Chapter XVI
'Then fancy shapes--as fancy can.'
On a day about three weeks later, the Swancourt trio were sitting
quietly in the drawing-room of The Crags, Mrs. Swancourt's house
at Endelstow, chatting, and taking easeful survey of their
previous month or two of town--a tangible weariness even to people
whose acquaintances there might be counted on the fingers.
A mere season in London with her practised step-mother had so
advanced Elfride's perceptions, that her courtship by Stephen
seemed emotionally meagre, and to have drifted back several years
into a childish past. In regarding our mental experiences, as in
visual observation, our own progress reads like a dwindling of
that we progress from.
She was seated on a low chair, looking over her romance with
melancholy interest for the first time since she had become
acquainted with the remarks of the PRESENT thereupon.
'Still thinking of that reviewer, Elfie?'
'Not of him personally; but I am thinking of his opinion. Really,
on looking into the volume after this long time has elapsed, he
seems to have estimated one part of it fairly enough.'
'No, no; I wouldn't show the white feather now! Fancy that of all
people in the world the writer herself should go over to the
enemy. How shall Monmouth's men fight when Monmouth runs away?'
'I don't do that. But I think he is right in some of his
arguments, though wrong in others. And because he has some claim
to my respect I regret all the more that he should think so
mistakenly of my motives in one or two instances. It is more
vexing to be misunderstood than to be misrepresented; and he
misunderstands me. I cannot be easy whilst a person goes to rest
night after night attributing to me intentions I never had.'
'He doesn't know your name, or anything about you. And he has
doubtless forgotten there is such a book in existence by this
time.'
'I myself should certainly like him to be put right upon one or
two matters,' said the vicar, who had hitherto been silent. 'You
see, critics go on writing, and are never corrected or argued
with, and therefore are never improved.'
'Papa,' said Elfride brightening, 'write to him!'
'I would as soon write to him as look at him, for the matter of
that,' said Mr. Swancourt.
'Do! And say, the young person who wrote the book did not adopt a
masculine pseudonym in vanity or conceit, but because she was
afraid it would be thought presumptuous to publish her name, and
that she did not mean the story for such as he, but as a sweetener
of history for young people, who might thereby acquire a taste for
what went on in their own country hundreds of years ago, and be
tempted to dive deeper into the subject. Oh, there is so much to
explain; I wish I might write myself!'
'Now, Elfie, I'll tell you what we will do,' answered Mr.
Swancourt, tickled with a sort of bucolic humour at the idea of
criticizing the critic. 'You shall write a clear account of what
he is wrong in, and I will copy it and send it as mine.'
'Yes, now, directly!' said Elfride, jumping up. 'When will you
send it, papa? '
'Oh, in a day or two, I suppose,' he returned. Then the vicar
paused and slightly yawned, and in the manner of elderly people
began to cool from his ardour for the undertaking now that it came
to the point. 'But, really, it is hardly worth while,' he said.
'O papa!' said Elfride, with much disappointment. 'You said you
would, and now you won't. That is not fair!'
'But how can we send it if we don't know whom to send it to?'
'If you really want to send such a thing it can easily be done,'
said Mrs. Swancourt, coming to her step-daughter's rescue. 'An
envelope addressed, "To the Critic of THE COURT OF KELLYON CASTLE,
care of the Editor of the PRESENT," would find him.'
'Yes, I suppose it would.'
'Why not write your answer yourself, Elfride?' Mrs. Swancourt
inquired.
'I might,' she said hesitatingly; 'and send it anonymously: that
would be treating him as he has treated me.'
'No use in the world!'
'But I don't like to let him know my exact name. Suppose I put my
initials only? The less you are known the more you are thought
of.'
'Yes; you might do that.'
Elfride set to work there and then. Her one desire for the last
fortnight seemed likely to be realized. As happens with sensitive
and secluded minds, a continual dwelling upon the subject had
magnified to colossal proportions the space she assumed herself to
occupy or to have occupied in the occult critic's mind. At noon
and at night she had been pestering herself with endeavours to
perceive more distinctly his conception of her as a woman apart
from an author: whether he really despised her; whether he thought
more or less of her than of ordinary young women who never
ventured into the fire of criticism at all. Now she would have
the satisfaction of feeling that at any rate he knew her true
intent in crossing his path, and annoying him so by her
performance, and be taught perhaps to despise it a little less.
Four days later an envelope, directed to Miss Swancourt in a
strange hand, made its appearance from the post-bag.
