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Miss Mackenzie

<h3>CHAPTER XI</h3> <h3>Miss Todd Entertains Some Friends at Tea  </h3> I believe that a desire to get married is the natural state of a woman at the age of—say from twenty-five to thirty-five, and I think also that it is good for the world in general that it should be so. I am now speaking, not of the female population at large, but of women whose position in the world does not subject them to the necessity of earning their bread by the labour of their hands. There is, I know, a feeling abroad among women that this desire is one of which it is expedient that they should become ashamed; that it will be well for them to alter their natures in this respect, and learn to take delight in the single state. Many of the most worthy women of the day are now teaching this doctrine, and are intent on showing by precept and practice that an unmarried woman may have as sure a hold on the world, and a position within it as ascertained, as may an unmarried man. But I confess to an opinion that human nature will be found to be too strong for them. Their school of philosophy may be graced by a few zealous students,—by students who will be subject to the personal influence of their great masters,—but it will not be successful in the outer world. The truth in the matter is too clear. A woman's life is not perfect or whole till she has added herself to a husband. Nor is a man's life perfect or whole till he has added to himself a wife; but the deficiency with the man, though perhaps more injurious to him than its counterpart is to the woman, does not, to the outer eye, so manifestly unfit him for his business in the world. Nor does the deficiency make itself known to him so early in life, and therefore it occasions less of regret,—less of regret, though probably more of misery. It is infinitely for his advantage that he should be tempted to take to himself a wife; and, therefore, for his sake if not for her own, the philosophic preacher of single blessedness should break up her class-rooms, and bid her pupils go and do as their mothers did before them. They may as well give up their ineffectual efforts, and know that nature is too strong for them. The desire is there; and any desire which has to be repressed with an effort, will not have itself repressed unless it be in itself wrong. But this desire, though by no means wrong, is generally accompanied by something of a feeling of shame. It is not often acknowledged by the woman to herself, and very rarely acknowledged in simple plainness to another. Miss Mackenzie could not by any means bring herself to own it, and yet it was there strong within her bosom. A man situated in outer matters as she was situated, possessed of good means, hampered by no outer demands, would have declared to himself clearly that it would be well for him to marry. But he would probably be content to wait a while and would, unless in love, feel the delay to be a luxury. But Miss Mackenzie could not confess as much, even to herself,—could not let herself know that she thought as much; but yet she desired to be married, and dreaded delay. She desired to be married, although she was troubled by some half-formed idea that it would be wicked. Who was she, that she should be allowed to be in love? Was she not an old maid by prescription, and, as it were, by the force of ordained circumstances? Had it not been made very clear to her when she was young that she had no right to fall in love, even with Harry Handcock? And although in certain moments of ecstasy, as when she kissed herself in the glass, she almost taught herself to think that feminine charms and feminine privileges had not been all denied to her, such was not her permanent opinion of herself. She despised herself. Why, she knew not; and probably did not know that she did so. But, in truth, she despised herself, thinking herself to be too mean for a man's love. She had been asked to marry him by her cousin Mr Ball, and she had almost yielded. But had she married him it would not have been because she thought herself good enough to be loved by him, but because she held herself to be so insignificant that she had no right to ask for love. She would have taken him because she could have been of use, and because she would have felt that she had no right to demand any other purpose in the world. She would have done this, had she not been deterred by the rude offer of other advantages which had with so much ill judgment been made to her by her aunt. Now, here was a lover who was not old and careworn, who was personally agreeable to her, with whom something of the customary romance of the world might be possible. Should she take him? She knew well that there were drawbacks. Her perceptions had not missed to notice the man's imperfections, his vulgarities, his false promises, his little pushing ways. But why was she to expect him to be perfect, seeing, as she so plainly did, her own imperfections? As for her money, of course he wanted