Hester · Chapter 10 (1/2)

X

A Lover

It was about this time that Hester became aware of a circumstance the most important that could possibly happen in a young woman’s life. There had been no opportunity for her to become acquainted with the emulations and rivalship of other girls. Girls there were none about the Vernonry, nor did they abound in the neighbourhood, in the class from which alone her mother’s visitors were chosen. Mrs. John, it has been said, belonged to a county family, a fact of which she was as proud as it is natural and becoming a woman should be. She did not altogether frown upon the few callers from the town who thought it only their duty to Miss Vernon, the most hospitable entertainer in the neighbourhood, to take a little notice of the pensioners, as the poor ladies at the Vernonry were called; but she did not encourage these benevolent visitors. “They are all ladies, and as good as any of us,” Mrs. Redfern had been heard to say, who was the mayor’s lady, and considered herself a leader of society; and it was a beautiful sight to see Mrs. John, in her old-fashioned dark room and simplest black gown, receiving with kind condescension, and endeavouring to set at her ease, this very fine lady, who considered herself to be paying the poor widow a quite undeserved honour. Mrs. John returned cards only in acknowledgment of Mrs. Redfern’s visit, and there the acquaintance ended. So that Hester lost altogether the opportunity of knowing how ordinary girls looked and talked, and what was the object of their ambition. She had not even, which may surprise some people, come to any conclusion whatever in respect to her own personal appearance. Sometimes indeed, it cannot be denied, she had looked up in the midst of a novel, where all the young persons in whom the reader was supposed to take any interest were beautiful, and asked herself vaguely, with a blush, feeling ashamed of the question, whether she was pretty. But partly she was ashamed to give the time necessary to the solution of the problem, and partly she had not the data upon which to form her conclusions. There was a beautiful girl in Redborough in a humble position, upon whose claims everybody was agreed, but she was a queenly creature, with dark hair and blue eyes, and features of the most exquisite regularity, to whom Hester could not flatter herself that she bore the slightest resemblance. Nor was she like Ellen Vernon, with her lovely fairness, her look of wax and confectionary. Hester was not ethereal at all. There was no smallness about her, though she was slim as became her age. “The springy motion in her gait,” the swift, light step which never tired, were beautiful in their way, and so was the eager outlook in her eyes, which seemed to contract and expand according to the degree of interest with which outside subjects moved them; but all this rather as exponents of the mind within than as merely physical features. Her hair had never grown long, not much longer indeed than was just necessary to twist into the knot behind which proved her to be grown up, and it remained full of curl and ready to break the smoothness of outline then thought necessary, on the smallest provocation. Her complexion was very variable, sometimes radiant with flutters of sudden colour, sometimes relapsing into a rose-tinted whiteness, more white than pale. Her features were not much to brag of; it was the play of prompt feeling in her face, the interest, the indignation, the pity, the perpetual change and vicissitude, that made it attractive, and on this point of course Hester could not judge. Seeing that her mouth was too large, and her nose too short, and her eyebrows too marked, she concluded that she was not pretty, and regretted it, though in her circumstances it mattered very little; her friends liked her just as well, whether or not; and she was never likely to produce the effect which the heroines in novels⁠—even though comparatively plain⁠—did produce. So she decided, with a little shame to think that she could have been disturbed about the matter, that it was not worth going into it further. All the same it is a pity, for the sake of young readers, that all the girls in novels, with so very rare exceptions⁠—and Jane Eyre, if not pretty, probably was less plain than she thought, and certainly was agaçante, which is much more effective⁠—should be beautiful and should have so much admiration and conquest. The girls who read are apt to wonder how it is that they have not the same fortune. Hester, for her part, had a fine scorn of feminine victories in this sort; they had never come within the possibilities of her lot. She never went to balls, nor met in society gangs of suitors contending for her smile; she did not believe in such things, and she thought she despised them.

