CHAPTER LIX.
A LADY PRESENTS HER COMPLIMENTS TO MISS L. D.
One morning, while Lily Dale was staying with Mrs. Thorne in London,there was brought up to her room, as she was dressing for dinner,a letter which the postman had just left for her. The address waswritten with a feminine hand, and Lily was at once aware that she didnot know the writing. The angles were very acute, and the lines werevery straight, and the vowels looked to be cruel and false, withtheir sharp points and their open eyes. Lily at once knew that it wasthe performance of a woman who had been taught to write at school,and not at home, and she became prejudiced against the writer beforeshe opened the letter. When she had opened the letter and read it,her feelings towards the writer were not of a kindly nature. It wasas follows:--
"A lady presents her compliments to Miss L. D., and earnestlyimplores Miss L. D. to give her an answer to the following question.Is Miss L. D. engaged to marry Mr. J. E.? The lady in questionpledges herself not to interfere with Miss L. D. in any way, shouldthe answer be in the affirmative. The lady earnestly requests that areply to this question may be sent to M. D., Post-office, 455 EdgwareRoad. In order that L. D. may not doubt that M. D. has an interest inJ. E., M. D. encloses the last note she received from him before hestarted for the Continent." Then there was a scrap, which Lily wellknew to be in the handwriting of John Eames, and the scrap was asfollows:--"Dearest M.--Punctually at 8.30. Ever and always yourunalterable J. E." Lily, as she read this, did not comprehend thatJohn's note to M. D. had been in itself a joke.
Lily Dale had heard of anonymous letters before, but had neverreceived one, or even seen one. Now that she had one in her hand, itseemed to her that there could be nothing more abominable than thewriting of such a letter. She let it drop from her, as though thereceiving, and opening, and reading it had been a stain to her. As itlay on the ground at her feet, she trod upon it. Of what sort could awoman be who would write such a letter as that? Answer it! Of courseshe would not answer it. It never occurred to her for a moment thatit could become her to answer it. Had she been at home or with hermother, she would have called her mother to her, and Mrs. Dale wouldhave taken it from the ground, and have read it, and then destroyedit. As it was, she must pick it up herself. She did so, and declaredto herself that there should be an end to it. It might be right thatsomebody should see it, and therefore she would show it to EmilyDunstable. After that it should be destroyed.
Of course the letter could have no effect upon her. So she toldherself. But it did have a very strong effect, and probably the exacteffect which the writer had intended that it should have. J. E. was,of course, John Eames. There was no doubt about that. What a foolthe writer must have been to talk of L. D. in the letter, when theoutside cover was plainly addressed to Miss Lilian Dale! But thereare some people for whom the pretended mystery of initial lettershas a charm, and who love the darkness of anonymous letters. As Lilythought of this, she stamped on the letter again. Who was the M. D.to whom she was required to send an answer--with whom John Eamescorresponded in the most affectionate terms? She had resolved thatshe would not even ask herself a question about M. D., and yet shecould not divert her mind from the inquiry. It was, at any rate, afact that there must be some woman designated by the letters,--somewoman who had, at any rate, chosen to call herself M. D. And JohnEames had called her M. There must, at any rate, be such a woman.This female, be she who she might, had thought it worth her whileto make this inquiry about John Eames, and had manifestly learnedsomething of Lily's own history. And the woman had pledged herselfnot to interfere with John Eames, if L. D. would only condescend tosay that she was engaged to him! As Lily thought of the proposition,she trod upon the letter for the third time. Then she picked it up,and having no place of custody under lock and key ready to her hand,she put it in her pocket.
At night, before she went to bed, she showed the letter to EmilyDunstable. "Is it not surprising that any woman could bring herselfto write such a letter?" said Lily.
But Miss Dunstable hardly saw it in the same light. "If anybody wereto write me such a letter about Bernard," said she, "I should show itto him as a good joke."
"That would be very different. You and Bernard, of course, understandeach other."
"And so will you and Mr. Eames--some day, I hope."
"Never more than we do now, dear. The thing that annoys me is thatsuch a woman as that should have even heard my name at all."
"As long as people have got ears and tongues, people will hear otherpeople's names."
