CHAPTER III
SANDYS ON WOMAN
"Can you kindly tell me the name of the book I want?"
It is the commonest question asked at the circulating library bydainty ladies just out of the carriage; and the librarian, afterlooking them over, can usually tell. In the days we have now to speakof, however, he answered, without looking them over:
"Sandys's 'Letters,'"
"Ah, yes, of course. May I have it, please?"
"I regret to find that it is out."
Then the lady looked naughty. "Why don't you have two copies?" shepouted.
"Madam," said the librarian, "we have a thousand."
A small and very timid girl of eighteen, with a neat figure thatshrank from observation, although it was already aware that it lookedbest in gray, was there to drink in this music, and carried it home inher heart. She was Elspeth, and that dear heart was almost too fullat this time. I hesitate whether to tell or to conceal how it evencreated a disturbance in no less a place than the House of Commons.She was there with Mrs. Jerry, and the thing was recorded in thepapers of the period in these blasting words: "The Home Secretary wasunderstood to be quoting a passage from 'Letters to a Young Man,' butwe failed to catch its drift, owing to an unseemly interruption fromthe ladies' gallery."
"But what was it you cried out?" Tommy asked Elspeth, when she thoughtshe had told him everything. (Like all true women, she always began inthe middle.)
"Oh, Tommy, have I not told you? I cried out, 'I'm his sister.'"
Thus, owing to Elspeth's behaviour, it can never be known which wasthe passage quoted in the House; but we may be sure of one thing--thatit did the House good. That book did everybody good. Even Pym couldonly throw off its beneficent effects by a tremendous effort, andyoung men about to be married used to ask at the bookshops, not forthe "Letters," but simply for "Sandys on Woman," acknowledging Tommyas the authority on the subject, like Mill on Jurisprudence, orThomson and Tait on the Differential Calculus. Controversies ragedabout it. Some thought he asked too much of man, some thought he sawtoo much in women; there was a fear that young people, knowing at lasthow far short they fell of what they ought to be, might shrink fromthe matrimony that must expose them to each other, now that they hadSandys to guide them, and the persons who had simply married andrisked it (and it was astounding what a number of them there proved tobe) wrote to the papers suggesting that he might yield a little in thenext edition. But Sandys remained firm.
At first they took for granted that he was a very aged gentleman; hehad, indeed, hinted at this in the text; and when the truth came out("And just fancy, he is not even married!") the enthusiasm wasdoubled. "Not engaged!" they cried. "Don't tell that to me. Nounmarried man could have written such a eulogy of marriage withoutbeing on the brink of it." Perhaps she was dead? It ran through thetown that she was dead. Some knew which cemetery.
The very first lady Mr. Sandys ever took in to dinner mentioned thisrumour to him, not with vulgar curiosity, but delicately, with a hintof sympathy in waiting, and it must be remembered, in fairness toTommy, that all artists love sympathy. This sympathy uncorked him, andour Tommy could flow comparatively freely at last. Observe thedelicious change.
"Has that story got abroad?" he said simply. "The matter is one which,I need not say, I have never mentioned to a soul."
"Of course not," the lady said, and waited eagerly.
If Tommy had been an expert he might have turned the conversation tobrighter topics, but he was not; there had already been long pauses,and in dinner talk it is perhaps allowable to fling on any faggotrather than let the fire go out. "It is odd that I should be talkingof it now," he said musingly.
"I suppose," she said gently, to bring him out of the reverie intowhich he had sunk, "I suppose it happened some time ago?"
"Long, long ago," he answered. (Having written as an aged person, heoften found difficulty in remembering suddenly that he was two andtwenty.)
"But you are still a very young man."
"It seems long ago to me," he said with a sigh.
"Was she beautiful?"
"She was beautiful to my eyes."
"And as good, I am sure, as she was beautiful."
"Ah me!" said Tommy.
His confidante was burning to know more, and hoping they were beingobserved across the table; but she was a kind, sentimental creature,though stout, or because of it, and she said, "I am so afraid that myquestions pain you."
"No, no," said Tommy, who was very, very happy.
"Was it very sudden?"
"Fever."
"Ah! but I meant your attachment."
"We met and we loved," he said with gentle dignity.
"That is the true way," said the lady.
