Hester · Chapter 14 (1/2)

XIV

Harry’s View

Of all the people who discussed his affairs and were interested in his prosperity, Harry Vernon himself would have agreed most entirely with Catherine. He had no very elevated ideal either of life in general or even of love, though that influenced him at the present moment very powerfully. He had got to be “very fond,” as he would himself have described it, of Hester. He thought her very pretty to begin with, very delightful, attractive, and amusing⁠—the sort of girl with whom life never would be dull. He thought her clever, one who would be able to manage his now somewhat too large and unwieldy house and take the trouble off his hands; he thought that handsomely dressed, as of course she would be, she would look very nice at the head of his table and make it popular⁠—better even than Ellen had done: for in Ellen’s time it had been somewhat fast and noisy, more than Harry, with the instincts of a respectable citizen and man of business, felt to be advantageous, though he had enjoyed it well enough. In all these particulars he felt that his affections were leading him wisely, and that not merely love⁠—always avowedly more or less folly⁠—but discrimination and sense were in his choice. But he would have thought Catherine perfectly right about the advantages on Hester’s side, and he would not have been disgusted or offended by the suggestion that Mrs. John had schemed to place her daughter in the White House, and done her best not to let such an eligible suitor slip through her hands. And quite right too, he would have said! He knew that he would be “a catch” for Hester, and that as she was no fool, it was inconceivable that she should not jump at him. This idea did not offend him at all; that she should marry him because he could give her rank which otherwise she would not have, was a natural, sensible, perfectly legitimate reason to Harry. Had there been a rival in the field with greater things to offer, he would have felt that he had a right to pause, to think what was most to her advantage. But as there was nobody, he thought probably that Hester would be a great fool if she made any difficulty. Catherine had offended herself and offended Edward by her suggestion, but she would not have offended Harry. “That is about it⁠—that is the true state of the case,” he would have said. And it is possible that he might have represented that notwithstanding the fact that she had no money, Hester would not be an altogether bad investment; for she had connections. Mrs. John might be a silly little woman, but she was Sir John Westwood’s cousin, and a little more backing up from the county people would do the Vernons no harm. Thus he took a very commonsense view of the whole concern, thinking it perfectly reasonable that Mrs. John should scheme, and that Hester should consider the advantages. He thought even that she had probably calculated the uses of holding back, and that her expeditions with the old captain, her disappearances at the time of his own visits, were done with a distinct intention of drawing a fellow on. It made him very angry, especially as matters came to a crisis, to find her absent, and only Mrs. John, very nervous and apologetic, waiting for him when he went in: but after the first bitterness of the disappointment, he was ready to allow that it was good policy, and that he was all the more anxious in the pursuit because she thus played with him and kept him in uncertainty. If Hester had but known that she was supposed to be “drawing him on” by her absences! but fortunately she did not know. And nothing could have made them understand each other on that point. They belonged to two different species, and talked different languages. But the superficial explanation which Catherine was ashamed of herself for giving, and which Edward despised, would have seemed quite natural to Harry, though in many ways he was better than they were, and far more true to his own system of morality. He neither hid nor deceived, he did not cheat himself nor anyone else; and truth is so precious that even a low matter-of-fact truth is better than half a falsehood, however delicately and cleverly carried out. Harry was all genuine throughout, not elevated in kind, but never pretending to be what he was not. He liked to think that he had a great many advantages to bestow, and that the lady of his hopes had too much good sense not to take these advantages into consideration. This was different from wild impulse and passion, which some people think finer things. But Harry did not think so; he knew nothing indeed about them. He considered that a man (and on the other side perhaps an heiress) might “please his fancy,” in the first place, about his wife, before thinking of other matters: but that the girl should weigh the advantages, and strain a point to accept a good offer, was as clear to him as daylight. It would not in the smallest degree have vexed him to know that his own claims were thus reasonably weighed. He had the proud satisfaction of thinking that Hester was not very likely to get such another offer; and he felt sufficient confidence in her good sense to be sure that this must have its just influence upon her. Why should not it weigh with her? She was “no fool.” She could not but see on which side the advantage lay.

