“Is it possible!” exclaimed Mrs. O’Donagough, “do I indeed behold my sister’s child?” A very well-looking pocket-handkerchief, with its laced corner protruding, as if instinct with sympathy, from her bag, was here drawn forth, and did its duty well. “Oh! my dearest Agnes, I can hardly believe my eyes! So lovely still, and yet so greatly altered! Oh! how my heart has longed for this dear moment! But I must not be thus selfish, thus absorbed! Mr. O’Donagough, let me present you to my dear niece. General Hubert, forgive me, if at first I could see nothing but your charming wife! I hope I see you well; permit me to present my husband to you — Mr. O’Donagough, General Hubert — General Hubert, Mr. O’Donagough — and this is your child, Agnes! — Dear creature! — How excessively like the general!” And then, whether tempted by the resemblance, or by the fond feelings of a great-aunt, she very nearly caught the young lady from the ground, and pressed her so closely to her bosom, as to produce an involuntary “Oh!” from the lips of the nearly “spoilt child.” This over, Mrs. O’Donagough next turned to her own daughter, though the last, not the least important of her evolutions, and taking her red young hand, placed it in the delicately-gloved palm of Mrs. Hubert. That lady, as in duty bound, kissed her cousin — but her long ringlets, and her fine colour, her large bright eyes, and her magnificent gown, altogether brought Aunt Betsy, and all her peculiar notions, to her mind so forcibly, that she almost trembled as she remembered that this most dear relation was expected to pay them a visit at Brighton, almost immediately.
“But mercy on me! how I let you stand!” cried Mrs. O’Donagough, perfectly satisfied that the earnest look given both by the general and his lady to her daughter, proceeded from admiring astonishment. “Let us sit down, dearest Agnes;” and marshalling her and her daughter, who still held tightly by her hand, to the sofa, placed herself on a chair before it; while the general, bowed into an arm-chair beside it by Mr. O’Donagough, found himself under the necessity of making conversation that might suit the habits and prejudices of his host, concerning whose strict conformity to the methodist persuasion, he felt not the least doubt.
“You have been long absent from this country, sir?” said the general.
A slight twitching might have been perceptible about the mouth of Mr. Allen O’Donagough, as he listened to this question, but he instantly recovered himself and replied, “It has indeed been a long absence, General Hubert.”
Without either snuffling, lisping, or in any other obvious and ordinary manner altering his voice, there was something in Mr. Allen O’Donagough’s manner of saying these few words, that made his wife, notwithstanding her earnest attention to what her darling Agnes was saying, look up at him with surprise. But she was a quick-witted, intelligent woman, and half a moment’s consideration enabled her to recollect why it was he spoke now as she had never heard him speak before. It was less than half a smile that passed over her face, as cause and effect thus became perceptible to her, but this half-smile spoke a whole world of conjugal admiration.
Mrs. O’Donagough now obtained sufficient mastery over the first burst of her emotions, to look at the daughter of Agnes with some attention. From her youth upwards she had studied beauty, both male and female, too sedulously, not to perceive under the close straw bonnet, a promise at least of good regular features, and something more than a promise of remarkably fine eyes. Nevertheless, on the whole, the examination awakened no maternal jealousy. She could not for a moment entertain a doubt as to which was the handsomest, her daughter, or her great-niece. There sat her charming Patty, all glow, all brightness, in the very perfection of that undeniable “beauté de diable” which rarely, indeed, fails to illuminate the features of a womanly girl of fourteen; while beside her sat Elizabeth Hubert, pale, and by no means particularly fair, and with a countenance unawakened to all the thousand little conscious agaceries, which are sure to play and sparkle about such eyes and lips as those of Martha O’Donagough. Moreover, she looked such a mere child, that any comparison between them seemed preposterous.
“What a poor little weasel of a girl!” thought the well-pleased Mrs. O’Donagough, as she looked at her; “and her mother reckoned such a prodigious beauty too! Well to be sure, it is impossible not to feel something like triumph at the difference.” Such were her thoughts, but all she uttered of them was, “Is this dear child your eldest girl, my dearest Agnes?”
