 Chapter 43 of the Egoist. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Linda Woods. The Egoist by George Meredith. Chapter 43. In which Sir Willoughby is led to think that the elements have conspired against him. Claire had not taken many steps in the garden before she learned how great was her debt of gratitude to Colonel Decray. Willoughby and her father were awaiting her. Decray, with his ready comprehension of circumstances, turned aside unseen among the shrubs. She advanced slowly. The vapors we may trust have dispersed, her father hailed her. One word in these discussions are over. We dislike them equally, said Willoughby. No scenes, Dr. Middleton added. Speak your decision, my girl, pro forma, seeing that he who has the right demands it, and pray release me. Claire looked at Willoughby. I have decided to go to Miss Dale for her advice. There was no appearance in him of a man that has been shot. To Miss Dale for advice? Dr. Middleton invoked the furies. What is the signification of this new freak? Miss Dale must be consulted, papa. Consulted with reference to the disposal of your hand in marriage? She must be. Miss Dale, do you say? I do, papa. Dr. Middleton regained his natural elevation from the bend of body habitual with men of an established sanity, pedagogues and others, who are called on at odd intervals to inspect the magnitude of the infinitesimally absurd in human nature. Small that is under the light of reason, immense in the realms of madness. His daughter profoundly confused him. He swelled out his chest, remarking to Willoughby, I do not wonder at your scared expression of countenance, my friend. To discover yourself engaged to a girl, mad as Cassandra, without a boast of the distinction of her being sun-struck, can be no especially comfortable enlightenment. I am opposed to delays, and I will not have a breach of faith committed by daughter of mine. Do not repeat those words, Clara said to Willoughby. He started. She had evidently come armed. But how was so short of space? What could have instructed her? And in his bewilderment he gazed hurriedly above, gulped air and cried, Scared, sir, I am not aware that my countenance can show a scare. I am not accustomed to sue for long. I am unable to sustain the part of humble supplicant. She puts me out of harmony with creation. We are plighted, Clara. It is pure waste of time to speak of soliciting advice on the subject. Would it be a breach of faith for me to break my engagement, she said? You ask? It is a breach of sanity to propound the interrogations at her father. She looked at Willoughby. Now he shrugged hodlily. Since last night, she said, last night, am I not released, not by me, by your act? My dear Clara, have you not virtually disengaged me? I who claim you is mine? Can you? I do and must. After last night? Tricks shuffling jabber of a barbarian woman upon the evolutions of a serpent, exclaimed Dr. Middleton. You were to capitulate or to furnish reasons for your refusal. You have none. Give him your hand, girl, according to the Compact. I praised you to him for returning within the allotted term, and now forbear to disgrace yourself and me. Is he perfectly free to offer his? Ask him, Papa. Perform your duty. Dude, let us have peace. Perfectly free, as on the day when I offered it first, Willoughby frankly waved his honorable hand. His face was blanched. Enemies in the air seemed to have whispered things to her. He doubted the fidelity of the powers above. Since last night, said she. Oh, if you insist, I reply since last night. You know what I mean, Sir Willoughby. Oh, certainly. You speak the truth? Sir Willoughby, her father ejaculated in wrath. But will you explain what you mean, epitome that you are of all the contradictions and mutabilities ascribed to women from the beginning? Certainly, he says, and knows no more than I. She begs grace for an hour and returns with a fresh store of evasions to insult the man she has injured. It is my humiliation to confess that our share in this contract is rescued from public ignominy by his generosity. Nor can I congratulate him on his fortune should he condescend to bear with you to the utmost. For instead of the young woman I suppose myself to be bestowing on him, I see a fantastical planuncula enlivened by the wanton tempers of a nursery chit. If one may conceive a meaning in her and miserable apology for such behavior, some spirit of jealousy informs the girl. I can only remark that there is no foundation for it, said Willoughby. I'm willing to satisfy you, Clara. Name the person who discomposes you. I can scarcely imagine one to exist, but who can tell? She could name no person. The detestable imputation of jealousy would be confirmed if she mentioned a name, and indeed Letitia was not to be named. He pursued his advantage. Jealousy is one of the fits I am a stranger to. I fancy, sir, that gentlemen have dismissed it. I speak for myself. But I can make allowances. In some cases it is considered a compliment. And often a word will soothe it. The whole affair is so senseless. However, I will enter the witness box or stand at the prisoner's bar, anything to quiet a distempered mind. Of you, sir, said Dr. Middleton, might a parent be justly proud? It is not jealousy. I could not be jealous, Clara cried. Stung by the very passion. And she ran through her brain for a suggestion to win a sign of meltingness, if not esteem, from her father. She was not an iron maiden, but one among the nervous natures which live largely in the moment, though she was then sacrificing it to her nature's deep dislike. You may be proud of me again, papa. She could hardly have uttered anything more impolitic. Stop, tune, but deliver yourself ad rem, he'd rejoined, alarmingly pacified. Fermawit, feed him. Do you likewise, and double on us no more like puss in the field? I wish to see Miss Dale, she said. Up flew the Reverend Doctor's arms and wrathful despair resembling an imprecation. She is at the cottage. You could have seen her, said Willoughby. Evidently she had not. Is it untrue that last night between twelve o'clock and one in the drawing room you proposed marriage to Miss Dale? He became convinced that she must have stolen downstairs during his colloquy with Letitia and listened at the door. On behalf of old Vernon, he said, lightly laughing. The idea is not novel, as you know. They are suited if they could see it. Letitia Dale and my cousin Vernon Whitford, sir. Fairly schemed, my friend, and I will say for you, you have the patience Willoughby of a husband. Willoughby bowed to the encomium and allowed some fatigue to be visible. He half yawned. I claim no happier title, sir, and made light of the wearful discussion. Claire was shaken. She feared that Cross Jay had heard incorrectly, or that Colonel Decray had guessed erroneously. It was too likely that Willoughby should have proposed Vernon to Letitia. There was nothing to reassure her save the vision of the panic amazement of his face at her persistency in speaking of Miss Dale. She could have declared on oath that she was right while admitting all the suppositions to be against her and unhappily all the delicacies. A dowdy battalion for the defensive ladies until they enter into difficulties and are shorn of them at a blow, bears, dairy-maids. All the bodyguard of a young gentlewoman, the drawing-room syphides, which bear her train, which wreath her hair, which modulate her voice and tone her complexion, which are arrows and shield to all the creature-man, forbade her utterance of what she felt, and pain of instant fulfillment of their oft-repeated threat of late to leave her to the last remnant of a protecting sprite. She could not, as in a dear melodrama from the aim of appointed finger denounce him on the