Middlemarch
fetched his own old bow and arrows, and was making himself dreadfully
disagreeable, Letty thought, by begging all present to observe his
random shots, which no one wished to do except Brownie, the
active-minded but probably shallow mongrel, while the grizzled
Newfoundland lying in the sun looked on with the dull-eyed neutrality
of extreme old age. Letty herself, showing as to her mouth and pinafore
some slight signs that she had been assisting at the gathering of the
cherries which stood in a coral-heap on the tea-table, was now seated
on the grass, listening open-eyed to the reading.
But the centre of interest was changed for all by the arrival of Fred
Vincy. When, seating himself on a garden-stool, he said that he was on
his way to Lowick Parsonage, Ben, who had thrown down his bow, and
snatched up a reluctant half-grown kitten instead, strode across Fred’s
outstretched leg, and said “Take me!”
“Oh, and me too,” said Letty.
“You can’t keep up with Fred and me,” said Ben.
“Yes, I can. Mother, please say that I am to go,” urged Letty, whose
life was much checkered by resistance to her depreciation as a girl.
“I shall stay with Christy,” observed Jim; as much as to say that he
had the advantage of those simpletons; whereupon Letty put her hand up
to her head and looked with jealous indecision from the one to the
other.
“Let us all go and see Mary,” said Christy, opening his arms.
“No, my dear child, we must not go in a swarm to the parsonage. And
that old Glasgow suit of yours would never do. Besides, your father
will come home. We must let Fred go alone. He can tell Mary that you
are here, and she will come back to-morrow.”
Christy glanced at his own threadbare knees, and then at Fred’s
beautiful white trousers. Certainly Fred’s tailoring suggested the
advantages of an English university, and he had a graceful way even of
looking warm and of pushing his hair back with his handkerchief.
“Children, run away,” said Mrs. Garth; “it is too warm to hang about
your friends. Take your brother and show him the rabbits.”
The eldest understood, and led off the children immediately. Fred felt
that Mrs. Garth wished to give him an opportunity of saying anything he
had to say, but he could only begin by observing—
“How glad you must be to have Christy here!”
“Yes; he has come sooner than I expected. He got down from the coach at
nine o’clock, just after his father went out. I am longing for Caleb to
come and hear what wonderful progress Christy is making. He has paid
his expenses for the last year by giving lessons, carrying on hard
study at the same time. He hopes soon to get a private tutorship and go
abroad.”
“He is a great fellow,” said Fred, to whom these cheerful truths had a
medicinal taste, “and no trouble to anybody.” After a slight pause, he
added, “But I fear you will think that I am going to be a great deal of
trouble to Mr. Garth.”
“Caleb likes taking trouble: he is one of those men who always do more
than any one would have thought of asking them to do,” answered Mrs.
Garth. She was knitting, and could either look at Fred or not, as she
chose—always an advantage when one is bent on loading speech with
salutary meaning; and though Mrs. Garth intended to be duly reserved,
she did wish to say something that Fred might be the better for.
“I know you think me very undeserving, Mrs. Garth, and with good
reason,” said Fred, his spirit rising a little at the perception of
something like a disposition to lecture him. “I happen to have behaved
just the worst to the people I can’t help wishing for the most from.
But while two men like Mr. Garth and Mr. Farebrother have not given me
up, I don’t see why I should give myself up.” Fred thought it might be
well to suggest these masculine examples to Mrs. Garth.
“Assuredly,” said she, with gathering emphasis. “A young man for whom
two such elders had devoted themselves would indeed be culpable if he
threw himself away and made their sacrifices vain.”
Fred wondered a little at this strong language, but only said, “I hope
it will not be so with me, Mrs. Garth, since I have some encouragement
to believe that I may win Mary. Mr. Garth has told you about that? You
were not surprised, I dare say?” Fred ended, innocently referring only
to his own love as probably evident enough.
“Not surprised that Mary has given you encouragement?” returned Mrs.
Garth, who thought it would be well for Fred to be more alive to the
fact that Mary’s friends could not possibly have wished this
beforehand, whatever the Vincys might suppose. “Yes, I confess I was
surprised.”
“She never did give me any—not the least in the world, when I talked to
her myself,” said Fred, eager to vindicate Mary. “But when I asked Mr.
Farebrother to speak for me, she allowed him to tell me there was a
hope.”
The power of admonition which had begun to stir in Mrs. Garth had not
yet discharged itself. It was a little too provoking even for _her_
self-control that this blooming youngster should flourish on the
disappointments of sadder and wiser people—making a meal of a
nightingale and never knowing it—and that all the while his family
should suppose that hers was in eager need of this sprig; and her
vexation had fermented the more actively because of its total
repression towards her husband. Exemplary wives will sometimes find
scapegoats in this way. She now said with energetic decision, “You made
a great mistake, Fred, in asking Mr. Farebrother to speak for you.”
“Did I?” said Fred, reddening instantaneously. He was alarmed, but at a
loss to know what Mrs. Garth meant, and added, in an apologetic tone,
“Mr. Farebrother has always been such a friend of ours; and Mary, I
knew, would listen to him gravely; and he took it on himself quite
readily.”
