three months' experience sufficiently indoctrinated barbara churchill into her new life. at the end of that time she could scarcely have been recognised as the barbara lexden who had held her own for three seasons, and done undisputed havoc among the detrimentals: not that she was changed in appearance; that grand hauteur, that indefinable something of delicacy, breeding, and refinement, was even more noticeable than ever; if any thing, her nostrils were more frequently expanded, her lips more constantly in their curve; nor had her eyes lost their brightness, her figure its trim form, her walk its grace and elegance. though parker had long since served under another mistress barbara's hair had never been more artistically arranged than by her own hands; and though her dress had been modified from the nearest approach to excess in the prevailing fashion which good taste would permit to the merest simplicity, she had never, even in the height of her queendom, been more becomingly attired than in the plain silk dresses and simple linen collars and cuffs which she donned in great adullam street. where was the change, then? whence the source of the alteration? in truth she herself could scarcely tell; or if the idea ever rose in her mind she thrust it out instantly, arguing within herself, in a thousand unimpressive, undecisive, unsatisfactory ways, that she did not feel as she had imagined, and that she was merely "a little low."
that phrase was frank churchill's bane. he would return from the statesman office, where, after the regular daily consultation, he had remained and written his leader (harding always hitherto had managed to free his friend from night-work), and would find his wife with red-rimmed eyelids and the final traces of a past shower. at first he was frightened at these manifestations, would tenderly caress her, and ask her what had happened, nothing! always nothing! no cross, no domestic anxiety, no special trouble. but then something must have happened. frank's logical spirit, long trained, refused to accept an effect without a cause; and at length, after repeated questioning, he would learn from barbara that she was "a little low" that day. a little low! what on earth had she had to be a little low about? and then frank would imagine that there were more things in women than were dreamt of in his philosophy; and would pet her and coax her during dinner, and restore her somewhat to herself, until he took up his review or his heavy reading, when the "little low" fit would come on again; and after half an hour's contemplation of the coals barbara would burst into sobs and retire to bed. and then frank, laying down his book and pondering over his final pipe, would first begin to think that he was badly treated; to review his conduct, and see whether any act of his during the day could have caused the "little lowness;" to imagine that barbara was making mountains of molehills, and was losing that spirit which had been one great attraction to him; then gradually he would soften, would take into consideration the changes in the circumstances of her life; would begin to accuse himself of neglecting her, and preferring his reading at a time when she had a fair claim on his attention; and would finally rush off to implore her forgiveness, and pet her more than ever.
an infatuated fellow, this frank churchill; so happy in the possession of his wife, in the knowledge that she was his own, all his own, that nothing, not even the fact that she was occasionally a "little low," had power to damp his happiness for more than a very few minutes. he would sit at dinner of an evening, when she was engaged with her work, and he had a book in front of him, in company, when he could steal a minute from the general conversation, looking at her in rapt admiration; not one point of her beauty was lost upon him; the shape of her head; its pose on her neck; her delicate hands with that pink shell-like palm; those long tapering fingers and filbert nails; her rounded bust and slim waist,--all her special excellences impressed him more now than they had when he had first seen her; but, above all, he revelled in her "bred" appearance, in that indefinable something which seemed to lift her completely out of the set of people with which he saw her surrounded, and to show her by right the denizen of another sphere. if you could have persuaded frank churchill that another man held such opinions as these; that another man had such feelings with regard to his wife; and that through holding them he was induced to regard somewhat intolerantly those among whom he had hitherto moved, and from whom he had received the greatest kindness and friendship,--what words would have been scathing enough to have expressed frank churchill's disgust!