Lily paused a moment, and then spoke again, asking another question."I suppose this woman does know him? She must know him, because hehas written to her."
"She knows something about him, no doubt, and has some reason forwishing that you should quarrel with him. If I were you, I shouldtake care not to gratify her. As for Mr. Eames's note, it is a joke."
"It is nothing to me," said Lily.
"I suppose," continued Emily, "that most gentlemen become acquaintedwith some people that they would not wish all their friends to knowthat they knew. They go about so much more than we do, and meetpeople of all sorts."
"No gentleman should become intimately acquainted with a woman whocould write such a letter as that," said Lily. And as she spoke sheremembered a certain episode to John Eames's early life, which hadreached her from a source which she had not doubted, and which hadgiven her pain and offended her. She had believed that John Eames hadin that case behaved cruelly to a young woman, and had thought thather offence had come simply from that feeling. "But of course it isnothing to me," she said. "Mr. Eames can choose his friends as helikes. I only wish that my name might not be mentioned to them."
"It is not from him that she has heard it."
"Perhaps not. As I said before, of course it does not signify; onlythere is something very disagreeable in the whole thing. The ideais so hateful! Of course this woman means me to understand that sheconsiders herself to have a claim upon Mr. Eames, and that I stand inher way."
"And why should you not stand in her way?"
"I will stand in nobody's way. Mr. Eames has a right to give his handto any one that he pleases. I, at any rate, can have no cause ofoffence against him. The only thing is that I do wish that my namecould be left alone." Lily, when she was in her own room again, diddestroy the letter; but before she did so she read it again, and itbecame so indelibly impressed on her memory that she could not forgeteven the words of it. The lady who wrote had pledged herself, undercertain conditions, "not to interfere with Miss L. D." "Interferewith me!" Lily said to herself; "nobody can interfere with me; nobodyhas power to do so." As she turned it over in her mind, her heartbecame hard against John Eames. No woman would have troubled herselfto write such a letter without some cause for the writing. That thewriter was vulgar, false, and unfeminine, Lily thought that she couldperceive from the letter itself; but no doubt the woman knew JohnEames, had some interest in the question of his marriage, and wasentitled to some answer to her question--only was not entitled tosuch answer from Lily Dale.
For some weeks past now, up to the hour at which this anonymousletter had reached her hands, Lily's heart had been growing softand still softer towards John Eames; and now again it had becomehardened. I think that the appearance of Adolphus Crosbie in thepark, that momentary vision of the real man by which the divinityof the imaginary Apollo had been dashed to the ground, had done aservice to the cause of the other lover; of the lover who had neverbeen a god, but who of late years had at any rate grown into the fulldimensions of a man. Unfortunately for the latter, he had commencedhis love-making when he was but little more than a boy. Lily, as shehad thought of the two together, in the days of her solitude, aftershe had been deserted by Crosbie, had ever pictured to herself thelover whom she had preferred as having something godlike in hisfavour, as being far the superior in wit, in manner, in acquirement,and in personal advantage. There had been good nature and true heartylove on the side of the other man; but circumstances had seemed toshow that
his good-nature was equal to all, and that he was ableto share even his hearty love among two or three. A man of such acharacter, known by a girl from his boyhood as John Eames had beenknown by Lily Dale, was likely to find more favour as a friend thanas a lover. So it had been between John Eames and Lily. While theuntrue memory of what Crosbie was, or ever had been, was present toher, she could hardly bring herself to accept in her mind the ideaof a lover who was less noble in his manhood than the false picturewhich that untrue memory was ever painting for her. Then had comebefore her eyes the actual man; and though he had been seen but fora moment, the false image had been broken into shivers. Lily haddiscovered that she had been deceived, and that her forgiveness hadbeen asked, not by a god, but by an ordinary human being. As regardedthe ungodlike man himself, this could make no difference. Havingthought upon the matter deeply, she had resolved that she would notmarry Mr. Crosbie, and had pledged herself to that effect to friendswho never could have brought themselves to feel affection for him,even had she married him. But the shattering of the false image mighthave done John Eames a good turn. Lily knew that she had at anyrate full permission from all her friends to throw in her lot withhis,--if she could persuade herself to do so. Mother, uncle, sister,brother-in-law, cousin,--and now this new cousin's bride that wasto be,--together with Lady Julia and a whole crowd of Allingtonand Guestwick friends, were in favour of such a marriage. Therehad been nothing against it but the fact that the other man hadbeen dearer to her; and that other fact that poor Johnny lackedsomething,--something of earnestness, something of manliness,something of that Phoebus divinity with which Crosbie had contrivedto invest his own image. But, as I have said above, John hadgradually grown, if not into divinity, at least into manliness; andthe shattering of the false image had done him yeoman's service. Nowhad come this accursed letter, and Lily, despite herself, despite herbetter judgment, could not sweep it away from her mind and make theletter as nothing to her. M. D. had promised not to interfere withher! There was no room for such interference, no possibility thatsuch interference should take place. She hoped earnestly,--so shetold herself,--that her old friend John Eames might have nothing todo with a woman so impudent and vulgar as must be this M. D.; butexcept as regarded old friendship, M. D. and John Eames, apart ortogether, could be as nothing to her. Therefore, I say that theletter had had the effect which the writer of it had desired.
