The Marriage of Elinor. Mrs. Oliphant
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came a knock at the window, which could only have been done by a tall man, and the hearts of the ladies jumped up, and then seemed to stop beating. To be sure, there were bolts and bars, but Pearson was not much good, and the house was full of valuables and very lonely. Mrs. Dennistoun rose up, trembling a little, and went forward to the window, bidding Elinor go back and keep quite quiet. But here they were interrupted by a voice which called from without, with another knock on the window, "Nell! Nell!"
"It is Phil," said Elinor, flying to the door.
Mrs. Dennistoun sat down again and said nothing. Her heart sank in her breast. She did not know what she feared; perhaps that he had come to break off the marriage, perhaps to hurry it and carry her child away. There was a pause as was natural at the door, a murmur of voices, a fond confusion of words, which made it clear that no breach was likely, and presently after that interval, Elinor came back beaming, leading her lover. "Here is Phil," she said, in such liquid tones of happiness as filled her mother with mingled pleasure, gratitude, and despite. "He has found he had a day or two to spare, and he has rushed down here, fancy, with an apology for not letting us know!"
"She thinks everyone is like herself, Mrs. Dennistoun, but I am aware that I am not such a popular personage as she thinks me, and you have least reason of all to approve of the man who is coming to carry her away."
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Compton," she said, gravely, giving him her hand.
The Hon. Philip Compton was a very tall man, with very black hair. He had fine but rather hawk-like features, a large nose, a complexion too white to be agreeable, though it added to his romantic appearance. There was a furtive look in his big dark eyes, which had a way of surveying the country, so to speak, before making a reply to any question, like a man whose response depended upon what he saw. He surveyed Mrs. Dennistoun in this way while she spoke; but then he took her hand, stooped his head over it, and kissed it, not without grace. "Thank you very much for that," he said, as if there had been some doubt on his mind about his reception. "I was glad enough to get the opportunity, I can tell you. I've brought you some birds, Mrs. Dennistoun, and I hope you'll give me some supper, for I'm as hungry as a hawk. And now, Nell, let's have a look at you," the lover said. He was troubled by no false modesty. As soon as he had paid the required toll of courtesy to the mother, who naturally ought to have at once proceeded to give orders about his supper, he held Elinor at arm's length before the lamp, then, having fully inspected her appearance, and expressed by a "Charming, by Jove!" his opinion of it, proceeded to demonstrations which the presence of the mother standing by did not moderate. There are few mothers to whom it would be agreeable to see their child engulfed in the arms of a large and strong man, and covered with his bold kisses. Mrs. Dennistoun was more fastidious even than most mothers, and to her this embrace was a sort of profanation. The Elinor who had been guarded like a flower from every contact—to see her gripped in his arms by this stranger, made her mother glow with an indignation which she knew was out of the question, yet felt to the bottom of her soul. Elinor was abashed before her mother, but she was not angry. She forced herself from his embrace, but her blushing countenance was full of happiness. What a revolution had thus taken place in a few minutes! They had been so dull sitting there alone; alone, though each with the other who had filled her life for more than twenty years; and now all was lightened, palpitating with life. "Be good, sir," said Elinor, pushing him into a chair as if he had been a great dog, "and quiet and well-behaved; and then you shall have some supper. But tell us first where you have come from, and what put it into your head to come here."
"I came up direct from my brother Lomond's shooting-box. Reply No. 1. What put it into my head to come? Love, I suppose, and the bright eyes of a certain little witch called Nell. I ought to have been in Ireland for a sort of a farewell visit there; but when I found I could steal two days, you may imagine I knew very well what to do with them. Eh? Oh, it's mamma that frightens you, I see."
"It is kind of you to give Elinor two days when you have so many other engagements," said Mrs. Dennistoun, turning away.
But he was not in the least abashed. "Yes isn't it?" he said; "my last few days of freedom. I consider I deserve the prize for virtue—to cut short my very last rampage; and she will not as much as give me a kiss! I think she is ashamed before you, Mrs. Dennistoun."
"It would not be surprising if she were," said Mrs. Dennistoun, gravely. "I am old-fashioned, as you may perceive."
"Oh, you don't need to tell me that," said he; "one can see it with half an eye. Come here, Nell, you little coquette: or I shall tell the Jew you were afraid of mamma, and you will never hear an end of it as long as you live."
"Elinor, I think you had better see, perhaps, what there is to make up as good a meal as possible for Mr. Compton," said her mother, sitting down opposite to the stranger, whose long limbs were stretched over half the floor, with the intention of tripping up Elinor, it seemed; but she glided past him and went on her way—not offended, oh, not at all—waving her hand to him as she avoided the very choice joke of his stretched-out foot.
"Mr. Compton," said Mrs. Dennistoun, "you will be Elinor's husband in less than a fortnight."
"I hope so," he said, displaying the large cavern of a yawn under his black moustache as he looked her in the face.
"And after that I will have no right to interfere; but, in the meantime, this is my house, and I hope you will remember that these ways are not mine, and that I am too old-fashioned to like them. I prefer a little more respect to your betrothed."
"Oh, respect," he said. "I have never found that girls like too much respect. But as you please. Well, look here, Nell," he said, catching her by the arm as she came back and swinging her towards him, "your mother thinks I'm too rough with you, my little dear."
"Do you, mamma?" said Elinor, faltering a little; but she had the sweetest rose-flush on her cheeks and the moisture of joy in her eyes. In all her twenty-three years she had never looked as she looked now. Her life had been a happy one, but not like this. She had been always beloved, and never had known for a day what it was to be neglected; yet love had never appeared to her as it did now, so sweet, nor life so beautiful. What strange delusion! what a wonderful incomprehensible mistake! or so at least the mother thought, looking at her beautiful girl with a pang at her heart.
"It is only his bad manners," said Elinor, in a voice which sounded like a caress. "He knows very well how to behave. He can be as nice as any one, and as pretty spoken, and careful not to offend. It is only arriving so suddenly, and not being expected—or that he has forgotten his nice manners to-night. Phil, do you hear what I say?"
Phil made himself into the semblance of a dog, and sat up and begged for pardon. It was a trick which made people "shriek with laughing;" but Mrs. Dennistoun's gravity remained unbroken. Perhaps her extreme seriousness had something in it that was rather ridiculous too. It was a relief when he went off to his supper, attended by Elinor, and Mrs. Dennistoun was left alone over her fire. She had a slight sense that she had been absurd, as well as that Philip Compton had lacked breeding, which did not make her more comfortable. Was it possible that she would be glad when it was all over, and her child gone—her child gone, and with that man! Her child, her little delicately bred, finely nurtured girl, who had been wrapped in all the refinements of life from her cradle, and had never heard a rough word, never been allowed to know anything that would disturb her virginal calm!—yet now in a moment passed away beyond her mother to the unceremonious wooer who had no reverence for her, none of the worship her mother expected. How strange it was! Yet a thing that happened every day. Mrs. Dennistoun sat over the fire, though it was not cold, and listened to the voices and laughter in the next room. How happy they were to be together! She did not, however, dwell upon the fact that she was alone and deserted, as many women would have done. She knew that she would have plenty of time to dwell on this in the lonely days to come. What occupied her was the want of more than manners, of any delicate feeling in the lover who had seized with rude caresses upon Elinor in her mother's presence, and the fact that Elinor did not object, nor dislike that it should be so. That she should feel forlorn was no wonderful thing; that did not disturb her mind. It was the other matter about Elinor that pained and horrified her, she could not tell why; which, perhaps, was fantastic, which, indeed, she felt sure must be so.