'OH, dear! I wish Hatfield had
not been so precipitate!' said
Rosalie next day at four P.M.,
as, with a portentous yawn, she
laid down her worsted-work and
looked listlessly towards the
window. 'There's no inducement
to go out now; and nothing to
look forward to. The days will
be so long and dull when there
are no parties to enliven them;
and there are none this week,
or next either, that I
know of.'
'Pity you were so cross to
him,' observed Matilda, to whom
this lamentation was addressed.
'He'll never come again: and
I suspect you liked him after
all. I hoped you would have taken
him for your beau, and left dear
Harry to me.'
'Humph! my beau must be an
Adonis indeed, Matilda, the admired
of all beholders, if I am to
be contented with him alone.
I'm sorry to lose Hatfield, I
confess; but the first decent
man, or number of men, that come
to supply his place, will be
more than welcome. It's Sunday
to-morrow - I do wonder how he'll
look, and whether he'll be able
to go through the service. Most
likely he'll pretend he's got
a cold, and make Mr. Weston do
it all.'
'Not he!' exclaimed Matilda,
somewhat contemptuously. 'Fool
as he is, he's not so soft as
that comes to.'
Her sister was slightly offended;
but the event proved Matilda
was right: the disappointed lover
performed his pastoral duties
as usual. Rosalie, indeed, affirmed
he looked very pale and dejected:
he might be a little paler; but
the difference, if any, was scarcely
perceptible. As for his dejection,
I certainly did not hear his
laugh ringing from the vestry
as usual, nor his voice loud
in hilarious discourse; though
I did hear it uplifted in rating
the sexton in a manner that made
the congregation stare; and,
in his transits to and from the
pulpit and the communion-table,
there was more of solemn pomp,
and less of that irreverent,
self-confident, or rather self-delighted
imperiousness with which he usually
swept along - that air that seemed
to say, 'You all reverence and
adore me, I know; but if anyone
does not, I defy him to the teeth!'
But the most remarkable change
was, that he never once suffered
his eyes to wander in the direction
of Mr. Murray's pew, and did
not leave the church till we
were gone.
Mr. Hatfield had doubtless
received a very severe blow;
but his pride impelled him to
use every effort to conceal the
effects of it. He had been disappointed
in his certain hope of obtaining
not only a beautiful, and, to
him, highly attractive wife,
but one whose rank and fortune
might give brilliance to far
inferior charms: he was likewise,
no doubt, intensely mortified
by his repulse, and deeply offended
at the conduct of Miss Murray
throughout. It would have given
him no little consolation to
have known how disappointed she
was to find him apparently so
little moved, and to see that
he was able to refrain from casting
a single glance at her throughout
both services; though, she declared,
it showed he was thinking of
her all the time, or his eyes
would have fallen upon her, if
it were only by chance: but if
they had so chanced to fall,
she would have affirmed it was
because they could not resist
the attraction. It might have
pleased him, too, in some degree,
to have seen how dull and dissatisfied
she was throughout that week
(the greater part of it, at least),
for lack of her usual source
of excitement; and how often
she regretted having 'used him
up so soon,' like a child that,
having devoured its plumcake
too hastily, sits sucking its
fingers, and vainly lamenting
its greediness.
At length I
was called upon, one fine morning,
to accompany
her in a walk to the village.
Ostensibly she went to get some
shades of Berlin wool, at a tolerably
respectable shop that was chiefly
supported by the ladies of the
vicinity: really - I trust there
is no breach of charity in supposing
that she went with the idea of
meeting either with the Rector
himself, or some other admirer
by the way; for as we went along,
she kept wondering 'what Hatfield
would do or say, if we met him,' &c. &c.;
as we passed Mr. Green's park-gates,
she 'wondered whether he was
at home - great stupid blockhead';
as Lady Meltham's carriage passed
us, she 'wondered what Mr. Harry
was doing this fine day'; and
then began to abuse his elder
brother for being 'such a fool
as to get married and go and
live in London.'
'Why,' said I, 'I thought you
wanted to live in London yourself.'