testimony of her instincts, false of speech, false indeed. She could not even declare that she doubted his truthfulness, the refuge of a sullen fit, the refuge of tears, the pretext of a mood were denied her now by the rigor of those laws of decency which are a garment to ladies of pure breeding. One more respite, papa, she implored him, bitterly conscious of the closer tangle her petition involved, and if it must be betrayed of her, perceiving in an illumination how thee not might become so woefully Gordian, that happily in a cloud of wild events the intervention of a gallant gentleman out of heaven, albeit in the likeness of one of earth, would have to cut it. Her cry within, as she succumbed to weakness, being fervid her, anything but marry this one. She was faint with strife and dejected, a condition in the young when their imaginative energies hold rebel uncontrolled and are projectively desperate. No respite, said Willoughby, genially. And I say no respite, observed her father. You have assumed a position that has not been granted you, Claire Middleton. I cannot bear to offend you, father. Him, your duty is not to offend him, address your excuses to him. I refuse to be dragged over the same ground to reiterate the same command perpetually. If authority is deputed to me, I claim you, said Willoughby. You have not broken faith with me? Assuredly not. Or would it be possible for me to press my claim? And join the right hand to the right, said Dr. Middleton. No, it would not be possible. What an insane root she has been nibbling, I know not. But she must consign herself to the guidance of those whom the gods have not abandoned until her intellect is liberated. She was once there, I look not back. If she it was, and no simulacrum of a reasonable daughter, I welcome the appearance of my friend Mr. Whitford. He is my sea bath and supper on the beach of Troy, after the days battle and dust. Vernon walked straight up to them, an act unusual with him, for he was shy of committing an intrusion. Claire guessed by that, and more by the dancing frown of speculative humor he turned on Willoughby, that he had come charged in support of her. His forehead was curiously lively, as of one who has got a surprise well under to feed on its amusing contents. Have you seen Cross Jay, Mr. Whitford, she said? I have pounced on Cross Jay, his bones are sound. Where did he sleep? On a sofa it seems. She smiled with good hope. Vernon had the story. Willoughby thought it just to himself that he should defend his measure of severity. The boy lied. He played a double game. For which he should have been reasoned with at the Grecian portico of a boy, said the Reverend Doctor. My system is different, sir. I could not inflict what I would not endure myself. So is Greek excluded from the later generations, and you leave a field the most fertile and the moralities in youth unplowed and unsone. Ah well. Growing too fine is our way of relapsing upon barbarism. Beware of oversensitiveness, where nature has plainly indicated her alternative gateway of knowledge. And now I presume I am at liberty. Vernon will excuse us for a minute or two. I hold Mr. Whitford, now I have him. I'll join you in the laboratory, Vernon. Willoughby nodded bluntly. We will leave them, Mr. Whitford. They are at the time honored dissension upon a particular day, that for the sake of dignity blushes to be named. What day, said Vernon like a rustic? The day, these people call it. Vernon sent one of his vivid eye shots from one to the other. His eyes fixed on Willoughby's with a quivering glow beyond amazement, as if his humor stood at Vernon's heat and absorbed all that came. Willoughby motioned to him to go. Have you seen Miss Dale, Mr. Whitford? said Clara. He answered, No, something has shocked her. Is it her feeling for Cross Jay? Ah, Vernon said to Willoughby, Your pocketing of the key of Cross Jay's bedroom door was a master stroke. The celestial irony suffused her, and she bathed and swam in it, on hearing its duped reply. My methods of discipline are short. I was not aware that she had been to his door. But I may hope that Miss Dale will see me, said Clara. We are in sympathy about the boy. Mr. Dale might be seen. He seems to be of a divided mind with his daughter, Vernon rejoined. She has locked herself up in her room. He is not the only father in the unwholesome predicaments at Dr. Middleton. He talks of coming to you, Willoughby. Why to me? Willoughby chastened his irritation. He will be welcome, of course. It would be better that the boy should come. If there is a chance of your forgiving him, said Clara, Let the dales know I am prepared to listen to the boy, Vernon. There can be no necessity for Mr. Dale to drag himself here. How are Mr. Dale and his daughter of a divided mind, Mr. Whitford, said Clara? Vernon simulated an uneasiness. With a vacant gaze and enlarged around Willoughby and was more discomforting than intentness, he replied, Perhaps she is unwilling to give him her entire confidence, Miss Middleton. In which respect, then, are situations present their solitary point of unlikeness and resemblance, for I have it in excess, observed Dr. Middleton. Clara dropped her eyelids for the wave to pass over. It struck me that Miss Dale was a person of the extremist candor. Why should we be prying into the domestic affairs of the dales? Willoughby interjected and drew out his watch merely for a diversion. He was on tiptoe to learn whether Vernon was as well instructed as Clara and hung to the view that he could not be while drenching in the sensation that he was. And if so, what were the powers above but a body of conspirators? He paid Leticia that compliment. He could not conceive the human betrayal of the secret. Clara's discovery of it had set his common sense adrift. The domestic affairs of the dales do not concern me, said Vernon. And yet my friend Dr. Middleton balanced himself. And with an air of benevolence slain us, the import of which do not awaken Willoughby until too late remarked, They might concern you. I will even add that there is a probability of your being not less than the font and origin of this division of father and daughter. Though Willoughby in the drawing room last night stands accusably the agent. Favor me, sir, with an explanation, said Vernon, seeking to gather it from Clara. Dr. Middleton threw the explanation upon Willoughby. Clara communicated as much as she was able in one of those looks of still depth which say, Think, and without causing a thought to stir, takes us into the pollucid mind. Vernon was enlightened before Willoughby had spoken. His mouth shut rigidly, and there was a springing increase of the luminous wavering of his eyes. Some star that Clara had watched at night was like them in the vivid wink and overflow of its light. Yet as he was perfectly sedate, none could have suspected his blood to be chasing wild with laughter, and his frame strung to the utmost to keep it from volleying. So happy was she in his aspect that her chief anxiety was to recover the name of the star who shining beckons and speaks, and is in a quick of spirit fire. It is the soul star which on a night of frost and strong moonlight preserves an indomitable fervency. That, she remembered, and the picture of a whore earth and a lean Orion in a flooded heavens, and the star beneath eastward of him, but the name, the name, she heard Willoughby indistinctly. Oh, the old story, another effort, you know my wish. A failure, of course, and no thanks on either side. I suppose I must ask your excuse. They neither of them see what's good for them, sir. Manifestly, however, said Dr. Middleton, if one may opine from the division we have heard of, the father is disposed to back your nominee. I can't say. As far as I'm