Marion Fay: A Novel

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XXI.

  WHAT THEY ALL THOUGHT AS THEY WENT HOME.

  Lord Hampstead had come to the door to help them into the carriage."Lord Hampstead," said Mrs. Roden, "you will catch your death ofcold. It is freezing, and you have nothing on your head."

  "I am quite indifferent about those things," he said, as for a momenthe held Marion's hand while he helped her into the carriage.

  "Do go in," she whispered. Her lips as she spoke were close to hisear,--but that simply came from the position in which chance hadplaced her. Her hand was still in his,--but that, too, was theaccident of the situation. But there is, I think, an involuntarytendency among women to make more than necessary use of assistancewhen the person tendering it has made himself really welcome. Marionhad certainly no such intention. Had the idea come to her at themoment she would have shrank from his touch. It was only when hisfingers were withdrawn, when the feeling of the warmth of thisproximity had passed away, that she became aware that he had been soclose to her, and that now they were separated.

  Then her father entered the carriage, and Roden.

  "Good-night, my lord," said the Quaker. "I have passed my eveningvery pleasantly. I doubt whether I may not feel the less disposed formy day's work to-morrow."

  "Not at all, Mr. Fay; not at all. You will be like a giant refreshed.There is nothing like a little friendly conversation for bracingup the mind. I hope it will not be long before you come and try itagain." Then the carriage was driven off, and Lord Hampstead went into warm himself before the fire which Marion Fay had poked.

  He had not intended to fall in love with her. Was there ever a youngman who, when he first found a girl to be pleasant to him, hasintended to fall in love with her? Girls will intend to fall in love,or, more frequently perhaps, to avoid it; but men in such mattersrarely have a purpose. Lord Hampstead had found her, as he thought,to be an admirable specimen of excellence in that class of mankindwhich his convictions and theories induced him to extol. He thoughtthat good could be done by mixing the racers and plough-horses,--andas regarded the present experiment, Marion Fay was a plough-horse. Nodoubt he would not have made this special attempt had she not pleasedhis eye, and his ear, and his senses generally. He certainly was nota philosopher to whom in his search after wisdom an old man such asZachary Fay could make himself as acceptable as his daughter. It maybe acknowledged of him that he was susceptible to female influences.But it had not at first occurred to him that it would be a good thingto fall in love with Marion Fay. Why should he not be on friendlyterms with an excellent and lovely girl without loving her? Suchhad been his ideas after first meeting Marion at Mrs. Roden's house.Then he had determined that friends could not become friends withoutseeing each other, and he had concocted his scheme without beingaware of the feelings which she had excited. The scheme had beencarried out; he had had his dinner-party; Marion Fay had poked hisfire; there had been one little pressure of the hand as he helped herinto the carriage, one little whispered word, which had it not beenwhispered would have been as nothing; one moment of consciousnessthat his lips were close to her cheek; and then he returned to thewarmth of his fire, quite conscious that he was in love.

  What was to come of it? When he had argued both with his sister andwith Roden that their marriage would be unsuitable because of theirdifference in social position, and had justified his opinion bydeclaring it to be impossible that any two persons could, by theirown doing, break through the conventions of the world withoutultimate damage to themselves and to others, he had silentlyacknowledged to himself that he also was bound by the law which hewas teaching. That such conventions should gradually cease to be,would be good; but no man is strong enough to make a new law for hisown governing at the spur of the moment;--and certainly no woman.The existing distances between man and man were radically bad. Thiswas the very gist of his doctrine; but the instant abolition of suchdistances had been proved by many experiments to be a vain dream, andthe diminution of them must be gradual and slow. That such diminutionwould go on till the distances should ultimately disappear in somefuture millennium was to him a certainty. The distances were beingdiminished by the increasing wisdom and philanthropy of mankind. Tohim, born to high rank and great wealth, it had been given to do moreperhaps than another. In surrendering there is more efficacy, asthere is also more grace, than in seizing. What of his grandeur hemight surrender without injury to others to whom he was bound, hewould surrender. Of what exact nature or kind should be the womanwhom it might please him to select as his wife, he had formed noaccurate idea; but he would endeavour so to marry that he would makeno step down in the world that might be offensive to his family, butwould yet satisfy his own convictions by drawing himself somewhataway from aristocratic blood. His father had done the same whenchoosing his first wife, and the happiness of his choice would havebeen perfect had not death interfered. Actuated by such reasoning asthis, he had endeavoured in a mild way to separate his sister fromher lover, thinking that they who were in love should be bound by thearguments which seemed good to him who was not in love. But now healso was in love, and the arguments as they applied to himself fellinto shreds and tatters as he sat gazing at his fire, holding thepoker in his hand.