yet such was undoubtedly the case. churchill's most intimate friend was george harding,--a man whom he reverenced and looked up to, but whom he, since his marriage, had often found himself pitying from the bottom of his soul. not on his own account: loyal to his craft and steadfast in his friendship, churchill thought there were few more desirable positions than the editorship of the statesman, when as free from influence or partisanship as when harding held the berth. it was because his friend was mrs. harding's husband that churchill pitied him; though, indeed, mrs. harding was a very fair average kind of woman. a dowdy little person, mrs. harding! the daughter of a snuffy welsh rector, who had written a treatise on "aorists," and with whom harding had read one long vacation,--a round-faced old-maidish little woman, classically brought up, who could construe cicero fluently, and looked upon horace (q. flaccus, i mean) as rather a loose personage. in the solitude of plas-y-dwdllem, george harding was thrown into the society of this young female. he did not fall in love with her--they were neither of them capable of any thing violent of that nature; but--i am reduced to the phraseology of the servants' hall to express my meaning--they "kept company together;" and when george took his degree and started in life as leader-writer for the morning cracker (long since defunct), he thought the best thing he could do for his comfort was to go for a run to wales and bring back sophia evans as his wife. this he did; and they had lived thoroughly happily ever since. mrs. harding believed intensely in the statesman; read it every day, from the title to the printer's name; knew the name of every contributor, and could tell who had done what at a glance. her great pride in going out was to take one of the cards sent to the office, and observe the effect it made upon the receiving attendant at operas, flower-shows, or conversazioni. she always took care that the tickets for these last were sent to her; and her head-dress of black-velvet bows with pearl-beads hanging down behind was well to the fore whenever a mummy was unrolled, the fossil jawbone of an antediluvian animal was descanted on, or some sallow missionary presented himself at burlington house, to be congratulated by hundreds of dreary people on having escaped uneaten from some place to which he never ought to have gone. she herself was fond of having occasionally what she called "a social evening." this recreation was held on a saturday, when there was no work at the statesman office, when the principal members of the staff would be bidden, and when the condiments provided would be brown-bread and butter rolled into cornets, tea and coffee and lemonade, while the recreation consisted in conversation (amongst men who had met for every night during the past twelve months), and in examining photographs of the city of prague. the ribald young men at the office spoke of mrs. harding as "plutarch," a name given to her one night when mr. slater, the dramatic critic, asked her what novel she was then reading, and she replied, "novel, sir! plutarch's lives!" but they all liked her, notwithstanding; and for her sake and their dear old chief's did penitential duty at the occasional "social evenings" in decorum street.
of course this little body had nothing in common with mrs. frank churchill, and neither understood the other. george harding had been so anxious that his wife should pay all honour to his friend's bride, that mrs. harding's was the first visit barbara received. they did not study the laws of etiquette in mesopotamia, or mrs. harding thought she would break the ice of ceremony with a friendly call; so the arrived one morning at 11 a.m. dressed for the occasion, and having sent up her card, awaited barbara's advent in the drawing-room. no sooner had the servant shut the door and mrs. harding found herself alone than she minutely examined the furniture, saw where new things had replaced others with which she had been acquainted, mentally appraised the new carpet, and took stock generally. the result was not satisfactory; an anti-macassar which barbara had been braiding lay on the table, with the needle still in it. mrs. harding took it up between her finger and thumb, gazed at it contemptuously, and pronounced it "fal-lal;" she peeped into the leaves of a book lying open on the sofa, and shut them up with a sigh of "novels! ah!" she turned over the music lying on the little cottage-piano which frank had hired for his wife, and again shrugged her shoulders with an exclamation of distaste. then she sat herself down on a low chair with her back to the light (an old campaigner, mrs. harding, and seldom to be taken at a disadvantage), pulled out and smoothed her dress all round her, settled her ribbons, made a further incursion into the territories of a refractory thumb in her cowskin puce-coloured glove, which had hitherto refused submission to the invader, and awaited the coming of her hostess.