All London was new to Lily Dale, and Mrs. Thorne was very anxiousto show her everything that could be seen. She was to return toAllington before the flowers of May would have come, and the crowdand the glare and the fashion and the art of the Academy's greatexhibition must therefore remain unknown to her; but she was taken tosee many pictures, and among others she was taken to see the picturesbelonging to a certain nobleman who, with that munificence which isso amply enjoyed and so little recognized in England, keeps openhouse for the world to see the treasures which the wealth of hisfamily has collected. The necessary order was procured, and on acertain brilliant April afternoon Mrs. Thorne and her party foundthemselves in this nobleman's drawing-room. Lily was with her, ofcourse, and Emily Dunstable was there, and Bernard Dale, and Mrs.Thorne's dear friend Mrs. Harold Smith, and Mrs. Thorne's constantand useful attendant, Siph Dunn. They had nearly completed theirdelightful but wearying task of gazing at pictures, and Mrs. HaroldSmith had declared that she would not look at another painting tillthe exhibition was open; three of the ladies were seated in thedrawing-room, and Siph Dunn was standing before them, lecturingabout art as though he had been brought up on the ancient masters;Emily and Bernard were lingering behind, and the others were simplydelaying their departure till the truant lovers should have caughtthem. At this moment two gentlemen entered the room from the gallery,and the two gentlemen were Fowler Pratt and Adolphus Crosbie.
All the party except Mrs. Thorne knew Crosbie personally, and all ofthem except Mrs. Harold Smith knew something of the story of what hadoccurred between Crosbie and Lily. Siph Dunn had learned it all sincethe meeting in the Park, having nearly learned it all from what hehad seen there with his eyes. But Mrs. Thorne, who knew Lily's story,did not know Crosbie's appearance. But there was his friend FowlerPratt, who, as will be remembered, had dined with her but the otherday; and she, with that outspoken and somewhat loud impulse which wasnatural to her, addressed him at once across the room, calling him byname. Had she not done so, the two men might probably have escapedthrough the room, in which case they would have met Bernard Dale andEmily Dunstable in the doorway. Fowler Pratt would have endeavouredso to escape, and to carry Crosbie with him, as he was quite aliveto the expedience of saving Lily from such a meeting. But, as thingsturned out, escape from Mrs. Thorne was impossible.
"There's Fowler Pratt," she had said when they first entered, quiteloud enough for Fowler Pratt to hear her. "Mr. Pratt, come here. Howd'ye do? You dined with me last Tuesday, and you've never been tocall."
"I never recognize that obligation till after the middle of May,"said Mr. Pratt, shaking hands with Mrs. Thorne and Mrs. Smith, andbowing to Miss Dale.
"I don't see the justice of that at all," said Mrs. Thorne. "Itseems to me that a good dinner is as much entitled to a morsel ofpasteboard in April as at any other time. You won't have another tillyou have called,--unless you're specially wanted."