concerned, I made a mess of it. Vernon was stood the incitement to acquiesce, but he sparkled with his recognition of the fact. You meant well, Willoughby. I hope so, Vernon. Only you have driven her away. We must resign ourselves. It won't affect me, for I'm off tomorrow. You see, sir, the thanks I get. Mr. Whitford, said Dr. Middleton, you have a tower of strength in the lady's father. Would you have me bring it to bear upon the lady, sir? Wherefore not? To make her marriage a matter of obedience to her father? I, my friend, a lusty lover would have her gladly on those terms, while knowing it to be for the lady's good. What do you say, Willoughby? Sir, say, what can I say? Miss Dale has not plighted her faith. Had she done so, she is a lady who would never dishonor it. She is an ideal of constancy, who would keep to it, though it had been broken on the other side, said Vernon, and Clara thrilled. I take that, sir, to be a statue of constancy, modeled upon which a lady of our flesh may be proclaimed as graduating for the condition of idiocy, said Dr. Middleton. But faith is faith, sir, but the broken is the broken, sir, whether in porcelain or in human engagements. And all that one of the two continuing faithful, I should rather say regretful, can do is to devote the remainder of life to the picking up of fragments and occupation properly to be pursued for the comfort of mankind within the enclosure and appointed asylum. You destroy the poetry of sentiment, Dr. Middleton, to invigorate the poetry of nature, Mr. Whitford. Then you maintain, sir, that when faith is broken by one, the engagement ceases, and the other is absolutely free. I do. I am the champion of that platitude, and sound that knell to the sentimental world. And since you have chosen to defend it, I will appeal to Willoughby and ask him if he would not side with the world of good sense in applauding the nuptials of man or maid married within a month of a jolting. Clara slipped her arm under her father's. Poetry, sir, said Willoughby, I never have been hip-crit enough to pretend to understand or care for. Dr. Middleton laughed. Vernon, too, seemed to admire his cousin for a reply that rung in Clara's ears as the dullest ever spoken. Her arm grew cold on her father's. She began to fear Willoughby again. He depended entirely on his agility to elude the thrust that assailed him. Had he been able to believe in the treachery of the powers above, he would at once have been designed in these deadly strokes, for his feelings had rarely been more acute than at the present crisis. And he would then have led away Clara to wrangle it out with her, relying on Vernon's friendliness not to betray him to her father. But a wrangle with Clara promised no immediate fruits, nothing agreeable. And the lifelong trust he had reposed in his protecting genie obscured his intelligence to evidence he would otherwise have accepted on the spot, on the faith of his delicate susceptibility to the mildest impressions which wounded him. Clara might have stooped to listen at the door. He would have heard sufficient to create a suspicion. But Vernon was not in the house last night. She could not have communicated it to him, and he had not seen Letitia, who was, besides trustworthy and admirable if a foolish and ill-fated woman. Referring to consider Vernon a pragmatical moralist played upon by a sententious drone, he thought a politic to detach them and vanquish Clara while she was in the beaten mood he had appeared before Vernon's vexatious arrival. I'm afraid, my dear fellow, you are rather too dainty and fussy for a very successful war, he said. It's beautiful on paper and absurd in life. We have a bit of private business to discuss. We will go inside, sir, I think. I will soon release you," Clara pressed her father's arm. More, said he. Five minutes. There's a slight delusion to clear, sir. My dear Clara, you will see with different eyes. Papa wishes to work with Mr. Whitford. Her heart sunk to hear her father say, No, tis a lost morning. I must consent to pay tax of it for giving another young woman to the world. I have a daughter. You will, I hope, compensate me, Mr. Whitford, in the afternoon. Be not downcast. I have observed you meditative of late. You will have no clear brain so long as that stuff is on the mind. I could venture to propose to do some pleading for you, should it be needed for the prompter expedition of the affair. Vernon briefly thanked him and said, Willoughby has exerted all his eloquence, and you see the result. You have lost Miss Dale, and I have not won her. He did everything that one man can do for another and so delicate a case. Even to the repeating of her famous birthday verses to him, to flatter the poetess. His best efforts were foiled by the ladies in disposition for me. Behold, said Dr. Middleton, as Willoughby, electrified by the mention of the verses, took a sharp stride or two. You have in him an advocate who will not be rebuffed by one refusal, and I can't affirm that he is tenacious, per tenacious as are few, justly so. Not to believe in a lady's know is the approved method of carrying that fortress built to yield. Although unquestionably to have a young man pleading in our interest with a lady counts as objections. Yet Willoughby, being notoriously engaged, may be held to enjoy the privileges of his elders. As an engaged man, sir, he was on a level with his elders and pleading on my behalf with Miss Dale, said Vernon. Willoughby strode and muttered. Providence had grown mythical in his thoughts, if not malicious, and it is the peril of this worship that the object will wear such an alternative aspect when it appears no longer subservient. Are we coming, sir? He said and was unheeded. The Reverend Doctor would not be defrauded of rolling his billow. As an honorable gentleman faithful to his own engagement and desirous of establishing his relatives, he deserves, in my judgment, the lady's esteem, as well as your cordial thanks. Nor should a temporary failure dishearten either of you, notwithstanding the precipitate retreat of the lady from pattern, and her seclusion in her sanctum on the occasion of your recent visit. Supposing he had succeeded, said Vernon, driving Willoughby to Fensie, should I have been bound to marry? Mad if her cogitation was offered to Dr. Middleton. The proposal was without your sanction entirely. You admire the lady respectfully. You do not incline to the state. An inch of an angle would exaggerate my inclination. How long are we to stand and hear this insuffable nonsense you talk? cried Willoughby. But if Mr. Whitford was not consulted, Dr. Middleton said and was overborn by Willoughby's hurried, oblige me, sir, oblige me, my good fellow. He swept his arm to Vernon and gestured at conducting hand to Clara. Here's Mrs. Mount Stewart, she exclaimed. Willoughby stared. Was it an eruption of a friend or a foe? He doubted and stood petrified between the double question. Clara had seen Mrs. Mount Stewart and Colonel Decre separating, and now the great lady sailed along the sword like a royal barge in festival trim. She looked friendly, but friendly to everybody, which was always a frost on Willoughby and terribly friendly to Clara. Coming up to her, she whispered, News indeed, wonderful! I could not credit his hint of it yesterday. Are you satisfied? Pray, Mrs. Mount Stewart, take an opportunity to speak to Papa. Clara whispered in return. Mrs. Mount Stewart bowed to Dr. Middleton, nodded to Vernon, and swam upon Willoughby with, Is it, but is it, am I really to believe you have? My dear sir, Willoughby, really? The confounded gentleman heaved on a bare plank of wreck in mid-sea. He could oppose only a paralyzed smile to the assault. His intuitive discretion taught him to fall back a