Part 42 (1/2)

Her curiosity had been excited, and she could venture to ask a question that did not concern Mr. Grandcourt.

”Oh, it merely happened that he was looking on when I began to lose,”

said Gwendolen, carelessly. ”I noticed him.”

”I don't wonder at that: he is a striking young man. He puts me in mind of Italian paintings. One would guess, without being told, that there was foreign blood in his veins.”

”Is there?” said Gwendolen.

”Mrs. Torrington says so. I asked particularly who he was, and she told me that his mother was some foreigner of high rank.”

”His mother?” said Gwendolen, rather sharply. ”Then who was his father?”

”Well--every one says he is the son of Sir Hugo Mallinger, who brought him up; though he pa.s.ses for a ward. She says, if Sir Hugo Mallinger could have done as he liked with his estates, he would have left them to this Mr. Deronda, since he has no legitimate son.”

Gwendolen was silent; but her mother observed so marked an effect in her face that she was angry with herself for having repeated Mrs.

Torrington's gossip. It seemed, on reflection, unsuited to the ear of her daughter, for whom Mrs. Davilow disliked what is called knowledge of the world; and indeed she wished that she herself had not had any of it thrust upon her.

An image which had immediately arisen in Gwendolen's mind was that of the unknown mother--no doubt a dark-eyed woman--probably sad. Hardly any face could be less like Deronda's than that represented as Sir Hugo's in a crayon portrait at Diplow. A dark-eyed woman, no longer young, had become ”stuff o' the conscience” to Gwendolen.

That night when she had got into her little bed, and only a dim light was burning, she said--

”Mamma, have men generally children before they are married?”

”No, dear, no,” said Mrs. Davilow. ”Why do you ask such a question?”

(But she began to think that she saw the why.)

”If it were so, I ought to know,” said Gwendolen, with some indignation.

”You are thinking of what I said about Mr. Deronda and Sir Hugo Mallinger. That is a very unusual case, dear.”

”Does Lady Mallinger know?”

”She knows enough to satisfy her. That is quite clear, because Mr.

Deronda has lived with them.”

”And people think no worse of him?”

”Well, of course he is under some disadvantage: it is not as if he were Lady Mallinger's son. He does not inherit the property, and he is not of any consequence in the world. But people are not obliged to know anything about his birth; you see, he is very well received.”

”I wonder whether he knows about it; and whether he is angry with his father?”

”My dear child, why should you think of that?”

”Why?” said Gwendolen, impetuously, sitting up in her bed. ”Haven't children reason to be angry with their parents? How can they help their parents marrying or not marrying?”

But a consciousness rushed upon her, which made her fall back again on her pillow. It was not only what she would have felt months before--that she might seem to be reproaching her mother for that second marriage of hers; what she chiefly felt now was, that she had been led on to a condemnation which seemed to make her own marriage a forbidden thing.

There was no further talk, and till sleep came over her Gwendolen lay struggling with the reasons against that marriage--reasons which pressed upon her newly now that they were unexpectedly mirrored in the story of a man whose slight relations with her had, by some hidden affinity, bitten themselves into the most permanent layers of feeling.

It was characteristic that, with all her debating, she was never troubled by the question whether the indefensibleness of her marriage did not include the fact that she had accepted Grandcourt solely as a man whom it was convenient for her to marry, not in the least as one to whom she would be binding herself in duty. Gwendolen's ideas were pitiably crude; but many grand difficulties of life are apt to force themselves on us in our crudity. And to judge wisely, I suppose we must know how things appear to the unwise; that kind of appearance making the larger part of the world's history.

In the morning there was a double excitement for her. She was going to hunt, from which scruples about propriety had threatened to hinder her, until it was found that Mrs. Torrington was horsewoman enough to accompany her--going to hunt for the first time since her escapade with Rex; and she was going again to see Deronda, in whom, since last night, her interest had so gathered that she expected, as people do about revealed celebrities, to see something in his appearance which she had missed before.