she had not long to wait. frank had gone out on business; but he had so often spoken of harding as his dear friend, that barbara, though by no means gushing by nature,--indeed, if truth must be told, somewhat proud and reserved,--had made up her mind to be specially friendly to mrs. harding; so she came sailing into the room with outstretched hand and a smile on her face. mrs. harding gave one glance at the full flowing figure, the rustling skirts, and the outstretched hand; she acknowledged the superior presence, and then suddenly maxims learned in her youth in the still seclusion of plas-y-dwdllem rose in her mind,--maxims which inculcated a severe and uncompromising deportment as the very acme of good breeding. so, instead of coming forward to meet barbara and responding to her apparent warmth, the little woman stood up for a quarter of a minute, crossed her hands before her, bowed, and sank into her seat again. for an instant barbara stopped, and flushed to the roots her hair; then, quickly perceiving it was merely ignorance which had caused this strange proceeding on mrs. harding's part, she advanced and seated herself near her visitor.
"you are a stranger in this neighbourhood?" commenced mrs. harding.
barbara, feeling that the admission would be what policemen call "used against her," answered in the affirmative.
"it's very healthy," said mrs. harding.
barbara again assented.
"do you like it?" asked mrs. harding.
"i can scarcely say. i have had so little opportunity of judging. it is very convenient for where my husband has to go, and all that; but it is a long way from that part of london which i know."
two or three things in this innocently-intended speech jarred dreadfully on mrs. harding's feelings. that worthy matron had all the blood of ap-somebody, a tremendously consonanted personage of plas-y-dwdllem in old times, and she was irritable in the highest degree. but she made a great gulp at her rage, and only said, "oh, you mean the statesman office; yes, of course i ought to know where that is, considering mr. harding's position there! we think this a very nice situation; but, of course, when you've been brought up in grosvenor square, it's different! what does vokins charge you?"
"i--i beg your pardon!" said barbara. "vokins?"
"yes; vokins the butcher!" repeated the energetic little woman. "sevenpence or sevenpence-halfpenny for legs? your mother-in-law was the only woman in the neighbourhood who got 'em for sevenpence, and i'm most anxious to know whether he hasn't raised it since you came here."
"i'm sorry i'm unable to answer you," said barbara; "but hitherto my husband has paid the tradesmen's bills. i've no doubt" she added, with a half-sneer, "that it shows great shortcomings on my part; but it is the fact. i have hopes that i shall improve as i go on."
"oh, no doubt," said mrs. harding, faintly. "live and learn, you know." but she gave up barbara churchill from that time out. she, who had known the price of every article of domestic consumption since she was fourteen years old, and had fought innumerable hand-to-hand combats with extortionate tradesmen, looked upon this insouciance of barbara's as any thing but a venial crime. a few other topics were started, feebly entered into, and dropped; and then mrs. harding took her leave, with faintly-expressed hopes of seeing her new-made acquaintance soon again.
that afternoon george harding, returning home to dinner, was told by his wife that she had called on mrs. churchill.
"ay!" said the honest old boy; "and what did you make of her, sophy? i'd trust your judgment in a thousand; and frank has a high opinion of it, i know. is she pretty, and clever, and managing, and all the rest of it?"
"well, as to prettiness, george, she's not one of my style of beauties," said mrs. harding. "she's a tall slip of a woman, with straight features, such as you see on the old coins; and she's very stand-offish in her manners; and, as to managing--well, she's too fine a lady to know her tradespeople's names, or what she pays them."
george harding whistled softly, and then plunged into his hashed mutton. he made but one remark, but that he repeated twice. "i told him to beware of swells. god knows i warned him. i told him to beware of swells."
that same night mrs. churchill told her husband of the visit she had had.
"i'm so glad!" said frank. "i knew old george would send his wife first. well, what do you think of mrs. harding, barbara?"
"oh, i've no doubt she meant every thing kindly, frank," said barbara, "she's--she's a right-meaning kind of woman, frank, no doubt; but she's--she's not my style, you know."
frank was dashed. "i don't exactly understand, dear. she was perfectly friendly?"
"oh, perfectly! but she asked me all sorts of curious questions about the tradespeople, and the housekeeping, and that. so strange, you know."
