But Ann, delivered from the obnoxious rigidity of spoken words, into the more malleable realm of inference, refused to credit her friend’s reading of the matter, and urged all manner of refutations, until Julia halted her by saying, “Ann, your arguments are misplaced. Mr. Lenox’s opinion of me is of little moment. I own, it is unpleasant to be taken in dislike, and vexing, when one has as yet done nothing to merit it; but I have at least the consolation of knowing, by his unkindness to Sir Warrington, that in refusing me his good opinion, he has refused me nothing of value. I am grieved, not by his coldness, nor even chiefly for Sir Warrington’s disappointment, but by my own behavior. You spent the evening writhing and wriggling in shame because, in complete innocence, you uttered a handful of light-hearted words that were taken amiss--but my case was much worse.”
“I am quite sure that you said nothing you need blush for.”
“Spoken with the unshakable confidence of the best and blindest of friends, the more remarkable in that it is found in one otherwise supremely level-headed! But no, I do not think I did; such is the benefit of early training. ‘Cordial phrases may sound from the throat without having the slightest echo in the heart.’ Have you ever considered, how merciful it was in our Creator, to give us respectable, unrevealing foreheads, behind which we may entertain the pettiest, most hateful thoughts, and no one the wiser? We would certainly all be kept in a perpetual state of offense, if He had not--As this evening: in my speech, I was the very ‘pineapple of politeness,’ but in my thoughts, I was grinding up Mr. Lenox very small, and, on the basis of his not wishing to dance with me, denouncing him as a disagreeable, silly man with no taste at all, whose brother was greatly to be pitied!”
“You were just indignant on Sir Warrington’s behalf.”
“No; that is a pleasant conceit, and I entertained it for as long as I might; but the truth is, that because my vanity has been resting peacefully, like a well-fed viper, I was not much aware of it. But let a careless foot approach, and it arises at once, and shows itself to be in a very flourishing state.”
She looked so troubled at the memory of it, that Ann was moved to suggest, that perhaps they ought to apply themselves to helping Mr. Lenox recover from her venomous evaluation. “It should not be too difficult,” said she, with a sly glance. “I believe there were a number of antidotes to be found even at tonight’s assembly.”
“I know there were,” replied Julia, “for I saw him dancing with one, afterward.”
Their eyes met, and though they looked immediately away again, the mischief was done. Julia avowed, that her condition was even more appalling than she had thought, if she could not even mourn over the ravages of Vanity, without falling straightway into Spite; but as she could scarcely speak for laughing, Ann was not unduly remorseful.
“That was dreadful of us,” said Julia, when she was able. “No, really, Ann, we should not be laughing. There is nothing amusing about it--those ladies cannot help their faces, and probably their understandings are excellent, and they would never, ever, dream of sitting around after an assembly and abusing the looks and characters of their fellow guests.”
“No,” said Ann, who was better acquainted with assembly-room chairs, and those who filled them, “for why should they wait until after the assembly, when they have so much leisure to occupy while it is in progress?”
Julia implored her again to be serious, and said, that after this she would never dare call into question the charitableness of Miss Spenhope’s conversation. The next instant she was asking pardon for this thoughtless reference; but what was the disapproval of such as Marianne Spenhope to Ann, when she had successfully cheered Julia Parry? The only effect of this remark, was to remind her, that she had in her possession the knowledge of why the gentleman in the dark coat should have set himself to be repulsive; and she at once acquainted her friend with the brothers’ alleged history, rejoicing at having found a reasonable explanation for the younger’s behavior.
Julia agreed with her in thinking it sounded an improbable fiction, but said that if it was not, far from mitigating his reception of her, Mr. Lenox’s conduct was seen as all the more unbecoming, in that it was directed against one who had already borne much hardship through no fault of his own.
Ann disagreed; she argued that, in the circumstances, even the most amiable of men might have found it difficult to conduct himself graciously, when introduced to someone who came redolent of the prospect of ensuing proposals, altars, and, most disastrously for the disinherited, bassinets.
