Читать книгу Trevethlan: A Cornish Story. Volume 3 - Watson William Davy - Страница 5

As Mr. Winston's suggestion to his wife, that she should ask Miss Trevethlan to their house, seemed suddenly to improve their mutual understanding, so did Helen's acceptance of the invitation make them still better known to each other. Among the commonest and worst features of unions like theirs, is a prejudice on one side or the other that happiness is impossible, which closes every avenue to amelioration. The discontented parties have eyes only for defects. The heart which accepted the match with ill-disguised repugnance, is subsequently too proud to admit it was in error. It will not resign the privilege of complaint. It insists on continually galling itself with what it calls its chains. It hugs the satisfaction of considering itself ill-used. For the world, it would not allow itself, even in reverie, to be at ease. Yet, when there is no real deficiency either in character or temper, a hopeful spirit will probably soon find grounds for esteem, and esteem will be likely to ripen into affection. And then the very contrasts of disposition which at first appeared to preclude sympathy, will really promote it, by furnishing opportunities for good-humoured mirth, instead of objects for silent peevishness.

Gertrude Winston had never thought it worth her while to understand her husband. She married him as a pure negation, preferring King Log to King Stork. He was neither sulky, nor mean, nor selfish; he was not meddlesome, nor fidgety, nor exacting. His wife never heard a sharp word from his lips. Surely she might have taken the trouble to go a little below the surface, and see if his pedantry and apathy concealed no qualities which she might first admire, and then love. But no; she had determined to be a "victim," and resolutely closed both heart and mind against any appreciation of whatever might be endearing in his disposition. And for him,—indolent and even-tempered, having married because people usually married, in the same way as they were born and buried,—he certainly took no pains to display his merits, and allowed his wife to do exactly as she pleased, without let or hinderance.

And Gertrude did not abuse the licence. She would not have asked Helen to her house without consulting her husband. In his ready though measured proposal to that effect, Mrs. Winston felt there was a kindness which she had failed to perceive in all his previous demeanour towards her. And when their guest arrived, he surprised her still more by rousing himself from his monotonous pursuits to find sources of interest and amusement for Miss Trevethlan. Gertrude was far above jealousy, and attributed his attentions to their true motive,—a desire to alleviate the anxiety of their new friend.

Yet was Helen one who might well awaken the domestic fiend. Rather under the average height of woman, but of a full and luxurious form, she moved with that soft and undulating mien which fascinates even from afar; and if, allured by the figure, you permitted yourself to advance and look upon the face, you would find it was worthy of the shape. You would see a forehead of the purest white, not very high, but broad and serene, shaded by long dark ringlets, and supported by eyebrows of the same colour, rather far apart, and very slightly arched. Under these you would look into eyes also as dark as night, so gentle and so fond, that well would it be for you if they did not haunt your slumbers for many a night to come. Their long lashes drooped over cheeks perhaps a thought too pale, but so transparently fair that they flushed with every transient emotion, and then almost rivalled the full and tempting lips, which lost themselves in dimples at each corner, and showed that the pensiveness usually characterizing the countenance was not unwilling to give place to any gaiety of the hour.

At the present time, however, pensiveness prevailed, and increased the contrast which Helen's beauty always presented to the attractions of her cousins. She might trace in Mrs. Winston a strong resemblance to the features of the miniature found upon her father's heart, which she had since worn upon hers, and whose original she detected at that eventful visit to the opera. There were the same inscrutable dark eyes, like those in which Charles Lamb said lurked the depth of Jael; there were the same haughty will, and the same decision of purpose; but there was, Helen thought, something more of tenderness and less of disdain.

She had been but a very short time in Cavendish-square when she made the acquaintance of Mildred. Having informed her sister of her invitation, Mrs. Winston could scarcely avoid the introduction, although she was cognizant of a certain secret. Helen possessed no corresponding knowledge, yet a gentle confidence grew up between the maidens, and Mildred perhaps regarded her cousin as not unlikely to be more nearly related to her. Naturally also, and unavoidably, she heard not a little concerning Randolph, and listened to such intelligence with no untroubled heart.

Indeed she had begun to think of him more than was prudent; forced into the recollection by her situation at home. She saw that Mrs. Pendarrel was daily proceeding in the same course she had adopted in Cornwall, and that she herself was becoming more and more involved in conduct which she loathed. She found it very difficult to procure an explanation with her mother, for since the short colloquy in which she attempted to remonstrate the morning after the country party, Mrs. Pendarrel had abruptly checked all further efforts of the same sort. At length, half in despair, Mildred thought of appealing, perhaps for the first time in her life, to her father.

It was a very poor prospect. The scheming younger brother had long sunk into the intriguing political hack. Obsequious, cold, worldly-minded, and correct, was Mr. Trevethlan Pendarrel. He would as soon have thought of absenting himself from a division, as of interfering with his wife's domestic rule. He dared not even object to her lavish expenditure, although he was fonder of money than of anything else; and he was too dull a plodder in official harness to understand the jests sometimes made at his expense. He was greatly surprised when his daughter intercepted him one day on his return home, and led him into a parlour.

"Papa," Mildred said, "I am sure you love me."

"Of course, of course," he answered. "But your mamma takes care of all that." He thought she was going to ask for money.

"But pray do hear me, papa. They say … This marriage...."

"Of course, my dear. Your mamma has arranged it all. Very agreeable man, Mr. Melcomb. Calls me Petruchio. Marriage! Why, you'll be the envy of half the ladies in London!"

"But, papa, it cannot be. I have told him so."

"Cannot! I don't understand. You must speak to mamma. She manages it all. There—there—"

So saying, he kissed her cheek hastily and departed. Mildred knew not where to turn. Her mother's tactics defeated the support which she had expected from Mrs. Winston, for although the latter threw all the discredit she could upon the rumours of the approaching marriage, no pretence was afforded for any interference of a more active kind. But Mildred, becoming more and more restless, at length seized an opportunity of telling her mother suddenly, that she would go no more into society until the report of her engagement was positively contradicted. Mrs. Pendarrel flew into a violent rage. All her plans were very far advanced. Almost every particular was definitely settled. She was flushed with her triumph at Bodmin. Was everything to be undone by the whim of a foolish girl?

"What!" Esther exclaimed, with fury sparkling in her eyes, "have you courage to be openly disobedient? Will you dare to fly in my face? Do you think to make me wanting to my pledged word? Do you imagine I will bear the scoffs and taunts bestowed upon a beaten match-maker? No, Miss Pendarrel. You will marry as I bid you, or—but there is no alternative."

In the heat of her anger, Esther almost gasped for breath. She had for some time observed her daughter's manner with smouldering wrath, and now Mildred's avowal produced a fierce burst of flame. It deprived Mrs. Pendarrel of her prudence.

"And hark!" she cried. "Do you suppose that I am blind? Do you fancy I know nothing about what you call your heart? Have I forgotten who trembled on my arm, when that upstart pretender dared to intrude into society which he could not have entered honestly, and laid claim to a name to which he had no right? Do I not remember whose cheeks were reddened, and whose voice said 'my cousin?'"