'Yes, because it's so dull
here: but then he makes it still
duller by taking himself off:
and if he were not married I
might have him instead of that
odious Sir Thomas.'
Then, observing the prints
of a horse's feet on the somewhat
miry road, she 'wondered whether
it was a gentleman's horse,'
and finally concluded it was,
for the impressions were too
small to have been made by a
'great clumsy cart-horse'; and
then she 'wondered who the rider
could be,' and whether we should
meet him coming back, for she
was sure he had only passed that
morning; and lastly, when we
entered the village and saw only
a few of its humble inhabitants
moving about, she 'wondered why
the stupid people couldn't keep
in their houses; she was sure
she didn't want to see their
ugly faces, and dirty, vulgar
clothes - it wasn't for that
she came to Horton!'
Amid all this, I confess, I
wondered, too, in secret, whether
we should meet, or catch a glimpse
of somebody else; and as we passed
his lodgings, I even went so
far as to wonder whether he was
at the window. On entering the
shop, Miss Murray desired me
to stand in the doorway while
she transacted her business,
and tell her if anyone passed.
But alas! there was no one visible
besides the villagers, except
Jane and Susan Green coming down
the single street, apparently
returning from a walk.
'Stupid things!' muttered she,
as she came out after having
concluded her bargain. 'Why couldn't
they have their dolt of a brother
with them? even he would be better
than nothing.'
She greeted them, however,
with a cheerful smile, and protestations
of pleasure at the happy meeting
equal to their own. They placed
themselves one on each side of
her, and all three walked away
chatting and laughing as young
ladies do when they get together,
if they be but on tolerably intimate
terms. But I, feeling myself
to be one too many, left them
to their merriment and lagged
behind, as usual on such occasions:
I had no relish for walking beside
Miss Green or Miss Susan like
one deaf and dumb, who could
neither speak nor be spoken to.
But this time I was not long
alone. It struck me, first, as
very odd, that just as I was
thinking about Mr. Weston he
should come up and accost me;
but afterwards, on due reflection,
I thought there was nothing odd
about it, unless it were the
fact of his speaking to me; for
on such a morning and so near
his own abode, it was natural
enough that he should be about;
and as for my thinking of him,
I had been doing that, with little
intermission, ever since we set
out on our journey; so there
was nothing remarkable in that.
'You are alone again, Miss
Grey,' said he.
'Yes.'
'What kind of people are those
ladies - the Misses Green?'
'I really don't know.'
'That's strange - when you
live so near and see them so
often!'
'Well, I suppose they are lively,
good-tempered girls; but I imagine
you must know them better than
I do, yourself, for I never exchanged
a word with either of them.'
'Indeed? They don't strike
me as being particularly reserved.'
'Very likely they are not so
to people of their own class;
but they consider themselves
as moving in quite a different
sphere from me!'
He made no reply to this: but
after a short pause, he said,
- 'I suppose it's these things,
Miss Grey, that make you think
you could not live without a
home?'
'Not exactly. The fact is I
am too socially disposed to be
able to live contentedly without
a friend; and as the only friends
I have, or am likely to have,
are at home, if it - or rather,
if they were gone - I will not
say I could not live - but I
would rather not live in such
a desolate world.'
'But why do you say the only
friends you are likely to have?
Are you so unsociable that you
cannot make friends?'
'No, but I never made one yet;
and in my present position there
is no possibility of doing so,
or even of forming a common acquaintance.
The fault may be partly in myself,
but I hope not altogether.'
'The fault is partly in society,
and partly, I should think, in
your immediate neighbours: and
partly, too, in yourself; for
many ladies, in your position,
would make themselves be noticed
and accounted of. But your pupils
should be companions for you
in some degree; they cannot be
many years younger than yourself.'
'Oh, yes, they are good company
sometimes; but I cannot call
them friends, nor would they
think of bestowing such a name
on me - they have other companions
better suited to their tastes.'
'Perhaps you are too wise for
them. How do you amuse yourself
when alone - do you read much?'
'Reading is my favourite occupation,
when I have leisure for it and
books to read.'
