitch and volume perfectly amazing; and at such times, Ibelieve that anyone might say anything to the reveller at his elbow,without the smallest risk of being overheard by mortal. You may plan withyoung Caesar Borgia, on your left, the poisoning of your host; or askpretty Mrs. Fusible, on your right, to elope with you from her grinningand gabbling lord, whose bald head flashes red with champagne only at theother side of the table. There is no privacy like it; you may plot yourwickedness, or make your confession, or pop the question, and not a soulbut your confidant be a bit the wiser--provided only you command yourcountenance.
I don't know how it happened, but Wylder sat beside Miss Lake. I fanciedhe ought to have been differently placed, but Miss Brandon did not seemconscious of his absence, and it seemed to me that the handsome blondewould have been as well pleased if he had been anywhere but where he was.There was no look of liking, though some faint glimmerings both ofannoyance and embarrassment in her face. But in Wylder's I saw a sort ofconceited consciousness, and a certain eagerness, too, while he talked;though a shrewd fellow in many ways, he had a secret conviction that nowoman could resist him.
'I suppose the world thinks me a very happy fellow, Miss Lake?' he said,with a rather pensive glance of enquiry into that young lady's eyes, ashe set down his hock-glass.
'I'm afraid it's a selfish world, Mr. Wylder, and thinks very little ofwhat does not concern it.'
'Now, _you_, I dare say,' continued Wylder, not caring to perceive the_soupcon_ of sarcasm that modulated her answer so musically, 'look uponme as a very fortunate fellow?'
'You are a very fortunate person, Mr. Wylder; a gentleman of verymoderate abilities, with no prospects, and without fortune, who findshimself, without any deservings of his own, on a sudden, possessed of anestate, and about to be united to the most beautiful heiress in England,_is_, I think, rather a fortunate person.'
'You did not always think me so stupid, Miss Lake,' said Mr. Wylder,showing something of the hectic of vexation.
'Stupid! did I say? Well, you know, we learn by experience, Mr. Wylder.One's judgment matures, and we are harder to please--don't you thinkso?--as we grow older.'
'Aye, so we are, I dare say; at any rate, some things don't please us aswe calculated. I remember when this bit of luck would have made me adevilish happy fellow--_twice_ as happy; but, you see, if a fellow hasn'this liberty, where's the good of money? I don't know how I got into it,but I can't get away now; and the lawyer fellows, and trustees, and allthat sort of prudent people, get about one, and persuade, and exhort, andthey bully you, by Jove! into what they call a marriage of convenience--Iforget the French word--you know; and then, you see, your feelings may bevery different, and all that; and where's the good of money, I say, ifyou can't enjoy it?'
And Mr. Wylder looked poetically unhappy, and trundled over a little bitof fricandeau on his plate with his fork, desolately, as though earthlythings had lost their relish.
'Yes; I think I know the feeling,' said Miss Lake, quietly. 'That ballad,you know, expresses it very prettily:--"Oh, thou hast been the cause ofthis anguish, my mother?"'
It was not then as old a song as it is now.
Wylder looked sharply at her, but she did not smile, and seemed to speakin good faith; and being somewhat thick in some matters, though a cunningfellow, he said--
'Yes; that is the sort of thing, you know--of course, with adifference--a girl is supposed to speak there; but men suffer that way,too--though, of course, very likely it's more their own fault.'
'It is very sad,' said Miss Lake, who was busy with a _pate_.
'She has no life in her; she's a mere figurehead; she's awfully slow; Idon't like black hair; I'm taken by conversation--and all that. There aresome men that can only really love once in their lives, and never forgettheir first love, I assure you.'
Wylder murmured all this, and looked as plaintive as he could withoutexciting the attention of the people over-the-way.
Mark Wylder had, as you perceive, rather vague notions of decency, andnot much experience of ladies; and thought he was making just theinteresting impression he meditated. He was a good deal surprised, then,when Miss Lake said, and with quite a cheerful countenance, and veryquickly, but so that her words stung his ear like the prick of a bodkin.
'Your way of speaking of my cousin, Sir, is in the highest degreediscreditable to you and offensive to me, and should you venture torepeat it, I will certainly mention it to Lady Chelford.'
And so she turned to old Major Jackson at her right, who had beenexpounding a point of the battle of Vittoria to Lord Chelford; and sheled him again into action, and acquired during the next ten minutes agreat deal of curious lore about Spanish muleteers and French prisoners,together with some particulars about the nature of picket duty, and 'thatscoundrel, Castanos.'
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