An Old Man's Love
then the squires had taken him by the hand, so that the social
endowments of the place were more than Mr Whittlestaff even desired.
CHAPTER III.
MARY LAWRIE.
There is nothing more difficult in the writing of a story than to
describe adequately the person of a hero or a heroine, so as to place
before the mind of the reader any clear picture of him or her who
is described. A courtship is harder still--so hard that we may say
generally that it is impossible. Southey's Lodore is supposed to have
been effective; but let any one with the words in his memory stand
beside the waterfall and say whether it is such as the words have
painted it. It rushes and it foams, as described by the poet, much
more violently than does the real water; and so does everything
described, unless in the hands of a wonderful master. But I have
clear images on my brain of the characters of the persons introduced.
I know with fair accuracy what was intended by the character as given
of Amelia Booth, of Clarissa, of Di Vernon, and of Maggie Tulliver.
But as their persons have not been drawn with the pencil for me by
the artists who themselves created them, I have no conception how
they looked. Of Thackeray's Beatrix I have a vivid idea, because
she was drawn for him by an artist under his own eye. I have now to
describe Mary Lawrie, but have no artist who will take the trouble
to learn my thoughts and to reproduce them. Consequently I fear that
no true idea of the young lady can be conveyed to the reader; and
that I must leave him to entertain such a notion of her carriage and
demeanour as must come to him at the end from the reading of the
whole book.
But the attempt must be made, if only for fashion sake, so that no
adventitious help may be wanting to him, or more probably to her, who
may care to form for herself a personification of Mary Lawrie. She
was a tall, thin, staid girl, who never put herself forward in any of
those walks of life in which such a young lady as she is called upon
to show herself. She was silent and reserved, and sometimes startled,
even when appealed to in a household so quiet as that of Mr
Whittlestaff. Those who had seen her former life had known that she
had lived under the dominion of her step-mother, and had so accounted
for her manner. And then, added to this, was the sense of entire
dependence on a stranger, which, no doubt, helped to quell her
spirit. But Mr Whittlestaff had eyes with which to see and ears with
which to hear, and was not to be taken in by the outward appearance
of the young lady. He had perceived that under that quiet guise and
timid startled look there existed a power of fighting a battle for
herself or for a friend, if an occasion should arise which should
appear to herself to be sufficient. He had known her as one of her
father's household, and of her step-mother's; and had seen probably
some little instance of self-assertion, such as had not yet made
itself apparent to Mrs Baggett.
A man who had met her once, and for a few minutes only, would
certainly not declare her to be beautiful. She, too, like Mr
Whittlestaff, was always contented to pass unobserved. But the chance
man, had he seen her for long, would surely remark that Miss Lawrie
was an attractive girl; and had he heard her talk freely on any
matter of interest, would have called her very attractive. She would
blaze up into sudden eloquence, and then would become shame-stricken,
and abashed, and dumfounded, so as to show that she had for a
moment forgotten her audience, and then the audience,--the chance
man,--would surely set his wits to work and try to reproduce in her a
renewal of that intimacy to which she had seemed to yield herself for
the moment.
But yet I am not describing her after the accepted fashion. I should
produce a catalogue of features, and tell how every one of them
was formed. Her hair was dark, and worn very plain, but with that
graceful care which shows that the owner has not slurred over her
toilet with hurried negligence. Of complexion it can hardly be said
that she had any; so little was the appearance of her countenance
diversified by a change of hue. If I am bound to declare her colour,
I must, in truth, say that she was brown. There was none even of that
flying hue which is supposed to be intended when a woman is called a
brunette. When she first came to Croker's Hall, health produced no
variation. Nor did any such come quickly; though before she had lived
there a year and a half, now and again a slight tinge of dark ruby
would show itself on her cheek, and then vanish almost quicker than
it had come. Mr Whittlestaff, when he would see this, would be
almost beside himself in admiration.
Her eyes were deep blue, so deep that the casual observer would not
at first recognise their colour. But when you had perceived that they
were blue, and had brought the fact home to your knowledge, their
blueness remained with you as a thing fixed for ever. And you would
feel, if you yourself were thoughtful and contemplative, and much
given to study a lady's eyes, that, such as they were, every lady
would possess the like if only it were given to her to choose.
Her nose was slight and fine, and perhaps lent to her face, of all
her features, its most special grace. Her lips, alas! were too thin
for true female beauty, and lacked that round and luscious fulness
which seems in many a girl's face to declare the purpose for which
they were made. Through them her white teeth would occasionally be
seen, and then her face was at its best, as, for instance, when she
was smiling; but that was seldom; and at other moments it seemed as
though she were too careful to keep her mouth closed.
But if her mouth was defective, the symmetry of her chin, carrying
with it the oval of her cheek and jaws, was perfect. How many a
face, otherwise lovely to look upon, is made mean and comparatively
base, either by the lengthening or the shortening of the chin! That
absolute perfection which Miss Lawrie owned, we do not, perhaps,
often meet. But when found, I confess that nothing to me gives so
sure an evidence of true blood and good-breeding.