"It is the only way," he said decisively.
"Mr. Sandys, you have been so good, I wonder if you would tell me hername?"
"Felicity," he said, with emotion. Presently he looked up. "It is verystrange to me," he said wonderingly, "to find myself saying thesethings to you who an hour ago were a complete stranger to me. But youare not like other women."
"No, indeed!" said the lady, warmly.
"That," he said, "must be why I tell you what I have never told toanother human being. How mysterious are the workings of the heart!"
"Mr. Sandys," said the lady, quite carried away, "no words of mine canconvey to you the pride with which I hear you say that. Be assuredthat I shall respect your confidences." She missed his next remarkbecause she was wondering whether she dare ask him to come to dinneron the twenty-fifth, and then the ladies had to retire, and by thetime he rejoined her he was as tongue-tied as at the beginning. Thecork had not been extracted; it had been knocked into the bottle,where it still often barred the way, and there was always, as we shallsee, a flavour of it in the wine.
"You will get over it yet; the summer and the flowers will come to youagain," she managed to whisper to him kind-heartedly, as she wasgoing.
"Thank you," he said, with that inscrutable face. It was far from hisdesign to play a part. He had, indeed, had no design at all, but anopportunity for sentiment having presented itself, his mouth hadopened as at a cherry. He did not laugh afterwards, even when hereflected how unexpectedly Felicity had come into his life; he thoughtof her rather with affectionate regard, and pictured her as a tall,slim girl in white. When he took a tall, slim girl in white in todinner, he could not help saying huskily:
"You remind me of one who was a very dear friend of mine. I was muchstartled when you came into the room."
"You mean some one who is dead?" she asked in awe-struck tones.
"Fever," he said.
"You think I am like her in appearance?"
"In every way," he said dreamily; "the same sweet--pardon me, but itis very remarkable. Even the tones of the voice are the same. Isuppose I ought not to ask your age?"
"I shall be twenty-one in August." "She would have been twenty-onein August had she lived," Tommy said with fervour. "My dear younglady--"
This was the aged gentleman again, but she did not wince; he soonfound out that they expect authors to say the oddest things, and thisproved to be a great help to him.
"My dear young lady, I feel that I know you very well."
"That," she said, "is only because I resemble your friend outwardly.The real me (she was a bit of philosopher also) you cannot know atall."
He smiled sadly. "Has it ever struck you," he asked, "that you arevery unlike other women?"
"Oh, how ever could you have found that out?" she exclaimed, amazed.
Almost before he knew how it came about, he was on terms of verypleasant sentiment with this girl, for they now shared between them asecret that he had confided to no other. His face, which had been somuch against him hitherto, was at last in his favour; it showed soplainly that when he looked at her more softly or held her hand longerthan is customary, he was really thinking of that other of whom shewas the image. Or if it did not precisely show that, it suggestedsomething or other of th
at nature which did just as well. There was asweet something between them which brought them together and alsokept them apart; it allowed them to go a certain length, while it wasalso a reason why they could never, never exceed that distance; andthis was an ideal state for Tommy, who could be most loyal and tenderso long as it was understood that he meant nothing in particular. Shewas the right kind of girl, too, and admired him the more (and perhapswent a step further) because he remained so true to Felicity's memory.
You must not think him calculating and cold-blooded, for nothing couldbe less true to the fact. When not engaged, indeed, on his new work,he might waste some time planning scenes with exquisite ladies, inwhich he sparkled or had a hidden sorrow (he cared not which); butthese scenes seldom came to life. He preferred very pretty girls to berather stupid (oh, the artistic instinct of the man!), but instead ofkeeping them stupid, as he wanted to do, he found himself trying toimprove their minds. They screwed up their noses in the effort.Meaning to thrill the celebrated beauty who had been specially invitedto meet him, he devoted himself to a plain woman for whose plainness asudden pity had mastered him (for, like all true worshippers of beautyin women, he always showed best in the presence of plain ones). Withthe intention of being a gallant knight to Lady I-Won't-Tell-the-Name,a whim of the moment made him so stiff to her that she ultimatelyasked the reason; and such a charmingly sad reason presented itself tohim that she immediately invited him to her riverside party onThursday week. He had the conversations and incidents for that partyready long before the day arrived; he altered them and polished themas other young gentlemen in the same circumstances overhaul theirboating costumes; but when he joined the party there was among themthe children's governess, and seeing her slighted, his blood boiled,and he was her attendant for the afternoon.
