Wisdom's Folly. A study in feminine development

Front matter

WISDOM'S FOLLY, a WISDOM'S FOLLY. A Study in Feminine Development . BY A. V. DUTTON, AUTHOR OF "THEORIES," "JONATHAN TOMS," ETC. " Naturam expellas furca tamen usque recurret." LONDON : RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, PUBLISHERS in ORDINARY to HER MAJESTY. 1896. {AU rights reserved.) In Jftmoriam. "Tout comprendre c'est tout pardonner." W. H. D. *. September nth, 1827. d. February 10th, 1896. "Aut nunquam tentes aut perfice." February 2yd, 1896. CONTENTS. CHAPTER TAGE I. Miss Romeston's Offers ... ... ... i II. Miss Romeston's Friend ... ... 24 III. Lucy's Dinner-party ... ... 44 IV. Proposal ... ... ... ... 59 V. Persuasion... ... ... ... ... 79 VI. Surrender ... ... ... ... 100 VII. Mary Masham ... ... ... ... 113 VIII. Mr. Rudolph Hatherton ... ... 127 IX. Matrimony ... ... ... ... 139 X. The Disenchantment of Oscar Voss ... 156 XI.

The Serpent's Robe ... ... ... 176 XII. The Siren's Spell ... ... ... 191 XIII. Struggling in the Web ... ... ... 210 XIV. "The Passions" ... ... ... 220 XV. Retribution ... ... ... ... 243 XVI. Confession ... ... ... ... 256 XVII. Suspicion ... ... ... ... ... 279 XVIII. A Ghastly Study ... ... ... 293 XIX. The Blow falls ... ... ... ... 308 XX. Penance ... ... ... ... 322 XXI. Reconciliation ... ... ... ... 332 XXII. Consolation? ... ... ... ...

Chapter I. Miss

romeston's offers. " Ye tell me that my face is fair. It may be sae — I dinna care." Cid Scotch Song. WW® know Chark Rectory and its surroundings mÆ\ was to become for ever a foe to Disestablish ment, so typical did that secluded spot appear of all the charms of permanency, security, and digni fied responsibility. At the white-gated entrance, a gigantic oak tree pointed a spiked, impressive arm to heaven, like a heraldic sword. A mass of green and golden foliage, on one side alone, remained to tell that life still lingered in the massive trunk, the light, polished grey of which contrasted so sharply with the velvet blackness of the hollow in its side. Like many trees with less substantial evidence, it dated by tradition back to the Norman Conquest) and the Rector was of opinion that the original I structure of the church was of the same date.

But if so, the handiwork of man had suffered more from his caprice and violence than the work of nature from time and storm, and the old tree had seen its contemporary assume many forms before it settled down into the nondescript and homely one, so distressing to the Rector's antiquarian soul. The Rectory itself, with no pretensions to the antiquity of the oak, and the church, had harmonies that were as fully appreciated by its possessor as the majestic age of the tree, or the one fine old Norman arch surviving in the church. Long and low, gabled and bow-windowed, the plastered walls of the house had mellowed to a warm tinge of yellowish grey, that looked white against the mantling well-grown ivy and climbing roses. It nestled under a background of fine old trees — tall enough to protect it from easterly gales, and far enough away to rob it of none of the scanty sunshine of Midlandshire, — and looked out on all sides upon a garden that had slowly grown beau tiful around it — a garden comfortable, serene, and peaceful as the house itself.

In front, a sweep of gravel, and a wide reach of daisied clovery turf, were bounded by a fence sunk between flowery banks, that left the view open into Chesney Park; whilst the long shubberies and orchards on either side hid Chesney Hall, and gave the park, viewed from the Rectory, the air of belonging to it alone. Not unnaturally, the inhabitants of the Rectory had acquired some idea that the park and estate of Chesney did in a sense belong to them. The Hall had been for many years untenanted, and its owner unknown in the village, whilst at the Rectory there had been Romestons for three genera tions, extending over nearly a century. The present family was a large one, the Rector, the Reverend Edward Romeston, having seven children — five daughters, and two sons, — all comely, animated creatures, who in their childhood had filled the Rectory and village with life and merri ment, and who in their youth impressed themselves as a strong social force upon the neighbourhood.