Such is the catalogue of Mary Lawrie's features, drawn out with care
by one who has delighted for many hours to sit and look at them.
All the power of language which the writer possesses has been used
in thus reproducing them. But now, when this portion of his work
is done, he feels sure that no reader of his novel will have the
slightest idea of what Mary Lawrie was like.
An incident must now be told of her early life, of which she never
spoke to man, woman, or child. Her step-mother had known the
circumstance, but had rarely spoken of it. There had come across her
path in Norwich a young man who had stirred her heart, and had won
her affections. But the young man had passed on, and there, as far as
the present and the past were concerned, had been an end of it. The
young man had been no favourite with her step-mother; and her father,
who was almost on his death-bed, had heard what was going on almost
without a remark. He had been told that the man was penniless, and
as his daughter had been to him the dearest thing upon earth, he had
been glad to save himself the pain of expressing disapproval. John
Gordon had, however, been a gentleman, and was fit in all things to
be the husband of such a girl as Mary Lawrie,--except that he was
penniless, and she, also, had possessed nothing. He had passed on his
way without speaking, and had gone--even Mary did not know whither.
She had accepted her fate, and had never allowed the name of John
Gordon to pass her lips.
The days passed very quickly at Croker's Hall, but not so quickly but
that Mary knew well what was going on in Mr Whittlestaff's mind. How
is it that a girl understands to a certainty the state of a man's
heart in regard to her,--or rather, not his heart, but his purpose? A
girl may believe that a man loves her, and may be deceived; but she
will not be deceived as to whether he wishes to marry her. Gradually
came the conviction on Miss Lawrie's mind of Mr Whittlestaff's
purpose. And, as it did so, came the conviction also that she could
not do it. Of this he saw nothing; but he was instigated by it to
be more eager,--and was at the same time additionally abashed by
something in her manner which made him feel that the task before him
was not an easy one.
Mrs Baggett, who knew well all the symptoms as her master displayed
them, became angry with Mary Lawrie. Who was Mary Lawrie, that she
should take upon herself to deny Mr Whittlestaff anything? No
doubt it would, as she told herself, be better for Mrs Baggett in
many respects that her master should remain unmarried. She assured
herself that if a mistress were put over her head, she must retire
to Portsmouth,--which, of all places for her, had the dreariest
memories. She could remain where she was very well, while Mary Lawrie
remained also where she was. But it provoked her to think that the
offer should be made to the girl and should be refused. "What on
earth it is they sees in 'em, is what I never can understand. She
ain't pretty,--not to say,--and she looks as though butter wouldn't
melt in her mouth. But she's got it inside her, and some of them days
it'll come out." Then Mrs Baggett determined that she would have a
few words on the subject with Mary Lawrie.
Mary had now been a year and four months at Croker's Hall, and had,
under pressure from Mr Whittlestaff, assumed something of the manner
rather than of the airs of a mistress to Mrs Baggett. This the old
woman did not at all resent, because the reality of power was still
in her hands; but she could not endure that the idolatry of love
should always be present in her master's face. If the young woman
would only become Mrs Whittlestaff, then the idolatry would pass
away. At any rate, her master would not continue "to make an ass of
himself," as Mrs Baggett phrased it.
"Don't you think, Miss, as that Mr Whittlestaff is looking very
peeky?"
"Is he, Mrs Baggett?"
"'Deed and he is, to my thinking; and it's all along of you. He's got
a fancy into his mind,--and why shouldn't he have his fancy?"
"I don't know, I'm sure." But Mary did know. She did know what the
fancy was, and why Mr Whittlestaff shouldn't have it.
"I tell you fairly, Miss, there is nothing I hate so much as vagaries
in young women."
"I hope there are no vagaries to be hated in me, Mrs Baggett."
"Well, I'm not quite so sure. You do go as straightforward as most
on 'em; but I ain't quite sure but that there are a few twists and
twirls. What do you suppose he wants to be at?"
"How am I to say?" Then she bethought herself that were she to tell
the truth, she could say very well.
"Do you mean as you don't know?" said the old woman.
"Am I bound to tell you if I do know?"
"If you wish to do the best for him, you are. What's the good of
beating about the bush? Why don't you have him?"
Mary did not quite know whether it behoved her to be angry with the
old servant, and if so, how she was to show her anger. "You shouldn't
talk such nonsense, Mrs Baggett."
"That's all very well. It is all nonsense; but nonsense has to be
talked sometimes. Here's a gentleman as you owe everything to. If he
wanted your head from your shoulders, you shouldn't make any scruple.
What are you, that you shouldn't let a gentleman like him have his
own way? Asking your pardon, but I don't mean it any way out of
disrespect. Of course it would be all agin me. An old woman doesn't
want to have a young mistress over her head, and if she's my sperrit,
she wouldn't bear it. I won't, any way."
"Then why do you ask me to do this thing?"
"Because a gentleman like him should have his own way. And an old hag