Chapter XIII: Consultations

The commotion produced in The Elms by the above event was very great. It was the first experience of the family in this kind of thing, and it affected everybody, from Mrs. Eastwood down to the kitchen-maid. Frederick was perhaps the least moved of all. He intimated it as his opinion that Molyneux was all right, seeing that he had a father before him; that he wondered at Nelly’s taste, but supposed it was her own look-out, and if she was pleased no one had any right to interfere. He made this speech rather disagreeable to his sister from the little shrug of the shoulders with which he announced his surprise at her taste; but otherwise he was friendly enough. Dick, for his part, said little, but he walked round her with a certain serious investigation in the intervals of his studies.

“You look exactly as you did yesterday; I can’t see any difference,” said Dick. “Why don’t you put on another kind of gown, or pin Molyneux’s card on you, to show you are disposed of?”

To this, however, Nelly paid no more attention than she did to the comments of Winks, who came and wagged his tail at her in a knowing, good-humoured sort of way. When Molyneux came to see Mrs. Eastwood next morning, Winks met him at the door, escorted him to the dining-room, where he was to have his audience, and then trotted in on three legs to where Nelly was sitting, and wagged his tail confidentially. “A very good fellow, on the whole, I assure you,” he said as plainly as could be said by that medium of communication.

Nelly did not sit in awful suspense while her lover was unfolding himself to her mother. She knew that mother well enough to be sure that nothing untoward would come in the course of her true love. But she awaited their coming with a certain importance and expectation. They had a long conversation in the dining-room, longer perhaps than Nelly approved. Mr. Molyneux had a great deal to say to Mrs. Eastwood. No one could be less disposed to “repent at leisure” after the hot haste of his declaration, but yet it is very probable, had he had time to think, that he would have decided on the prudence of waiting longer. When it occurred to him that he must tell Mrs. Eastwood that he was earning nothing, but lived on the allowance his father gave him, it made the young man uncomfortably hot and nervous. He avoided the mother’s eye as he told this part of the story, dwelling much upon what he would do in the future, and his eagerness to provide for Nelly “all the comforts she had been used to.” Mrs. Eastwood, though she was not a woman of business, knew enough about the world to shake her head at this. She was very well inclined to Molyneux, both for his own sake and for Nelly’s. He was good-looking, well-mannered, and always nicely behaved to herself, which naturally has a certain influence upon a mother. And his connexions were all that could be wished. Mr. Molyneux, Q.C., who was recognized by everybody as going to be Mr. Justice Molyneux at the very first vacancy, was perfectly satisfactory as a father-in-law for Nelly, and would secure for Nelly’s family a comfortable certainty of being well lawyered all their lives. And they were “nice people;” there was, on the whole, nothing in the world to be said against Mrs. Molyneux, Ernest’s mother, or the Misses Molyneux, his sisters. But nevertheless, as it is strictly necessary for a young couple to have something to live on, Mrs. Eastwood shook her head.

“Nelly has five thousand pounds,” she said, “but with my boys to place out in the world, I shall not be able to give her any more, and that is not much to depend upon. And, as a matter of principle, I don’t like to see young people depending upon allowances from their fathers and mothers--unless it might be an eldest son, with landed property coming to him. I don’t think it is the right way.”

Molyneux was rather surprised at this display of wisdom. He thought some one must have put it into her head. He had meant to slur over his want of income in his interview with the mother, as he could not have done with a father. And then Mrs. Eastwood was so “jolly,” so good-natured, and kind that he did not expect his position to be regarded as involving any want of principle. It must not be supposed, however, that the young man had any intention of deceiving, or that he was aware of having done wrong in obeying his impulse, and hastening by so many weeks or months his explanation with Nelly. Yet he felt that but for that overwhelming impulse it might have been prudent to have postponed the explanation; and now he received a sudden check, and for a moment experienced the sensations of a man who has been proceeding on false pretences, and did not know what to say.

“I am afraid you will think I have been premature,” he said. “The fact is, I should have made my way first before I ventured--but then, Mrs. Eastwood, you must make allowances for me, and recollect that to see Nelly often, and yet to continue quite prudent and master of myself----”

“But you need not have seen Nelly quite so often,” said Mrs. Eastwood with a smile.