Crosbie would have gone on, but that in his attempt to do so hepassed close by the chair on which Mrs. Harold Smith was sitting, andthat he was accosted by her. "Mr. Crosbie," she said, "I haven't seenyou for an age. Has it come to pass that you have buried yourselfentirely?" He did not know how to extricate himself so as to moveon at once. He paused, and hesitated, and then stopped, and made anattempt to talk to Mrs. Smith as though he were at his ease. Theattempt was anything but successful; but having once stopped, he didnot know how to put himself in motion again, so that he might escape.At this moment Bernard Dale and Emily Dunstable came up and joinedthe group; but neither of them had discovered who Crosbie was tillthey were close upon him.
Lily was seated between Mrs. Thorne and Mrs. Smith, and Siph Dunn hadbeen standing immediately opposite to them. Fowler Pratt, who hadbeen drawn into the circle against his will, was now standing closeto Dunn, almost between him and Lily,--and Crosbie was standingwithin two yards of Lily, on the other side of Dunn. Emily andBernard had gone behind Pratt and Crosbie to Mrs. Thorne's sidebefore they had recognized the two men;--and in this way Lily wascompletely surrounded. Mrs. Thorne, who, in spite of her eager,impetuous ways, was as thoughtful of others as any woman could be, assoon as she heard Crosbie's name understood it all, and knew that itwould be well that she should withdraw Lily from her plight. Crosbie,in his attempt to talk to Mrs. Smith, had smiled and simpered,--andhad then felt that to smile and simper before Lily Dale, with apretended indifference to her presence, was false on his part, andwould seem to be mean. He would have avoided Lily for both theirsakes, had it been possible; but it was no longer possible, and hecould not keep his eyes from her face. Hardly knowing what he did, hebowed to her, lifted his hat, and uttered some word of greeting.
Lily, from the moment that she had perceived his presence, had lookedstraight before her, with something almost of fierceness in her eyes.Both Pratt and Siph Dunn had observed her narrowly. It had seemedas though Crosbie had been altogether outside the ken of her eyes,or the notice of her ears, and yet she had seen every motion of hisbody, and had heard every word which had fallen from his lips. Now,when he saluted her, she turned her face full upon him, and bowed tohim. Then she rose from her seat, and made her way, between Siph Dunnand Pratt, out of the circle. The blood had mounted to her face andsuffused it all, and her whole manner was such that it could escapethe observation of none who stood there. Even Mrs. Harold Smith hadseen it, and had read the story. As soon as she was on her feet,Bernard had dropped Emily's hand, and offered his arm to his cousin."Lily," he had said out loud, "you had better let me take you away.It is a misfortune that you have been subjected to the insult ofsuch a greeting." Bernard and Crosbie had been early
friends, andBernard had been the unfortunate means of bringing Crosbie and Lilytogether. Up to this day, Bernard had never had his revenge for theill-treatment which his cousin had received. Some morsel of thatrevenge came to him now. Lily almost hated her cousin for what hesaid; but she took his arm, and walked with him from the room.It must be acknowledged in excuse for Bernard Dale, and as anapology for the apparent indiscretion of his words, that all thecircumstances of the meeting had become apparent to every one there.The misfortune of the encounter had become too plain to admit of itsbeing hidden under any of the ordinary veils of society. Crosbie'ssalutation had been made before the eyes of them all, and in themidst of absolute silence, and Lily had risen with so queen-likea demeanour, and had moved with so stately a step, that it wasimpossible that any one concerned should pretend to ignore the factsof the scene that had occurred. Crosbie was still standing close toMrs. Harold Smith, Mrs. Thorne had risen from her seat, and the wordswhich Bernard Dale had uttered were still sounding in the ears ofthem all. "Shall I see after the carriage?" said Siph Dunn. "Do,"said Mrs. Thorne; "or, stay a moment; the carriage will of course bethere, and we will go together. Good-morning, Mr. Pratt. I expectthat, at any rate, you will send me your card by post." Then they allpassed on, and Crosbie and Fowler Pratt were left among the pictures.
"I think you will agree with me now that you had better give her up,"said Fowler Pratt.
"I will never give her up," said Crosbie, "till I shall hear that shehas married some one else."