  Had there ever been anything more graceful than the mock violencewith which she had pretended to strike heartily at the coals?--hadthere ever anything been more lovely than that mingled glance ofdoubt, of fear, and of friendliness with which she had looked intohis face as she did it? She had quite understood his feeling whenhe made his little request. There had been heart enough in her,spirit enough, intelligence enough, to tell her at once the purportof his demand. Or rather she had not seen it all at once, but hadonly understood when her hand had gone too far to be withdrawn thatsomething of love as well as friendship had been intended. Beforelong she should know how much of love had been intended! Whether hispurpose was or was not compatible with the wisdom of his theory as toa gradual diminution of distances, his heart had gone too far now forany retracting. As he sat there he at once began to teach himselfthat the arguments he had used were only good in reference tohigh-born females, and that they need not necessarily affect himself.Whomever he might marry he would raise to his own rank. For his rankhe did not care a straw himself. It was of the prejudices of othershe was thinking when he assured himself that Marion would make asgood a Countess and as good a Marchioness as any lady in the land. Inregard to his sister it was otherwise. She must follow the rank ofher husband. It might be that the sores which she would cause to manyby becoming the wife of a Post Office clerk ought to be avoided. Butthere need be no sores in regard to his marriage with Marion Fay.

  His present reasoning was, no doubt, bad, but such as it was it wasallowed to prevail absolutely. It did not even occur to him that hewould make an attempt to enfranchise himself from Marion's charms.Whatever might occur, whatever details there might be which wouldrequire his attention in regard to his father or others of thefamily, everything must give way to his present passion. She hadpoked his fire, and she must be made to sit at his hearth for theremainder of their joint existence. She must be made to sit there ifhe could so plead his cause that his love should prevail with her.As to the Quaker father, he thought altogether well of him too,--anindustrious, useful, intelligent man, of whose quaint manners andmanly bearing he would not be ashamed in any society. She, too, wasa Quaker, but that to him was little or nothing. He also had hisreligious convictions, but they were not of a nature to be affrontedor shocked by those of any one who believed that the increasingcivilization of the world had come from Christ's teaching. Thesimple, earnest purity of the girl's faith would be an attraction tohim rather than otherwise. Indeed, there was nothing in his Marion,as he saw her, that was not conducive to feminine excellence.

  His Marion! How many words had he spoken to her? How many thoughtshad he extracted from her? How many of her daily doings had he everwitnessed? But what did it matter? It is not the girl that the manloves, but the image which imagination has built up for
him to fillthe outside covering which has pleased his senses. He was quite assure that the Ten Commandments were as safe in Marion's hands asthough she were already a saint, canonized for the perfection of allvirtues. He was quite ready to take that for granted; and having soconvinced himself, was now only anxious as to the means by which hemight make this priceless pearl his own.

  There must be some other scheme. He sat, thinking of this, cudgellinghis brains for some contrivance by which he and Marion Fay might bebrought together again with the least possible delay. His idea of adinner-party had succeeded beyond all hope. But he could not haveanother dinner-party next week. Nor could he bring together theguests whom he had to-day entertained after his sister's return.He was bound not to admit George Roden to his house as long as sheshould be with him. Without George he could hardly hope that Mrs.Roden would come to him, and without Mrs. Roden how could he enticethe Quaker and his daughter? His sister would be with him on thefollowing day, and would, no doubt, be willing to assist him withMarion if it were possible. But the giving of such assistance onher part would tacitly demand assistance also from him in herdifficulties. Such assistance, he knew, he could not give, havingpledged himself to his father in regard to George Roden. He could atthe present moment devise no other scheme than the very simple one ofgoing to Mrs. Roden, and declaring his love for the girl.

  * * * * * *

  The four guests in the carriage were silent throughout their drivehome. They all had thoughts of their own sufficient to occupy them.George Roden told himself that this, for a long day, must be his lastvisit to Hendon Hall. He knew that Lady Frances would arrive on themorrow, and that then his presence was forbidden. He had refused tomake any promise as to his assured absence, not caring to subjecthimself to an absolute bond; but he was quite aware that he wasbound in honour not to enter the house in which he could not be madewelcome. He felt himself to be safe, with a great security. The girlwhom he loved would certainly be true. He was not impatient, as wasHampstead. He did not trouble his mind with schemes which were tobe brought to bear within the next few days. He could bide his time,comforting himself with his faith. But still a lover can hardly besatisfied with the world unless he can see some point in his heavenfrom which light may be expected to break through the clouds. Hecould not see the point from which the light might be expected.