her money. So had Mr Ball wanted her money. What man on earth could have wished to marry her unless she had had money? It was thus that she thought of herself. And he had robbed her! But that she had forgiven; and, having forgiven it, was too generous to count it for anything. But, nevertheless, she was ambitious. Might there not be a better, even than Mr Rubb? Mr Maguire squinted horribly; so horribly that the form and face of the man hardly left any memory of themselves except the memory of the squint. His dark hair, his one perfect eye, his good figure, his expressive mouth, were all lost in that dreadful perversion of vision. It was a misfortune so great as to justify him in demanding that he should be judged by different laws than those which are used as to the conduct of the world at large. In getting a wife he might surely use his tongue with more freedom than another man, seeing that his eye was so much against him. If he were somewhat romantic in his talk, or even more than romantic, who could find fault with him? And if he used his clerical vocation to cover the terrors of that distorted pupil, can any woman say that he should be therefore condemned? Miss Mackenzie could not forget his eye, but she thought that she had almost brought herself to forgive it. And, moreover, he was a gentleman, not only by Act of Parliament, but in outward manners. Were she to become Mrs Maguire, Miss Baker would certainly come to her house, and it might be given to her to rival Mrs Stumfold—in running which race she would be weighted by no Mr Peters. It is true that Mr Maguire had never asked her to marry him, but she believed that he would ask her if she gave him any encouragement. Now it was to come to pass, by a wonderful arrangement of circumstances, that she was to meet these two gentlemen together. It might well be, that on this very occasion, she must choose whether it should be either or neither. Mr Rubb came, and she looked anxiously at his dress. He had on bright yellow kid gloves, primrose he would have called them, but, if there be such things as yellow gloves, they were yellow; and she wished that she had the courage to ask him to take them off. This was beyond her, and there he sat, with his gloves almost as conspicuous as Mr Maguire's eye. Should she, however, ever become Mrs Rubb, she would not find the gloves to be there permanently; whereas the eye would remain. But then the gloves were the fault of the one man, whereas the eye was simply the misfortune of the other. And Mr Rubb's hair was very full of perfumed grease, and sat on each side of his head in a conscious arrangement of waviness that was detestable. As she looked at Mr Rubb in all the brightness of his evening costume, she began to think that she had better not. At last Miss Baker came, and they started off together. Miss Mackenzie saw that Miss Baker eyed the man, and she blushed. When they got down upon the doorstep, Samuel Rubb, junior, absolutely offered an arm simultaneously to each lady! At that moment Miss Mackenzie hated him in spite of her special theory. "Thank you," said Miss Baker, declining the arm; "it is only a step." Miss Mackenzie declined it also. "Oh, of course," said Mr Rubb. "If it's only next door it does not signify." Miss Todd welcomed them cordially, gloves and all. "My dear," she said to Miss Baker, "I haven't seen you for twenty years. Miss Mackenzie, this is very kind of you. I hope we sha'n't do you any harm, as we are not going to be wicked to-night." Miss Mackenzie did not dare to say that she would have preferred to be wicked, but that is what she would have said if she had dared. "Mr Rubb, I'm very happy to see you," continued Miss Todd, accepting her guest's hand, glove and all. "I hope they haven't made you believe that you are going to have any dancing, for, if so, they have hoaxed you shamefully." Then she introduced them to Mr and Mrs Wilkinson. Mr Wilkinson was a plain-looking clergyman, with a very pretty wife. "Adela," Miss Todd said to Mrs Wilkinson, "you used to dance, but that's all done with now, I suppose." "I never danced much," said the clergyman's wife, "but have certainly given it up now, partly because I have no one to dance with." "Here's Mr Rubb quite ready. He'll dance with you, I'll be bound, if that's all." Mr Rubb became very red, and Miss Mackenzie, when she next took courage to look at him, saw that the gloves had disappeared. There came also a Mr and Mrs Fuzzybell, and immediately afterwards Mr Maguire, whereupon Miss Todd declared her party to be complete. "Mrs Fuzzybell, my dear, no cards!" said Miss Todd, quite out loud, with a tragic-comic expression in her face that was irresistible. "Mr Fuzzybell, no cards!" Mrs Fuzzybell said that she was delighted to hear it. Mr Fuzzybell said that it did not signify. Miss Baker stole a glance at Mr Maguire, and shook in her shoes. Mr Maguire tried to look as though he had not heard it. "Do you play cards much here?" asked Mr Rubb. "A great deal too much, Sir," said Miss Todd, shaking