"You may take my word for it, that she will never marry you afterwhat has just now occurred."
"Very likely not; but still the attempt, even the idea of theattempt, will be a comfort to me. I shall be endeavouring to do thatwhich I ought to have done."
"What you have got to think of, I should suppose, is hercomfort,--not your own."
Crosbie stood for a while silent, looking at a portrait which washung just within the doorway of a smaller room into which they hadpassed, as though his attention were entirely riveted by the picture.But he was thinking of the picture not at all, and did not even knowwhat kind of painting was on the canvas before him.
"Pratt," he said at last, "you are always hard to me."
"I will say nothing more to you on the subject, if you wish me to besilent."
"I do wish you to be silent about that."
"That shall be enough," said Pratt.
"You do not quite understand me. You do not know how thoroughly Ihave repented of the evil that I have done, or how far I would go tomake retribution, if retribution were possible!"
Fowler Pratt, having been told to hold his tongue as regarded thatsubject, made no reply to this, and began to talk about the pictures.
Lily, leaning on her cousin's arm, was out in the courtyard in frontof the house before Mrs. Thorne or Siph Dunn. It was but for aminute, but still there was a minute in which Bernard felt that heought to say a word to her.
"I hope you are not angry with me, Lily, for having spoken."
"I wish, of course, that you had not spoken; but I am not angry. Ihave no right to be angry. I made the misfortune for myself. Do notsay anything more about it, dear Bernard;--that is all."
They had walked to the picture-gallery; but, by agreement, twocarriages had come to take them away,--Mrs. Thorne's and Mrs. HaroldSmith's. Mrs. Thorne easily managed to send Emily Dunstable andBernard away with her friend, and to tell Siph Dunn that he mustmanage for himself. In this way it was contrived that no one but Mrs.Thorne should be with Lily Dale.
"My dear," said Mrs. Thorne, "it seemed to me that you were a littleput out, and so I thought it best to send them all away."
"It was very kind."
"He ought to have passed on and not to have stood an instant when hesaw you," said Mrs. Thorne, with indignation. "There are moments whenit is a man's duty simply to vanish, to melt into the air, or to sinkinto the ground,--in which he is bound to overcome the difficultiesof such sudden self-removal, or must ever after be accounted poor andmean."
"I did not want him to vanish;--if only he had not spoken to me."
"He should have vanished. A man is sometimes bound in honour to doso, even when he himself has done nothing wrong;--when the sin hasbeen all with the woman. Her femininity has still a right to expectthat so much shall be done in its behalf. But when the sin has beenall his own, as it was in this case,--and such damning sin too,--"
"Pray do not go on, Mrs. Thorne."
"He ought to go out and hang himself simply for having allowedhimself to be seen. I thought Bernard behaved very well, and I shalltell him so."
"I wish you could manage to forget it all, and say no word more aboutit."
"I won't trouble you with it, my dear; I will promise you that. But,Lily, I can hardly understand you. This man who must have been andmust ever be a brute,--"
"Mrs. Thorne, you promised me this instant that you would not talk ofhim."
"After this I will not; but you must let me have my way now for onemoment. I have so often longed to speak to you, but have not done sofrom fear of offending you. Now the matter has come up by chance,and it was impossible that what has occurred should pass by withouta word. I cannot conceive why the memory of that bad man should beallowed to destroy your whole life."
"My life is not destroyed. My life is anything but destroyed. It is avery happy life."
"But, my dear, if all that I hear is true, there is a most estimableyoung man, whom everybody likes, and particularly all your ownfamily, and whom you like very much yourself; and you will havenothing to say to him, though his constancy is like the constancy ofan old Paladin,--and all because of this wretch who just now came inyour way."
"Mrs. Thorne, it is impossible to explain it all."
"I do not want you to explain it all. Of course I would not ask anyyoung woman to marry a man whom she did not love. Such marriages areabominable to me. But I think that a young woman ought to get marriedif the thing fairly comes in her way, and if her friends approve, andif she is fond of the man who is fond of her. It may be that somememory of what has gone before is allowed to stand in your way, andthat it should not be so allowed. It sometimes happens that a morbidsentiment will destroy a life. Excuse me, then, Lily, if I say toomuch to you in my hope that you may not suffer after this fashion."