“Yes, young people are usually blind to everything but their own
wishes, and seldom imagine how much those wishes cost others,” said
Mrs. Garth. She did not mean to go beyond this salutary general
doctrine, and threw her indignation into a needless unwinding of her
worsted, knitting her brow at it with a grand air.
“I cannot conceive how it could be any pain to Mr. Farebrother,” said
Fred, who nevertheless felt that surprising conceptions were beginning
to form themselves.
“Precisely; you cannot conceive,” said Mrs. Garth, cutting her words as
neatly as possible.
For a moment Fred looked at the horizon with a dismayed anxiety, and
then turning with a quick movement said almost sharply—
“Do you mean to say, Mrs. Garth, that Mr. Farebrother is in love with
Mary?”
“And if it were so, Fred, I think you are the last person who ought to
be surprised,” returned Mrs. Garth, laying her knitting down beside her
and folding her arms. It was an unwonted sign of emotion in her that
she should put her work out of her hands. In fact her feelings were
divided between the satisfaction of giving Fred his discipline and the
sense of having gone a little too far. Fred took his hat and stick and
rose quickly.
“Then you think I am standing in his way, and in Mary’s too?” he said,
in a tone which seemed to demand an answer.
Mrs. Garth could not speak immediately. She had brought herself into
the unpleasant position of being called on to say what she really felt,
yet what she knew there were strong reasons for concealing. And to her
the consciousness of having exceeded in words was peculiarly
mortifying. Besides, Fred had given out unexpected electricity, and he
now added, “Mr. Garth seemed pleased that Mary should be attached to
me. He could not have known anything of this.”
Mrs. Garth felt a severe twinge at this mention of her husband, the
fear that Caleb might think her in the wrong not being easily
endurable. She answered, wanting to check unintended consequences—
“I spoke from inference only. I am not aware that Mary knows anything
of the matter.”
But she hesitated to beg that he would keep entire silence on a subject
which she had herself unnecessarily mentioned, not being used to stoop
in that way; and while she was hesitating there was already a rush of
unintended consequences under the apple-tree where the tea-things
stood. Ben, bouncing across the grass with Brownie at his heels, and
seeing the kitten dragging the knitting by a lengthening line of wool,
shouted and clapped his hands; Brownie barked, the kitten, desperate,
jumped on the tea-table and upset the milk, then jumped down again and
swept half the cherries with it; and Ben, snatching up the half-knitted
sock-top, fitted it over the kitten’s head as a new source of madness,
while Letty arriving cried out to her mother against this cruelty—it
was a history as full of sensation as “This is the house that Jack
built.” Mrs. Garth was obliged to interfere, the other young ones came
up and the _tête-à-tête_ with Fred was ended. He got away as soon as he
could, and Mrs. Garth could only imply some retractation of her
severity by saying “God bless you” when she shook hands with him.
She was unpleasantly conscious that she had been on the verge of
speaking as “one of the foolish women speaketh”—telling first and
entreating silence after. But she had not entreated silence, and to
prevent Caleb’s blame she determined to blame herself and confess all
to him that very night. It was curious what an awful tribunal the mild
Caleb’s was to her, whenever he set it up. But she meant to point out
to him that the revelation might do Fred Vincy a great deal of good.
No doubt it was having a strong effect on him as he walked to Lowick.
Fred’s light hopeful nature had perhaps never had so much of a bruise
as from this suggestion that if he had been out of the way Mary might
have made a thoroughly good match. Also he was piqued that he had been
what he called such a stupid lout as to ask that intervention from Mr.
Farebrother. But it was not in a lover’s nature—it was not in Fred’s,
that the new anxiety raised about Mary’s feeling should not surmount
every other. Notwithstanding his trust in Mr. Farebrother’s generosity,
notwithstanding what Mary had said to him, Fred could not help feeling
that he had a rival: it was a new consciousness, and he objected to it
extremely, not being in the least ready to give up Mary for her good,
being ready rather to fight for her with any man whatsoever. But the
fighting with Mr. Farebrother must be of a metaphorical kind, which was
much more difficult to Fred than the muscular. Certainly this
experience was a discipline for Fred hardly less sharp than his
disappointment about his uncle’s will. The iron had not entered into
his soul, but he had begun to imagine what the sharp edge would be. It
did not once occur to Fred that Mrs. Garth might be mistaken about Mr.
Farebrother, but he suspected that she might be wrong about Mary. Mary
had been staying at the parsonage lately, and her mother might know
very little of what had been passing in her mind.
He did not feel easier when he found her looking cheerful with the
three ladies in the drawing-room. They were in animated discussion on
some subject which was dropped when he entered, and Mary was copying
the labels from a heap of shallow cabinet drawers, in a minute
handwriting which she was skilled in. Mr. Farebrother was somewhere in
the village, and the three ladies knew nothing of Fred’s peculiar
relation to Mary: it was impossible for either of them to propose that
they should walk round the garden, and Fred predicted to himself that
he should have to go away without saying a word to her in private. He
told her first of Christy’s arrival and then of his own engagement with
her father; and he was comforted by seeing that this latter news
touched her keenly. She said hurriedly, “I am so glad,” and then bent
over her writing to hinder any one from noticing her face. But here was