step while she said, Well, the plummet word of our mysterious deep fathoms, and he fell back further saying, Madam, in a tone advising her to speak low. She recovered her valuability, followed his partial retreat, and dropped her voice. Impossible to have imagined it as an actual fact. You were always full of surprises, but this, this, nothing, man, there, nothing more gentlemanly has ever been done, nothing, nothing that so completely changes an untenable situation into a comfortable and proper footing for everybody. It is what I like, it is what I love, sound sense. Men are so selfish, one cannot persuade them to be reasonable in such positions. But you, sir, Willoughby, have shown wisdom and sentiment, the rarest of all combinations in men. Where have you, Willoughby, contrived to say, heard? The hedges, the housetops, everywhere. All the neighborhood will have it before nightfall. Lady Bush and Lady Calmer will soon be rushing here and declaring they never expected anything else, I do not doubt. I am not so pretentious. I beg your excuse for that twice of mine yesterday. Even if it hurt my vanity, I should be happy to confess my error. I was utterly out. But then I did not reckon on a fatal attachment. I thought men weren't capable of it. I thought we women were the only poor creatures persecuted by a fatality. It is a fatality. You tried hard to escape, indeed you did. And she will do honor to your final surrender, my dear friend. She is gentle and very clever, very. She is devoted to you. And she will entertain excellently. I see her like a flower in sunshine. She will expand to a perfect hostess. Pattern will shine under her rain, you have my warrant for that. And so will you. Yes, you flourish best when adored. It must be adoration. You have been under a cloud of late. Years ago I said it was a match when no one supposed you could stoop. Lady Bush would have it was a screen and she was deemed high wisdom. The world will be with you. All the women will be accepting, of course, Lady Bush, whose pride is in prophecy. And she will soon be too glad to swell the host. There, my friend, your sincerest and oldest admirer congratulates you. I could not contain myself. I was compelled to pour forth. And now I must go and be talked to by Dr. Middleton. Does he take it? They leave? He is perfectly well said Willoughby, allowed, quite distraught. She acknowledged his just correction of her for running on to an extreme and low tone converse, though they stood sufficiently isolated from the others. These had by this time been joined by Colonel Decray and were all chatting in a group. Of himself, Willoughby horribly suspected. Clara was gone from him, gone, but he remembered his oath and vowed it again. Not to Horace Decray. She was gone, lost, sunk into the world of waters of rival men, and he determined that his whole force should be used to keep her from that man, the false friend who had supplanted him in her shallow heart, and might, if he succeeded, boast of having done it by simply appearing on the scene. Willoughby intercepted Mrs. Mount Stewart as she was passing over to Dr. Middleton. My dear lady, spare me a minute. Decray sauntered up with a face of the friendliest humor. Never was man like you, Willoughby, for shaking new patterns in a kaleidoscope. Have you turned to Punter Horace, Willoughby replied, smarting to find yet another in the demon secret, and he draw Dr. Middleton two or three steps aside and hurriedly begged him to abstain from prosecuting the subject with Clara. We must try to make her happy as we best cancer. She may have her reasons, a young lady's reasons, he laughed and left the Reverend Doctor, considering within himself under the arch of his lofty frown of stupefaction. Decray smiled slyly and winingly as he shadowed a deep droop on the bend of his head before Clara, signifying his absolute devotion to her service and this present good fruit for witness of his merits. She smiled sweetly, though vaguely, there was no concealment of their intimacy. The battle is over, Vernon said quietly, when Willoughby had walked some paces beside Mrs. Mountstuart, adding, you may expect to see Mr. Dale here, he knows. Vernon and Clara exchanged one look, hard on his part, in contrast with her softness, and he proceeded to the house. Decray waited for a word or a promising look. He was patient, being self-assured and passed on. Clara linked her arm with her father's once more and said on a sudden brightness, Sirius Papa, he repeated it in a profound manner, Sirius, and is there he ask a feminine scintilla of sense in that? It is the name of the star I was thinking of, dear Papa. It was the star observed by King Agamemnon before the sacrifice in Aulus. You were thinking of that? But my love, my effigyna, you have not a father who will insist on sacrificing you. Did I hear him tell you to humor me, Papa? Dr. Middleton hummed. Verily, the dog-star rages in many heads, he responded. End of Chapter 43. Recording by Linda Woods, Maitland, Florida. Chapter 44 of The Egoist. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Martin Giesen. The Egoist by George Meredith. Chapter 44. Dr. Middleton. The ladies Eleanor and Isabel and Mr. Dale. Clara looked up at the flying clouds. She travelled with them now and tasted freedom. But she prudently forbore to vex her father. She held herself in reserve. They were summoned by the midday bell. Few were speakers at the meal. Few were eaters. Clara was impelled to join it by her desire to study Mrs. Mount Stewart's face. Willoughby was obliged to preside. It was a meal of an assembly of mutes and plates that struck the ear like the well-known sound of a collection of offerings in church after an impressive exhortation from the pulpit. A sally of Colonel Decres met the reception given to a charity boy's muffled burst of animal spirits in the silence of the sacred edifice. Willoughby tried politics with Dr. Middleton whose regular appetite preserved him from uncongenial speculations when the hour for appeasing it had come and he alone did honour to the dishes, replying to his host. Times are bad, you say, and we have a ministry doing with us what they will. Well, sir, and that being so, and opposition, a manner of kicking them into greater stability, it is the time for wise men to retire within themselves the steady determination of the seed in the earth to grow, repose upon nature, sleep in firm faith, and abide the seasons. That is my counsel to the weaker party. The counsel was excellent, but it killed the topic. Dr. Middleton's appetite was watched for the signal to rise in faith freely, and such is the grace according to a good man of untroubled conscience engaged in doing his duty to himself that he perceived nothing of the general restlessness. He went through the dishes calmly, and as calmly he quoted Milton to the ladies Eleanor and Isabelle when the company sprung up all at once upon his closing his repast. The position was taken away from him by Willoughby. Mrs. Mount Stewart beckoned covertly to Clara. Willoughby should have had something to say to him, Dr. Middleton thought. The position was not clear. But the situation was not disagreeable, and he was in no serious hurry, though he wished to be enlightened. This, Dr. Middleton said to the spinster aunts who accompanied them to the drawing-room, shall be no lost day for me if I may devote the remainder of it to you. The thunder, we fear, is not remote, murmured one. We fear it is imminent, sighed the other. They took to chanting in alternation. We are accustomed to peruse our Willoughby, and we know him by a shadow. From his infancy to his glorious youth and his established manhood he was ever the soul of chivalry. Duty, duty first, the happiness of his family, the