Part 16 (1/2)
”There it is,” said Mr. Penruddock. ”A family has more than that. With a family the income proportionately increases.”
Mrs. Neuchatel sighed. ”I must say,” she said, ”I cannot help feeling there is something wrong in our present arrangements. When I sit down to dinner every day, with all these dishes, and remember that there are millions who never taste meat, I cannot resist the conviction that it would be better if there were some equal division, and all should have, if not much, at least something.”
”Nonsense, Emily!” said Mr. Neuchatel, who had an organ like Fine-ear, and could catch, when necessary, his wife's most mystical revelations.
”My wife, Mr. Penruddock, is a regular Communist. I hope you are not,”
he added, with a smile, turning to Myra.
”I think life would be very insipid,” replied Myra, ”if all our lots were the same.”
When the ladies withdrew, Adriana and Myra walked out together hand-in-hand. Mr. Neuchatel rose and sate next to Mr. Penruddock, and began to talk politics. His reverend guest could not conceal his alarm about the position of the Church and spoke of Lord John Russell's appropriation clause with well-bred horror.
”Well, I do not think there is much to be afraid of,” said Mr.
Neuchatel. ”This is a liberal age, and you cannot go against it. The people must be educated, and where are the funds to come from? We must all do something, and the Church must contribute its share. You know I am a Liberal, but I am not for any rash courses. I am not at all sorry that Sir Robert Peel gained so much at the last general election. I like parties to be balanced. I am quite content with affairs. My friends, the Liberals, are in office, and, being there, they can do very little. That is the state of things, is it not, Melchior?” he added, with a smile to his nephew, who was an M.P. ”A balanced state of parties, and the house of Neuchatel with three votes--that will do. We poor City men get a little attention paid to us now, but before the dissolution three votes went for nothing. Now, shall we go and ask my daughter to give us a song?”
Mrs. Neuchatel accompanied her daughter on the piano, and after a time not merely on the instrument. The organ of both was fine and richly cultivated. It was choice chamber music. Mr. Neuchatel seated himself by Myra. His tone was more than kind, and his manner gentle. ”It is a little awkward the first day,” he said, ”among strangers, but that will wear off. You must bring your mind to feel that this is your home, and we shall all of us do everything in our power to convince you of it. Mr.
Penruddock mentioned to me your wish, under present circ.u.mstances, to enter as little as possible into society, and this is a very social house. Your feeling is natural, and you will be in this matter entirely your own mistress. We shall always be glad to see you, but if you are not present we shall know and respect the cause. For my own part, I am one of those who would rather cherish affection than indulge grief, but every one must follow their mood. I hear you have a brother, to whom you are much attached; a twin, too, and they tell me strongly resembling you. He is in a public office, I believe? Now, understand this; your brother can come here whenever he likes, without any further invitation.
Ask him whenever you please. We shall always be glad to see him. No sort of notice is necessary. This is not a very small house, and we can always manage to find a bed and a cutlet for a friend.”
CHAPTER x.x.xII
Nothing could be more successful than the connection formed between the Neuchatel family and Myra Ferrars. Both parties to the compact were alike satisfied. Myra had ”got out of that hole” which she always hated; and though the new life she had entered was not exactly the one she had mused over, and which was founded on the tradition of her early experience, it was a life of energy and excitement, of splendour and power, with a total absence of petty vexations and miseries, affording neither time nor cause for the wearing chagrin of a monotonous and mediocre existence. But the crowning joy of her emanc.i.p.ation was the prospect it offered of frequent enjoyment of the society of her brother.
With regard to the Neuchatels, they found in Myra everything they could desire. Mrs. Neuchatel was delighted with a companion who was not the daughter of a banker, and whose schooled intellect not only comprehended all her doctrines, however abstruse or fanciful, but who did not hesitate, if necessary, to controvert or even confute them. As for Adriana, she literally idolised a friend whose proud spirit and clear intelligence were calculated to exercise a strong but salutary influence over her timid and sensitive nature. As for the great banker himself, who really had that faculty of reading character which his wife flattered herself she possessed, he had made up his mind about Myra from the first, both from her correspondence and her conversation. ”She has more common sense than any woman I ever knew, and more,” he would add, ”than most men. If she were not so handsome, people would find it out; but they cannot understand that so beautiful a woman can have a headpiece, that, I really believe, could manage the affairs in Bishopsgate Street.”
In the meantime life at Hainault resumed its usual course; streams of guests, of all parties, colours, and cla.s.ses, and even nations.
Sometimes Mr. Neuchatel would say, ”I really must have a quiet day that Miss Ferrars may dine with us, and she shall ask her brother. How glad I shall be when she goes into half-mourning! I scarcely catch a glimpse of her.” And all this time his wife and daughter did nothing but quote her, which was still more irritating, for, as he would say, half-grumbling and half-smiling, ”If it had not been for me she would not have been here.”
At first Adriana would not dine at table without Myra, and insisted on sharing her imprisonment. ”It does not look like a cell,” said Myra, surveying, not without complacency, her beautiful little chamber, beautifully lit, with its silken hangings and carved ceiling and bright with books and pictures; ”besides, there is no reason why you should be a prisoner. You have not lost a father, and I hope never will.”
”Amen!” said Adriana; ”that would indeed be the unhappiest day of my life.”
”You cannot be in society too much in the latter part of the day,” said Myra. ”The mornings should be sacred to ourselves, but for the rest of the hours people are to see and to be seen, and,” she added, ”to like and be liked.”
Adriana shook her head; ”I do not wish any one to like me but you.”
”I am sure I shall always like you, and love you,” said Myra, ”but I am equally sure that a great many other people will do the same.”
”It will not be myself that they like or love,” said Adriana with a sigh.
”Now, spare me that vein, dear Adriana; you know I do not like it. It is not agreeable, and I do not think it is true. I believe that women are loved much more for themselves than is supposed. Besides, a woman should be content if she is loved; that is the point; and she is not to inquire how far the accidents of life have contributed to the result. Why should you not be loved for yourself? You have an interesting appearance. I think you very pretty. You have choice accomplishments and agreeable conversation and the sweetest temper in the world. You want a little self-conceit, my dear. If I were you and admired, I should never think of my fortune.”
”If you were the greatest heiress in the world, Myra, and were married, n.o.body would suppose for a moment that it was for your fortune.”
”Go down to dinner and smile upon everybody, and tell me about your conquests to-morrow. And say to your dear papa, that as he is so kind as to wish to see me, I will join them after dinner.”
And so, for the first two months, she occasionally appeared in the evening, especially when there was no formal party. Endymion came and visited her every Sunday, but he was also a social recluse, and though he had been presented to Mrs. Neuchatel and her daughter, and been most cordially received by them, it was some considerable time before he made the acquaintance of the great banker.