From speaking of books in general,
he passed to different books
in particular, and proceeded
by rapid transitions from topic
to topic, till several matters,
both of taste and opinion, had
been discussed considerably within
the space of half an hour, but
without the embellishment of
many observations from himself;
he being evidently less bent
upon communicating his own thoughts
and predilections, than on discovering
mine. He had not the tact, or
the art, to effect such a purpose
by skilfully drawing out my sentiments
or ideas through the real or
apparent statement of his own,
or leading the conversation by
imperceptible gradations to such
topics as he wished to advert
to: but such gentle abruptness,
and such single- minded straightforwardness,
could not possibly offend me.
'And why should he interest
himself at all in my moral and
intellectual capacities: what
is it to him what I think or
feel?' I asked myself. And my
heart throbbed in answer to the
question.
But Jane and Susan Green soon
reached their home. As they stood
parleying at the park-gates,
attempting to persuade Miss Murray
to come in, I wished Mr. Weston
would go, that she might not
see him with me when she turned
round; but, unfortunately, his
business, which was to pay one
more visit to poor Mark Wood,
led him to pursue the same path
as we did, till nearly the close
of our journey. When, however,
he saw that Rosalie had taken
leave of her friends and I was
about to join her, he would have
left me and passed on at a quicker
pace; but, as he civilly lifted
his hat in passing her, to my
surprise, instead of returning
the salute with a stiff, ungracious
bow, she accosted him with one
of her sweetest smiles, and,
walking by his side, began to
talk to him with all imaginable
cheerfulness and affability;
and so we proceeded all three
together.
After a short pause in the
conversation, Mr. Weston made
some remark addressed particularly
to me, as referring to something
we had been talking of before;
but before I could answer, Miss
Murray replied to the observation
and enlarged upon it: he rejoined;
and, from thence to the close
of the interview, she engrossed
him entirely to herself. It might
be partly owing to my own stupidity,
my want of tact and assurance:
but I felt myself wronged: I
trembled with apprehension; and
I listened with envy to her easy,
rapid flow of utterance, and
saw with anxiety the bright smile
with which she looked into his
face from time to time: for she
was walking a little in advance,
for the purpose (as I judged)
of being seen as well as heard.
If her conversation was light
and trivial, it was amusing,
and she was never at a loss for
something to say, or for suitable
words to express it in. There
was nothing pert or flippant
in her manner now, as when she
walked with Mr. Hatfield, there
was only a gentle, playful kind
of vivacity, which I thought
must be peculiarly pleasing to
a man of Mr. Weston's disposition
and temperament.
When he was gone she began
to laugh, and muttered to herself,
'I thought I could do it!'
'Do what?' I asked.
'Fix that man.'
'What in the world do you mean?'
'I mean that he will go home
and dream of me. I have shot
him through the heart!'
'How do you know?'
'By many infallible proofs:
more especially the look he gave
me when he went away. It was
not an impudent look - I exonerate
him from that - it was a look
of reverential, tender adoration.
Ha, ha! he's not quite such a
stupid blockhead as I thought
him!'
I made no answer, for my heart
was in my throat, or something
like it, and I could not trust
myself to speak. 'O God, avert
it!' I cried, internally - 'for
his sake, not for mine!'
Miss Murray made several trivial
observations as we passed up
the park, to which (in spite
of my reluctance to let one glimpse
of my feelings appear) I could
only answer by monosyllables.
Whether she intended to torment
me, or merely to amuse herself,
I could not tell - and did not
much care; but I thought of the
poor man and his one lamb, and
the rich man with his thousand
flocks; and I dreaded I knew
not what for Mr. Weston, independently
of my own blighted hopes.
Right glad was I to get into
the house, and find myself alone
once more in my own room. My
first impulse was to sink into
the chair beside the bed; and
laying my head on the pillow,
to seek relief in a passionate
burst of tears: there was an
imperative craving for such an
indulgence; but, alas! I must
restrain and swallow back my
feelings still: there was the
bell - the odious bell for the
schoolroom dinner; and I must
go down with a calm face, and
smile, and laugh, and talk nonsense
- yes, and eat, too, if possible,
as if all was right, and I was
just returned from a pleasant
walk.
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