Эрнест Хорнунг - A Bride from The Bush

And yet, though Lady Bligh went up again to her little room without so much as inquiring into her daughter–in–law's plans for the afternoon, neither was she without a slight twinge of shame herself.

"But I could not help it!" Lady Bligh exclaimed to herself more than once—so often, in fact, as to prove conclusively that she could have helped it. "I could not help it—indeed I could not. Once or twice I did try to say something—but there, I could not do it! After all, what have I to talk to her about? What is there in common between us? On the other hand, is not talking to her hanging oneself on tenter–hooks, for dread of what she will say next? And this is Alfred's wife! No pretensions—none of the instincts—no, not one!"

A comfortable fire was burning in the sanctum, lighting up the burnished brass of fender and guard and the brown tiles of the fireplace with a cheerful effect; and this made the chill gray light that hung over the writing–table under the window less inviting, if possible, than it had been before luncheon. Lady Bligh immediately felt that, for this afternoon, writing letters over there in the cold was out of the question. She stood for a moment before the pleasant fire, gazing regretfully at Alfred's photograph on the chimney–piece. Then a thought smote her—heavily. She rang the bell. A maid answered it.

"Light a fire for Mrs. Alfred downstairs—in the morning–room, I think—and this minute. How dreadful of me not to think of it before!" said Lady Bligh, when the servant was gone. "Poor girl! Now I think of it, she did look cold at the table. I feel the cold myself to–day, but she must feel it ten times more, coming from that hot country. And I have had a fire all the morning, and she has not! She looked sad, too, as well as cold, now I think of it. I wonder why? She seems so unconscious of everything, so independent, so indifferent. And, certainly, I blame myself for seeing so little of her. But does the smallest advance ever come from her side? Does she ever try to meet me half–way? If only she had done so—if only she were to do so now—"

Lady Bligh stopped before following further a futile and mortifying train of speculation. No; it were better, after all, that no advances should be made now. It was a little too late for them. If, in the beginning, her daughter–in–law had come to her and sought her sympathy and her advice, it would have been possible then to influence and to help her; it might have been not difficult, even, to break to her—gently and with tact—many of her painful peculiarities as they appeared. But she had not come, and now it was too late. The account might have been settled item by item; but the sum was too heavy to deal with in the lump.

"Yet her face troubles me," said Lady Bligh. "It is so handsome, so striking, so full of character and of splendid possibilities; and I cannot understand why it should sometimes look so wistful and longing; for at all events this must be a very different—and surely a preferable—existence to her old rough life out there, with her terrible father" (Lady Bligh shuddered), "and no mother."

She could not write, so she drew the easy–chair close to the fire, and wrapped a shawl about her shoulders, and placed a footstool for her feet, and sat down in luxury with a Review. But neither could Lady Bligh read, and ultimately her brooding would probably have ended in a nap, had not some one tapped at the door.

Lady Bligh—a hater of indolence, who commonly practised her principle—being taken unawares, was weak enough to push back her chair somewhat, and to kick aside the footstool, before saying, "Come in." Then she looked round—and it was the Bride herself.

"Am I disturbing you very much?" asked Gladys, calmly; indeed, she shut the door behind her without waiting for the answer.

Lady Bligh was taken aback rather; but she did not show it. "Not at all. Pray come in. Is it something you want to ask me about?"

"There's lots of things I want to ask you about; if it isn't really bothering you too much altogether, Lady Bligh."

"Of course it is not, child; I should say so if it were," Lady Bligh answered, with some asperity. But her manner was not altogether discouraging.

"Thank you. Then I think I will sit down on that footstool by the fender—it is so cold. May I? Thanks. There, that won't keep the fire from you at all. Now, first of all, may I do all the questioning, Lady Bligh, please?"

Lady Bligh stared.

"What I mean is, may I ask you questions without you asking me any? You needn't answer if you don't like, you know. You may even get in a—in a rage with me, and order me out of the room, if you like. But please let me do the questioning."

"I am not likely to get in a rage with you," said Lady Bligh, dryly, "though I have no idea what is coming; so you had better begin, perhaps."

"Very well; then what I want to know is this—and I do want to know it very badly indeed. When you married, Lady Bligh, were you beneath Sir James?"

Lady Bligh sat bolt upright in her chair, and stared severely at her daughter–in–law. Gladys was sitting on the low stool with her hands clasped about her knees, and leaning backward with half her weight thus thrown upon her long straight arms. And she was gazing, not at the fire nor at Lady Bligh, but straight ahead at the wall in front of her. Her fine profile was stamped out sharply against the fire, yet touched at the edge with the glowing light, which produced a kind of Rembrandt effect. There was no movement of the long eyelashes projecting from the profile; the well–cut lips were firm. So far as could be seen from this silhouette, the Bride was in earnest. Lady Bligh checked the exclamation that had risen to her lips, and answered slowly:—

"I do not understand you, Gladys."

"No?" Gladys slowly turned her face to that of her companion; her eyes now seemed like still black pools in a place of shadows; and round her head the red firelight struggled through the loopholes and outworks of her hair. "Well, I mean—was it considered a very great match for you ?"

"No; it certainly was not."

"Then he was not much above you—in riches or rank or anything else?"

"No; we were both very poor; our early days were a struggle."

"But you were equals from the very beginning—not only in money?"

"Yes; socially we were equals too."

Gladys turned her face to the fire, and kept it so turned. "I am rather sorry," she said at length, and sighed.

"You are sorry? Indeed!"

"Yes, Lady Bligh, and disappointed too; for I'd been hoping to find you'd been ever so much beneath Sir James. Don't you see, if you had been ever so much beneath him, you aren't a bit now; and it would have proved that the wife can become what the husband is, if she isn't that to begin with—and if she tries hard. No—you mustn't interrupt unless it's to send me away. I want you to suppose a case. Look back, and imagine that your own case was the opposite to what it really was. That Sir James was of a very good family. That you were not only not that, but were stupid and ignorant, and a worse thing—vulgar. That you had lived your rough life in another country; so that when he brought you to England as his wife, your head was full of nothing but that other country, which nobody wanted to know anything about. That you couldn't even talk like other people, but gave offence, not only without meaning to, but without knowing how. That—"

Lady Bligh could hear no more. "Oh, Gladys!" she exclaimed in a voice of pain, "you are not thinking of yourself?"

"That's a question! Still, as it's your first, I don't mind telling you you've hit it, Lady Bligh. I am thinking of myself. But you must let me finish. Suppose—to make short work of it—that you had been me, what would you have done to get different, like?"