"I know how kind you are, Mrs. Thorne."
"Here we are at home, and perhaps you would like to go in. I havesome calls which I must make." Then the conversation was ended, andLily was alone.
As if she had not thought of it all before! As if there was anythingnew in this counsel which Mrs. Thorne had given her! She had receivedthe same advice from her mother, from her sister, from her uncle, andfrom Lady Julia, till she was sick of it. How had it come to passthat matters which with others are so private, should with her havebecome the public property of so large a circle? Any other girl wouldreceive advice on such a subject from her mother alone, and there thesecret would rest. But her secret had been published, as it were, bythe town-crier in the High Street! Everybody knew that she had beenjilted by Adolphus Crosbie, and that it was intended that she shouldbe consoled by John Eames. And people seemed to think that they hada right to rebuke her if she expressed an unwillingness to carry outthis intention which the public had so kindly arranged for her.
Morbid sentiment! Why should she be accused of morbid sentimentbecause she was unable to transfer her affections to the man whohad been fixed on as her future husband by the large circle ofacquaintance who had interested themselves in her affairs? There wasnothing morbid in either her desires or her regrets. So she assuredherself, with something very like anger at the accusation madeagainst her. She had been contented, and was contented, to live athome as her mother lived, asking for no excitement beyond that givenby the daily routine of her duties. There could be nothing morbid inthat. She would go back to Allington as soon as might be, and havedone with this London life, which only made her wretched. This seeingof Crosbie had been terrible to her. She did not tel
l herself thathis image had been shattered. Her idea was that all her misery hadcome from the untowardness of the meeting. But there was the factthat she had seen the man and heard his voice, and that the seeinghim and hearing him had made her miserable. She certainly desiredthat it might never be her lot either to see him or to hear himagain.
And as for John Eames,--in those bitter moments of her reflection shealmost wished the same in regard to him. If he would only cease tobe her lover, he might be very well; but he was not very well to heras long as his pretensions were dinned into her ear by everybody whoknew her. And then she told herself that John would have had a betterchance if he had been content to plead for himself. In this, I think,she was hard upon her lover. He had pleaded for himself as well as heknew how, and as often as the occasion had been given to him. It hadhardly been his fault that his case had been taken in hand by otheradvocates. He had given no commission to Mrs. Thorne to plead forhim.
Poor Johnny. He had stood in much better favour before the lady hadpresented her compliments to Miss L. D. It was that odious letter,and the thoughts which it had forced upon Lily's mind, which were nowmost inimical to his interests. Whether Lily loved him or not, shedid not love him well enough not to be jealous of him. Had any suchletter reached her respecting Crosbie in the happy days of her younglove, she would simply have laughed at it. It would have been nothingto her. But now she was sore and unhappy, and any trifle was powerfulenough to irritate her. "Is Miss L. D. engaged to marry Mr. J. E.?""No," said Lily, out loud. "Lily Dale is not engaged to marry JohnEames, and never will be so engaged." She was almost tempted to sitdown and write the required answer to Miss M. D. Though the letterhad been destroyed, she well remembered the number of the post-officein the Edgware Road. Poor John Eames!
That evening she told Emily Dunstable that she thought she would liketo return to Allington before the day that had been appointed forher. "But why," said Emily, "should you be worse than your word?"
"I daresay it will seem silly, but the fact is I am homesick. I'm notaccustomed to be away from mamma for so long."
"I hope it is not what occurred to-day at the picture-gallery."
"I won't deny that it is that in part."
"That was a strange accident, you know, that might never occuragain."
"It has occurred twice already, Emily."
"I don't call the affair in the Park anything. Anybody may seeanybody else in the Park, of course. He was not brought so near youthat he could annoy you there. You ought certainly to wait till Mr.Eames has come back from Italy."
Then Lily declared that she must and would go back to Allington onthe next Monday, and she actually did write a letter to her motherthat night to say that such was her intention. But on the morrow herheart was less sore, and the letter was not sent.
The Last Chronicle of Barset Page 61