well-being of his dependents. If proud of his name it was not an overweening pride, it was founded in the conscious possession of exalted qualities. He could be humble when occasion called for it. Dr. Middleton bowed to the litany, feeling that occasion called for humbleness from him. Retus hope, he said, with unassumed penitence on behalf of his inscrutable daughter. The ladies resumed, Van and Whitford, not of his blood, is his brother. A thousand instances. Letitia Dale remembers them better than we. That any blow should strike him, that another should be in store for him. It seems impossible he can be quite misunderstood. Letus hope, said Dr. Middleton. One would not deem it too much for the dispenser of goodness to expect to be a little looked up to. When he was a child he one day mounted a chair, and there he stood in danger. Would not let us touch him because he was taller than we and we were to gaze. Do you remember him, Eleanor? I am the son of the house. It was inimitable. Your feelings, he would have your feelings. He was fourteen when his cousin Grace Whitford married and we lost him. They had been the greatest friends and it was long before he appeared among us. He has never cared to see her since. But he has befriended her husband. Never has he failed in generosity. His only fault is his sensitiveness. And that is his secret. And that you are not to discover. It is the same with him in manhood. No one will accuse Willoughby Patton of a deficiency of manliness. But what is it? He suffers as none suffer if he is not loved. He himself is inalterably constant in affection. What it is no one can say. We have lived with him all his life and we know him ready to make any sacrifice. Only he does demand the whole heart in return. And if he doubts, he looks as we have seen him today. Shattered as we have never seen him look before. We will hope, said Dr Middleton, this time hastily. He tingled to say what it was. He had it in him to solve for plexity in their inquiry. He did say adopting familiar speech to suit the theme. You know, ladies, we English come of a rough stock. A dose of rough dealing in our youth does us no harm, braces us. Otherwise we are likely to feel chilly. We grow too fine where tenuity of stature is necessarily buffeted by gales, namely in our self-esteem. We are barbarians on a forcing soil of wealth in a conservatory of comfortable security, but still barbarians. So you see we shine at our best when we are plucked out of that, to where hard blows are given in a state of war. In a state of war we are at home. Our men are high-minded fellows, Scipios and god-legionaries. In the state of peace we do not live in peace. Our native roughness breaks out in unexpected places under extraordinary aspects, tyrannies, extravagances, domestic exactions. And if we have not had sharp, early training within and without, the old-fashioned island instrument to drill us into the civilisation of our masters, the ancients, we show it by running here and there to some excess. Yet, added the Reverend Doctor, abandoning his effort to deliver a weighty truth obscurely, for the comprehension of dainty spinster ladies, the superabundance of whom in England was in his opinion largely the cause of our decay as a people. Yet I have not observed this ultra-sensitiveness in Willoughby. He has borne to hear more than I, certainly no example of the frailty, could have endured. He concealed it, said the ladies, it is intense. Then is it a disease? It bears no explanation. It is mystic. It is a cultus, then, a form of self-worship. Self, they ejaculated, but is not self indifferent to others. Is it self that craves for sympathy, love and devotion? He is an admirable host, ladies. He is admirable in all respects. Admirable must he be who can impress discerning women, life-long housemates so favourably. He is, I repeat, a perfect host. He will be a perfect husband in all probability. It is a certainty. Let him be loved and obeyed. He will be guided. That is the secret for her whom he so fatally loves. That, if we had dared, we would have hinted to her. She will rule him through her love of him and through him all about her, and it will not be a rule he submits to, but a love he accepts if she could see it. If she were a metaphysician, sighed Dr. Middleton. But as sensitiveness so keen as his might, fretted by an unsympathising mate, in the end become, for the best of us, callous. He would perhaps feel as much or more. He would still be tender, but he might grow outwardly hard. Both ladies looked up at Dr. Middleton as they revealed the dreadful prospect. It is the story told of corns, he said, sad as they. The three stood drooping. The ladies with an attempt to digest his remark. The Reverend Doctor, in dejection, lest his gallantry should no longer continue to wrestle with his good sense. He was rescued. The door opened and a footman announced. Mr. Dale. Miss Eleanor and Miss Isabelle made a sign to one another of raising their hands. They advanced to him and welcomed him. Pray be seated, Mr. Dale. You have not brought us bad news of our letitia. So rare is the pleasure of welcoming you here, Mr. Dale, that we are in some alarm when, as we trust, it should be a matter for unmixed congratulation. Has Dr. Corny been doing wonders? I am indebted to him for the drive to your house, ladies," said Mr. Dale, a spare close-button gentleman with an Indian complexion deadened in the sick chamber. It is unusual for me to starve from my precincts. The Reverend Dr. Middleton Mr. Dale bowed. He seemed surprised. You live in a splendid air, sir," observed the Reverend Doctor. I can profit little by it, sir," replied Mr. Dale. He asked the ladies, will Sir Willoughby be disengaged? They consulted. He is with Vernon. We will send to him. The bell was rung. I have had the gratification of making the acquaintance of your daughter, Mr. Dale, a most estimable lady," said Dr. Middleton. Mr. Dale bowed. She is honoured by your praises, sir, to the best of my belief. I speak as a father. She merits them. Either, too, I have had no doubts. Of Letitia," exclaimed the ladies, and spoke of her as gentleness and goodness incarnate. Either, too, I have devoutly thought so," said Mr. Dale. Surely she is the very sweetest nurse, the most devoted of daughters. As far as concerns her duty to her father, I can say she is that, ladies. In all her relations, Mr. Dale, it is my prayer," he said. The footman appeared. He announced that Sir Willoughby was in the laboratory with Mr. Whitford, and the door locked. Domestic business, the ladies remarked, you know Willoughby's diligent attention to affairs, Mr. Dale. He is well," Mr. Dale inquired, in excellent health, body and mind. But, dear Mr. Dale, he is never ill. Ah, for one to hear that, who is never well, and Mr. Whitford is quite sound. Sound! the question alarms me for myself," said Dr. Middleton. Sound as our constitution, the credit of the country, the reputation of our prince of poets. I pray you to have no fear for him. Mr. Dale gave the mild little sniff of a man thrown deeper into perplexity. He said, Mr. Whitford works his head. He is a hard student. He may not be always, if I may so put it, at home on worldly affairs. Dismiss that defamatory legend of the student, Mr. Dale, and take my word for it that he who persistently works his head has the strongest for all affairs. Ah, your daughter, sir, is here. My daughter is here, sir, and will be most happy to present her respect to the father of her friend, Miss Dale. They are friends, very cordial friends. Mr. Dale administered another feebly pacifying sniff to himself. Letitia! He sighed in apostrophe, and swept his forehead with a hand seen to shake. The ladies asked him anxiously whether he felt the heat of