Damn appearances! cried Mr. Andrew, jumping on his legs.
The action cooled him.
I m sorry I swore, he said. Bad habit! The Majors hereyou know that? and he assumed the Majors voice, and strutted in imitation of the stalwart marine. MajoraStrike! of the Royal Marines! returned from China! covered with glory!a hero, Van! We cant expect him to be much of a mourner. And we shant have him to dine with us to-daythats something. He sank his voice: I hope the widow ll bear it.
I hope to God my mother is well! Evan groaned.
Thatll do, said Mr. Andrew. Dont say any more.
As he spoke, he clapped Evan kindly on the back.
A message was brought from the ladies, requiring Evan to wait on them. He returned after some minutes.
How do you think Harriets looking? asked Mr. Andrew. And, not waiting for an answer, whispered,
Are they going down to the funeral, my boy?
Evans brow was dark, as he replied: They are not decided.
Wont Harriet go?
She is not goingshe thinks not.
And the CountessLouisas upstairs, eh?will she go?
She cannot leave the Countshe thinks not.
Wont Caroline go? Caroline can go. SheheI meanCaroline can go?
The Major objects. She wishes to.
Mr. Andrew struck out his arm, and uttered, the Major!a compromise for a loud anathema. But the compromise was vain, for he sinned again in an explosion against appearances.
Im a brewer, Van. Do you think Im ashamed of it? Not while I brew good beer, my boy!not while I brew good beer! They dont think worse of me in the House for it. It isnt ungentlemanly to brew good beer, Van. But whats the use of talking?
Mr. Andrew sat down, and murmured, Poor girl! poor girl!
The allusion was to his wife; for presently he said: I cant see why Harriet cant go. Whats to prevent her?
Evan gazed at him steadily. Deaths levelling influence was in Evans mind. He was ready to say why, and fully.
Mr. Andrew arrested him with a sharp Never mind! Harriet does as she likes. Im accustomed tohem! what she does is best, after all. She doesnt interfere with my business, nor I with hers. Man and wife.
Pausing a moment or so, Mr. Andrew intimated that they had better be dressing for dinner. With his hand on the door, which he kept closed, he said, in a businesslike way, You know, Van, as for me, I should be very willingonly too happyto go down and pay all the respect I could. He became confused, and shot his head from side to side, looking anywhere but at Evan. Happy now and to-morrow, to do anything in my power, if Harrietfollow the funeralone of the familyanything I could do: butawe d better be dressing for dinner. And out the enigmatic little man went.
Evan partly divined him then. But at dinner his behaviour was perplexing. He was too cheerful. He pledged the Count. He would have the Portuguese for this and that, and make Anglican efforts to repeat it, and laugh at his failures. He would not see that there was a father dead. At a table of actors, Mr. Andrew overdid his part, and was the worst. His wife could not help thinking him a heartless little man.
The poor show had its term. The ladies fled to the boudoir sacred to grief. Evan was whispered that he was to join them when he might, without seeming mysterious to the Count. Before he reached them, they had talked tearfully over the clothes he should wear at Lymport, agreeing that his present foreign apparel, being black, would be suitable, and would serve almost as disguise, to the inhabitants at large; and as Evan had no English wear, and there was no time to procure any for him, that was well. They arranged exactly how long he should stay at Lymport, whom he should visit, the manner he should adopt toward the different inhabitants. By all means he was to avoid the approach of the gentry. For hours Evan, in a trance, half stupefied, had to listen to the Countesss directions how he was to comport himself in Lymport.