“Supposing I had stayed away, what should you have thought of me? That I was a despicable fellow, laying myself out to please her, and then running away when I thought I had gone too far.”

“I don’t think I should have thought anything of the kind,” said Mrs. Eastwood, in that easy way which is so disconcerting to people who feel that the eyes of the world ought to be upon them. “I should have thought you were occupied, or had other engagements. Indeed, until Nelly told me last night, I never had distinctly identified you as being fond of her, Mr. Molyneux. No doubt it was my stupidity, but I should not have remarked it; I don’t know whether she might have done so.”

Molyneux felt considerably crushed by this calm and tolerant judgment, but he went on,--

“You may be sure this state of things won’t last,” he said; “I have a motive now, and I shall set to work. Of course I cannot press for an early marriage, as I should otherwise have done had I been wise, and made my preparations first----”

“No, of course not,” said Mrs. Eastwood. This gave her great pleasure, practically, but theoretically I am obliged to confess that she half despised her future son-in-law for his philosophy. It was quite right, and relieved her mind from a load. But still a woman likes her child to be wooed hotly, and prefers an impatient lover, unwilling to wait. Such a one she would have talked to, and reasoned down into patience, but, theoretically, she would have liked him the best.

“You will not oppose me?” said Molyneux, taking her hand; “you will be a good mother to me, and let me see Nelly, and be a sort of new son, to make up to me for having to wait? You are always good, to everybody--you won’t keep _me_ at arm’s length?”

“No,” said Mrs. Eastwood, “I won’t keep you at arm’s length, for that would be to punish Nelly; but I think you should not have spoken till your prospects were a little more clear.”

“They are clear enough,” said the anxious lover. “It is only that I have been idle, and wanted energy; but now no man can have a stronger motive----”

Mrs. Eastwood shook her head again, but she smiled likewise, and gave him her hand, and even permitted a filial salute, which reddened her comely cheek, and softened her heart to Nelly’s betrothed. Perhaps, under the circumstances, it was permissible for a man to be imprudent. Molyneux spent the rest of the day in and about The Elms, appearing and disappearing, hanging about Nelly, disturbing all the household arrangements, and communicating to the visitors premature information as to what had happened. Not that he made any confidences, but that his mere presence there all the afternoon, his look of possession and triumph, the little air of being at home, which the young man could not resist taking upon himself, told the tale more clearly than words. Mrs. Barclay ran in “just for a moment,” as she said, to beg Nelly to go with her next day to a horticultural show, and “finish what you have begun, you little puss,” she whispered in the girl’s ear. “What have I begun?” Nelly asked, bewildered, while Molyneux, without any assignable reason, was so rude as to burst out laughing in his enjoyment of the joke. He put Mrs. Barclay into her carriage as if he had been the son of the house, she said afterwards, a proceeding which sent her away with a certain vague disquiet and resentment, though of course, as she allowed, she had no right to interfere. Major Railton, too, when he called about the plumber’s work, was infinitely disgusted to find Molyneux there, and to leave him there, when, after long waiting, he was obliged to relinquish the hope of out-staying his rival. “I must go,” he said at length, in tart and ill-tempered tones, “for alas! I am not so lucky as you young fellows with nothing to do. I have my duties to attend to.” This was a poisoned arrow, and struck the whole happy group, mother, daughter, and lover, with equal force.

“I am sure, Major Railton, you are an example to us all,” said Mrs. Eastwood; “always so ready to serve others, and yet with so much of your own work to do. But I hope Mr. Molyneux has his duties too.”

“Yes, I have my duties,” said the lover, in his insolent happiness turning a beaming countenance upon the unsuccessful one. It was growing dark, and he was so impertinent as to give a little twitch to Nelly’s sleeve in the obscurity, under Major Railton’s very eyes; who did not, indeed, see this flaunting in his face of his adversary’s banner, but felt that there was some bond unrevealed which joined the three before him in a common cause. He went away in a state of irritation for which he could not have given any just reason, and tore the plumber’s estimate to pieces when he emerged from the shrubbery in front of The Elms. Mrs. Eastwood had not taken kindly even to his plumber. She had stood by a certain old Sclater, an old jobbing Scotsman, for whom she had a national partiality.