Elspeth was not at this pleasant jink in high life. She had beeninvited, but her ladyship had once let Tommy kiss her hand for thefirst and last time, so he decided sternly that this was no place forElspeth. When temptation was nigh, he first locked Elspeth up, andthen walked into it.
With two in every three women he was still as shy as ever, but thethird he escorted triumphantly to the conservatory. She did no harm tohis work--rather sent him back to it refreshed. It was as if he wereshooting the sentiment which other young men get rid of more graduallyby beginning earlier, and there were such accumulations of it that Idon't know whether he ever made up on them. Punishment sought him inthe night, when he dreamed constantly that he was married--to whomscarcely mattered; he saw himself coming out of a church a marriedman, and the fright woke him up. But with the daylight came again histalent for dodging thoughts that were lying in wait, and he yielded asrecklessly as before to every sentimental impulse. As illustration,take his humourous passage with Mrs. Jerry. Geraldine Something washer name, but her friends called her Mrs. Jerry.
She was a wealthy widow, buxom, not a day over thirty when she wasmerry, which might be at inappropriate moments, as immediately aftershe had expressed a desire to lead the higher life. "But I have atheory, my dear," she said solemnly to Elspeth, "that no woman is ableto do it who cannot see her own nose without the help of a mirror."She had taken a great fancy to Elspeth, and made many engagements withher, and kept some of them, and the understanding was that sheapprenticed herself to Tommy through Elspeth, he being too terrible toface by himself, or, as Mrs. Jerry expressed it, "all nose." So Tommyhad seen very little of her, and thought less, until one day he calledby passionate request to sign her birthday-book, and heard himselfproposing to her instead!
For one thing, it was twilight, and she had forgotten to ring for thelamps. That might have been enough, but there was more: she read tohim part of a letter in which her hand was solicited in marriage."And, for the life of me," said Mrs. Jerry, almost in tears, "I cannotdecide whether to say yes or no."
This put Tommy in a most awkward position. There are probably men whocould have got out of it without proposing; but to him there seemed atthe moment no other way open. The letter complicated matters also bybeginning "Dear Jerry," and saying "little Jerry" furtheron--expressions which stirred him strangely.
"Why do you read this to me?" he asked, in a voice that broke alittle.
"Because you are so wise," she said. "Do you mind?"
"Do I mind!" he exclaimed bitterly. ("Take care, you idiot!" he saidto himself.)
"I was asking your advice only. Is it too much?"
"Not at all. I am quite the right man to consult at such a moment, amI not?"
It was said with profound meaning; but his face was as usual.
"That is what I thought," she said, in all good faith.
"You do not even understand!" he cried, and he was also lookinglongingly at his hat.
"Understand what?"
"Jerry," he said, and tried to stop himself, with the result that headded, "dear little Jerry!" ("What am I doing!" he groaned.)
She understood now. "You don't mean--" she began, in amazement.
"Yes," he cried passionately. "I love you. Will you be my wife?" ("Iam lost!")
"Gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Jerry; and then, on reflection, she becameindignant. "I would not have believed it of you," she said scornfully."Is it my money, or what? I am not at all clever, so you must tellme."
With Tommy, of course, it was not her money. Except when he hadElspeth to consider, he was as much a Quixote about money as Pymhimself; and at no moment of his life was he a snob.
"I am sorry you should think so meanly of me," he said with dignity,lifting his hat; and he would have got away then (which, when you cometo think of it, was what he wanted) had he been able to resist animpulse to heave a broken-hearted sigh at the door.
"Don't go yet, Mr. Sandys," she begged. "I may have been hasty. Andyet--why, we are merely acquaintances!"
He had meant to be very careful now, but that word sent him off again."Acquaintances!" he cried. "No, we were never that."
"It almost seemed to me that you avoided me."
"You noticed it!" he said eagerly. "At least, you do me that justice.Oh, how I tried to avoid you!"
"It was because--"
"Alas!"
She was touched, of course, but still puzzled. "We know so little ofeach other," she said.
