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

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СКАЧАТЬ we have grown accustomed to them; and now, if they bewilder us, our judgement, in self-defence, is compelled to set them down lunatic.”

      Cornelia bowed her stately head with gentle approving laughter.

      “They must go, or they despatch us thither,” she said, while her fair face dimpled into serenity. The remark was of a lower nature than an intellectual discussion ordinarily drew from her: but could Mr. Barrett have read in her heart, he might have seen that his words were beginning to rob that organ of its native sobriety. So that when he spoke a cogent phrase, she was silenced, and became aware of a strange exultation in her blood that obscured grave thought. Cornelia attributed this display of mental weakness altogether to Mr. Barrett's mental force. The interposition of a fresh agency was undreamt of by the lady.

      Meanwhile, it was evident that Mr. Pole was a victim to one of his fevers of shyness. He would thrum on the table, frowning; and then, as he met the look of one of the ladies, try to disguise the thought in his head with a forced laugh. Occasionally, he would turn toward them, as if he had just caught a lost idea that was peculiarly precious. The ladies drawing up to attend to the communication, had a most trivial matter imparted to them, and away he went. Several times he said to them “You don't make friends, as you ought;” and their repudiation of the charge made him repeat: “You don't make friends—home friends.”

      “The house can be as full as we care to have it, papa.”

      “Yes, acquaintances! All very well, but I mean friends—rich friends.”

      “We will think of it, papa,” said Adela, “when we want money.”

      “It isn't that,” he murmured.

      Adela had written to Wilfrid a full account of her interview with her father. Wilfrid's reply was laconic. “If you cannot stand a week of the brogue, give up Besworth, by all means.” He made no further allusion to the place. They engaged an opera-box, for the purpose of holding a consultation with him in town. He wrote evasively, but did not appear, and the ladies, with Emilia between them, listened to every foot-fall by the box-door, and were too much preoccupied to marvel that Emilia was just as inattentive to the music as they were. When the curtain dropped they noticed her dejection.

      “What ails you?” they asked.

      “Let us go out of London to-night,” she whispered, and it was difficult to persuade her that she would see Brookfield again.

      “Remember,” said Adela, “it is you that run away from us, not we from you.”

      Soft chidings of this description were the only reproaches for her naughty conduct. She seemed contrite very still and timid, since that night of adventure. The ladies were glad to observe it, seeing that it lent her an air of refinement, and proved her sensible to correction.

      At last Mr. Pole broke the silence. He had returned from business, humming and rubbing his hands, like one newly primed with a suggestion that was the key of a knotty problem. Observant Adela said: “Have you seen Wilfrid, papa?”

      “Saw him in the morning,” Mr. Pole replied carelessly.

      Mr. Barrett was at the table.

      “By the way, what do you think of our law of primogeniture?” Mr. Pole addressed him.

      He replied with the usual allusion to a basis of aristocracy.

      “Well, it's the English system,” said Mr. Pole. “That's always in its favour at starting. I'm Englishman enough to think that. There ought to be an entail of every decent bit of property, eh?”

      It was observed that Mr. Barrett reddened as he said, “I certainly think that a young man should not be subject to his father's caprice.”

      “Father's caprice! That isn't common. But, if you're founding a family, you must entail.”

      “We agree, sir, from my point of view, and from yours.”

      “Knits the family bond, don't you think? I mean, makes the trunk of the tree firm. It makes the girls poor, though!”

      Mr. Barrett saw that he had some confused legal ideas in his head, and that possibly there were personal considerations in the background; so he let the subject pass.

      When the guest had departed, Mr. Pole grew demonstrative in his paternal caresses. He folded Adela in one arm, and framed her chin in his fingers: marks of affection dear to her before she had outgrown them.

      “So!” he said, “you've given up Besworth, have you?”

      At the name, Arabella and Cornelia drew nearer to his chair.

      “Given up Besworth, papa? It is not we who have given it up,” said Adela.

      “Yes, you have; and quite right too. You say, 'What's the use of it, for that's a sort of thing that always goes to the son.'”

      “You suppose, papa, that we indulge in ulterior calculations?” came from Cornelia.

      “Well, you see, my love!—no, I don't suppose it at all. But to buy a place and split it up after two or three years—I dare say they wouldn't insure me for more, that's nonsense. And it seems unfair to you, as you must think—”

      “Darling papa! we are not selfish!” it rejoiced Adela to exclaim.

      His face expressed a transparent simple-mindedness that won the confidence of the ladies and awakened their ideal of generosity.

      “I know what you mean, papa,” said Arabella. “But, we love Besworth; and if we may enjoy the place for the time that we are all together, I shall think it sufficient. I do not look beyond.”

      Her sisters echoed the sentiment, and sincerely. They were as little sordid as creatures could be. If deeply questioned, it would have been found that their notion of the position Providence had placed them in (in other words, their father's unmentioned wealth), permitted them to be as lavish as they pleased. Mr. Pole had endowed them with a temperament similar to his own; and he had educated it. In feminine earth it flourished wonderfully. Shy as himself, their shyness took other forms, and developed with warm youth. Not only did it shut them up from others (which is the first effect of this disease), but it tyrannized over them internally: so that there were subjects they had no power to bring their minds to consider. Money was in the list. The Besworth question, as at present considered, involved the money question. All of them felt that; father and children. It is not surprising, therefore, that they hurried over it as speedily as they could, and by a most comical exhibition of implied comprehension of meanings and motives.

      “Of course, we're only in the opening stage of the business,” said Mr. Pole. “There's nothing decided, you know. Lots of things got to be considered. You mean what you say, do you? Very well. And you want me to think of it? So I will. And look, my dears, you know that—” (here his voice grew husky, as was the case with it when touching a shy topic even beneath the veil; but they were above suspicion) “you know that—a—that we must all give way a little to the other, now and then. Nothing like being kind.”

      “Pray, have no fear, papa dear!” rang the clear voice of Arabella.

      “Well, then, you're all for Besworth, even though it isn't exactly for your own interest? All right.”

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