“Why should I bother myself about their concerns? Let them get Molyneux to look after things,” the Major said to himself, with scorn that transcended all other expression; and he laughed what is sometimes described in literature as a “hollow laugh” of bitterness and sarcasm.

Indeed, I think Major Railton was right, and that Molyneux’s supervision of the roofs and water-butts would have come to very little good.

It had been resolved in the family that nothing was to be said about the engagement for the present, as it would in all probability be a long one; and this was how they began to carry out their resolution. I do not need to add that the servants knew it the first evening, and had already settled where the young people were to live, and what sort of an establishment they would keep up. Winks, too, was aware of the fact from the first, and, as I have said, was confidentially humorous about it with Nelly, and kept up her courage during the interview between her mother and her lover. But notwithstanding all we have been hearing lately about the communications made by dogs to their friends, I do not think he spread the news out of doors, or if he did whisper it to a crony, that crony was discreet.

On Saturday, which was the day following, Jenny came up from Eton to spend the Sunday with his adoring family. Jenny was extremely unlike his name--a big and bony boy of sixteen, promising to be the biggest of the family, though neither Frederick nor Dick were short. He had big joints and long limbs, and red wrists and prodigious knuckles projecting from the short sleeve of his coat. But notwithstanding so many appearances against him, he was the most intellectual of Mrs. Eastwood’s sons--a “sap” at school, and addicted to reading away from school, a fashion of Eton boy with which the world is not familiar. By way of making up for this, he was somewhat rough in his manners, and great in such exercises as demanded strength rather than skill. He was tremendous at football, though no one gave him the credit for clever play; and though his “form” was bad, and precluded all hope of “the boats,” he could carry a skiff along at a pace which no one could keep up with, and against the stream was the greatest oar of his years afloat on the Thames. In consideration of these qualifications the youth of Eton graciously looked over his “sapping,” or rather were vaguely impressed by it--as, to do him justice, the modern schoolboy generally is when intellectual power is combined with the muscular force, of which he has a clearer understanding. Jenny was not yet a “swell,” but he was in a fair way for being a swell--a title which at Eton bears a very different meaning from its meaning elsewhere. But he was very good to his family when he went home, and tolerant of their ignorance. Jenny’s name in the school list was all starred and ribboned, so to speak, with unknown orders of merit, such as the profane eye comprehends not. He had a big Roman letter before his name, and a little Greek one after it, and a double number after that--mystic signs of honours which the Eton man understands, but which I will not attempt to explain. It might have been confusing to a more mature intellect to contemplate all the novelties which were to dawn upon him on this visit; but Jenny was not emotional. He shook hands with his brother-in-law who was to be, with extreme composure.

“I suppose they have told you,” said Mr. Molyneux, good-humouredly permitting himself to be inspected by this big boy.

“Yes, they have told me,” said Jenny, “but I knew you before.”

“You did not know me in my present capacity. Indeed, I am not generally known in my present capacity,” said Molyneux; “and I don’t quite see why you should have been told. You would never have found out.”

“Oh, shouldn’t I!” said Jenny. “Last time I was at home, I said, ‘He’s going to be Mr. Nelly, that fellow;’ didn’t I, mamma? Of course you are Mr. Nelly. Women don’t get half justice in this world. I like her better than you, as a matter of course; so that’s your distinction to me.”

“Jenny goes in for Women’s Rights,” said his mother, with a smile.

“Of course I do; I’m a woman’s son; oughtn’t I to stand up for them? If you mean to tell me old Brownlow there has more sense than my mother, I tell you you’re a fool, that’s all. Nor Frederick hasn’t--not half so much--though he thinks himself such a swell,” said Jenny.

In point of negatives, boys, however learned in Greek and Latin, permit themselves occasionally, in English, a style of their own.

“I don’t want a vote, you silly boy,” said Mrs. Eastwood; “it is not in my way.”

“You may please yourself about that--but it’s a disgrace to England that you shouldn’t have it if you like,” cried the young politician hotly. And then he sunk suddenly from this lofty elevation, and asked, “Where’s the other girl?”