the room, and one offered him a smelling bottle. He thanked them. I can hold out until Sir Willoughby comes. We fear to disturb him when his door is locked, Mr. Dale, but if you wish it, we will venture on a message. You have rarely no bad news of Allititia. She left us hurriedly this morning, without any leave-taking, except a word to one of the maids, that your condition required her immediate presence. My condition! and now her door is locked to me. We have spoken through the door, and that is all. I stand sick and stupefied between two locked doors, neither of which will open it appears to give me the enlightenment I need more than medicine." Dear me!" cried Dr. Middleton, I am struck by your description of your position, Mr. Dale. It would aptly apply to our humanity of the present generation, and where these the days when I sermonised, I could propose that it should afford me an illustration for the pulpit. For my part, when doors are closed, I try not their locks, and I attribute my perfect equanimity, health even, to an unenquiring acceptation of the fact that they are closed to me. I read my page by the light I have. On the contrary, the world of this day, if I may presume to quote you for my purpose, is heard knocking at those two locked doors with the secret things on each side of us, and is beheld standing sick and stupefied because it has got no response to its knocking. Why, sir, let the world compare the diverse fortunes of the beggar and the postman. Knock to give, and it is opened unto you. Knock to crave, and it continues shut. I say, carry a letter to your locked door, and you shall have a good reception. But there is none that is handed out. For which reason? Mr. Dale swept a perspiring forehead and extended his hand in supplication. I am an invalid, Dr. Middleton," he said. I am unable to cope with analogies. I have but strength for the slow digestion of facts. For facts we are brady peptics to a man, sir. We know not yet if nature be a fact or an effort to master one. The world has not yet assimilated the first fact it stepped on. We are still in the endeavour to make good blood of the fact of our being. Pressing his hands at his temples, Mr. Dale moaned. My head twirls. I did unwisely to come out. I came on an impulse. I trust honourable. I am unfit. I cannot follow you, Dr. Middleton. Pardon me. Nay, sir, let me say from my experience of my countryman that if you do not follow me and can abstain from abusing me in consequence, you are magnanimous. The Reverend Doctor replied, hardly consented to let go the man he had found to indemnify him for his gallant service of acquiescing as a mute to the ladies, though he knew his breathing robustfulness to be as an east wind to weak nerves. And himself an engine of punishment when he had been torn for a day from his books. Miss Eleanor said, the enlightenment you need, Mr. Dale, can we enlighten you? I think not, he answered faintly. I think I will wait for Sir Willoughby or Mr. Whitford, if I can keep my strength. Or could I exchange? I fear to break down two words with the young lady who is, was. Miss Middleton, my daughter, sir, she shall be at your disposition. I will bring her to you. Dr. Middleton stopped at the window. She, it is true, may better know the mind of Miss Dale than I. But I flatter myself, I know the gentleman better. I think, Mr. Dale, addressing you as the lady's father, you will find me a persuasive. I could be an impassioned advocate in his interests. Mr. Dale was confounded. The weakly sapling caught in a gust falls back as he did. Advocate," he said, he had little breath. His impassioned advocate, I repeat, for I have the highest opinion of him. You see, sir, I am acquainted with the circumstances. I believe Dr. Middleton half turned to the ladies. We must, until your potent inducements, Mr. Dale, have been joined to my instances, and we have overcome what feminine scruples there may be. Treat the circumstances as not generally public. Our strefon may be chargeable with shyness. But if for the present it is incumbent on us in proper consideration for the parties not to be nominally precise, it is hardly requisite in this household that we should be. He is now for protesting indifference to the state. I fancy we understand that phase of amateury frigidity. Frankly, Mr. Dale, I was once in my life myself refused by a lady, and I was not indignant, merely indifferent to the marriage tie. My daughter has refused him, sir. Temporarily it would appear that she has declined the proposal. He was at liberty. He could honorably. His best friend and nearest relative is your guarantee. I know it. I hear so. I am informed of that. I have heard of the proposal, and that he could honorably make it. Still I am helpless. I cannot move until I am assured that my daughter's reasons are such as of father need not underline. Does the lady, perchance, equivocate? I have not seen her this morning. I rise late. I hear an astounding account of the cause for her departure from pattern, and I find her door locked to me. No answer. It is that she had no reasons to give, and she feared the demand for them. Ladies! Dolorously exclaimed Mr. Dale. We guess the secret. We guess it! They exclaimed in reply, and they looked smilingly as Dr. Middleton looked. She had no reasons to give! Mr. Dale spelled these words to his understanding. Then, sir, she knew you not at verse. Undoubtedly, by my highest steam for the gentleman, she must have known me not at verse. But she would not consider me a principal. She could hardly have conceived me an obstacle. I am simply the gentleman's friend. A zealous friend, let me add. Mr. Dale put out an imploring hand. It was too much for him. Pardon me. I have a poor head. And your daughter the same, sir. We will not measure it too closely, but I may save my daughter the same, sir. And likewise may I not add these ladies. Mr. Dale made sign that he was overfilled. Where am I? And Letitia refused him. Temporarily, let us assume. Will it not partly depend on you, Mr. Dale? But what strange things have been happening during my daughter's absence from the cottage! cried Mr. Dale, betraying an elixir in his veins. I feel that I could laugh if I did not dread to be thought insane. She refused his hand, and he was at liberty to offer it. My girl! We are all on our heads. The fairy tales were right, and the lesson-books were wrong. But it is rarely—it is rarely very demoralising. And invalid. And I am one, and no momentary exhilaration will be taken for the contrary, clings to the idea of stability, order. The slightest disturbance of the won'ted course of things unsettles him. Why, for years I have been prophesying it, and for years I have had everything against me. And now, when it is confirmed, I am wondering that I must not call myself a fool. And for years, dear Mr. Dale, this union, in spite of counter-currents and human arrangements, has been our Willoughbys' constant preoccupation," said Miss Eleanor. His most cherished aim, said Miss Isabelle. The name was not spoken by me, said Dr. Middleton. But it is out, and perhaps better out, if we would avoid the chance of mystifications. I do not suppose we are seriously committing a breach of confidence, though he might have wished to mention it to first himself. I have it from Willoughby that last night he appealed to your daughter, Mr. Dale, not for the first time if I apprehend him correctly. And unsuccessfully he despairs. I do not, supposing that is your assistance vouchsafed to us. And I do not despair, because the gentleman is a gentleman of worth, of acknowledged worth. You know him well enough to grant me that. I will bring you my daughter to help me in sounding his praises. Dr. Middleton stepped through the window to the lawn on an