The ruling spirit amongst them was Eleanor, the second daughter, and third child ; and in right of her individuality, and in spite of her age, the same position must be claimed for her, in this slight record of the Romeston family. Fortunately the age for heroines is extended. The blushing damsel of seventeen now yields in fiction to the woman of thirty or forty, too ex perienced for blushes, and so it may be no draw back to Miss Romeston that, at the time I wish to introduce her, she was no longer quite young. She was unmarried and unengaged, and she had so early in life, and so honestly, decided that she was utterly unlikely to marry, that she had acquired a habit of regarding matrimony as a rather awkward contingency, which might have to be considered from time to time, as affecting — sometimes very foolishly and unpleasantly — the lives of other people, but which could have no personal application for her.

There were many reasons — to Miss Romeston quite unanswerable — for this view of matrimony and herself. To begin with, it implied a certain amount of preliminary love-making, and love-making she considered exclusively as the privilege or penalty — she was privately disposed to regard it as the latter — of soft, pretty, lovable women. Eleanor was not soft, she did not wish to be called pretty, and she thought she was not lovable to any one but her relations and friends. Secondly, love-making implies leisure, and she never seemed to have had time for the excited, listless, expectant state that her sisters had gone through before lovers for them appeared. Lastly, matrimony absorbed people to a pitiable extent, often changed their individuality, and made them the property of another person — often a person new to their past life, and its claims.

There were so many things to absorb Eleanor, more pressing and immediate. She had the strongest love for her own individuality, and a dread of having it changed, or endangered in any way, and the ties wound round her life at home were such, that her strong, calm affections seemed to satisfy all the needs of her nature for feeling and emotion, and to leave no room for passion to develop. But though Miss Romeston was unmarried, and apparently firmly rooted in single blessedness at twenty-nine, her family were fond of assuring their friends, in confidence, that it was not for want of offers, some of which had been very good offers indeed ; and this — though Eleanor would have been very angry with her family for such vulgar and foolish chatter — was perfectly true. The family, of course, talked vaguely, implying half a dozen suitors standing meekly, with their qualifications in heaps, at Miss Romeston's feet, waiting for the handkerchief to be thrown ; but as actual fact allotted Eleanor three lovers before she was thirty, her family were not soaring altogether into the realms of romance in their confidences.

The first offer — Eleanor's three offers were so absurdly free from preliminary love-making, that she must be excused for not having foreseen and prevented them — was when she was twenty-two, and from her father's curate. He was so shy and awkward in speech and manner, that he tumbled out his proposal in a most ludicrous and unattractive way, in the pauses of a game of croquet. (Chark was years behind the rest of the world in amusements, and they played croquet, instead of tennis, well on into the eighties.) His plain, round face was crimson ; his large hands, damp with nervousness, clutched each other convulsively, except when he made a frantic effort to clutch one of Eleanor's ; and his large feet executed an ungraceful shuffle on the dangerously slippery moss of the secluded, shady path leading from the lawn through the shrubbery, until there was every chance of his grovelling literally, as well as metaphorically, at Miss Romeston's feet.

Only once did he inspire a momentary interest and excitement in Eleanor, and that was an unlucky moment for him. It changed the little spark of pity for his clumsiness and embarrass ment that was dawning in her mind, into a vivid interest in herself; for, amidst all his stammering and blundering, he kept excusing himself by reference to Eleanor's dazzling and unusual beauty. The first time, she put the word down to the conventional flattery appropriate to the occasion ; the second time, she smiled rather grimly at his want of taste ; the third time, it had more reality, but was becoming wearisome. " Beautiful ! " she exclaimed, impatiently. " Oh, do stop. You cannot think me beautiful, if you are in your right mind. You know I have been as ugly as a witch all my life." The young man stared at her blankly for a moment, and then stammered indignantly — " It is not true ; you are the most beautiful woman in the world."

