THE VISIT
Ashby Park was a very residence. The was without, and within; the park was and beautiful, on account of its old trees, its of deer, its of water, and the that it: for there was no ground to give to the landscape, and but very little of that which so to the of park scenery. And so, this was the place Rosalie Murray had so to call her own, that she must have a of it, on terms it might be offered—whatever price was to be paid for the title of mistress, and was to be her partner in the and of such a possession! Well I am not to her now.
She me very kindly; and, though I was a clergyman's daughter, a governess, and a schoolmistress, she me with to her home; and—what me rather—took some pains to make my visit agreeable. I see, it is true, that she me to be with the that her; and, I confess, I was at her to me, and prevent me from being by so much grandeur—too much at the idea of her husband and mother-in-law, or too much of my own appearance. I was not of it at all; for, though plain, I had taken good not to be or mean, and should have been at my ease, if my had not taken such pains to make me so; and, as for the that her, nothing that met my me or me so much as her own appearance. Whether from the of dissipation, or some other evil, a space of little more than twelve months had had the that might be from as many years, in the of her form, the of her complexion, the of her movements, and the of her spirits.
I to know if she was unhappy; but I it was not my to inquire: I might to win her confidence; but, if she to her from me, I would trouble her with no questions. I, therefore, at first, myself to a about her health and welfare, and a on the of the park, and of the little girl that should have been a boy: a small of seven or eight old, its mother to with no of or affection, though full as much as I her to show.
Shortly after my arrival, she her to me to my room and see that I had I wanted; it was a small, unpretending, but apartment. When I thence—having myself of all encumbrances, and my with for the of my lady hostess, she me herself to the room I was to when I to be alone, or when she was with visitors, or to be with her mother-in-law, or otherwise prevented, as she said, from the of my society. It was a quiet, tidy little sitting-room; and I was not sorry to be provided with such a of refuge.
"And some time," said she, "I will you the library: I its shelves, but, I daresay, it is full of wise books; and you may go and among them you please. And now you shall have some tea—it will soon be dinner-time, but I thought, as you were to at one, you would like to have a cup of tea about this time, and to when we lunch: and then, you know, you can have your tea in this room, and that will save you from having to with Lady Ashby and Sir Thomas: which would be awkward—at least, not awkward, but rather—a—you know what I mean. I you mightn't like it so well—especially as we may have other ladies and to with us occasionally."
"Certainly," said I, "I would much have it as you say, and, if you have no objection, I should having all my in this room."
"Why so?"
"Because, I imagine, it would be more to Lady Ashby and Sir Thomas."
"Nothing of the kind."
"At any it would be more to me."
She some objections, but soon conceded; and I see that the was a to her.
"Now, come into the drawing-room," said she. "There's the bell; but I won't go yet: it's no use when there's no one to see you; and I want to have a little discourse."
The drawing-room was an apartment, and very furnished; but I saw its me as we entered, as if to notice how I was by the spectacle, and I to an of indifference, as if I saw nothing at all remarkable. But this was only for a moment: whispered, "Why should I her to save my pride? No—rather let me my to give her a little gratification." And I looked round, and told her it was a room, and very furnished. She said little, but I saw she was pleased.
She me her French poodle, that up on a cushion, and the two Italian paintings: which, however, she would not give me time to examine, but, saying I must look at them some other day, upon my the little watch she had purchased in Geneva; and then she took me the room to point out articles of she had from Italy: an little timepiece, and busts, small figures, and vases, all in white marble. She spoke of these with animation, and my with a of pleasure: that soon, however, vanished, and was by a sigh; as if in of the of all such to the of the heart, and their to supply its demands.
Then, herself upon a couch, she me to a easy-chair that opposite—not the fire, but a wide open window; for it was summer, be it remembered; a sweet, warm in the of June. I sat for a moment in silence, the still, pure air, and the of the park that me, rich in and foliage, and in yellow sunshine, by the long of day. But I must take of this pause: I had to make, and, like the of a lady's postscript, the most must come last. So I with after Mr. and Mrs. Murray, and Miss Matilda and the gentlemen.
I was told that papa had the gout, which him very ferocious; and that he would not give up his choice wines, and his dinners and suppers, and had with his physician, the had to say that no medicine him while he so freely; that and the were well. Matilda was still wild and reckless, but she had got a governess, and was in her manners, and soon to be to the world; and John and Charles (now at home for the holidays) were, by all accounts, "fine, bold, unruly, boys."
"And how are the other people on?" said I "the Greens, for instance?"
"Ah! Mr. Green is heart-broken, you know," she, with a smile: "he hasn't got over his yet, and will, I suppose. He's to be an old bachelor; and his sisters are doing their best to married."
"And the Melthams?"
