Sept. 23rd. - Our guests arrived
about three weeks ago. Lord and
Lady Lowborough have now been
married above eight months; and
I will do the lady the credit
to say that her husband is quite
an altered man; his looks, his
spirits, and his temper, are
all perceptibly changed for the
better since I last saw him.
But there is room for improvement
still. He is not always cheerful,
nor always contented, and she
often complains of his ill-humour,
which, however, of all persons,
she ought to be the last to accuse
him of, as he never displays
it against her, except for such
conduct as would provoke a saint.
He adores her still, and would
go to the world's end to please
her. She knows her power, and
she uses it too; but well knowing
that to wheedle and coax is safer
than to command, she judiciously
tempers her despotism with flattery
and blandishments enough to make
him deem himself a favoured and
a
happy man.
But she has a way of tormenting
him, in which I am a fellow-
sufferer, or might be, if I chose
to regard myself as such. This
is by openly, but not too glaringly,
coquetting with Mr. Huntingdon,
who is quite willing to be her
partner in the game; but I don't
care for it, because, with him,
I know there is nothing but personal
vanity, and a mischievous desire
to excite my jealousy, and, perhaps,
to torment his friend; and she,
no doubt, is actuated by much
the same motives; only, there
is more of malice and less of
playfulness in her manoeuvres.
It is obviously, therefore, my
interest to disappoint them both,
as far as I am concerned, by
preserving a cheerful, undisturbed
serenity throughout; and, accordingly,
I endeavour to show the fullest
confidence in my husband, and
the greatest indifference to
the arts of my attractive guest.
I have never reproached the former
but once, and that was for laughing
at Lord Lowborough's depressed
and anxious countenance one evening,
when they had both been particularly
provoking; and then, indeed,
I said a good deal on the subject,
and rebuked him sternly enough;
but he only laughed, and said,
- 'You can feel for him, Helen,
can't you?'
'I can feel for anyone that
is unjustly treated,' I replied,
'and I can feel for those that
injure them too.'
'Why, Helen, you are as jealous
as he is!' cried he, laughing
still more; and I found it impossible
to convince him of his mistake.
So, from that time, I have carefully
refrained from any notice of
the subject whatever, and left
Lord Lowborough to take care
of himself. He either has not
the sense or the power to follow
my example, though he does try
to conceal his uneasiness as
well as he can; but still, it
will appear in his face, and
his ill-humour will peep out
at intervals, though not in the
expression of open resentment
- they never go far enough for
that. But I confess I do feel
jealous at times, most painfully,
bitterly so; when she sings and
plays to him, and he hangs over
the instrument, and dwells upon
her voice with no affected interest;
for then I know he is really
delighted, and I have no power
to awaken similar fervour. I
can amuse and please him with
my simple songs, but not delight
him thus.
28th. - Yesterday, we all went
to the Grove, Mr. Hargrave's
much- neglected home. His mother
frequently asks us over, that
she may have the pleasure of
her dear Walter's company; and
this time she had invited us
to a dinner-party, and got together
as many of the country gentry
as were within reach to meet
us. The entertainment was very
well got up; but I could not
help thinking about the cost
of it all the time. I don't like
Mrs. Hargrave; she is a hard,
pretentious, worldly-minded woman.
She has money enough to live
very comfortably, if she only
knew how to use it judiciously,
and had taught her son to do
the same; but she is ever straining
to keep up appearances, with
that despicable pride that shuns
the semblance of poverty as of
a shameful crime. She grinds
her dependents, pinches her servants,
and deprives even her daughters
and herself of the real comforts
of life, because she will not
consent to yield the palm in
outward show to those who have
three times her wealth; and,
above all, because she is determined
her cherished son shall be enabled
to 'hold up his head with the
highest gentlemen in the land.'
This same son, I imagine, is
a man of expensive habits, no
reckless spendthrift and no abandoned
sensualist, but one who likes
to have 'everything handsome
about him,' and to go to a certain
length in youthful indulgences,
not so much to gratify his own
tastes as to maintain his reputation
as a man of fashion in the world,
and a respectable fellow among
his own lawless companions; while
he is too selfish to consider
how many comforts might be obtained
for his fond mother and sisters
with the money he thus wastes
upon himself: as long as they
can contrive to make a respectable
appearance once a year, when
they come to town, he gives himself
little concern about their private
stintings and struggles at home.
This is a harsh judgment to form
of 'dear, noble-minded, generous-hearted
Walter,' but I fear it is too
just.
Mrs. Hargrave's anxiety to
make good matches for her daughters
is partly the cause, and partly
the result, of these errors:
by making a figure in the world,
and showing them off to advantage,
she hopes to obtain better chances
for them; and by thus living
beyond her legitimate means,
and lavishing so much on their
brother, she renders them portionless,
and makes them burdens on her
hands. Poor Milicent, I fear,
has already fallen a sacrifice
to the manoeuvrings of this mistaken
mother, who congratulates herself
on having so satisfactorily discharged
her maternal duty, and hopes
to do as well for Esther. But
Esther is a child as yet, a little
merry romp of fourteen: as honest-hearted,
and as guileless and simple as
her sister, but with a fearless
spirit of her own, that I fancy
her mother will find some difficulty
in bending to her purposes.
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