It was in the very midst of this scepticism that she suddenly became aware of certain facts which, as we have said, were of the kind generally supposed to be most important in a young woman’s life. Harry Vernon had been for some time alone in the splendour of the White House; Ellen, who had inflicted so deep a wound upon Hester’s inexperienced girlhood, had married the previous summer, and in the lack of young ladies worthy to swell her train on that occasion, had selected Hester as one of her bridesmaids. Hester had never forgiven her frivolous kinswoman for that first disenchantment of her youth, but her mother, upon whom her exclusion from society and from all opportunities of distinguishing herself there weighed heavily, had insisted on the acceptance of the invitation, and Hester had figured accordingly in a white muslin frock, much too simple to match the toilette of the other bridesmaids in the pageant, greatly to her own disquiet. She was the only Vernon in it, and thus had been specially put forward, and Ellen, altogether unconscious of previous offence, had exhausted herself in demonstrations of affection to her young relative. It was she whom Harry led out in the morning’s procession, and he had, in the intervals of his duty to his guests, come back again and again to her side. Hester, all inexperienced and unknowing, had paid little attention to these early indications. She did not identify him with his sister’s guilt towards her. He was a weak, good-natured, genial fellow, and no more. If Harry did anything wrong, no doubt it was because of being led astray. In himself he wished nothing but good to anyone. He was not clever, he was steady and stolid, and went through both work and pleasure without much discrimination as to which was which, carrying on both in the same way. When he began to come to the Vernonry evening after evening, Hester paid little attention to him. She would go out to walk with old Captain Morgan in the very face of the young visitor whose “intentions” all the community considered to be of such importance. Hester never thought of his “intentions.” She had none herself in which he was anyhow involved. She was perfectly friendly when they met, but she did not care whether they ever met or not, and repulsed him as much as steady indifference can repulse an obstinate and not very clear-sighted young man. But this was not saying much. Harry knew as well as anyone that his suit was a wonderful chance for his distant cousin; that Hester had no right to look for such good fortune as that of being the object of his affections. He knew that he was bringing in his hand everything a girl need wish for. And so far as Hester’s course of action was concerned, though he was much irritated by it sometimes, he still felt that it was what she had a right to employ in the circumstances. It “drew a fellow on;” she was right to do what she could to obtain this so desirable consummation. He could not find fault with her even when he was angry. Had she been too ready to meet him, he felt that he would himself have despised what was so easily won. But her coyness, her apparent indifference, her walking out to the old captain from her lover, all helped to rivet his chains. It was excellent policy, and he took it as such; it drew a fellow on.

And it would be impossible to describe the interest of the Vernonry in this new development. Harry made his appearance first when they were all outside enjoying the beauty of the summer evening, Mr. Mildmay Vernon occupying that bench in front of the verandah, which was the most desirable place in the evening, being just clear of the low sunbeams which came into your eyes through the trunks of the pines, penetrating like golden arrows. Mrs. John herself was watering the plants in the verandah, which were a little exhausted by the long, scorching day, and wanted refreshment. The Miss Vernon-Ridgways were walking about with their long sashes extended and their large sleeves flying, the one eagerly talking from a few paces behind her, to the other. Their conversation was on the well-worn subject of “some people who never knew their own place,” and was aimed at the tranquil gentleman on the bench, who when he had secured his own comfort, which was the first thing to be thought of, rather prided himself upon never interfering with his neighbours. When Harry Vernon appeared, there was a universal stir. The sisters made a little flight round him, gazing at him. “I do believe it is Harry. Is it Harry?” they said. Mr. Mildmay Vernon put down his paper in the midst of a paragraph, and came forward with his most genial air. “I hope this is a visit only. I hope there is nothing wrong,” he said.

“Wrong! what should be wrong?” said Harry, turning his fair countenance wonderingly upon the group. “It’s a lovely evening, and I wanted a walk,” he added, with a little reddening of that too fair face; “and besides, I’ve got a message from Ellen to Mrs. John⁠—”

“Dear Ellen! How is Ellen? When is she coming home?” cried Miss Matilda. “When you write to her, give her our love. But I suppose she is too happy to care about anybody’s love save one person’s. Marriage will improve Ellen⁠—marriage will steady her. She used to be a little forgetful, perhaps. Ah! marriage will do her a great deal of good. She had everything too much her own way.”

“But she is missed. It would be pretty to see her again⁠—forgetting,” said Mr. Mildmay, “that she had ever set eyes on you before.”

