CHAPTER XCI.
THE RIVALS.
During these days the intercourse between Lady Carbury and herdaughter was constrained and far from pleasant. Hetta, thinking thatshe was ill-used, kept herself aloof, and would not speak to hermother of herself or of her troubles. Lady Carbury watching her,but not daring to say much, was at last almost frightened at hergirl's silence. She had assured herself, when she found that Hettawas disposed to quarrel with her lover and to send him back hisbrooch, that "things would come round," that Paul would be forgottenquickly,--or laid aside as though he were forgotten,--and that Hettawould soon perceive it to be her interest to marry her cousin. Withsuch a prospect before her, Lady Carbury thought it to be her dutyas a mother to show no tendency to sympathise with her girl's sorrow.Such heart-breakings were occurring daily in the world around them.Who were the happy people that were driven neither by ambition, norpoverty, nor greed, nor the cross purposes of unhappy love, to stifleand trample upon their feelings? She had known no one so blessed.She had never been happy after that fashion. She herself had withinthe last few weeks refused to join her lot with that of a man shereally liked, because her wicked son was so grievous a burden on hershoulders. A woman, she thought, if she were unfortunate enough to bea lady without wealth of her own, must give up everything, her body,her heart,--her very soul if she were that way troubled,--to theprocuring of a fitting maintenance for herself. Why should Hetta hopeto be more fortunate than others? And then the position which chancenow offered to her was fortunate. This cousin of hers, who was sodevoted to her, was in all respects good. He would not torture her byharsh restraint and cruel temper. He would not drink. He would notspend his money foolishly. He would allow her all the belongings ofa fair, free life. Lady Carbury reiterated to herself the assertionthat she was manifestly doing a mother's duty by her endeavours toconstrain her girl to marry such a man. With a settled purpose shewas severe and hard. But when she found how harsh her daughter couldbe in response to this,--how gloomy, how silent, and how severe inretaliation,--she was almost frightened at what she herself wasdoing. She had not known how stern and how enduring her daughtercould be. "Hetta," she said, "why don't you speak to me?" On thisvery day it was Hetta's purpose to visit Mrs. Hurtle at Islington.She had said no word of her intention to any one. She had chosenthe Friday because on that day she knew her mother would go in theafternoon to her publisher. There should be no deceit. Immediatelyon her return she would tell her mother what she had done. But sheconsidered herself to be emancipated from control. Among them theyhad robbed her of her lover. She had submitted to the robbery, butshe would submit to nothing else. "Hetta, why don't you speak to me?"said Lady Carbury.
"Because, mamma, there is nothing we can talk about without makingeach other unhappy."
"What a dreadful thing to say! Is there no subject in the world tointerest you except that wretched young man?"
"None other at all," said Hetta obstinately.
"What folly it is,--I will not say only to speak like that, but toallow yourself to entertain such thoughts!"
"How am I to control my thoughts? Do you think, mamma, that afterI had owned to you that I loved a man,--after I had owned it to himand, worst of all, to myself,--I could have myself separated fromhim, and then not think about it? It is a cloud upon everything. Itis as though I had lost my eyesight and my speech. It is as it wouldbe to you if Felix were to die. It crushes me."
There was an accusation in this allusion to her brother which themother felt,--as she was intended to feel it,--but to which she couldmake no reply. It accused her of being too much concerned for her sonto feel any real affection for her daughter. "You are ignorant of theworld, Hetta," she said.
"I am having a lesson in it now, at any rate."
"Do you think it is worse than others have suffered before you? Inwhat little you see around you do you think that girls are generallyable to marry the men upon whom they set their hearts?" She paused,but Hetta made no answer to this. "Marie Melmotte was as warmlyattached to your brother as you can be to Mr. Montague."
"Marie Melmotte!"
"She thinks as much of her feelings as you do of yours. The truth isyou are indulging a dream. You must wake from it, and shake yourself,and find out that you, like others, have got to do the best you canfor yourself in order that you may live. The world at large has toeat dry bread, and cannot get cakes and sweetmeats. A girl, when shethinks of giving herself to a husband, has to remember this. If shehas a fortune of her own she can pick and choose, but if she havenone she must allow herself to be chosen."
"Then a girl is to marry without stopping even to think whether shelikes the man or not?"