elastic foot, beaming with the happiness he felt charged to confer on his friend, Mr. Whitford. Ladies, it passes all wonders, Mr. Dale gasped. Willoughby's generosity does pass all wonders, they said in chorus. The door opened. Lady Bush and Lady Culmer were announced. End of Chapter 44 Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmeyer Surrey Chapter 45 of The Egwist This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Lars Rolander The Egwist, a comedy in narrative by George Meredith Chapter 45 The Patern Ladies, Mr. Dale, Lady Bush and Lady Culmer with Mrs. Mountain Stewart Jenkinson Lady Bush and Lady Culmer entered spying to right and left. At the sight of Mr. Dale in the room Lady Bush murmured to her friend, Confirmation, Lady Culmer murmured, The morning is quite reliable. The man is his own bestonic. He seemed valuable for the country. Miss Eleanor and Miss Isabel greeted them. The amiability of the Patern Ladies, combined with their total eclipse behind their illustrious nephew, invited enterprising women of the world to take LibriVoxes, and they were not backward. Lady Bush said, Well, the news. We have the outlines. Don't be astonished. We know the points. We have heard the gun. I could have told you as much yesterday. I saw it. And I guessed it the day before. Oh, I do believe in fatalities now. Lady Culmer and I agree to take that view. It is the simplest. Well, and are you satisfied, my dears? The ladies grimaced interrogatively. With what? With it? With all? With her? With him? Our well-being? Can it be possible that they require dose of corny? Lady Bush remarked to Lady Culmer. They play discretion to perfection, said Lady Culmer. But my dears, we are in the secret. How did she behave? whispered Lady Bush. No high flights and flutters, I do hope. She was well connected, they say, though I don't comprehend what they mean by a line of scholars. One thinks of a row of pinafores, and she was pretty. That is well enough at the start. It never will stand against brains. He had the two in the house to contrast them, and the result? A young woman with brains in a house beats all your beauties. Lady Culmer and I have determined on that view. He thought her a delightful partner for a dance, and found her rather tiresome at the end of the Gallopade. I saw it yesterday, clear as daylight. She did not understand him, and he did not understand her. That will be our report. She is young, she will learn, said the ladies uneasily, but in total ignorance of her meaning. And you are charitable, and always were. I remember you had a good word for that girl, Durham. Lady Bush crossed the room to Mr. Dale, who was turning over leaves of a grand book of the heraldic devices of our great families. Study it, she said. Study it, my dear Mr. Dale. You are in it by right of possessing a clever and accomplished daughter. At page 300 you will find the patern crest, and mark me, she will drag you into the peerage before she has done. Relatively, you know. Sir Willoughby and wife will not be contended to sit down and manage these dates. Has not let its immense ambition, and very creditable, I say. Mr. Dale tried to protest something. He shoved the book, examining the binding, flapped the cover with a finger, hoped her ladyship was in good health, alluded to his own, and the strangest of the bird out of the cage. You will probably take up your residence here in a larger and handsomer cage, Mr. Dale. He shook his head. Do I a friend, he said? I know, said she. Dear me, can it be? Mr. Dale scased upward with the feelings of one awakened, laid to see a world alive in broad daylight. Lady Bush dropped her voice. She took the liberty permitted to her with an inferior in-station, while treating him to a tone of familiarity in acknowledgment of his expected rise, which is high-breeding, or the exact measurement of his social dues. Let Tizia will be happy, you may be sure. I love to see a long and faithful attachment rewarded. Love it! Her tale is the triumph of patience, far above Grissel. No woman will be ashamed of pointing to Lady Patern. You are uncertain? You are in doubt? Let me hear, as slow as you like. But there is no doubt of the new shifting of the scene? No doubt of the proposal? Dear Mr. Dale, a very little louder. You are here because? Of course you wish to see Sir Willoughby? She? I did not catch you quite. She? It seems you say? Lady Calmer said to the Patern ladies, You must have had a distressing time. These affairs always mount up to climax unless people are very well-bred. We saw it coming. Naturally we did not expect such a transformation of brides. Who could? If I had laid myself down on my back to think, I should have had it. I am unerring when I set to speculating on my back. One is cooler, ideas come. They have not to be forced. That is why I am brighter on a dull winter afternoon on the sofa beside my tea service than at any other season. However, your trouble is over. When did the Middletons leave? The Middletons leave? said the ladies. Dr Middleton and his daughter. They have not left us. The Middletons are here. They are here, yes. Why should they have left Patern? Why? Yes, they are likely to stay some days longer. Goodness! There is no ground for any report of the country, Lady Calmer. No ground? Lady Calmer called out to Lady Bush. A cry came back from that startled aim. She has refused him. Who? She has. She, Sir Willoughby, refused, declines the honour. Oh, never! No, that carries the incredible beyond romance. But is he perfectly at? Quiet it seems, and she was asked in due form and refused. No, and no again. My dear, I have it from Mr Dale. Mr Dale, what can be the signification of her conduct? Indeed, Lady Calmer said Mr Dale not unpleasantly agitated by the interest he excited, in spite of his astonishment at a public discussion of the matter in this house. I am in the dark. Her father should know, but I do not. Her door is locked to me. I have not seen her. I am absolutely in the dark. I am a recluse. I have forgotten the ways of the world. I should have supposed her father would first have been addressed. Tuttutt! Modern gentlemen are not so formal. They are creatures of impulse and take pride in it. He spoke. We settle that. But where did you get this tale of a refusal? I have it from Dr Middleton. From Dr Middleton? shouted Lady Bush. The Middletons are here, said Lady Calmer. What world are we in? Lady Bush got up, ran two or three steps, and seated herself in another chair. Oh, do let us proceed upon system. If not we shall presently be raging. We shall be dangerous. The Middletons are here, and Dr Middleton himself communicates to Mr Dale that Titia Dale has refused the hand of Sir Willoughby, who is ostensibly engaged to his own daughter. And pray, Mr Dale, how did Dr Middleton speak of it? Compose yourself. There is no violent hurry. Though our sympathy with you and our interest in all the parties does perhaps agitate us a little. Quiet at your leisure. Speak. Madam, Lady Bush, Mr Dale gulped a ball in his throat. I see no reason why I should not speak. I do not see how I can have been deluded. The Miss Paterns heard him. Dr Middleton began upon it, not I. I was unaware when I came that it was a refusal. I had been informed that there was a proposal. My authority for the tale was positive. The object of my visit was to assure myself of the integrity of my daughter's conduct. She had always the highest sense of honour, but passion is known to mislead, and there was this most strange report. I fear that our humblest apologies were due to Dr Middleton and his daughter. I know the charm that Titia can exercise. Madam, in the plainest language, without a possibility of my misapprehending aim, Dr Middleton spoke of himself as the advocate