"i confess i don't see any thing strange so far. she offered you the benefit of her experience, did she? well, that was kind; and what was wanted, i think."
"oh, i'm sorry you think it was wanted," said barbara. "i didn't think any thing had gone wrong in the house."
"no, my darling, of course not," said frank "nothing--all is quite right. but, you know, housekeeping is mrs. harding's strong point; and young beginners like ourselves might learn from her with advantage. i think we must lay ourselves out for instruction in several matters, barbara darling, from such persons as mrs. harding and my mother."
and barbara said, "oh, yes, of course." and frank did not notice that her little shoulders went up, and the corners of her little mouth went down, and her eyes sparkled in a manner which did not promise much docility on the part of one of the pupils thus to be instructed.
it took but a very short time for barbara to discover that she and her mother-in-law were not likely to be the very best friends. on their first meeting the old lady was very much overcome, and welcomed her new daughter-in-law in all fulness of heart. and perhaps--though barbara never knew it--it was at this first meeting that a feeling of disappointment was engendered in mrs. churchill's heart. for long brooding over the forthcoming events of that day, ere the new-married couple had returned to town, mrs. churchill had settled in her own mind that there were to be no jealousies between her and the new importation into the small family circle as to the possession of frank, and that to that end the right plan would be to receive barbara as her daughter, and to make her part recipient of that affection which had hitherto only been lavished on frank. this idea she forthwith carried into execution, kissing barbara with great warmth, and addressing her as her dear child. unimpulsive barbara, though really pleased at her reception, accepted the caresses with becoming dignity, offered her cheek for the old lady's warm salute, and addressed her mother-in-law in tones which, though by no means lacking in reverence, certainly had no superfluity of love. the old lady noticed it, and ascribed it to timidity, or the natural shyness of a young girl in a strange position; she noticed specially that barbara invariably spoke to and of her as "mrs. churchill;" and before they parted she said:
"my dear, you surely don't always intend to speak to me in that formal manner. i am your mother now, barbara; won't you call me so?"
"no, dear mrs. churchill--no, if you please! i have never called any one by that name since i lost my own mother, and--and i cannot do so, indeed."
mrs. churchill simply said, "very well, my dear." but in what afterwards became a gaping wound, this may be looked upon as the first abrasion of the skin. that gave the old lady a notion that her daughter-in-law's tactics were to be purely defensive, that there was to be no compromise, and that she, the old lady, was clearly to understand that her position was on the other side of the gabions and the fascines, the stone walls and the broad moat; that by no means was the key of the citadel to be considered as in her possession.
when relations of this kind in one family begin to be à tort et à travers, there is no end to the horrible complications arising out of them. mrs. churchill attempted to initiate barbara into the mysteries of housekeeping, and the art of successfully combating nefarious tradesmen; but the success which attended the old lady's efforts may be guessed from barbara's interview with mrs. harding. she tried to get barbara to walk out with her; but barbara had not been accustomed to walk in london streets, and was timid at crossings,--which made the old lady irate; and was frightened at the way in which men stared, and on some occasions spoke out unreservedly their opinions of her beauty. she had liked the outspoken admiration of the crowd, as she sat well forward in the carriage on drawing-room days; but then she knew that she had jeames with his long cane in reserve in case of need; though i doubt whether jeames would have been more useful in case of actual attack than old mrs. churchill, who invariably resented these unsolicited compliments to her daughter-in-law with a snort of defiance, and who usually carried a stout umbrella with a ferule at the end, which would have made a very awkward weapon, and which she would have wielded with right good will. misunderstandings were constant: after the first few occasions of their meeting, barbara did not ask mrs. churchill to the house for fear of appearing formal; whereupon the old lady, when frank called at her lodgings, asked what she had done to be exiled from her son's house. pacified and settled as to this point, the old lady, to show her forgiveness, called in so frequently, that barbara told her husband she knew her housekeeping was not perfection; but that she had not expected a system of espionnage, which was evidently kept on her by his mother. when mrs. churchill dined at their house, barbara, for fear of appearing extravagant, would have a very simple joint and pudding; whereupon the old lady would afterwards tell mrs. harding, or some other friend, that "heaven alone knew where frank's money went--not on their dinners, my dear, for they're positively mean."