"She should teach herself to like the man, if the marriage besuitable. I would not have you take a vicious man because he wasrich, or one known to be cruel and imperious. Your cousin Roger, youknow--"
"Mamma," said Hetta, getting up from her seat, "you may as wellbelieve me. No earthly inducement shall ever make me marry my cousinRoger. It is to me horrible that you should propose it to me when youknow that I love that other man with my whole heart."
"How can you speak so of one who has treated you with the utmostcontumely?"
"I know nothing of any contumely. What reason have I to be offendedbecause he has liked a woman whom he knew before he ever saw me? Ithas been unfortunate, wretched, miserable; but I do not know that Ihave any right whatever to be angry with Mr. Paul Montague." Havingso spoken she walked out of the room without waiting for a furtherreply.
It was all very sad to Lady Carbury. She perceived now that she haddriven her daughter to pronounce an absolution of Paul Montague'ssins, and that in this way she had lessened and loosened the barrierwhich she had striven to construct between them. But that whichpained her most was the unrealistic, romantic view of life whichpervaded all Hetta's thoughts. How was any girl to live in this worldwho could not be taught the folly of such idle dreams?
That afternoon Hetta trusted herself all alone to the mysteries ofthe Marylebone underground railway, and emerged with accuracy atKing's Cross. She had studied her geography, and she walked fromthence to Islington. She knew well the name of the street and thenumber at which Mrs. Hurtle lived. But when she reached the door shedid not at first dare to stand and raise the knocker. She passed onto the end of the silent, vacant street, endeavouring to collect herthoughts, striving to find and to arrange the words with which shewould commence her strange petition. And she endeavoured to dictateto herself some defined conduct should the woman be insolent toher. Personally she was not a coward, but she doubted her power ofreplying to a rough speech. She could at any rate escape. Should theworst come to the worst, the woman would hardly venture to impedeher departure. Having gone to the end of the street, she returnedwith a very quick step and knocked at the door. It was opened almostimmediately by Ruby Ruggles, to whom she gave her name.
"Oh laws,--Miss Carbury!" said Ruby, looking up into the stranger'sface. "Yes;--sure enough she must be Felix's sister." But Ruby didnot dare to ask any question. She had admitted to all around herthat Sir Felix should not be her lover any more, and that John Crumbshould be allowed to return. But, nevertheless, her heart twitteredas she showed Miss Carbury up to the lodger's sitting-room.
Though it was midsummer Hetta entered the room with her veil down.She adjusted it as she followed Ruby up the stairs, moved by a suddenfear of her rival's scrutiny. Mrs. Hurtle rose from her chair andcame forward to greet her visitor, putting out both her hands to doso. She was dressed with the most scrupulous care,--simply, and inblack, without an ornament of any kind, without a ribbon or a chainor a flower. But with some woman's purpose at her heart she had soattired herself as to look her very best. Was it that she thoughtthat she would vindicate to her rival their joint lover's firstchoice, or that she was minded to teach the English girl that anAmerican woman might have graces of her own? As she came forward shewas gentle and soft in her movements, and a pleasant smile playedround her mouth. Hetta at the first moment was al
most dumbfounded byher beauty,--by that and by her ease and exquisite self-possession."Miss Carbury," she said with that low, rich voice which in olddays had charmed Paul almost as much as her loveliness, "I need nottell you how interested I am in seeing you. May I not ask you tolay aside your veil, so that we may look at each other fairly?"Hetta, dumbfounded, not knowing how to speak a word, stood gazingat the woman when she had removed her veil. She had had no personaldescription of Mrs. Hurtle, but had expected something very differentfrom this! She had thought that the woman would be coarse and big,with fine eyes and a bright colour. As it was they were both ofthe same complexion, both dark, with hair nearly black, with eyesof the same colour. Hetta thought of all that at the moment,--butacknowledged to herself that she had no pretension to beauty such asthat which this woman owned. "And so you have come to see me," saidMrs. Hurtle. "Sit down so that I may look at you. I am glad that youhave come to see me, Miss Carbury."
"Sit down so that I may look at you."]
"I am glad at any rate that you are not angry."