her head. "Have you many Dissenters in your parish, Mr Wilkinson?" asked Mr Maguire. "A good many," said Mr Wilkinson. "But no Papists?" suggested Mr Maguire. "No, we have no Roman Catholics." "That is such a blessing!" said Mr Maguire, turning his eyes up to Heaven in a very frightful manner. But he had succeeded for the present in putting down Miss Todd and her cards. They were now summoned round the tea-table,—a genuine tea-table at which it was expected that they should eat and drink. Miss Mackenzie was seated next to Mr Maguire on one side of the table, while Mr Rubb sat on the other between Miss Todd and Miss Baker. While they were yet taking their seats, and before the operations of the banquet had commenced, Susanna entered the room. She also had been specially invited, but she had not returned from school in time to accompany her aunt. The young lady had to walk round the room to shake hands with everybody, and when she came to Mr Rubb, was received with much affectionate urgency. He turned round in his chair and was loud in his praises. "Miss Mackenzie," said he, speaking across the table, "I shall have to report in Gower Street that Miss Susanna has become quite the lady." From that moment Mr Rubb had an enemy close to the object of his affections, who was always fighting a battle against him. Susanna had hardly gained her seat, before Mr Maguire seized an opportunity which he saw might soon be gone, and sprang to his legs. "Miss Todd," said he, "may I be permitted to ask a blessing?" "Oh, certainly," said Miss Todd; "but I thought one only did that at dinner." Mr Maguire, however, was not the man to sit down without improving the occasion. "And why not for tea also?" said he. "Are they not gifts alike?" "Very much alike," said Miss Todd, "and so is a cake at a pastry-cook's. But we don't say grace over our buns." "We do, in silence," said Mr Maguire, still standing; "and therefore we ought to have it out loud here." "I don't see the argument; but you're very welcome." "Thank you," said Mr Maguire; and then he said his grace. He said it with much poetic emphasis, and Miss Mackenzie, who liked any little additional excitement, thought that Miss Todd had been wrong. "You've a deal of society here, no doubt," said Mr Rubb to Miss Baker, while Miss Todd was dispensing her tea. "I suppose it's much the same as other places," said Miss Baker. "Those who know many people can go out constantly if they like it." "And it's so easy to get to know people," said Mr Rubb. "That's what makes me like these sort of places so much. There's no stiffness and formality, and all that kind of thing. Now in London, you don't know your next neighbour, though you and he have lived there for ten years." "Nor here either, unless chance brings you together." "Ah; but there is none of that horrid decorum here," said Mr Rubb. "There's nothing I hate like decorum. It prevents people knowing each other, and being jolly and happy together. Now, the French know more about society than any people, and I'm told they have none of it." "I'm sure I can't say," said Miss Baker. "It's given up to them that they've got rid of it altogether," said Mr Rubb. "Who have got rid of what?" asked Miss Todd, who saw that her friend was rather dismayed by the tenor of Mr Rubb's conversation. "The French have got rid of decorum," said Mr Rubb. "Altogether, I believe," said Miss Todd. "Of course they have. It's given up to them that they have. They're the people that know how to live!" "You'd better go and live among them, if that's your way of thinking," said Miss Todd. "I would at once, only for the business," said Mr Rubb. "If there's anything I hate, it's decorum. How pleasant it was for me to be asked in to take tea here in this social way!" "But I hope decorum would not have forbidden that," said Miss Todd. "I rather think it would though, in London." "Where you're known, you mean?" asked Miss Todd. "I don't know that that makes any difference; but people don't do that sort of thing. Do they, Miss Mackenzie? You've lived in London most of your life, and you ought to know." Miss Mackenzie did not answer the appeal that was made to her. She was watching Mr Rubb narrowly, and knew that he was making a fool of himself. She could perceive also that Miss Todd would not spare him. She could forgive Mr Rubb for being a fool. She could forgive him for not knowing the meaning of words, for being vulgar and assuming; but she could hardly bring herself to forgive him in that he did so as her friend, and as the guest whom she had brought thither. She did not declare to herself that she would have nothing more to do with him, because he was an ass; but she almost did come to this conclusion, lest he should make her appear to be an ass also. "What is the gentleman's name?" asked Mr Maguire, who, under the protection of the urn, was able to whisper into Miss Mackenzie's ear. "Rubb," said she. "Oh, Rubb; and he comes from London?" "He is my brother's partner in business," said Miss Mackenzie. "Oh, indeed. A