**
Chapter XIII
It was soon made plain, that however disappointed by it he may have been, Sir Warrington did not attach such importance to his brother’s displeasure, as to allow it to affect his actions, for the next day saw him the first caller at Merrion House, in company with his mother. Lady Lenox was a woman of extraordinary elegance, and the resolute simplicity of her attire very nearly succeeded in distracting one from the long hours she had necessarily consumed in pursuit of this result. Her manner was assured, but rather stiff, and in contrast to her son, her English was so correct as to cause some, previously secure in their syntax, to experience distinct qualms as their sentences ventured forth to pass under her review.
It was gracefully established within the first ten minutes that she was the granddaughter of the Duke of ______, and that she considered the years spent in her husband’s country as years consumed by the locust: the patrician disgust of the Huoyhnhnm for the land of the Yahoo seemed to lurk, unspoken, but quite perceptible, behind all her observations on the matter. After these disclosures had been made she appeared easier in mind, and was able to speak with greater affability, as long as her son did nothing to remind her of his unseasonable existence.
The introductions were got over in the usual way, with comments on the charms or inconveniences of town, and of the weather that morning; the party of the previous evening was mentioned, and the fact of the ladies not having met at it adjudged a deplorable occurrence, followed by an acknowledgement of common acquaintances.
Sir Warrington took no part in any of this, and scarcely uttered a word, but shrugged and smiled and kept his hands and feet on a short rein, as if he had been warned not to let them wander off and get into mischief. Julia, supposing that it was for her sake that he had come, attempted several times to speak with him, but in the confines of a drawing-room all the misplaced confidence of the ballroom seemed to desert him, and his hesitant search for words served but to irritate his mother, causing her to take his answers into her own hands, and dispatch them with the deft precision which characterized her speech. Sir Warrington made no difficulty about admitting these answers for his own, but smiled and nodded, and gathered his feet in closer to his chair, looking foolish. This indirect means of conversing did not recommend itself to Julia, and she soon ceased her efforts to divide her attention between the visitors, and replaced it at the sole disposal of the mother, thus leaving the son exposed and at the mercy of Clive, who was not slow to take advantage of the breach.
Ann’s report had sent Kitty into a flutter of alarm. She had heard of the gypsies with wide-eyed interest; but having grieved over their wickedness, pitied both the little stolen heir and his afflicted family, and rejoiced--no other option presenting itself to her mind in the circumstances--in their eventual reunion, she then became fearful that the baronet, with his sad history, was “just the sort of gentleman whom Julia would be prevailed upon to marry out the tenderness of her heart.” Ann assured her this was nonsense; but Kitty could not be calm until she had received from Clive a promise to meet the young man, and investigate the immediacy of the peril.
Clive was not entirely adverse to the task, as the description of the baronet’s disaffected garments had earned his interest and approval; and having contrived to be present when the callers were announced, he fixed Sir Warrington with a curious and intent stare until, seeing him at last disengaged and vulnerable, he closed in and secured the seat beside him. Ann,
who was feeling some compunction for having fetched the intelligence which had determined the attack, was relieved to note that Clive had evidently resolved that Sir Warrington was to be won over. One never knew, in launching a “Clive-ball’ on its course, whether that course was to be one of destruction, or if it would bounce harmlessly off an inexplicably impervious target, or if, instead, it would bowl up in a casual fashion, uncurl, shake hands, and proceed to fascinate the intended victim into laying down arms and enlisting under the rival banner.
No one could be more winning than Master Clive when he did not take pains to disguise it, and Sir Warrington was soon happily confiding in him the details of his stay in town. His thorough mangling of the King’s English presented no hardship for his companion, whose ability to discern the words of otherwise unintelligible songs and oratorios had for years baffled his family; nor did Clive allow himself to be unduly disturbed by the other’s habit of glancing apprehensively across the room to his mother, every time he prepared to open his mouth. But Lady Lenox did not feel compelled to aggravate her eldest son’s shortcomings as long as he was not engaging the notice of an eligible young lady, and she permitted his conversation with Clive to continue without interference until she rose to herald their departure.