'0h,' said Elfride, her heart sinking within her. 'Can it be from
that man--a lecture for impertinence? And actually one for Mrs.
Swancourt in the same hand-writing!' She feared to open hers.
'Yet how can he know my name? No; it is somebody else.'
'Nonsense!' said her father grimly. 'You sent your initials, and
the Directory was available. Though he wouldn't have taken the
trouble to look there unless he had been thoroughly savage with
you. I thought you wrote with rather more asperity than simple
literary discussion required.' This timely clause was introduced
to save the character of the vicar's judgment under any issue of
affairs.
'Well, here I go,' said Elfride, desperately tearing open the
seal.
'To be sure, of course,' exclaimed Mrs. Swancourt; and looking up
from her own letter. 'Christopher, I quite forgot to tell you,
when I mentioned that I had seen my distant relative, Harry
Knight, that I invited him here for whatever length of time he
could spare. And now he says he can come any day in August.'
'Write, and say the first of the month,' replied the
indiscriminate vicar.
She read om 'Goodness me--and that isn't all. He is actually the
reviewer of Elfride's book. How absurd, to be sure! I had no idea
he reviewed novels or had anything to do with the PRESENT. He is
a barrister--and I thought he only wrote in the Quarterlies. Why,
Elfride, you have brought about an odd entanglement! What does he
say to you?'
Elfride had put down her letter with a dissatisfied flush on her
face. 'I don't know. The idea of his knowing my name and all
about me!...Why, he says nothing particular, only this--
'"MY DEAR MADAM,--Though I am sorry that my remarks should have
seemed harsh to you, it is a pleasure to find that they have been
the means of bringing forth such an ingeniously argued reply.
Unfortunately, it is so long since I wrote my review, that my
memory does not serve me sufficiently to say a single word in my
defence, even supposing there remains one to be said, which is
doubtful. You, will find from a letter I have written to Mrs.
Swancourt, that we are not such strangers to each other as we have
been imagining. Possibly, I may have the pleasure of seeing you
soon, when any argument you choose to advance shall receive all
the attention it deserves."
'That is dim sarcasm--I know it is.'
'Oh no, Elfride.'
'And then, his remarks didn't seem harsh--I mean I did not say
so.'
'He thinks you are in a frightful temper,' said Mr. Swancourt,
chuckling in undertones.
'And he will come and see me, and find the authoress as
contemptible in speech as she has been impertinent in manner. I
do heartily wish I had never written a word to him!'
'Never mind,' said Mrs. Swancourt, also laughing in low quiet
jerks; 'it will make the meeting such a comical affair, and afford
splendid by-play for your father and myself. The idea of our
running our heads against Harry Knight all the time! I cannot get
over that.'
The vicar had immediately remembered the name to be that of
Stephen Smith's preceptor and friend; but having ceased to concern
himself in the matter he made no remark to that effect,
consistently forbearing to allude to anything which could restore
recollection of the (to him) disagreeable mistake with regard to
poor Stephen's lineage and position. Elfride had of course
perceived the same thing, which added to the complication of
relationship a mesh that her stepmother knew nothing of.
The identification scarcely heightened Knight's attractions now,
though a twelvemonth ago she would only have cared to see him for
the interest he possessed as Stephen's friend. Fortunately for
Knight's advent, such a reason for welcome had only begun to be
awkward to her at a time when the interest he had acquired on his
own account made it no longer necessary.
These coincidences, in common with all relating to him, tended to
keep Elfride's mind upon the stretch concerning Knight. As was
her custom when upon the horns of a dilemma, she walked off by
herself among the laurel bushes, and there, standing still and
splitting up a leaf without removing it from its stalk, fetched
back recollections of Stephen's frequent words in praise of his
friend, and wished she had listened more attentively. Then, still
pulling the leaf, she would blush at some fancied mortification
that would accrue to her from his words when they met, in
consequence of her intrusiveness, as she now considered it, in
writing to him.
The next development of her meditations was the subject of what
this man's personal appearance might be--was he tall or short,
dark or fair, gay or grim? She would have asked Mrs. Swancourt but
for the risk she might thereby incur of some teasing remark being
returned. Ultimately Elfride would say, 'Oh, what a plague that
reviewer is to me!' and turn her face to where she imagined India
lay, and murmur to herself, 'Ah, my little husband, what are you
doing now? Let me see, where are you--south, east, where? Behind
that hill, ever so far behind!'