"Why should I be angry? Had the idea been distasteful to me I shouldhave declined. I know not why, but it is a sort of pleasure to me tosee you. It is a poor time we women have,--is it not,--in becomingplaythings to men? So this Lothario that was once mine, is behavingbadly to you also. Is it so? He is no longer mine, and you may ask mefreely for aid, if there be any that I can give you. If he were anAmerican I should say that he had behaved badly to me;--but as he isan Englishman perhaps it is different. Now tell me;--what can I do,or what can I say?"
"He told me that you could tell me the truth."
"What truth? I will certainly tell you nothing that is not true. Youhave quarrelled with him too. Is it not so?"
"Certainly I have quarrelled with him."
"I am not curious;--but perhaps you had better tell me of that. Iknow him so well that I can guess that he should give offence. He canbe full of youthful ardour one day, and cautious as old age itselfthe next. But I do not suppose that there has been need for suchcaution with you. What is it, Miss Carbury?"
Hetta found the telling of her story to be very difficult. "Mrs.Hurtle," she said, "I had never heard your name when he first askedme to be his wife."
"I dare say not. Why should he have told you anything of me?"
"Because,--oh, because--. Surely he ought, if it is true that he hadonce promised to marry you."
"That certainly is true."
"And you were here, and I knew nothing of it. Of course I should havebeen very different to him had I known that,--that,--that--"
"That there was such a woman as Winifrid Hurtle interfering with him.Then you heard it by chance, and you were offended. Was it not so?"
"And now he tells me that I have been unjust to him and he bids meask you. I have not been unjust."
"I am not so sure of that. Shall I tell you what I think? I thinkthat he has been unjust to me, and that therefore your injustice tohim is no more than his due. I cannot plead for him, Miss Carbury.To me he has been the last and worst of a long series of, I think,undeserved misfortune. But whether you will avenge my wrongs must befor you to decide."
"Why did he go with you to Lowestoft?"
"Because I asked him,--and because, like many men, he cannot beill-natured although he can be cruel. He would have given a hand notto have gone, but he could not say me nay. As you have come here,Miss Carbury, you may as well know the truth. He did love me, but hehad been talked out of his love by my enemies and his own friendslong before he had ever seen you. I am almost ashamed to tell you myown part of the story, and yet I know not why I should be ashamed. Ifollowed him here to England--because I loved him. I came after him,as perhaps a woman should not do, because I was true of heart. He hadtold me that he did not want me;--but I wanted to be wanted, and Ihoped that I might lure him back to his troth. I have utterly failed,and I must return to my own country,--I will not say a broken-heartedwoman, for I will not admit of such a condition,--but a creature witha broken spirit. He has misused me foully, and I have simply forgivenhim; not because I am a Christian, but because I am not strong enoughto punish one that I still love. I could not put a dagger intohim,--or I would; or a bullet,--or I would. He has reduced me to anothing by his falseness, and yet I cannot injure him! I, who havesworn to myself that no man should ever lay a finger on me in scornwithout feeling my wrath in return, I cannot punish him. But if youchoose to do so it is not for me to set you against such an act ofjustice." Then she paused and looked up to Hetta as though expectinga reply.
But Hetta had no reply to make. All had been said that she had cometo hear. Every word that the woman had spoken had in truth been acomfort to her. She had told herself that her visit was to be made inorder that she might be justified in her condemnation of her lover.She had believed that it was her intention to arm herself with proofthat she had done right in rejecting him. Now she was told thathowever false her lover might have been to this other woman he hadbeen absolutely true to her. The woman had not spoken kindly ofPaul,--had seemed to intend to speak of him with the utmost severity;but she had so spoken as to acquit him of all sin against Hetta.What was it to Hetta that her lover had been false to this Americanstranger? It did not seem to her to be at all necessary that sheshould be angry with her lover on that head. Mrs. Hurtle had told herthat she herself must decide whether she would take upon herself toavenge her rival's wrongs. In saying that Mrs. Hurtle had taught herto feel that there were no other wrongs which she need avenge. It wasall done now. If she could only thank the woman for the pleasantnessof her demeanour, and then go, she could, when alone, make up hermind as to what she would do next. She had not yet told herself shewould submit herself again to Paul Montague. She had only toldherself that, within her own breast, she was bound to forgive him."You have been very kind," she said at last,--speaking only becauseit was necessary that she should say something.