Eleanor felt a glow of warmth and delight stealing over her, before her sense and decision had time to wake. What that moment, when her pale cheeks were flushing, and a gleam of gladness, and power, and revelation first awakening in her eyes, must have been to poor Mr. Stubbs, who can tell ? He is married, now, to a very plain wife, who makes him an excellent housekeeper, has given him five fine children, and who would consider him very foolish if he told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world, though she would believe him more readily than Eleanor did. " Oh, that is nonsense," said that young woman. " At least, I am afraid it is. I expect you do not know much about it, unless some one else told you so. Did any one else say I was beautiful ? "No," assented Mr. Stubbs, rueful, but honest.

" But I know you are, and you must know it too, when you look in your glass. But, Eleanor, I should love you just as well, if " " Oh, well, never mind that," said Eleanor, cruelly. " I do not, and cannot love you, and I hope you will not say anything more about it, or you will not be able to come here any more ; and you are so good at croquet, that we should all be sorry. Please do not be silly any more. Let us go back, and finish the game." But she made one of her younger sisters take her mallet in the most exciting part of the game, and flew upstairs to her looking-glass, three steps at a time, to discover if it corroborated Mr. Stubbs. Her hat, an old garden one, trimmed with a hideous scarlet bow, was all on one side, and her hair straggling and " rat-tailly," as her brothers called it, and her eyes, full of eager searching curiosity, could not look to her as they had looked ten minutes before to Mr. Stubbs, but Eleanor thought there were one or two nice points in her face that she had not credited it with before.

It was very difficult to know what you were like yourself; and, of course, older people, and brothers, and sisters must tell you, you were not pretty, to keep your conceit down. Besides, it was so difficult to know what beauty really was. Eleanor wished she could ask some one if they thought as Mr. Stubbs did on any point, and then if they decided that he had some sensible thoughts, discover if he had only exaggerated a little in his statement to her. Her elder sister Lucy, the prettiest but one of the family, by its own verdict, came singing into the room. " What are you about, Mistress Nell ? Looking for beauty-spots? What an odd face of its own it has got, little witch ! " She stood by Eleanor's side, resting her chin on Eleanor's shoulder, and slipping an arm round her, so that their two faces appeared side by side, in the exasperatingly truthful and unflattering glass.

Then Eleanor had no doubts left as to what beauty was. Lucy's pink-and-white face, delicate features, gentle hazel eyes, and softly coiled fair hair were beautiful ; and every one said Mary was still more beautiful, and that Stella and Edith would be pretty girls, because they were like Mary and Lucy, only, unfortunately, not so fair. To have such fair sisters made her own thin, sallow, witch-like face so noticeably hideous. What a fool Mr. Stubbs was, to have given her such a start, and such a trying little disappointment ! The glass reflected a very disconsolate, sallow face, and the smiling flower-like one turned and kissed it deliciously. " What is the matter, Nella ? Has Mr. Stubbs beaten you ? " " No ; Edith is playing with Ted, in my place, against him and Mary. Lucy dear, what a perfect idiot the man is !

" " Why, certainly," said Lucy, placidly. " Nella, I wish you would look out, and tell me when Mr. Courtnay comes ; I want to finish trimming this hat." But it was Eleanor who finished the hat, and most of Lucy's duties that summer. Doing Lucy's work, and watching Mr. Courtnay's courtship, turned her thoughts from Mr. Stubbs's lunacy, and gave her a clear idea that love-making did not suit plain girls, who had the misfortune to attract no one but awkward curates. When, however, Mr. Stubbs married, four years later, Eleanor sent him a handsome wedding present. She had just received her second offer, and the ridiculous mistake of loving a plain girl for her beauty seemed so much more attractive than that of inviting a dull and inexperienced young woman to occupy a post needing resource, MISS ROMESTO.V'S OFFERS. 11 solid talents, and practical cleverness, that she remembered lover number one more kindly.