very worthy man, no doubt. Is he staying with—with you, Miss Mackenzie?" Then Miss Mackenzie had to explain that Mr Rubb was not staying with her,—that he had come down about business, and that he was staying at some inn. "An excellent man of business; I'm sure," said Mr Maguire. "By-the-bye, Miss Mackenzie, if it be not improper to ask, have you any share in the business?" Miss Mackenzie explained that she had no share in the business; and then blundered on, saying how Mr Rubb had come down to Littlebath about money transactions between her and her brother. "Oh, indeed," said Mr Maguire; and before he had done, he knew very well that Mr Rubb had borrowed money of Miss Mackenzie. "Now, Mrs Fuzzybell, what are we to do?" said Miss Todd, as soon as the tea-things were gone. "We shall do very well," said Mrs Fuzzybell; "we'll have a little conversation." "If we could all banish decorum, like Mr Rubb, and amuse ourselves, wouldn't it be nice? I quite agree with you, Mr Rubb; decorum is a great bore; it prevents our playing cards to-night." "As for cards, I never play cards myself," said Mr Rubb. "Then, when I throw decorum overboard, it sha'n't be in company with you, Mr Rubb." "We were always taught to think that cards were objectionable." "You were told they were the devil's books, I suppose," said Miss Todd. "Mother always objected to have them in the house," said Mr Rubb. "Your mother was quite right," said Mr Maguire; "and I hope that you will never forget or neglect your parent's precepts. I'm not meaning to judge you, Miss Todd—" "But that's just what you are meaning to do, Mr Maguire." "Not at all; very far from it. We've all got our wickednesses and imperfections." "No, no, not you, Mr Maguire. Mrs Fuzzybell, you don't think that Mr Maguire has any wickednesses and imperfections?" "I'm sure I don't know," said Mrs Fuzzybell, tossing her head. "Miss Todd," said Mr Maguire, "when I look into my own heart, I see well how black it is. It is full of iniquity; it is a grievous sore that is ever running, and will not be purified." "Gracious me, how unpleasant!" said Miss Todd. "I trust that there is no one here who has not a sense of her own wickedness." "Or of his," said Miss Todd. "Or of his," and Mr Maguire looked very hard at Mr Fuzzybell. Mr Fuzzybell was a quiet, tame old gentleman, who followed his wife's heels about wherever she went; but even he, when attacked in this way, became very fierce, and looked back at Mr Maguire quite as severely as Mr Maguire looked at him. "Or of his," continued Mr Maguire; "and therefore far be it from me to think hardly of the amusements of other people. But when this gentleman tells me that his excellent parent warned him against the fascination of cards, I cannot but ask him to remember those precepts to his dying bed." "I won't say what I may do later in life," said Mr Rubb. "When he becomes like you and me, Mrs Fuzzybell," said Miss Todd. "When one does get older," said Mr Rubb. "And has succeeded in throwing off all decorum," said Miss Todd. "How can you say such things?" asked Miss Baker, who was shocked by the tenor of the conversation. "It isn't I, my dear; it's Mr Rubb and Mr Maguire, between them. One says he has thrown off all decorum and the other declares himself to be a mass of iniquity. What are two poor old ladies like you and I to do in such company?" Miss Mackenzie, when she heard Mr Maguire declare himself to be a running sore, was even more angry with him than with Mr Rubb. He, at any rate, should have known better. After all, was not Mr Ball better than either of them, though his head was bald and his face worn with that solemn, sad look of care which always pervaded him? In the course of the evening she found herself seated apart from the general company, with Mr Maguire beside her. The eye that did not squint was towards her, and he made an effort to be agreeable to her that was not altogether ineffectual. "Does not society sometimes make you very sad?" he said. Society had made her sad to-night, and she answered him in the affirmative. "It seems that people are so little desirous to make other people happy," she replied. "It was just that idea that was passing through my own mind. Men and women are anxious to give you the best they have, but it is in order that you may admire their wealth or their taste; and they strive to be witty, amusing, and sarcastic! but that, again, is for the éclat they are to gain. How few really struggle to make those around them comfortable!" "It comes, I suppose, from people having such different tastes," said Miss Mackenzie, who, on looking round the room, thought that the people assembled there were peculiarly ill-assorted. "As for happiness," continued Mr Maguire, "that is not to be looked for from society. They who expect their social hours to be happy hours will be grievously disappointed." "Are you not happy at Mrs Stumfold's?" "At Mrs Stumfold's? Yes;—sometimes, that is; but even there I always seem to want something. Miss Mackenzie, has it never