Show that you have descended among them, dear Van, but are not of them. Our beautiful noble English poet expresses it so. You have come to pay the last mortal duties, which they will respect, if they are not brutes, and attempt no familiarities. Allow none: gently, but firmly. Imitate Silva. You remember, at Dona Risbondas ball? When he met the Comte de Dartigues, and knew he was to be in disgrace with his Court on the morrow? Oh! the exquisite shade of difference in Silvas behaviour towards the Comte. So finely, delicately perceptible to the Comte, and not a soul saw it but that wretched Frenchman! He came to me: Madame, he said, is a question permitted? I replied, As-many as you please, M. le Comte, but no answers promised. He said: May I ask if the Courier has yet come in?Nay, M. le Comte, I replied, this is diplomacy. Inquire of me, or better, give me an opinion on the new glace silk from Paris.Madame, said he, bowing, I hope Paris may send me aught so good, or that I shall grace half so well. I smiled, You shall not be single in your hopes, M. le Comte. The gift would be base that you did not embellish. He lifted his hands, French-fashion: Madame, it is that I have received the gift.Indeed! M. le Comte.Even now from the Count de Saldar, your husband. I looked most innocently, From my husband, M. le Comte?From him, Madame. A portrait. An Ambassador without his coat! The portrait was a finished performance. I said: And may one beg the permission to inspect it?Mais, said he, laughing: were it you alone, it would be a privilege to me. I had to check him. Believe me, M. le Comte, that when I look upon it, my praise of the artist will be extinguished by my pity for the subject. He should have stopped there; but you cannot have the last word with a Frenchmannot even a woman. Fortunately the Queen just then made her entry into the saloon, and his mot on the charity of our sex was lost. We bowed mutually, and were separated. (The Countess employed her handkerchief.) Yes, dear Van! that is how you should behave. Imply things. With dearest Mama, of course, you are the dutiful son. Alas! you must stand for son and daughters. Mama has so much sense! She will understand how sadly we are placed. But in a week I will come to her for a day, and bring you back.
So much his sister Louisa. His sister Harriet offered him her house for a home in London, thence to project his new career. His sister Caroline sought a word with him in private, but only to weep bitterly in his arms, and utter a faint moan of regret at marriages in general. He loved this beautiful creature the best of his three sisters (partly, it may be, because he despised her superior officer), and tried with a few smothered words to induce her to accompany him: but she only shook her fair locks and moaned afresh. Mr. Andrew, in the farewell squeeze of the hand at the street-door, asked him if he wanted anything. He negatived the requirement of anything whatever, with an air of careless decision, though he was aware that his purse barely contained more than would take him the distance, but the instincts of this amateur gentleman were very fine and sensitive on questions of money. His family had never known him beg for a shilling, or admit his necessity for a penny: nor could he be made to accept money unless it was thrust into his pocket. Somehow his sisters had forgotten this peculiarity of his. Harriet only remembered it when too late.
But I dare say Andrew has supplied him, she said.
Andrew being interrogated, informed her what had passed between them.
Andrew being interrogated, informed her what had passed between them.
And you think a Harrington would confess he wanted money! was her scornful exclamation. Evan would walkhe would die rather. It was treating him like a mendicant.
Andrew had to shrink in his brewers skin.
By some fatality all who were doomed to sit and listen to the Countess de Saldar, were sure to be behindhand in an appointment.
When the young man arrived at the coach-office, he was politely informed that the vehicle, in which a seat had been secured for him, was in close alliance with time and tide, and being under the same rigid laws, could not possibly have waited for him, albeit it had stretched a point to the extent of a pair of minutes, at the urgent solicitation of a passenger.
A gentleman who speaks so, sir, said a volunteer mimic of the office, crowing and questioning from his throat in Gorens manner. Yok! yok! That was how he spoke, sir.
Evan reddened, for it brought the scene on board the Jocasta vividly to his mind. The heavier business obliterated it. He took counsel with the clerks of the office, and eventually the volunteer mimic conducted him to certain livery stables, where Evan, like one accustomed to command, ordered a chariot to pursue the coach, received a touch of the hat for a lordly fee, and was soon rolling out of London.
CHAPTER VI. MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD
The postillion had every reason to believe that he carried a real gentleman behind him; in other words, a purse long and liberal. He judged by all the points he knew of: a firm voice, a brief commanding style, an apparent indifference to expense, and the inexplicable minor characteristics, such as polished boots, and a striking wristband, and so forth, which will show a creature accustomed to step over the heads of men. He had, therefore, no particular anxiety to part company, and jogged easily on the white highway, beneath a moon that walked high and small over marble clouds.
Evan reclined in the chariot, revolving his sensations. In another mood he would have called, them thoughts, perhaps, and marvelled at their immensity. The theme was Love and Death. One might have supposed, from his occasional mutterings at the pace regulated by the postillion, that he was burning with anxiety to catch the flying coach. He had forgotten it: forgotten that he was giving chase to anything. A pair of wondering feminine eyes pursued him, and made him fret for the miles to throw a thicker veil between him and them. The serious level brows of Rose haunted the poor youth; and reflecting whither he was tending, and to what sight, he had shadowy touches of the holiness there is in death, from which came a conflict between the imaged phantoms of his father and of Rose, and he sided against his love with some bitterness. His sisters, weeping for their father and holding aloof from his ashes, Evan swept from his mind. He called up the man his father was: the kindliness, the readiness, the gallant gaiety of the great Mel. Youths are fascinated by the barbarian virtues; and to Evan, under present influences, his father was a pattern of manhood. He asked himself: Was it infamous to earn ones bread? and answered it very strongly in his fathers favour. The great Mels creditors were not by to show him another feature of the case.