"It is well that there should be some kindness where there has beenso much that is unkind. Forgive me, Miss Carbury, if I speak plainlyto you. Of course you will go back to him. Of course you will be hiswife. You have told me that you love him dearly, as plainly as I havetold you the same story of myself. Your coming here would of itselfhave declared it, even if I did not see your satisfaction at myaccount of his treachery to me."
"Oh, Mrs. Hurtle, do not say that of me!"
"But it is true, and I do not in the least quarrel with you on thataccount. He has preferred you to me, and as far as I am concernedthere is an end of it. You are a girl, whereas I am a woman,--and helikes your youth. I have undergone the cruel roughness of the world,which has not as yet touched you; and therefore you are softer to thetouch. I do not know that you are very superior in other attractions;but that has sufficed, and you are the victor. I am strong enoughto acknowledge that I have nothing to forgive in you;--and am weakenough to forgive all his treachery." Hetta was now holding the womanby the hand, and was weeping, she knew not why. "I am so glad tohave seen you," continued Mrs. Hurtle, "so that I may know what hiswife was like. In a few days I shall return to the States, and thenneither of you will ever be troubled further by Winifrid Hurtle. Tellhim that if he will come and see me once before I go, I will not bemore unkind to him than I can help."
When Hetta did not decline to be the bearer of this message shemust have at any rate resolved that she would see Paul Montagueagain,--and to see him would be to tell him that she was again hisown. She now got herself quickly out of the room, absolutely kissingthe woman whom she had both dreaded and despised. As soon as she wasalone in the street she tried to think of it all. How full of beautywas the face of that American female,--how rich and glorious hervoice in spite of a slight taint of the well-known nasal twang;--andabove all how powerful and at the same time how easy and how graciouswas her manner! That she would be an unfit wife for Paul Montague wascertain to Hetta, but that he or any man should have loved her andhave been loved by her, and then have been willing to part from her,was wonderful. And yet Paul Montague had pre
ferred herself, HettaCarbury, to this woman! Paul had certainly done well for his owncause when he had referred the younger lady to the elder.
Of her own quarrel of course there must be an end. She had beenunjust to the man, and injustice must of course be remedied byrepentance and confession. As she walked quickly back to the railwaystation she brought herself to love her lover more fondly than shehad ever done. He had been true to her from the first hour of theiracquaintance. What truth higher than that has any woman a right todesire? No doubt she gave to him a virgin heart. No other man hadever touched her lips, or been allowed to press her hand, or to lookinto her eyes with unrebuked admiration. It was her pride to giveherself to the man she loved after this fashion, pure and white assnow on which no foot has trodden. But in taking him, all that shewanted was that he should be true to her now and henceforward. Thefuture must be her own work. As to the "now," she felt that Mrs.Hurtle had given her sufficient assurance.
She must at once let her mother know this change in her mind. Whenshe re-entered the house she was no longer sullen, no longer anxiousto be silent, very willing to be gracious if she might be receivedwith favour,--but quite determined that nothing should shake herpurpose. She went at once into her mother's room, having heard fromthe boy at the door that Lady Carbury had returned.
"Hetta, wherever have you been?" asked Lady Carbury.
"Mamma," she said, "I mean to write to Mr. Montague and tell him thatI have been unjust to him."
"Hetta, you must do nothing of the kind," said Lady Carbury, risingfrom her seat.
"Yes, mamma. I have been unjust, and I must do so."
"It will be asking him to come back to you."
"Yes, mamma:--that is what I mean. I shall tell him that if he willcome, I will receive him. I know he will come. Oh, mamma, let us befriends, and I will tell you everything. Why should you grudge me mylove?"
"You have sent him back his brooch," said Lady Carbury hoarsely.
"He shall give it me again. Hear what I have done. I have seen thatAmerican lady."
"Mrs. Hurtle!"
"Yes;--I have been to her. She is a wonderful woman."
"And she has told you wonderful lies."
"Why should she lie to me? She has told me no lies. She said nothingin his favour."
"I can well believe that. What can any one say in his favour?"
"But she told me that which has assured me that Mr. Montague hasnever behaved badly to me. I shall write to him at once. If you likeI will show you the letter."
"Any letter to him, I will tear," said Lady Carbury, full of anger.
"Mamma, I have told you everything, but in this I must judge formyself." Then Hetta, seeing that her mother would not relent, leftthe room without further speech, and immediately opened her desk thatthe letter might be written.