"I see," he replied, "that you know me very little, Mrs. Jerry; butyou--oh, Jerry, Jerry! I know you as no other man has ever known you!"
"I wish I had proof of it," she said helplessly.
Proof! She should not have asked Tommy for proof. "I know," he cried,"how unlike all other women you are. To the world you are like therest, but in your heart you know that you are different; you know it,and I know it, and no other person knows it."
Yes, Mrs. Jerry knew it, and had often marvelled over it in theseclusion of her boudoir; but that another should have found it outwas strange and almost terrifying.
"I know you love me now," she said softly. "Only love could have shownyou that. But--oh, let me go away for a minute to think!" And she ranout of the room.
Other suitors have been left for a space in Tommy's state of doubt,but never, it may be hoped, with the same emotions. Oh, heavens! ifshe should accept him! He saw Elspeth sickening and dying of the news.
His guardian angel, however, was very good to Tommy at this time; orperhaps, like cannibals with their prisoner, the god of sentiment (whohas a tail) was fattening him for a future feast; and Mrs. Jerry'sanswer was that it could never be.
Tommy bowed his head.
But she hoped he would let her be his very dear friend. It would bethe proudest recollection of her life that Mr. Sandys had entertainedsuch feelings for her.
Nothing could have been better, and he should have found difficulty inconcealing his delight; but this strange Tommy was really feeling hispart again. It was an unforced tear that came to his eye. Quitenaturally he looked long and wistfully at her.
"Jerry, Jerry!" he articulated huskily, and whatever the words mean inthese circumstances he really meant; then he put his lips to her handfor
the first and last time, and so was gone, broken but brave. He wasin splendid fettle for writing that evening. Wild animals sleep aftergorging, but it sent this monster, refreshed, to his work.
Nevertheless, the incident gave him some uneasy reflections. Was he,indeed, a monster? was one that he could dodge, as yet; but supposeMrs. Jerry told his dear Elspeth of what had happened? She had saidthat she would not, but a secret in Mrs. Jerry's breast was like herpug in her arms, always kicking to get free. "Elspeth," said Tommy,"what do you say to going north and having a sight of Thrums again?"
He knew what she would say. They had been talking for years of goingback; it was the great day that all her correspondence with oldfriends in Thrums looked forward to.
"They made little of you, Tommy," she said, "when we left; but I'mthinking they will all be at their windows when you go back."
"Oh," replied Thomas, "that's nothing. But I should like to shake Corpby the hand again."
"And Aaron," said Elspeth. She was knitting stockings for Aaron atthat moment.
"And Gavinia," Tommy said, "and the Dominie."
"And Ailie."
And then came an awkward pause, for they were both thinking of thatindependent girl called Grizel. She was seldom discussed. Tommy wasoddly shy about mentioning her name; he would have preferred Elspethto mention it: and Elspeth had misgivings that this was so, with theresult that neither could say "Grizel" without wondering what was inthe other's mind. Tommy had written twice to Grizel, the first timeunknown to Elspeth, but that was in the days when the ladies of thepenny numbers were disturbing him, and, against his better judgment(for well he knew she would never stand it), he had begun his letterwith these mad words: "Dear Little Woman." She did not answer this,but soon afterwards she wrote to Elspeth, and he was not mentioned inthe letter proper, but it carried a sting in its tail. "P.S.," it said"How is Sentimental Tommy?"
None but a fiend in human shape could have written thus, and Elspethput her protecting arms round her brother. "Now we know what Grizelis," she said. "I am done with her now."
But when Tommy had got back his wind he said nobly: "I'll call her nonames. If this is how she likes to repay me for--for all mykindnesses, let her. But, Elspeth, if I have the chance, I shall go onbeing good to her just the same."
Elspeth adored him for it, but Grizel would have stamped had sheknown. He had that comfort.
The second letter he never posted. It was written a few months beforehe became a celebrity, and had very fine things indeed in it, for oldDr. McQueen, Grizel's dear friend, had just died at his post, and itwas a letter of condolence. While Tommy wrote it he was in a quiver ofgenuine emotion, as he was very pleased to feel, and it had aspecially satisfying bit about death, and the world never being thesame again. He knew it was good, but he did not send it to her, for noreason I can discover save that postscripts jarred on him.