of the suitor for my daughter's hand. I have a poor head. I supposed at once an amicable rupture between Sir Willoughby and Miss Middleton, or that the version which had reached me of their engagement was not strictly accurate. My head is weak. Dr Middleton's language is trying to a head like mine, but I can speak positively on the essential points. He spoke of himself as ready to be impassioned advocate for the suitor for my daughter's hand. Those were his words. I understood him to entreat me to intercede with her. Nay, the name was mentioned. There was no concealment. I am certain that could not be a misapprehension, and my feelings were touched by his anxiety for Sir Willoughby's happiness. I attributed it to a sentiment upon which I need not well, impassioned advocate, he said. We are in a perfect maelstrom, cried Lady Bush, turning to everybody. It's a complete hurricane, cried Lady Calmer. A light broke over the faces of the patterned ladies. They exchanged it with one another. They had been so shocked as to be almost offended by Lady Bush, but their natural gentleness and habitual submission rendered them unequal to the task of checking her. Is it not, said Miss Eleanor, a misunderstanding that a change of name will rectify? This is by no means the first occasion, said Miss Isabel, that Willoughby has pleaded for his cousin Vernon. We deplore extremely the painful error into which Mr. Dale has fallen. It springs we now perceive from an entire misapprehension of Dr. Middleton. Vernon was in his mind. It was clear to us. Impossible that it could have been Willoughby. You see the impossibility, the error. And the Middleton's here, said Lady Bush. Oh, if we leave unilluminated, we shall be the laughing stock of the county. Mr. Dale, please wake up. Do you see? You have been mistaken. Lady Bush, he woke up. I may have mistaken Dr. Middleton. He has a language that I can compare to a review day of the field forces. But I have the story on authority that I cannot question. It is confirmed by my daughter's unexampled behavior. And if I live through this day, I shall look about me as a ghost tomorrow. Dear Mr. Dale, said the pattern, ladies, compassionately. Lady Bush murmured to them, You know the two did not agree. They did not get on. I saw it. I predicted it. She will understand him in time, said they. Never. And my belief is they have parted by consent, and let it Dale wins the day at last. Yes, now I do believe it. The ladies maintained a decided negative, but they knew too much not to feel perplexed. And they betrayed it, though they said, Dear Lady Bush, is it credible? In decency? Dear Mrs. Montsteward, Lady Bush invoked her great rival appearing among them. You come most opportunely. We are in a state of inextricable confusion. We are bordering on frenzy. You and none but you can help us. You know, you always know, we hang on you. Is there any truth in it? A particle? Mrs. Montsteward seated herself regally. Ah, Mr. Dale, she said, inclined to him. Yes, dear Lady Bush, there is a particle. Now, do not roast us. You can. You have the art. I have the whole story. That is, I have a part. I mean, I have the outlines. I cannot be deceived, but you can fill them in. I know you can. I saw it yesterday. Now tell us, tell us. It must be quite true or utterly false. Which is it? Be precise. His fatality, you called her. Yes, I was sceptical. But here we have it all come round again. And if the tale is true, I shall own you infallible. Has he and she both? And the Middletons here? They have not gone. They keep the field, and more astounding, she refuses him. And to add to it Dr. Middleton into seats with Mr. Dale for Sir Willoughby? Dr. Middleton into seats? This was rather astonishing to Mrs. Montsteward. For Vernon, for Vernon, Miss Eleanor emphasized. For Vernon Whitford is cussing, said Mrs. Sebald, still more emphatically. Who, said Mrs. Montsteward, with the sovereign lift and turn of head, speaks of a refusal? I have it from Mr. Dale, said Lady Bush. I had it, I thought, distinctly from Dr. Middleton, said Mr. Dale. That Willoughby proposed to Letizia for his cussing Vernon, Dr. Middleton meant, said Miss Eleanor. Her sister followed. Hence this really ridiculous misconception, sad indeed, she added for Bourne to Mr. Dale. Willoughby was Vernon's proxy, his cussing, if not his first is ever the second thought with him. But can we continue? Such a discussion! Mrs. Montsteward gave them a judicial hearing. They were regarded in the country as the most indulgent of non-entities, and she as little as Lady Bush was restrained from the burning topic in their presence. She pronounced, Each party is right and each is wrong. A dry, I shall shriek, came from Lady Bush. Cruel, groaned Lady Cullmer. Mixed, you are all wrong, disentangled, you are each of your right. Sir Willoughby does think of his cussing Vernon. He is anxious to establish him. He is the author of proposal to that effect. We know it, the patern ladies exclaimed, and Letizia rejected Bourne once more. Who spoke of Miss Dale's rejection of Mr. Whitford? Is he not rejected, Lady Cullmer inquired. It is in debate, and at this moment being decided. Oh, to be seated, Mr. Dale, Lady Bush implored him, rising to thrust him back to his chair, if necessary. Any dislocation, and we are thrown out again. We must hold together if this riddle is ever to be read. Then, dear Mrs. Mount Stewart, we are to say that there is no truth in the other story. You are to say nothing of the sort, dear Lady Bush. Be merciful, and what of the fertility, as positive as the pole to the needle. She has not refused him? Ask your own sagacity. Accept it? Wait. And all the world's ahead of me. Now, Mrs. Mount Stewart, you are the oracle. Riddles, if you like, only speak, if we can't have corn, why give us husks? Is any of us able to anticipate events, Lady Bush? Yes, I believe that you are. I bow to you. I do sincerely. So it is another person for Mr. Whitford? You're not. And it is our letizia for Sir Willoughby? You smile? You would not to see me? Very little, and I run about crazed and howled at your doors. And Dr. Middleton is made to play blind man in the midst? And the other person is? Now I see day, an amicable rupture and a smooth new arrangement. She has money. She was never the match for our hero. Never! I saw it yesterday, and before, often, and so he hands her over. To thrum, tum, tum, to thrum, tum, tum. Lady Bush struck a quick march on her knee. Now isn't that clever guessing? The shadow of a clue for me, and because I know human nature. One peep, and I see the combination in a minute. So he keeps the money in the family, becomes a benefactor to his cussing by getting rid of the girl, and succumbs to his fatality. Rather a pity he let it ebb and flow so long. Time counts the tides, you know, but it improves the story. I defy any other county in the kingdom to produce one fresh and living to equal it. Let me tell you, I suspected Mr. Whitford, and I hinted it yesterday. Did you indeed, said Mrs. Mudd Stewart, humoring her excessive acuteness. I really did. There is that dear good man on his feet again, and looks agitated again. Mr. Dale had been compelled both by the lady's voice and his interest in the subject to listen. He had listened more than enough. He was exceedingly nervous. He held on by his chair, afraid to quit his moorings, and, manners, he said to himself, unconsciously allowed, as he cogitated on the libertine way with which these chartered great ladies of the district discussed his daughter. He was heard and unnoticed. The supposition, if any, would have been that he was admonishing himself. At this juncture, Sir Willoughby entered the drawing room by the garden window, and simultaneously Dr. Middleton by the door.