Hitherto, in passive obedience to the indoctrination of the Countess, Evan had looked on tailors as the proscribed race of modern society. He had pitied his father as a man superior to his fate; but despite the fitfully honest promptings with Rose (tempting to him because of the wondrous chivalry they argued, and at bottom false probably as the hypocrisy they affected to combat), he had been by no means sorry that the world saw not the spot on himself. Other sensations beset him now. Since such a man was banned by the world, which was to be despised?
The clear result of Evans solitary musing was to cast a sort of halo over Tailordom. Death stood over the pale dead man, his father, and dared the world to sneer at him. By a singular caprice of fancy, Evan had no sooner grasped this image, than it was suggested that he might as well inspect his purse, and see how much money he was master of.
Are you impatient with this young man? He has little character for the moment. Most youths are like Popes women; they have no character at all. And indeed a character that does not wait for circumstances to shape it, is of small worth in the race that must be run. To be set too early, is to take the work out of the hands of the Sculptor who fashions men. Happily a youth is always at school, and if he was shut up and without mark two or three hours ago, he will have something to show you now: as I have seen blooming seaflowers and other graduated organisms, when left undisturbed to their own action. Where the Fates have designed that he shall present his figure in a story, this is sure to happen.
To the postillion Evan was indebted for one of his first lessons.
About an hour after midnight pastoral stillness and the moon begat in the postillion desire for a pipe. Daylight prohibits the dream of it to mounted postillions. At night the question is more human, and allows appeal. The moon smiles assentingly, and smokers know that she really lends herself to the enjoyment of tobacco.
The postillion could remember gentlemen who did not object: who had even given him cigars. Turning round to see if haply the present inmate of the chariot might be smoking, he observed a head extended from the window.
How far are we? was inquired.
The postillion numbered the milestones passed.
Do you see anything of the coach?
Cant say as I do, sir.
He was commanded to stop. Evan jumped out.
I dont think Ill take you any farther, he said.
The postillion laughed to scorn the notion of his caring how far he went. With a pipe in his mouth, he insinuatingly remarked, he could jog on all night, and throw sleep to the dogs. Fresh horses at Hillford; fresh at Fallow field: and the gentleman himself would reach Lymport fresh in the morning.
No, no; I wont take you any farther, Evan repeated.
But what do it matter, sir? urged the postillion.
Id rather go on as I am. Iamade no arrangement to take you the whole way.
Oh! cried the postillion, dont you go troublin yourself about that, sir. Master knows it s touch-and-go about catchin the coach. Im all right.
So infatuated was the fellow in the belief that he was dealing with a perfect gentlemanan easy pocket!
Now you would not suppose that one who presumes he has sufficient, would find a difficulty in asking how much he has to pay. With an effort, indifferently masked, Evan blurted:
By the way, tell mehow muchwhat is the charge for the distance weve come?
There are gentlemen-screws: there are conscientious gentlemen. They calculate, and remonstrating or not, they pay. The postillion would rather have had to do with the gentleman royal, who is above base computation; but he knew the humanity in the class he served, and with his conception of Evan only partially dimmed, he remarked:
Oh-h-h! that wont hurt you, sir. Jump along in,settle that by-and-by.
But when my gentleman stood fast, and renewed the demand to know the exact charge for the distance already traversed, the postillion dismounted, glanced him over, and speculated with his fingers tipping up his hat. Meantime Evan drew out his purse, a long one, certainly, but limp. Out of this drowned-looking wretch the last spark of life was taken by the sum the postillion ventured to name; and if paying your utmost farthing without examination of the charge, and cheerfully stepping out to walk fifty miles, penniless, constituted a postillions gentleman, Evan would have passed the test. The sight of poverty, however, provokes familiar feelings in poor men, if you have not had occasion to show them you possess particular qualities. The postillions eye was more on the purse than on the sum it surrendered.