Julia’s indignation was not long in finding expression. “Upon my word,” said she, low-voiced, to Ann, “this is worse even than last night! Poor Sir Warrington! Was ever a man beset by such heartless relations?”
“It is no wonder he appears a simpleton,” said Ann, “if he is often with his mother. She has got him perfectly terrified of her. He hardly dared utter a sound, for fear she would cut in and make him look perfectly bog-brained, and not able to answer the simplest of questions.”
Lady Frances, hearing Ann’s comment, began at once to devise a speech, no doubt designed to show that their guest must have been prompted solely by a natural desire to conceal her son’s weaknesses--and then realized it would not do, and sighed, uttering something palliative about Lady Lenox’s affection for her other son.
“Oh yes! she is much attached to dearest, darling, clever Edmund,” said Julia, “there can be no doubt of that. But is it not curious that nothing so disposes one to detest a person, as hearing him continually extolled as a model of all virtues? Without another word said against him, I should now be quite prepared, on his mama’s glowing testimony, to account him the most unpleasant man alive.”
Lady Frances, who had heard with rather less detail than Ann of her daughter’s meeting with dearest Edmund, took this for mere persiflage, and smilingly said, that such judgements were foolish things, as it often happened that signs of excessive favor were as much disliked by those who received them, as by those who did not. At this, Julia, who had on occasion been made acutely uncomfortable by her grandfather’s obvious preference for her, blushed, and agreed, and said no more of Mr. Lenox.
Clive now addressed Ann, reproaching her for having misled him. “‘Irish Bull,’ indeed! Why, he is nothing of the sort. Shure, an’ he’s jist a dacent hibernian jintleman wid an illigant command o’ th’ Kang’s Inglish. I offered him myriad opportunities to demonstrate any ‘innate and irresistible propensity to blunder’ which he might be possessed of, and he did not once gratify me with even a modest barbarism.”
Lady Frances said, in a pleased tone, that this was proof that at least someone was fond enough of Sir Warrington to have taken pains with his education; and Ann expressed surprise that Clive should ever have expected to discover any great measure of accuracy in an appellation which had been conceived and assigned by a selfish wit, in order to justify an act of discourtesy.
Kitty having slipped into the room, Clive was now applied to for particulars of his conversation with Sir Warrington, and it was learned that he had been to Astley’s, and its wonders had exhausted his powers of description; that he had been to an Ergascopic Theatre to see an enormous “Aerial Tiger” filled with gas; and also to the Tower, where he had seen middling-sized terrestrial lions filled with melancholy, whom he was persuaded wanted their ears scratched and their bellies tickled. Clive had also elicited the intelligence, that the young baronet was accompanied on these expeditions by someone named Paddy, who was, he deduced, not much regarded by Lady Lenox, as the instant Sir Warrington gave utterance to the name, he had turned red, and cast her a look of mingled guilt and alarm, before blundering away from the dangerous topic, and refusing to return to it.
It was agreed by all, that the objectionable Paddy must be a superior kind of servant, a keeper provided by the baronet’s family, perhaps too stubbornly native to find favor with her ladyship, but retained for his ability to restrain his charge from any injudicious attempts to cheer up despondent lions. Lady Frances’s maternal heart was inevitably touched, by the thought of a young man wandering about London with no one to talk to but a paid and possibly disagreeable companion, and she began to consider whether it might be contrived, that he be included in some of their own family outings.
Kitty looked ready to faint at this proposal, and Clive objected on the grounds that, servant or no, Sir Warrington had clearly enjoyed his jaunts about London immensely, which he could hardly have done in the company of a “Captain Mirvanish sort of fellow.”
As from Clive’s own account, the baronet had only dared make the most passing reference to his companion, Lady Frances was not so entirely reassured by this, as to give up all thought of inviting Sir Warrington; but the announced arrival of more callers (and two gentlemen, at that) sent Kitty scurrying from the room on a gasp, and suspended all deliberation of the question until that evening. And having had the matter laid before him, Mr. Parry passed down the verdict, that if Julia justified his faith in her good sense, by having no intention of marrying a man whose intellect was so inferior to her own, it would be neither wise nor kind for any part of the family to behave to Sir Warrington in a manner that might easily be construed as encouragement of his suit.