Eleanor had just been ill, rather seriously, and very inconveniently ; for all the attention and petting of the family were wanted at the time for Mary, the third daughter. She was the Romeston beauty and wit, and, after two or three unsuccessful love affairs, had decided to marry a young man who was going out to India in the autumn with his regiment. He was far too wildly infatuated with his fancie's loveliness, to think of leaving her behind, and perhaps the distracted state of the house, where every one was miserable at the idea of the separation, frantically busy with the trousseau — which to such home-staying people as the Romestons was a problem of real difficulty — and disturbed by the flying visits of the passionate and inconsiderate lover, had something to do with the bad cold and over-fatigue that began Eleanor's illness.

Still it was very annoying that she should be ordered entire rest and very careful nursing, when all the family were so occupied with something else, and when her millinery talents and taste in dress were so much in demand. When Dr. Melville made his offer, just before Mary's wedding, and when Eleanor was almost convalescent, the family — and, indeed, Eleanor herself— suspected him of having exaggerated the importance of her illness as a pretext for seeing more of her, and finding out if she were suitable for the post he offered her with so much dignity and formality. He was a man of forty, devoted to his profession, with a reputation for skill and cleverness that extended to the whole of Mid landshire. He was also a widower of two years' standing, and had half a dozen children. It was the charge of them and of his large house just outside Menton that he was so anxious to confer upon the second Miss Romeston.

He modestly said nothing of his talents, fine figure, and massive good looks, and Eleanor was never quite certain that he said anything of his love. She was more impressed with his remarks upon her cleverness, and her suitability for the post he offered her. " Why, I am not clever a bit ! " she had been surprised into exclaiming at the time ; and when, after the doctor had convinced her that this was his real opinion, and she — with more difficulty than a clever woman should have had — had con vinced him that she did not mind much what he thought her, and had no intention of even considering his offer, she could not refrain from betraying him to her family, for the purpose of asking what they thought of her claims to cleverness. "Well, they said you were clever at school, didn't they ? " said her eldest brother, Richard, who had come home for the wedding, and was trying to look at all his family impartially.

"And you are awfully fond of reading, and books, which none of us but the governor are. But I should think for tact you are not in it with Lucy, or for wit with Mary, or for real solid ability with Edith. I think the doctor was mistaken for once, my dear." " I think he was very impertinent to imagine Nell was going to put up with the remnants of his heart, and six children," said Mrs. Courtnay, kissing Eleanor, indignantly, for, as the only married sister, she took the whole family very much under her protection. " Calling Nell clever and suitable, indeed, as if she were a model housekeeper ! " " He doubtless meant it as a compliment," said the bride, who was trying the effect of sundry wedding presents upon her beautifully modelled hand and arm. " I believe he has had three governesses and four housekeepers since Mrs. Melville died, and those children are always providing him with subjects for operations.

Nothing good enough to write to the Lancet about ; but broken arms, and sprains, and scalp wounds, which only make effective situations for the Menton ladies who wish to marry him. He thought Nell clever enough to save him from that." " Well, I suppose he did not like driving back into their clutches, with no promise of protection," said Ted, the youngest brother, who was on the window-seat, half hidden by the curtain. " He looked very grim when I met him just now, and he stopped to tell me that he hoped we should all try to take better care of our sister, now she is restored to the family circle, — as if he did not think we appreciated her cleverness and suitability enough !" The others laughed, and left the room one by one, until only Eleanor, who was putting away the presents, remained with Ted.

Then that young gentleman, who was the most observant, as well as the wickedest of the family, said slowly — " He does care, Nell. Can't you ? " " Oh dear no, Ted, I could not possibly, — even if he did, and he does not. It was worse even than poor Mr. Stubbs's mistake." "Oh, Stubbs was a good little fellow and a gentleman, but you would have hit him over the head in a month or two. Now, this man is not a fool." " Please, do not be one yourself," said Eleanor, rather crossly. " I do not want to be any one's housekeeper, or stepmother. I have enough of my own family to care about." This became even more true after Mary had married and departed for India. Edith, the next sister, was three years younger, and, besides, con sidered the cultivation of her mind, and the passing of examinations, of more importance than the food, clothes, and amusements of her family.