“Yes,” replied Mrs. Hubert, “she is my eldest girl — but we have two boys older.”
“Oh! yes — I remember. And this dear creature, then, is your Elizabeth, for whom you told me General Hubert’s aunt, Lady Elizabeth Norris, and your own great-aunt, Mrs. Elizabeth Compton, stood godmothers.”
“Yes: this is Elizabeth.”
“Is she in good health, my dearest Agnes?”
“Perfectly so.”
“She is so very pale and thin! isn’t she?
“Nothing can be thinner, certainly — but we do not reckon her particularly pale. None of our children are fresh-coloured — but they have all excellent health.”
“Then, my dear love, you must be contented with that — which after all is the first of blessings, and of infinitely more real importance, than all the beauty in the world. But, to be sure, she is the youngest-looking creature of her age that I ever saw. Who would believe, Agnes, that there was not more than five months difference in age between your girl and mine.”
“No one, certainly,” replied Mrs. Hubert, with a smile.
“Is it possible!” said General Hubert, who found it rather difficult to keep up a conversation with his sanctified-looking host; “is it possible, that Miss O’Donagough is not more than five months older than Elizabeth?”
“That is all, general, I assure you,” replied Mrs. O’Donagough. “But the air of Sydney, you know, is counted the finest in the world, and I think that is likely to have a great deal to do with the improvement of children. But your dear girl is not very short neither — only she looks so little and childish-like compared to Patty. However, that is a fault that will mend every day — won’t it, dear?”
Elizabeth, on being thus addressed, smiled, though without speaking, and the beauty of that sweet smile perfectly startled the critical Mrs. O’Donagough.
“Dear me!” she exclaimed, with very blunt sincerity, “how pretty she is when she smiles! Oh, dear! that is so like poor Sophy!”
“Is she indeed like my mother, aunt?” said Mrs. Hubert, with some emotion.
“The smile is exactly like her,” replied Mrs. O’Donagough. “And your mother was very slight, too; but nothing like so little as Elizabeth, at her age.”
“We never reckoned Elizabeth so very little,” said the general, laughing; “but rather the contrary. Do let the young ladies stand up together — I know that is a very regular and orthodox ceremony, which always ought to be performed when cousins meet for the first time; and, moreover, I doubt if the English lass be not the taller of the two.”
“Stand up, Martha!” said Mr. Allen O’Donagough, with much solemnity.
The young lady obeyed; but there was a little toss of the head, and a little curl of the lip, that spoke, involuntarily perhaps, the scorn which the idea of any sort of measurement between herself and her cousin created.
“Come, Elizabeth,” cried the general.
Elizabeth stood up, and yielded herself smiling and blushing to the hands of her father, who having himself untied her bonnet and laid it aside, placed her back to back with her cousin.
Mrs. O’Donagough looked at her again, as she thus stood with her head uncovered, and something very nearly approaching to a frown, contracted her brow. She said not a word more about her departed sister, or the beauty of her smiles; but after a disagreeable sort of struggle with her own judgment, she inwardly ejaculated, “If that girl was my daughter, I should make something of her.”
The military eye of General Hubert had not deceived him. There was but little difference in the height of the young ladies, but that little was decidedly in favo
ur of Miss Hubert.
“You see I am right, ladies,” said he; “I have been used to measuring recruits by my eye.”
“Am I shortest, mamma?” said Patty, in a tone that expressed both vexation and incredulity.
““Why, yes, you are, my dear,” replied her mother; “I am sure I don’t know how it can be — you look so very much bigger and older.”
“Oh! what a maypole I must be!” said the still blushing Elizabeth, replacing her bonnet, and thereby eclipsing one of certainly the least ordinary faces that ever was looked upon. The rounded contour of the oval, indeed, that might be hoped for hereafter, was not yet there; and, excepting when excited, the delicate cheek was pale. But the forehead, eyes, nose, and beyond all else, the finely-cut full lips, with that rare Grecian wavy line, which gives a power of expression possessed by few, were all pre-eminently handsome; and had it not been for the conviction that her niece Agnes never did, nor never would know how to make the most of beauty, the last state of Mrs. O’Donagough’s mind, respecting the parallel inevitably drawn between their two daughters, would have been considerably worse than the first. As it was, however, when Elizabeth again sat down with her close bonnet, and her quiet look of perfect childishness, — while Martha, after a momentary arrangement of her curls before the glass, turned round upon her with a throat as white as ivory, cheeks like a cabbage-rose, and eyes that darted liquid beams of youthful sauciness, with all the airs and graces of conscious beauty, — it was utterly impossible she should feel otherwise than well contented with her.