“Do you mean Innocent?”

“I mean her, if that’s her name,” said the boy, colouring slightly. “Don’t she stay with the rest of us? Ain’t you good to her? Where has she gone?”

“We are as good as we know how to be,” said Mrs. Eastwood, glad to plunge into a grievance, and with a new listener. “We don’t know what to make of her, Jenny. She does not care for Nelly and me. We have tried to coax her, and we have tried to scold her; but she will stay by herself. She comes down when the bell rings, and she speaks when she is spoken to: that is all; and I am at my wit’s end what to do.”

“But that is everything a woman ought to be,” said Molyneux. “Isn’t there a proverb about being seen and not heard, &c.? What a difference from some people! When I came in to-day, the first thing I heard was some one singing up-stairs--singing so that I felt inclined to dance. I suppose it was not this Innocent?”

“It must be your fault,” said Jenny seriously, taking no notice of this interpellation.

“My fault, Jenny!” cried Mrs. Eastwood, getting red; and then she paused, and subdued her tones. “Do you know, dear, I often think it must be. But what can I do?” she said humbly. “I try talking to her, and that fails; and then I try taking no notice. Yes, Jenny, I believe you are right. If I could love her heartily, right out, as I love Nelly----”

“That’s unreasonable,” said Jenny. “You can’t do that, because, you see, we love Nelly by instinct, not for anything in her. She’s not bad, for a girl--but if she were as disagreeable as an old cat, still we should have instinct to fall back upon. You have no instinct in respect to the other girl.”

“What an odd boy you are!” said Mrs. Eastwood, half affronted, half laughing; “and yet I believe there’s something in it. But I do blame myself. I want to be kind, very kind, to her; whereas, you know, if I had not been kind to her, but only had loved her at once, I should have done better, I am sure. As for girls being seen and not heard, I don’t think it applies to their families, Mr. Molyneux. It is all very well out in the world----”

“Out in the world one would rather they did say something now and then,” said Molyneux. “It may be good, but it is dull. We are in a new cycle of opinion, and don’t think as our grandfathers did. At the domestic hearth it might be very nice to have some one who would only speak when she was spoken to. There would be no quarrels then, Nelly; no settings up of independent judgment; no saying ‘Hold your tongue, sir----’”

“That ought to be said, however, sometimes,” said Nelly, making a little _moue_.

These were the light-horse skirmishings of conversation, part of that running dialogue about everything which these two young persons carried on in every corner, over everybody’s head, and through everybody’s talk. The others, to tell the truth, paid very little attention to their chatter, and Jenny came in with a steady march, as of the main body of the army along the beaten road.

“The question is, has she anything to say?” said Jenny. “I have felt myself, sometimes, What is the good of talking? I don’t blame you for not being fond of her, mother; for that, I suppose, you could not help. But she should not be left to go about like a ghost. I don’t believe in ghosts,” said the youth, propping himself up against the mantelpiece; “they are generally deceptions, or else it is quite impossible to prove them. But when I saw that girl I thought _she_ was one. Her face is a face out of a picture: I saw it once at the Louvre, the year we were abroad. And she has something very queer in her eyes; and she glides as if she had not any feet. Altogether she is queer. Don’t she take to anybody in the house?”

“She is fond of Frederick, I think,” said Mrs. Eastwood, faltering. Jenny formed his lips into the appearance of “Whew!” He was taken by surprise.

“Fond of Frederick, and not care for _them_!” he said to himself, under his breath; this was a very curious indication of character. I am not sure that Jenny did not think, like most other human creatures, that it was possible his own attractions and influence might “bring out” Innocent. He gave her a considerable share of his attention that evening, and kept his eyes upon her. He was a theoretical sort of boy, and had read a great deal of modern poetry, and liked to think that he could analyze character like Mr. Browning. He tried to throw himself so strongly into her position that he should see the workings of her mind, and why she looked like a ghost. How Jenny succeeded in this noble pursuit of his will be seen hereafter. It occupied his mind very much all that Sunday, during which Nelly and young Molyneux were still in the ascendant, though the first novelty of their glory was beginning to fade.