Eleanor was clever enough for these domestic duties, and to look after the schools, and the parish visiting, and the glebe farm, and her father's library of precious old books. When Mary had gone, who had been only a year Eleanor's junior, the division between the older and the younger mem bers of the family seemed much wider, and Eleanor, the only elder left at home, appeared to herself and her relations to have become quite middle-aged. They were surprised that it had not struck them that she was rather old to have been one of Mary's bridesmaids, though, indeed, at that time she was only twenty-six. But, then, Edith was so much younger, and if Edith at twenty-two managed to look so old and sensible, as to make Stella, the youngest of the family, who was eighteen, look a child, there was nothing left for Eleanor but middle-age.

She accepted it very readily, and when her mother's death a few months later put her in charge of the household, with the additional post of adviser to Mary and her husband in India, and aunt to Lucy's delicate babies, she was thankful that her age and capability and sedateness were so strongly impressed upon every one's mind. No one thought the responsibility would be too much for her when Edith decided to go to Girton, and leave Eleanor with only Stella to help her, though Mr. Romeston had grown rather failing, and wanted help with many things besides the parish and the catalogue of his library, and though Ted, the only other member of the family at home, was rather wild and decidedly troublesome. Ted was thankful that Eleanor had not taken his advice and assumed the charge of Dr. Melville's children, for his own scrapes put him in constant need of his sister's good offices.

He was supposed to be learning land-surveying in Mr. Courtnay's office, but Mr. Courtnay was very dull and his pupil very sharp, and there was ample time for Ted to illustrate the truth of Dr. Watts' hymns. The mischief of his idle hands kept Eleanor busy, making his peace with the Courtnays without troublesome appeals to her father, and she was very glad when a companion was provided for Ted in the shape of Oscar Voss, another pupil of Reginald Courtnay's. ■7 So was Ted himself, and he was intensely disgusted by the fiasco which necessitated that young gentleman's departure from Chark, and which was nothing less than the offer of himself and his great estates to Miss Romeston. Poor Eleanor had not received either of her previous offers very correctly, and it was hard upon her that the third should so rouse her anger as to entirely dissipate the dignity that more age, experience, and composure generally gave her.

In truth, poor Oscar had such a miserable ex perience, that his own despair would have driven him out of the neighbourhood, without the assistance of Miss Romeston's indignation. He was an extremely nice-looking lad of two or three and twenty, the son of a Lancashire cotton spinner, who had made a huge fortune. Oscar had just inherited it, and had only come to learn something of the management of estates, before establishing himself in his big house on the other side of the county. On his advent, Eleanor and Lucy, without half a dozen words on the subject, had decided that it would be a very good arrangement if he could persuade their pretty, demure little sister Stella to share his fortunes and duties, and preside over that great forlorn establishment. With this object in view, Eleanor made the Rectory as attrac tive as possible, dressed Stella with ravishing taste, encouraged Ted to bring Mr. Voss home with him whenever he liked, and even occasion ally consented to make a fourth at tennis, though she always asserted that it was a very poor game compared with croquet, not nearly so well suited to sedate people like herself, and — though this she kept to herself — after croquet a very poor field for flirtation.

She considered it was tennis and the spirit of the age which made Oscar Voss more frankly familiar and friendly with Stella than Lucy and Mary's lovers had been, but she was sure no young man of any taste could help admiring Stella, and Oscar's familiarity was of a very refined and manageable type, and, as it was nice summer weather, she did not mind being out of doors a good deal with the young people, which was what it involved. Her father was away that June, staying with Edith in London, and afterwards with an acquaintance in Cambridge, whom he had recently made. Edith had rather overworked herself, and was taking a little holiday, so she could take Eleanor's place by escorting Mr. Romeston, to the British Museum and to see his publishers, and helping him with his notes for a new edition of his pamphlet on block-books, and Early English manuscripts.