The visit lasted about twenty minutes longer, which, to say the truth, seemed quite long enough to all parties; yet, when Mrs. Hubert rose to take leave, her fond aunt was almost clamorous that she should stay a little longer.
“Oh, dearest Agnes! must I lose you already! Think what a time it is since last we met! It is such a treat to see you et cetera, et cetera.
“We shall have the pleasure of seeing you to-morrow, aunt,” replied Agnes, kindly, “and of course my cousin will come with you; unless, indeed, she would like to come earlier,” she added, recollecting herself, “and share Elizabeth’s two o’clock dinner? Perhaps this would be the best way, as it would enable them to take a walk by the sea together, afterwards.
The operations of thought are proverbially rapid with us all; but Mrs. O’Donagough was a particularly quick person, and even before her niece had ceased to speak, the pros and eons for this nursery sort of invitation to Martha had passed through her mind. But, notwithstanding all this quickness, it was really not a very easy matter to decide. She was perfectly aware that it would make her daughter, what the young lady herself called “as mad as fire but, on the other hand, it would probably lead to much greater intimacy. Against it was the obvious fact, that the beautiful dress projected, and already prepared for the occasion, could not possibly be worn; but then, all the people in Brighton would have an opportunity of seeing the young people together on the beach, exactly as if they were one family.
In this dilemma, Mrs. O’Donagough wisely took the course which could most easily admit of retreat; and with a countenance beaming with affection and pleasure replied, “There is nothing in the world she would like so well, my dear Agnes! At what time shall she be with you?”
“A little before two, if you please.” And then the final adieus were exchanged, and the visitors departed.
CHAPTER ΧII.
THE O’Donagough family remained perfectly silent till the door of the house was distinctly heard to close after their departing guests; and even then, Mr. O’Donagough, who had stopped to the window, and so placed his eyes as to obtain a sidelong glance after them, continued to hold his finger to his nose, in token that no word was to be spoken till they had passed beyond the possibility of hearing it.
Perhaps this extreme caution arose from a sort of, prophetic consciousness on the part of Mr. O’Donagough, that when his daughter did speak, it was likely to be with considerable energy. Nor, if this were the case, did he at all miscalculate. No sooner did his finger quit his nose, and his eyes direct themselves into the room, instead of out of it, than his wife and daughter both
Cried “Havock!” and let slip the dogs of war!
In plain prose, they both burst forth into the most vehement and unsparing abuse of Miss Hubert’s dress, manner, and general appearance.
“Isn’t it a most extraordinary and unaccountable thing,” exclaimed Mrs. O’Donagough, “that such a really elegant looking woman as my niece Agnes, should choose to let her daughter go such a fright? Did any one ever see such an object? It is a perfect mystery to me; and that is the truth.”
“And pray how is she to help it?” replied Patty. “Her mother did not make her, I suppose?”
“If she did not make her, she made her bonnet,” rejoined her mother, “or at any rate she made her put it on; and I am sure that if it had been an old extinguisher it could not have answered better for turning her into an object and a fright.”
“Lor! mamma! what does the bonnet signify? It only looks as if they hadn’t a penny in the world. But you won’t pretend to fell me that if that lanky monster of a girl was to have as beautiful a bonnet as my pink one on, it would make her look like anything else but what she is? and that’s as ugly as sin, and you know it.”
“Well, Patty,” said her father, “and if she is, it’s all the better for you, my dear; so I don’t see why you should look so put out about it. If what your mother says is to come true, and you are to be taken to court and everywhere along with her, it is a great deal better that you should outdo her, than that she should outdo you.”