The only thing was that he got tired of waiting for the decision. He thought it unreasonable that having so honourably and unequivocally displayed his intentions, he should not be allowed to carry them out. Summer began to wane and autumn to come on, and yet he had never been able to speak to the object of his affections. At last his patience failed him altogether. He announced his mind to Mrs. John almost with solemnity. “I can’t go on much longer,” he said; “the servants worry me to death. Ellen always took that sort of thing off my hands. But I don’t want Ellen to get in her nose again and spoil my wife’s chances when she does come. The truth is, I should like to get married before Christmas, if I am to be married at all. Why should Hester hold me off and on? If she won’t have me, let her say so, and I can look elsewhere. I don’t think I should have much difficulty in finding⁠—” he concluded, his annoyance going off in a half-smile of vanity as he caressed his light moustache.

A shiver ran through Mrs. John. Before Christmas! Even if Hester would consent at all, was it possible that her reluctance could be overpowered so soon, or that she should be made to acquiesce in Harry’s quite practical and matter-of-fact view. “No doubt you want a lady in the house,” she said, sympathetically. “I am sure if I could be of any use⁠—”

“Oh yes, of course you could be of use,” said the straightforward lover, “after we are married; but it would be making a laughingstock of ourselves if I were to have you before. If there was any reason for putting off I might wait, but I don’t see any reason. Once it’s settled, we could make our arrangements comfortably. It is being hung up like this from week to week which is such a nuisance to me.”

He went away that evening almost angry. What was to be done? Mrs. John’s natural instinct was to “talk to” Hester; but she had learned by experience that “talking to” is not a very effectual instrument. All that she had been able to say had been said, but without much apparent effect. She had pointed out all the advantages. She had shown, with tears in her eyes, what a change it would be⁠—what an unspeakable, delightful difference. Insensibly to herself, Mrs. John had become eloquent upon the charms, if not of Harry, at least of the White House. But this had suddenly been brought home to her by her remorseless child, who said calmly, “Mother, if I could marry the house and let you have it, I would do so in a moment,” which stopped Mrs. John’s mouth.

“Marry the⁠—house!” she said, with a surprised cry.

“It is of the house you are talking. I know it is nice⁠—or at least I know you like it. I do not care for it myself.”

“Oh, Hester, my first married home!”

“Yes, mother, I know. I wish I could get it for you⁠—on easier terms,” the girl said, with a sigh. And this was about all that ever came of talking to her. She was very obstinate: and such a strange girl.

But sometimes Providence, so much appealed to⁠—whom we upbraid for not furthering us and backing up our plans⁠—suddenly did interfere. It was entirely by chance, as people say. Mrs. John had gone out of the room not two minutes before, and Hester, who had been walking and had just come in, stood before the old-fashioned dark mirror which occupied the space between the windows, arranging her hair, which had been blown about by the wind. It was, as has been said, troublesome hair⁠—so full of curls that the moment it had a chance it ran out of the level and orderly into rings and twists, which were quite unfashionable in those days. It had been loosened out by the wind, and she was trying to coax it back into its legitimate bondage, with her arms raised to her head, and her back turned to the door. Harry came in without knocking, and the first intimation Hester had that the long-avoided moment had come, and that there was no escape for her, was when she saw his large form in the glass, close to her, looming over her, his fair head above hers, looking down with admiration and tenderness upon her image. She turned round hastily, with a cry of astonishment, her rebellious locks escaping from her hands.

“Why shouldn’t you let it stay so? It is very pretty so,” Harry said, looking at the curly mass with a smile, as if he had a great mind to take a lock of it in his fingers.

Hester sprang away from him, and twisted it up, she did not know how.

“It is so untidy⁠—there is so much wind.” She was angry with herself for apologising. It was he who ought to have apologised. She pushed the hair away behind her ears, and got it fastened somehow. “I did not hear you knock,” she said.

“I fear I didn’t knock. The verandah door was open. I saw nobody about. I did not know whether I should find anyone. You are so often out now.”

“Yes, I walk with old Captain Morgan about this time. In the morning I am always at home.”

“If I had known that I should have come in the morning,” he said, “not regularly because of the bank, but I should have come once to see you. However, this is far better. I am so glad to find you. I have wished for this for months past. Has it never occurred to you that I was anxious to see you, Hester? You looked to me as if you were keeping away.”

“Why should I keep away? I do always the same thing at the same hour. Captain Morgan is old⁠—he requires to have somebody with him.”

“And I⁠—I am young, and I want somebody with me.”