"Oh, they're on as usual, I suppose: but I know very little about any of them—except Harry," said she, slightly, and again. "I saw a great of him while we were in London; for, as soon as he we were there, he came up under of visiting his brother, and either me, like a shadow, I went, or met me, like a reflection, at every turn. You needn't look so shocked, Miss Grey; I was very discreet, I you, but, you know, one can't help being admired. Poor fellow! He was not my only worshipper; though he was the most conspicuous, and, I think, the most among them all. And that detestable—ahem—and Sir Thomas to take at him—or my expenditure, or something—I don't know what—and me to the country at a moment's notice; where I'm to play the hermit, I suppose, for life."
And she her lip, and upon the she had once so to call her own.
"And Mr. Hatfield," said I, "what is of him?"
Again she up, and answered "Oh! he up to an spinster, and married her, not long since; her against her charms, and to that in gold which was him in love—ha, ha!"
"Well, and I think that's all—except Mr. Weston: what is he doing?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. He's gone from Horton."
"How long since? and where is he gone to?"
"I know nothing about him," she, "except that he about a month ago—I asked where"(I would have asked it was to a or another curacy, but it not); "and the people a great about his leaving," she, "much to Mr. Hatfield's displeasure; for Hatfield didn't like him, he had too much with the common people, and he was not and to him—and for some other sins, I don't know what. But now I positively must go and dress: the second will ring directly, and if I come to dinner in this guise, I shall the end of it from Lady Ashby. It's a thing one can't be in one's own house! Just ring the bell, and I'll send for my maid, and tell them to you some tea. Only think of that woman "
"Who—your maid?"
"No;—my mother-in-law—and my mistake! Instead of her take herself off to some other house, as she offered to do when I married, I was to ask her to live here still, and direct the of the house for me; because, in the place, I we should the part of the year, in town, and in the second place, being so and inexperienced, I was at the idea of having a of to manage, and dinners to order, and parties to entertain, and all the of it, and I she might me with her experience; she would prove a usurper, a tyrant, an incubus, a spy, and else that's detestable. I wish she was dead!"
She then to give her orders to the footman, who had been the door for the last minute, and had the part of her animadversions; and, of course, his own upon them, the inflexible, he proper to in the drawing-room. On my that he must have her, she "Oh, no matter! I about the footmen; they're automatons: it's nothing to them what their say or do; they won't to repeat it; and as to what they think—if they to think at all—of course, nobody for that. It would be a thing indeed, it we were to be tongue-tied by our servants!"
So saying, she ran off to make her toilet, me to pilot my way to my sitting-room, where, in time, I was with a cup of tea. After that, I sat on Lady Ashby's past and present condition; and on what little I had Mr. Weston, and the small there was of or anything more of him my quiet, drab-colour life: which, henceforth, to offer no positive rainy days, and days of clouds without downfall. At length, however, I to of my thoughts, and to wish I where to the library my had spoken of; and to wonder I was to there doing nothing till bed-time.
As I was not rich to a watch, I not tell how time was passing, by the slowly from the window; which presented a view, a of the park, a of trees had been by an company of noisy rooks, and a high with a gate: no with the stable-yard, as a carriage-road up to it from the park. The of this soon took of the whole of the ground as as I see, the to by inch, and at last take in the very of the trees. Ere long, they were left in shadow—the of the hills, or of the earth itself; and, in for the citizens of the rookery, I to see their habitation, so in light, to the sombre, work-a-day of the world, or of my own world within. For a moment, such as above the might still the on their wings, which to their the and of red gold; at last, that too departed. Twilight came on; the more quiet; I more weary, and I were going home to-morrow. At length it dark; and I was of for a candle, and myself to bed, when my appeared, with many for having neglected me so long, and all the upon that "nasty old woman," as she called her mother-in-law.
"If I didn't with her in the drawing-room while Sir Thomas is taking his wine," said she, "she would me; and then, if I the room the he comes—as I have done once or twice—it is an against her dear Thomas. She such to her husband: and as for affection, think of that now-a-days, she supposes: but were different in her time—as if there was any good to be done by in the room, when he nothing but and when he's in a humour, talk nonsense when he's in a good one, and go to sleep on the sofa when he's too for either; which is most the case now, when he has nothing to do but to over his wine."
"But you not try to his mind with something better; and him to give up such habits? I'm sure you have powers of persuasion, and for a gentleman, which many ladies would be to possess."
"And so you think I would myself out for his amusement! No: that's not my idea of a wife. It's the husband's part to the wife, not hers to him; and if he isn't satisfied with her as she is—and to her too—he isn't of her, that's all. And as for persuasion, I you I shan't trouble myself with that: I've to do to with him as he is, without attempting to work a reform. But I'm sorry I left you so long alone, Miss Grey. How have you passed the time?"
"Chiefly in the rooks."
"Mercy, how you must have been! I must you the library; and you must ring for you want, just as you would in an inn, and make comfortable. I have selfish for to make you happy, I want you to with me, and not your threat of away in a day or two."
"Well, don't let me keep you out of the drawing-room any longer to-night, for at present I am and wish to go to bed."