nor with her husband's friends did barbara make a very favourable impression. they admired her, of course; to withhold that tribute was impossible; but they were so utterly different in manner and expression, had such different topics of conversation and such totally opposite opinions to any thing she had ever seen or heard, that she sat in silence before them; uttered vague and irrational replies to questions put to her while her thoughts were far away, smiled feebly at wrong times, and so conducted herself, that mr. m'malthus, a clever scotchman, who was worming his way into literature, and was at that time getting a name for blunt offensive sayings (an easily earned capital, on which many a man has lived for years), was reported to have remarked that "a prettier woman or bigger fool than mrs. churchill was not often seen."
there were others who, while they allowed that she had plenty of common-sense (and indeed on occasion, in a cut-and-thrust argument, barbara showed herself cunning of fence, and by no means deficient in repartee), would call her stuck-up and proud; and there were some, indeed, who repudiated the mere fact of her having lived in a different class of society to which they were not admitted, as in itself an insult and a shame. and even those who were disposed to soften all defects and to exaggerate all virtues--and they were by no means few in number--failed to what they call "get on" with the new mrs. churchill. they had no subjects of conversation in common; for even when literary subjects were introduced, they frightened barbara by their iconoclastic tendencies; deliberately smashing up all those gods whom she had hitherto been accustomed to reverence, and erecting in their stead images inscribed with names unknown to her, or known but to be shuddered at as owned by radicals or free-thinkers. they were men who outraged none of the social convénances of life; about whose manner or behaviour no direct complaint could be made; and often she thought herself somewhat exacting when she would repeat to herself, as she would--oh, how often!--that they were not gentlemen: not her style of gentlemen; that is to say, not the style of men to whom she had been accustomed. when, for instance, would a man have dared to address his conversation to any other man in preference to her, she being present? when could a man have permitted her to open a door, or place a chair for herself, in that set amongst which she had previously moved? respect her! her husband's friends would ignore her presence; saying in reply to a remark from her, "look here, churchill, you understand this;" or would prevent her interrupting them (a favourite practice of hers) by putting up their hands and saying, "pardon-me while i state my case," continue their argument in the most dogged manner.
what most amazed barbara was the calm manner in which all her sallies, however bitter or savage, were received by her husband's intimates, and laughed away or glossed over by frank himself. at first her notion was to put down these persons by a calm haughty superiority or a studied reticence, which should in itself have the effect of showing her opinion of them: but neither demeanour had the smallest effect on those whom it was intended to reprove. the first time she ever perceived that any one was the least degree inclined to oppose her sway or dispute her authority, was one saturday night, when churchill's study was filled with several of his old friends, smoking and chatting. barbara was there too, with her embroidery. she could stand tobacco-smoke perfectly; it did not give her a headache, or even worse than that, redden her eyelids and make her wink; and there was a small amount of "fastness" in it which pleased her. moreover her presence prevented the gathering in the tabagie from quite sinking into a bachelor revel, the which barbara, as a young married woman, held in the deepest abomination. the conversation was in full swing about books, authors, and publishers.
"chester's going to bring out a volume of poems," said mr. bloss, an amiable young man with fluffy hair, who always had a good word for every one. "says he should have published them before, but he's so many irons in the fire."
"better put his poems where his irons are," laughed mr. dunster, a merry little old gentleman with light-blue eyes, who could take the skin off your back and plant daggers in your heart, smiling all the time in the pleasantest manner. "chester's next door to an idiot; lives close by you, by the way, bloss, doesn't he?"
all the men laughed; and even barbara, after a look of amazement, could not help smiling.
"he's dreadfully frightened of the critics," said another man sitting by. "you must notice him in the statesman yourself, churchill, eh?"