“Oh, it does not matter about young people,” Hester said.

“I think it matters most of all, because they have their life before them; and, don’t you know, the choice of a companion tells for so much⁠—”

“A companion!⁠—oh, that is quite a different question,” said Hester. “It is teaching I have always wanted, never a companion’s place.”

“I have heard of that,” said Harry. “When you were quite a little thing you wanted to teach, and Aunt Catherine would not let you. You⁠—teaching! It would have been quite out of the question. Won’t you sit down? Do come for once, now that I have found you, and sit down here.”

It was the little old-fashioned settee that was indicated, where there was just room for two.

“Oh, I have got things to do!” cried Hester, in alarm. “My mother will be here immediately, but I⁠—have got something upstairs⁠—”

“Always when I come,” he said. “Just once, because I am here, listen to me, Hester. It won’t take very long. I think you use me very ill. You know I come here for you, and you will never let me see you. And now when I find you by chance, you insist that you have something to do. Leave it till tomorrow. Perhaps after tomorrow,” said Harry, in a lugubrious voice, “I may not be coming any more.”

“Is anything to happen tomorrow?” said Hester, betrayed by his seeming gravity.

Then Harry cheered up again, and became more at his ease.

“Not,” he said, “if something should happen tonight. That’s what I wish⁠—that something should happen now. Sit down, please, and listen. Don’t you know, Hester⁠—they say women always know⁠—that I’ve been in love with you ever so long?”

“No, I don’t know anything about it,” said Hester, though a sudden flush came over her face.

She had seated herself on the sofa in a kind of desperation, fearing that he meant to place himself beside her. And such had been Harry’s intention; but some dim sense of fitness moved him to depart from this portion of his programme. He stood before her instead, looking down upon her, feeling now that he had it all in his own hands.

“It is true, though. What do you suppose I have been coming here for every night? I think I’ve been in love with you ever since I first saw you⁠—when you were only a child. Now I’m alone since my sister is married, and quite free to choose where I like.” He made a pause, but Hester did not say anything. She sat drawing patterns upon the carpet with her foot, listening⁠—because she could not help it. She who was so full of eagerness and life, it seemed to Harry as if every line of her figure expressed the listlessness of a subject that wearied her. Now this was more than a fellow could stand, although even now he felt that it drew him on.

“By Jove!” he cried, “one would think you were getting offers every day of your life.”

She looked up at him with a brightening countenance.

“No,” she said. “If this is an offer, Cousin Harry, it is the first I have ever had.”

“And you think no more of it than that!” he cried, with most natural feeling, flinging himself down in a low wickerwork chair at her feet, so that he made it shake and tremble. This restored Hester once more to herself. She began to be amused, which, in the dull life she was leading, told for so much.

“How should I take it? I don’t know, indeed, for I never was in the circumstances before. It is true I have read about it in books,” said Hester, considering. “A girl in a novel would say that it was a great honour you had done her, Cousin Harry,” for he showed signs of natural impatience, jumping up and pacing noisily about the room. “Don’t you see it is very difficult. You make a statement to me about your own state of mind, and then you look as if you expected something from me; but what am I to say? I am not in love with you⁠—or anybody,” Hester added quietly, as if by an afterthought.

He was coming towards her, with his lips apart ready to speak; but this quiet little additional word seemed to stop in a moment what he was going to say. He did not quite know how, nor did she know, whether she meant anything by it; but it had an immediate effect. He gave a gasp as if those arrested words almost choked him, then said, “Nor anybody?” suddenly. It had seemed certain to him before that: she never could have seen anyone, and she had informed him that this was her first “offer”; nevertheless he took these words⁠—having them thrown at him, as it were, in a surprise⁠—as a great concession. He drew a long breath, and said⁠—

“Then, Hester, there is the more chance for me.”

Thus in a moment their relative positions were changed. Harry had begun by feeling that he had a great deal to bestow⁠—many things which no girl in her senses could neglect or reject. But in a moment he had been reduced to what in chivalry should be a lover’s only standing-ground, the right of telling his love with or without response, waiting absolutely upon his lady’s pleasure, hoping for her bounty⁠—no more. He was so carried away by this new impulse that he did not understand himself, or the change worked in him; but with a gasp as for breath, turned from the nineteenth-century version of lovemaking to the primitive one, not knowing what he did.