  The Quaker was asking himself many questions. Had he done well totake his girl to this young nobleman's house? Had he done well totake himself there? It had been as it were a sudden disruption inthe settled purposes of his life. What had he or his girl to do withlords? And yet he had been pleased. Courtesy always flatters, andflattery is always pleasant. A certain sense of softness had beengrateful to him. There came upon him a painful question,--as theredoes on so many of us, when for a time we make a successful struggleagainst the world's allurements,--whether in abandoning the delightsof life we do in truth get any compensation for them. Would it notafter all be better to do as others use? Phoebus as he touches ourtrembling ear encourages us but with a faint voice. It had been verypleasant,--the soft chairs, the quiet attendance, the well-cookeddinner, the good wines, the bright glasses, the white linen,--andpleasanter than all that silvery tone of conversation to which he wasso little accustomed either in King's Court or Paradise Row. Marionindeed was always gentle to him as a dove cooing; but he was awareof himself that he was not gentle in return. Stern truth, expressedshortly in strong language, was the staple of his conversation athome. He had declared to himself all through his life that sterntruth and strong language were better for mankind than soft phrases.But in his own parlour in Paradise Row he had rarely seen his Marionbright as she had been at this lord's table. Was it good for hisMarion that she should be encouraged to such brightness; and if so,had he been cruel to her to suffuse her entire life with a colour sodark as to admit of no light? Why had her beauty shone so brightly inthe lord's presence? He too knew something of love, and had it alwayspresent to his mind that the time would come when his Marion's heartwould be given to some stranger. He did not think, he would notthink, that the stranger had now come;--but would it be well that hisgirl's future should be affected even as was his own? He argued thepoints much within himself, and told himself that it could not bewell.

  Mrs. Roden had read it nearly all,--though she could not quite readthe simple honesty of the young lord's purpose. The symptoms of lovehad been plain enough to her eyes, and she had soon told herself thatshe had done wrong in taking the girl to the young lord's house. Shehad seen that Hampstead had admired Marion, but she had not dreamedthat it would be carried to such a length as this. But when he hadknelt on the rug between them, leaning just a little towards thegirl, and had looked up into the girl's face, smiling at his ownlittle joke, but with his face full of love;--then she had known.And when Marion had whispered the one word, with her little fingerslingering within the young lord's touch, then she had known. It wasnot the young lord only who had given way to the softness of themoment. If evil had been done, she had done it; and it seemed asthough evil had certainly been done. If much evil had been done, howcould she forgive herself?

  And what were Marion's thoughts? Did she feel that an evil had beendone, an evil for which there could never be a cure found? She wouldhave so assured herself, had she as yet become aware of the fullpower and depth and mortal nature of the wound she had received. Forsuch a wound, for such a hurt, there is but one cure, and of that shecertainly would have entertained no hope. But, as it will sometimesbe that a man shall in his flesh receive a fatal injury, of whichhe shall for awhile think that only some bruise has pained him,some scratch annoyed him; that a little time, with ointment and aplaister, will give him back his body as sound as ever; but thenafter a short space it becomes known to him that a deadly gangrene isaffecting his very life; so will it be with a girl's heart. She didnot yet,--not yet,--tell herself that half-a-dozen gentle words, thattwo or three soft glances, that a touch of a hand, the mere presenceof a youth whose comeliness was endearing to the eye, had masteredand subdued all that there was of Marion Fay. But it was so. Not fora moment did her mind run away, as they were taken homewards, fromthe object of her unconscious idolatry. Had she behaved ill?--thatwas her regret! He had been so gracious;--that was her joy! Thenthere came a pang from the wound, though it was not as yet a pang asof death. What right had such a one as she to receive even an idleword of compliment from a man such as was Lord Hampstead? What couldhe be to her, or she to him? He had his high mission to complete, hisgreat duties to perform, and doubtless would find some noble ladyas a fit mother for his children. He had come across her path fora moment, and she could not but remember him for ever! There wassomething of an idea present to her that love would now be beyond herreach. But the pain necessarily attached to such an idea had not asyet reached her. There came something of a regret that fortune hadplaced her so utterly beyond his notice;--but she was sure of this,sure of this, that if the chance were offered to her, she would notmar his greatness by accepting the priceless boon of his love. Butwhy,--why had he been so tender to her? Then she thought of what werethe ways of men, and of what she had heard of them. It had been badfor her to go abroad thus with her poor foolish softness, with hergirl's untried tenderness,--that thus she should be affected by thefirst chance smile that had been thrown to her by one of those petteddarlings of Fortune! And then she was brought round to that sameresolution which was at the moment forming itself in her father'smind;--that it would have been better for her had she not allowedherself to be taken to Hendon Hall. Then they were in Paradise Row,and were put down at their separate doors with but few words offarewell to each other.

  "They have just come home," said Clara Demijohn, rushing into hermother's bedroom. "You'll find it is quite true. They have beendining with the lord!"