**
Chapter XIV
Thus sentenced to receive no encouragement other than could be found in the general graciousness of Julia’s manner toward all her Greenlings, and with his family whole-heartedly against him, it seemed reasonable to suppose, that the baronet’s pursuit of Miss Parry would end as abruptly as it had begun. But as his family had already been forced to recognize, there are certain difficulties involved in thwarting the wishes of a stubborn young man, past the age of one-and-twenty, and in full possession of his fortune. Having presented themselves as disagreeable to the young lady in question (though in her ladyship’s case this was, perhaps, unconsciously done), and bent their efforts to humiliate him before her, there was little else they could do to dissuade Sir Warrington from making Julia the object of his attentions, short of locking him up. Their methods were so far successful, in that he did not again venture to call at Merrion House; but he made no attempt to disguise the smiles of joy which split his face upon every sight of her, nor did he cease to harass her with his singular notions of dance, whenever the occasion permitted. (Clive, privileged on one occasion to witness the baronet’s performance, murmured afterward to Ann, “’Twere scarce too much to say, No dancing bear was so genteel, Or half so dégagé.’”)
They were not even free of him on Sundays, for it was discovered, rather to Ann’s surprise and reprehensibly to her displeasure (and doubtless to Mr. Lenox’s as well), that the brothers attended the same unfashionable chapel as did the Parrys, and it was only the circumstance of the former always sitting near the back, and seldom lingering after the end of the service, that had prevented their meeting there before. But of course, no sooner did Sir Warrington learn of their attendance, than there he was the very next Sabbath, beaming away in the middle of the aisle, blocking their exit, and assuring them that his brother had wanted very much to meet them all, but that he had gone out to speak with Mr. Wilberforce, whom he had seen leaving, and with whom he had some acquaintance through a mutual friend. The baronet then attached himself to Julia unt
il the Parrys took their departure, persisting to the last in his protestations that his brother would be returning any minute from wherever he had gone, and would be very sad to have missed talking with them.
Julia did not complain of Sir Warrington’s unpolished attentions, or even allow herself to sigh at his approach; but Ann, finding his artless enthusiasm increasingly bothersome, minded it very much for her friend, and thought crossly of the other Lenoxes, who were proving so curiously ineffective in their appointed roles. Her ladyship might be forgiven, as it was evidently a matter of principle with her to eschew, in the ordinary way, any place defiled by the presence of her eldest son. But Mr. Lenox was another matter, for not only did he relentlessly attend his brother to church, and every other public occasion, but the pleased manner in which Sir Warrington informed Julia of this, bespoke the elusive Mr. Lenox for a man of uncommon ingenuity, and rendered his failure to keep an acceptable distance between the warm-hearted baronet and Miss Parry all the more inexcusable. I employ the term “elusive,” for despite a lively interest, and the collaboration of Julia, who readily undertook to point him out, Ann for some weeks failed to achieve more than a glimpse of the gentleman’s hat as the brothers drove away from Lock Chapel. And though neither had any doubt of Sir Warrington’s ability to chase down his brother, Ann refused to have her curiosity satisfied in such an open, graceless fashion. She desired a leisurely, critical study of an oblivious subject--not an introduction.
It was as Ann sat one evening, meditating on the superior happiness of a Lenox-free London with considerable vexation and no conceivable profit, that her notice was gradually engaged by a gentleman standing at a little distance from her chair. He had been there for some time, but as there was no one else by, and as he had shown no dissatisfaction with the silence that existed between them, Ann had determined that he had merely come to watch, and be out of the way, as had she. Once or twice she had known his eyes to turn toward her, but for the most part he kept them on those dancing in the midst of the room. He was a complete stranger to her, and she was rather sorry for this, as she would have liked to have had the opportunity of discovering the nature of the thoughts, which kept his gaze fixed steadily on a spectacle that obviously provided him with so little pleasure; and his reasons for coming to an assembly, when his preference was plainly for solitude.
Friendship and Folly: The Merriweather Chronicles Book I Page 9