“Ah, dear Ellen! We should not have known her without her little ways!”

Now Harry was fond of his sister.

“I’ll thank you to leave Ellen alone,” he said, brusquely. “I dare say we’ve all got our little ways. I had something to say to Mrs. John if you’ll let me pass, please.”

“Politeness is characteristic of our family,” said Miss Matilda, drawing her skirts closely round her, and standing ostentatiously, though she was not very near him, out of his way.

Mrs. John stood looking on in the verandah with the watering-can in her hand, not hearing much of what they said, but feeling that it was uncivil, and putting on a little deprecating, anxious smile⁠—

“Come in,” she said, “come in. The parlour, I think, is almost cooler than the garden after this hot day. Shall I make you a cup of tea?”

“These pensioners of Aunt Catherine’s are odious people,” said Harry. “It was you and Hester I came to see.”

“You must not speak of them so⁠—they would not like it,” said Mrs. John, not thinking that she herself might be spoken of in the same way, though rather pleased at the bottom of her heart that Harry should make a distinction between them. He threw himself down in a chair, which creaked under his weight, and looked very large and mannish in the little feminine room⁠—rather, indeed, it must be allowed, out of place there.

“I wonder how you can get on in such a poky little place,” he said. “I should like to see you in handsome big rooms; it would seem much more natural.”

Mrs. John smiled again, a deprecating, half-apologetic smile.

“Oh, I am very glad to be here. I did not expect ever to have to live in such a poor place when I married, it is true; but people’s minds change with their circumstances. I am glad to have it⁠—”

“You oughtn’t to⁠—you should have been provided for in a different way. Ah, Hester! I am so glad to see you,” Harry said, rising with some commotion to his feet. He took Hester’s hand and held it for a moment. “I thought I’d come and tell you about Ellen,” he said, with a blush.

“Hester,” said her mother, giving her a little meaning look, of which she did not understand the signification, “you must give Mr. Harry a cup of tea.”

And there he sat, to her great oppression, for an hour at least. He did not even tell them about Ellen. He said nothing in particular⁠—nothing which it was necessary to say. Hester, who had intended to go out with her old captain, felt herself bound by politeness and her mother’s warning looks. She did not know what these looks meant, but they held her fast. There was not very much conversation. He said a few things over and over, which made it difficult to change the subject; and it was mostly Mrs. John who replied, and who rather liked, also, to repeat the same sentiment. Hester poured out the tea, and when the moment came for that, lighted the candles, and sat down in the background and took her work. She was not very fond of work, but it was better than doing nothing at all. When she took that seat which was beyond his point of vision, Harry turned his chair round so as to face her, and took up one of the candles and arranged it for her, that she might see to work. “You should have a lamp,” he said. “I have a nice little lamp at home just the thing for you; you must let me send it.” What a long time he sat, and how anxious he was to make himself agreeable! After that he came three or four times in succession. Mrs. John began to look for him, brightening up as the hour of his visit approached; and the neighbours kept up a watch which it was impossible to mistake. “If he comes tonight again I shall know what to think,” Miss Matilda said. But when he came that night he met Hester at the gate in her outdoor apparel. Harry’s countenance fell.

“Oh, you are surely not going out,” he said, “not just when I come? You couldn’t be so unkind.”

“I have been unkind to Captain Morgan very often,” said Hester. “I must not neglect him tonight,” and she passed him quickly with a little bow and smile. It made Harry very angry, but still he felt that it drew a fellow on.

On one of these occasions, when Hester eluded him in this way, Harry spoke his mind to Mrs. John.

“I’m very lonely up there by myself,” he said, “and I have nobody to please but myself. Ellen used to interfere and keep me in order, as she said; but now she’s got somebody else to look after. I’ve thought a great deal of Hester for years back. That time when we came to see you first, you know, when Ellen made so many advances and forgot all about them⁠—that was her way. She’s not a bad sort when you get safe hold of her⁠—but it’s her way. Well, from that time I’ve thought of Hester, though I never liked to say a word as long as Ellen was there.”

“Oh, Mr. Harry,” said Mrs. John, who was fluttered and flattered as if a proposal were being made to herself. “She was only a child in those days.”