occurred to you that the one thing necessary in this life, the one thing—beyond a hope for the next, you know, the one thing is—ah, Miss Mackenzie, what is it?" "Perhaps you mean a competence," said Miss Mackenzie. "I mean some one to love," said Mr Maguire. As he spoke he looked with all the poetic vigour of his better eye full into Miss Mackenzie's face, and Miss Mackenzie, who then could see nothing of the other eye, felt the effect of the glance somewhat as he intended that she should feel it. When a lady who is thinking about getting married is asked by a gentleman who is frequently in her thoughts whether she does not want some one to love, it is natural that she should presume that he means to be particular; and it is natural also that she should be in some sort gratified by that particularity. Miss Mackenzie was, I think, gratified, but she did not express any such feeling. "Is not that your idea also?" said he,—"some one to love; is not that the great desideratum here below!" And the tone in which he repeated the last words was by no means ineffective. "I hope everybody has that," said she. "I fear not; not anyone to love with a perfect love. Who does Miss Todd love?" "Miss Baker." "Does she? And yet they live apart, and rarely see each other. They think differently on all subjects. That is not the love of which I am speaking. And you, Miss Mackenzie, are you sure that you love anyone with that perfect all-trusting, love?" "I love my niece Susanna best," said she. "Your niece, Susanna! She is a sweet child, a sweet girl; she has everything to make those love her who know her; but—" "You don't think anything amiss of Susanna, Mr Maguire?" "Nothing, nothing; Heaven forbid, dear child! And I think so highly of you for your generosity in adopting her." "I could not do less than take one of them, Mr Maguire." "But I meant a different kind of love from that. Do you feel that your regard for your niece is sufficient to fill your heart?" "It makes me very comfortable." "Does it? Ah! me; I wish I could make myself comfortable." "I should have thought, seeing you so much in Mrs Stumfold's house—" "I have the greatest veneration for that woman, Miss Mackenzie! I have sometimes thought that of all the human beings I have ever met, she is the most perfect; she is human, and therefore a sinner, but her sins never meet my eyes." Miss Mackenzie, who did not herself regard Mrs Stumfold as being so much better than her neighbours, could not receive this with much rapture. "But," continued Mr Maguire, "she is as cold—as cold—as cold as ice." As the lady in question was another man's wife, this did not seem to Miss Mackenzie to be of much consequence to Mr Maguire, but she allowed him to go on. "Stumfold I don't think minds it; he is of that joyous disposition that all things work to good for him. Even when she's most obdurate in her sternness to him—" "Law! Mr Maguire, I did not think she was ever stern to him." "But she is, very hard. Even then I don't think he minds it much. But, Miss Mackenzie, that kind of companion would not do for me at all. I think a woman should be soft and soothing, like a dove." She did not stop to think whether doves are soothing, but she felt that the language was pretty. Just at this moment she was summoned by Miss Baker, and looking up she perceived that Mr and Mrs Fuzzybell were already leaving the room. "I don't know why you need disturb Miss Mackenzie," said Miss Todd, "she has only got to go next door, and she seems very happy just now." "I would sooner go with Miss Baker," said Miss Mackenzie. "Mr Maguire would see you home," suggested Miss Todd. But Miss Mackenzie of course went with Miss Baker, and Mr Rubb accompanied them. "Good-night, Mr Rubb," said Miss Todd; "and don't make very bad reports of us in London." "Oh! no; indeed I won't." "For though we do play cards, we still stick to decorum, as you must have observed to-night." At Miss Mackenzie's door there was an almost overpowering amount of affectionate farewells. Mr Maguire was there as well as Mr Rubb, and both gentlemen warmly pressed the hand of the lady they were leaving. Mr Rubb was not quite satisfied with his evening's work, because he had not been able to get near to Miss Mackenzie; but, nevertheless, he was greatly gratified by the general manner in which he had been received, and was much pleased with Littlebath and its inhabitants. Mr Maguire, as he walked home by himself, assured himself that he might as well now put the question; he had been thinking about it for the last two months, and had made up his mind that matrimony would be good for him. Miss Mackenzie, as she went to bed, told herself that she might have a husband if she pleased; but then, which should it be? Mr Rubb's manners were very much against him; but of Mr Maguire's eye she had caught a gleam as he turned from her on the doorsteps, which made her think of that alliance with dismay. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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