Being at Girton, and the clever woman of the family, Edith was obviously more suited for this task than Eleanor, and, in the mean time, the elder sister was being awakened from the placid joys of match-making with a terrible shock. She had for several days suspected Oscar of wanting to confide in her, and her almost motherly tenderness to Stella had produced the prettiest coquetry in that demure little creature, so, one fine afternoon, just before the time when Oscar generally made his appearance, she sent Stella and Ted off to Menton, for new tennis-balls — which she had purposely forgotten in the morning, — and gave orders that, if Mr. Voss called, he should be sent out to the rose-garden, where she was having tea. The rose-garden at the Rectory was a delightful square of turf at the back of the house, bordered with rose bushes and standards, sheltered on one side by the great trees of Chesney Park, and on the other sides by the house and a high wall, all at this time covered with roses, half-blown and budding, and promising a blaze of colour in a week or two.

It was fortunate that it was such a secluded spot, for it was the scene of the bitterest discomfiture, and, if Eleanor suffered less than Oscar, it was only because surprise, disappointment, and anger are presumably less depressing emotions than repulsed admiration and love. Miss Romeston, when she could be made to understand that the poor boy was making passionate love to her, instead of confiding his love for Stella, — and she was only made to under stand in time to save her compromising her sister, as well as her own dignity, — fell from bewilderment to wrath, and, with flashing eyes, demanded what excuse her young lover had for making such a fool of himself and her. As poor Mr. Stubbs had done before, he pleaded her beauty ; but this availed him nothing. In the seven years that had elapsed since the unlucky curate had harped upon the word, Eleanor had come to know that " beautiful " was the adjective that some people used to describe the strange, mysterious face that looked back at her each morning from her glass.

She did not agree with them. She liked her face, she did not wish it different ; but it was not what she, or, for the matter of that, her family called beautiful, and it gave her no pleasure now, for any one else to do so. " What does it matter to you if I am ? " she said, severely. " So, no doubt, is your mother,. or your great-aunt. Sensible people do not care about looks, or, at least, the looks of people as old as their grandmothers. No ; that is no excuse for being so ridiculous." Hopeless as it was, and would have appeared to a more experienced lover, the young man pleaded on — " She was so clever and discerning. Could she not have seen how much he cared ? He had tried to make it so clear. He had been so long in allowing himself to dream of such a thing." Eleanor knew that, in spite of her recent stupidity, she was quite as clever as Dr. Melville had thought her.

She had no modesty on this score, though she knew Edith would announce to them a much higher degree than she herself would have won had circumstances sent her to Girton. Flattery about her intelligence was not new to her, and, in the present instance, added fuel to her severity. " I am certainly clever enough to discern between folly like this, and sensible love," she said. " And what sort of a companion did you think you would be for me ? Do not you realize that you would bore me to death, until I began to bore you, if I were not wise enough to send you away at once ? " " But, Miss Romeston, you arc so good, so kind and warm-hearted, you have been so good to me. It is that, even more than your beauty and cleverness, that has done for me," exclaimed the poor young lover, almost crushed with her sharp words.

Eleanor looked at him as she sometimes looked at the naughtiest children in the village school. " I am not in the least good and kind," she said decisively. " You can ask any one if I have not the hardest heart and the worst temper in the family, and I am so angry now, that I shall tell Reginald Courtnay to write to your mother, and to send you away at once." The naughtiest children were always subdued when Miss Romeston looked at them like that. There was something in her blue, black-fringed eyes and long, smiling lips that awed them. Some of them used to cry, and I am not certain that there were not tears in Oscar's eyes as he walked out of the rose-garden, with white strained face and twitching lips, after a passionate and quite fruitless effort to kiss Eleanor's hand. Half an hour afterwards Miss Romeston walked after him, and fulfilled her threat of telling Mr. Courtnay.