CHAPTER IX.
"Les extremes se touchent."
The next day the gentlemen were dispersed out of doors, a large shooting
party. Those who did not shoot, walked forth to inspect the racing stud
or the model farm. The ladies had taken their walk; some were in their
own rooms, some in the reception-rooms, at work, or reading, or listening
to the piano,--Honoria Carr Vipont again performing. Lady Montfort was
absent; Lady Selina kindly supplied the hostess's place. Lady Selina was
embroidering, with great skill and taste, a pair of slippers for her
eldest boy, who was just entered at Oxford, having left Eton with a
reputation of being the neatest dresser, and not the worst cricketer,
of that renowned educational institute. It is a mistake to suppose that
fine ladies are not sometimes very fond mothers and affectionate wives.
Lady Selina, beyond her family circle, was trivial, unsympathizing, cold-
hearted, supercilious by temperament, never kind but through policy,
artificial as clock work. But in her own home, to her husband, her
children, Lady Selina was a very good sort of woman,--devotedly attached
to Carr Vipont, exaggerating his talents, thinking him the first man in
England, careful of his honour, zealous for his interest, soothing in his
cares, tender in his ailments; to her girls prudent and watchful, to her
boys indulgent and caressing; minutely attentive to the education of the
first, according to her high-bred ideas of education,--and they really
were "superior" girls, with much instruction and well-balanced minds,--
less authoritative with the last, because boys being not under her
immediate control, her sense of responsibility allowed her to display
more fondness and less dignity in her intercourse with them than with
young ladies who must learn from her example, as well as her precepts,
the patrician decorum which becomes the smooth result of impulse
restrained and emotion checked: boys might make a noise in the world,
girls should make none. Lady Selina, then, was working the slippers for
her absent son, her heart being full of him at that moment. She was
describing his character and expatiating on his promise to two or three
attentive listeners, all interested, as being themselves of the Vipont
blood, in the probable destiny of the heir to the Carr Viponts.
"In short," said Lady Selina, winding up, "as soon as Reginald is of age
we shall get him into Parliament. Carr has always lamented that he
himself was not broken into office early; Reginald must be. Nothing so
requisite for public men as early training; makes them practical, and not
too sensitive to what those horrid newspaper men say. That was Pitt's
great advantage. Reginald has ambition; he should have occupation to
keep him out of mischief. It is an anxious thing for a mother, when a
son is good-looking: such danger of his being spoiled by the women. Yes,
my dear, it is a small foot, very small,--his father's foot."
"If Lord Montfort should have no family," said a somewhat distant and
subaltern Vipont, whisperingly and hesitating, "does not the title--"
"No, my dear," interrupted Lady Selina; "no, the title does not come to
us. It is a melancholy thought, but the marquisate, in that case, is
extinct. No other heir-male from Gilbert, the first marquess. Carr says
there is even likely to be some dispute about the earldom. The Barony,
of course, is safe; goes with the Irish estates, and most of the English;
and goes (don't you know?) to Sir James Vipont, the last person who ought
to have it; the quietest, stupidest creature; not brought up to the sort
of thing,--a mere gentleman-farmer on a small estate in Devonshire."
"He is not here?"
"No. Lord Montfort does not like him. Very natural. Nobody likes his
heir, if not his own child; and some people don't even like their own
eldest sons! Shocking; but so it is. Montfort is the kindest, most
tractable being that ever was, except where he takes a dislike. He
dislikes two or three people very much."
"True; how he did dislike poor Mrs. Lyndsay!" said one of the listeners,
smiling.
"Mrs. Lyndsay, yes,--dear Lady Montfort's mother. I can't say I pitied
her, though I was sorry for Lady Montfort. How Mrs. Lyndsay ever took in
Montfort for Caroline I can't conceive! How she had the face to think of
it! He, a mere youth at the time! Kept secret from all his family, even
from his grandmother,--the darkest transaction. I don't wonder that he
never forgave it."
FIRST LISTENER.--"Caroline has beauty enough to--"
LADY SELINA (interrupting).--"Beauty, of course: no one can deny that.
But not at all suited to such a position, not brought up to the sort of
thing. Poor Montfort! he should have married a different kind of woman
altogether,--a woman like his grandmother, the last Lady Montfort.
Caroline does nothing for the House,--nothing; has not even a child,
--most unfortunate affair."
SECOND LISTENER.--"Mrs. Lyndsay was very poor, was not she? Caroline, I
suppose, had no opportunity of forming those tastes and habits which are
necessary for--for--"
LADY SELINA (helping the listener).--"For such a position and such a
fortune. You are quite right, my dear. People brought up in one way
cannot accommodate themselves to another; and it is odd, but I have
observed that people brought up poor can accommodate themselves less to
being very rich than people brought up rich can accommodate themselves to
being very poor. As Carr says, in his pointed way, 'It is easier to
stoop than to climb.' Yes; Mrs. Lyndsay was, you know, a daughter of
Seymour Vipont, who was for so many years in the Administration, with a
fair income from his salary, and nothing out of it. She married one of
the Scotch Lyndsays,--good family, of course, with a very moderate
property. She was left a widow young, with an only child, Caroline.
Came to town with a small jointure. The late Lady Montfort was very kind
to her. So were we all; took her up; pretty woman; pretty manners;
worldly,--oh, very! I don't like worldly people. Well, but all of a
sudden a dreadful thing happened. The heir-at-law disputed the jointure,
denied that Lyndsay had any right to make settlements on the Scotch
property; very complicated business. But, luckily for her, Vipont
Crooke's daughter, her cousin and intimate friend, had married Darrell,
the famous Darrell, who was then at the bar. It is very useful to have
cousins married to clever people. He was interested in her case, took
it up. I believe it did not come on in the courts in which Darrell
practised. But he arranged all the evidence, inspected the briefs, spent
a great deal of his own money in getting up the case; and in fact he
gained her cause, though he could not be her counsel. People did say
that she was so grateful that after his wife's death she had set her
heart on becoming Mrs. Darrell the second. But Darrell was then quite
wrapped up in politics,--the last man to fall in love, and only looked
bored when women fell in love with him, which a good many did. Grand-
looking creature, my dear, and quite the rage for a year or two.
However, Mrs. Lyndsay all of a sudden went off to Paris, and there
Montfort saw Caroline, and was caught. Mrs. Lyndsay, no doubt,
calculated on living with her daughter, having the run of Montfort House
in town and Montfort Court in the country. But Montfort is deeper than
people think for. No, he never forgave her. She was never asked here;
took it to heart, went to Rome, and died."
At this moment the door opened, and George Morley, now the Rev. George
Morley, entered, just arrived to join his cousins.
Some knew him, some did not. Lady Selina, who made it a point to know
all the cousins, rose graciously, put aside the slippers, and gave him
two fingers. She was astonished to find him not nearly so shy as he used
to be: wonderfully improved; at his ease, cheerful, animated. The man
now was in his right place, and following hope on the bent of
inclination. Few men are shy when in their right places. He asked after
Lady Montfort. She was in her own small sitting-room, writing letters,
--letters that Carr Vipont had entreated her to write,--correspondence
useful to the House of Vipont. Before long, however, a servant entered,
to say that Lady Montfort would be very happy to see Mr. Morley. George
followed the servant into that unpretending sitting-room, with its simple
chintzes and quiet bookshelves,--room that would not have been too fine
for a cottage.