These judicious remarks considerably softened the aspect of Miss O’Donagough. She no longer looked like a hedgehog in attitude of declared hostility to all corners, nay she almost smiled as she replied, “Lor a mercy, papa! you don’t think I’m going to cry because my cousin isn’t a beauty, do you?”
“I am sure I can’t say what may happen about the taking Patty to court, Mr. O’Donagough,” observed Mrs. O’Donagough, with rather an anxious look. “That, you know, must depend altogether on the degree of intimacy that grows between us, and of course it will depend in a very great measure upon Patty herself.”
“Oh, my gracious!” cried the young lady, “I am sure I shan’t do anything to get intimate with that scaramouch of a girl, so you need not reckon upon it, — mind that. I’d see the queen, and the king too, if there was one, and all the princes and princesses upon the face of the earth, at the bottom of the Red Sea before I’d demean myself to lick the feet of such a nasty, vulgar, ugly beast of a girl as that.”
“How, Patty, I think you go rather too far,” said her father; “not that I want you to lick anybody’s feet — that’s not the best way to get on in the world. But though your cousin is not to be compared with you, as a fine handsome bouncing girl of her age, I don’t think she is too ugly to speak to, either. Do you know, I should not wonder if some people were to think her quite pretty.”
The quills rose again in the eyes, and on the lips, of the susceptible Patty. “How can you stand there talking such nonsense, papa,” said she, sharply, “as if I eared whether she was pretty or ugly? But when mamma talks of our getting intimate with her, or of our ever being such friends as Betty Sheepshanks and I was, it is altogether provoking, and I would advise you both to give up the notion at once; for it never will, and it never shall be. Nasty, stiff, great baby!”
“I tell you what, Patty,” said Mrs. O’Donagough stoutly, though secretly trembling at the reception her unpalatable invitation to the nursery dinner was likely to receive, “I tell you what, miss, if you choose to set up your back at my relations in this way, I’ll never try to make one of them take notice of you, and I should like to see where you would be then, and what good all the nice clothes I have been getting together would prove, without a single soul to look at them? Don’t keep knitting your brows that way, Patty. You don’t look much handsomer than your cousin now, I can tell you. I only wish
you could see yourself.”
“Well, ma’am, I can see myself easy enough, if that’s all,” replied Miss Patty, turning to the looking-glass, arranging her hair, and then flashing round again upon her admiring mother, “I am not at all ashamed to look at my own face.”
“It would be rather odd if you were, Patty; I won’t deny that,” said Mrs. O’Donagough, smiling with a look of very undisguised admiration. “But that’s neither here nor there, my dear, we won’t talk of your beauty before your face, because that’s very bad manners; and into the bargain it is a great deal more to the purpose to determine what it will be the best to do about the time of your going to-morrow, my dear. My niece Agnes, who, I must say, seems inclined to do everything in her power to make you and Elizabeth as intimate as possible, has desired, as the greatest favour in the world, that you would spend the whole day with her; that is to say, go quite early, Patty, and not ceremoniously like your papa and me, you know, at six o’clock, but between one and two, that you may take a long chatty ramble with her by the sea-side, after an early dinner. I hope you will like that, my dear? I am sure it is paying you a monstrous compliment.”
“Like it!” replied Patty, raising her voice to a very shrill tone, “I like playing at being a baby all day long, with that stupid oaf of a girl! I can’t and I won’t, and that’s flat.”
“Nonsense, Patty,” said Mr. O’Donagough, “that’s not the way to get on, I promise you. I won’t have you quarrel with your bread and butter in that style. Go? To be sure you will, and be thankful too, if you know what’s what.”
“And pray what am I to do about my beautiful striped gauze dress, and my blue satin shoes? Am I to walk out with Miss Gawky in that fashion?”
“No, my dear, that is quite impossible. No, you cannot go full dressed, as we intended, that is entirely out of the question, for this time,” said her mother; “you must just wear your new mousseline de laine, Patty. It is an elegant thing, and yet quite good style for a morning. And your pink bonnet, you know, and the scarf; so that you will be perfectly first-rate in appearance, and enjoy, besides, the enormous advantage of letting everybody in Brighton see that you are one of the Hubert family.”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 238
