Sandra Belloni (originally Emilia in England) — Complete. George Meredith

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      “And also for the space into which the ninety thousand souls are packed,” quoth Tracy Runningbrook.

      “Well! well!” went Sir Twickenham.

      “The knife is the law to an Italian of the South,” said Mr. Powys. “He distrusts any other, because he never gets it. Where law is established, or tolerably secure, the knife is not used. Duels are rare. There is too much bonhomie for the point of honour.”

      “I should like to believe that all men are as just to their mistresses,” Lady Charlotte sighed, mock-earnestly.

      Presently Emilia touched the arm of Mr. Powys. She looked agitated. “I want to be told the name of that gentleman.” His eyes were led to rest on the handsome hussar-captain.

      “Do you know him?”

      “But his name!”

      “Do me the favour to look at me. Captain Gambier.”

      “It is!”

      Captain Gambier's face was resolutely kept in profile to her.

      “I hear a rumour,” said Lady Gosstre to Arabella, “that you think of bidding for the Besworth estate. Are you tired of Brookfield?”

      “Not tired; but Brookfield is modern, and I confess that Besworth has won my heart.”

      “I shall congratulate myself on having you nearer neighbours. Have you many, or any rivals?”

      “There is some talk of the Tinleys wishing to purchase it. I cannot see why.”

      “What people are they?” asked Lady Charlotte. “Do they hunt?”

      “Oh, dear, no! They are to society what Dissenters are to religion. I can't describe them otherwise.”

      “They pass before me in that description,” said Lady Gosstre.

      “Besworth's an excellent centre for hunting,” Lady Charlotte remarked to Wilfrid. “I've always had an affection for that place. The house is on gravel; the river has trout; there's a splendid sweep of grass for the horses to exercise. I think there must be sixteen spare beds. At all events, I know that number can be made up; so that if you're too poor to live much in London, you can always have your set about you.”

      The eyes of the fair economist sparkled as she dwelt on these particular advantages of Besworth.

      Richford boasted a show of flowers that might tempt its guests to parade the grounds on balmy evenings. Wilfrid kept by the side of Lady Charlotte. She did not win his taste a bit. Had she been younger, less decided in tone, and without a title, it is very possible that she would have offended his native, secret, and dominating fastidiousness as much as did Emilia. Then, what made him subject at all to her influence, as he felt himself beginning to be? She supplied a deficiency in the youth. He was growing and uncertain: she was set and decisive. In his soul he adored the extreme refinement of woman; even up to the thin edge of inanity (which neighbours what the philosopher could tell him if he would, and would, if it were permitted to him). Nothing was too white, too saintly, or too misty, for his conception of abstract woman. But the practical wants of our nature guide us best. Conversation with Lady Charlotte seemed to strengthen and ripen him. He blushed with pleasure when she said: “I remember reading your name in the account of that last cavalry charge on the Dewan. You slew a chief, I think. That was creditable, for they are swordmen. Cavalry in Europe can't win much honour—not individual honour, I mean. I suppose being part of a victorious machine is exhilarating. I confess I should not think much of wearing that sort of feather. It's right to do one's duty, comforting to trample down opposition, and agreeable to shed blood, but when you have matched yourself man to man, and beaten—why, then, I dub you knight.”

      Wilfrid bowed, half-laughing, in a luxurious abandonment to his sensations. Possibly because of their rule over him then, the change in him was so instant from flattered delight to vexed perplexity. Rounding one of the rhododendron banks, just as he lifted his head from that acknowledgment of the lady's commendation, he had sight of Emilia with her hand in the hand of Captain Gambier. What could it mean? what right had he to hold her hand? Even if he knew her, what right?

      The words between Emilia and Captain Gambier were few.

      “Why did I not look at you during dinner?” said he. “Was it not better to wait till we could meet?”

      “Then you will walk with me and talk to me all the evening?”

      “No: but I will try and come down here next week and meet you again.”

      “Are you going to-night?”

      “Yes.”

      “To-night? To-night before it strikes a quarter to ten, I am going to leave here alone. If you would come with me! I want a companion. I know they will not hurt me, but I don't like being alone. I have given my promise to sing to some poor people. My friends say I must not go. I must go. I can't break a promise to poor people. And you have never heard me really sing my best. Come with me, and I will.”

      Captain Gambier required certain explanations. He saw that a companion and protection would be needed by his curious little friend, and as she was resolved not to break her word, he engaged to take her in the carriage that was to drive him to the station.

      “You make me give up an appointment in town,” he said.

      “Ah, but you will hear me sing,” returned Emilia. “We will drive to Brookfield and get my harp, and then to Ipley Common. I am to be sure you will be ready with the carriage at just a quarter to ten?”

      The Captain gave her his assurance, and they separated; he to seek out Adela, she to wander about, the calmest of conspirators against the serenity of a household.

      Meeting Wilfrid and Lady Charlotte, Emilia was asked by him, who it was she had quitted so abruptly.

      “That is the gentleman I told you of. Now I know his name. It is Captain Gambier.”

      She was allowed to pass on.

      “What is this she says?” Lady Charlotte asked.

      “It appears … something about a meeting somewhere accidentally, in the park, in London, I think; I really don't know. She had forgotten his name.”

      Lady Charlotte spurred him with an interrogative “Yes?”

      “She wanted to remember his name. That's all. He was kind to her.”

      “But, after all,” remonstrated Lady Charlotte, “that's only a characteristic of young men, is it not? no special distinction. You are all kind to girls, to women, to anything!”

      Captain Gambier and Adela crossed their path. He spoke a passing word, Lady Charlotte returned no answer, and was silent to her companion for some minutes. Then she said, “If you feel any responsibility about this little person, take my advice, and don't let her have appointments and meetings. They're bad in any case, and for a girl who has no brother—has she? no:—well then, you should make the best provision you can against the cowardice of men. Most men are cowards.”

      Emilia sang in the drawing-room. СКАЧАТЬ