"or i'll speak to harding. poor chester! he mustn't be allowed to come to grief. what are his verses like? has any one seen them?"
"i have," said mr. bloss. "they're really--they're--well--they're not so very bad, you know."
"what a burst of candour!" said mr. dunster. "bloss, you are a young reviewer, and i must caution you against such excessively strong statements."
"chester's most afraid of the scourge," said the man who had spoken before; "he thinks it will flay him."
"he should mollify them by saying that his verses were written at 'an early age,'" laughed churchill.
"that wouldn't do for the scourge; they would say the verses were too bad even to have been written by a child in arms," said mr. dunster.
"how very nice! what an old dear you are, dunster!" said a gentleman sitting in a corner of the fireplace exactly opposite barbara, with his legs stretched out on a stool, and his body reclining on an easy-chair. this was mr. lacy, an artist, who, as it was, made a very good income, but who might have taken the highest rank had his perseverance been on a par with his talent; a sleepy, dreamy man, with an intense appreciation of and regard for himself.
"what do you think of all this, mrs. churchill?" asked bloss; "they are any thing but compassionate in their remarks."
"they may be or not," said barbara, wearily. "it is all greek to me: while these gentlemen talk what i believe is called 'shop,' i am utterly unable to follow the conversation."
frank looked uneasily across at his wife, but said nothing.
"what shall we talk about, mrs. churchill?" said mr. dunster, with an evil twinkle of his blue eyes. "shall it be the last ball in the belgravia, or the new jupe; how mario sang in the prophète, or whether bonnets will be worn on or off the head?"
churchill frowned at this remark, but his brow cleared as barbara said with curling lip:
"you need not go so far for illustrations of what you don't understand, mr. dunster. let us discuss tolerance, domestic enjoyments, or the pleasure of being liked by any one,--all of which axe, i am sure, equally strange to you."
mr. dunster winced, and the fire faded out of his blue eyes: he did not understand being bearded. frank churchill, though astonished at seeing his wife defiant, was by no means displeased. old mr. lacy, fearing a storm, which would have ruffled him sadly, struck in at once:
"it's a mistake, my dear churchill; i'm convinced of it. we're not fit for these charming creatures, we artists and writers, believe me. we're a deucedly irritable, growling, horrible set of ruffians, who ought to be left, like a lot of robinson crusoes, each on a separate island. i can fully enter into mrs. churchill's feelings; and i've no doubt that mrs. lacy feels exactly the same. but what do i do? i'm compelled to shut the door in mrs. lacy's face--to lock mrs. lacy out. she's a most excellent woman, as you know, churchill; but she always wants to talk to me when i ought to be at work; now, on a sky-day, for instance! there are very few days in the year in this detestable climate, my dear mrs. churchill, which permit of one's seeing the sky sufficiently to paint it. when such a day does happen, i go to my studio and lock the door; but i've scarcely set my palette, before they come and rap, and want to talk to me--to ask me about the butcher, or to tell me about the nurse's sister, or something; and i'm obliged to whistle or sing to prevent my hearing 'em, or i should get interested about the nurse's sister, and open the door, and then my day's work would be spoilt."
"you're right, lacy," said dunster: "men who've got work to do should remain single. they'll never--"
"come, you're polite to my wife," said frank. "this is flat blasphemy against the state into which we've just entered."
"oh, pray don't let the conversation, evidently so genial, be stopped on my account. i'm tired, and am just going;" and with a sweeping bow barbara sailed out of the room.
an hour afterwards, when frank looked in from his dressing-room, he saw in the dim light barbara's hair streaming over the pillow, and going to her found traces of tears on her cheeks. tenderly and eagerly he asked her what had happened.
"oh, frank, frank!" she exclaimed, bursting into fresh sobs; "i see it all now! what those horrid men said is too true! we were worse than mad to marry. your friends will never understand me, while i shall interfere with your work and your pleasure; and, oh! i am so very, very miserable myself!"