Уилки Коллинз - Heart and Science - A Story of the Present Time

Why?

There are many men of mature age, who are not fit persons to be in the company of young girls—but they are either men who despise, or men who admire, young girls. Benjulia belonged neither to the one nor to the other of these two classes. Girls were objects of absolute indifference to him—with the one exception of Zo, aged ten. Never yet, after meeting him in society hundreds of times, had Mrs. Gallilee seen him talk to young ladies or even notice young ladies. Ovid’s alleged reason for objecting to Benjulia stood palpably revealed as a clumsy excuse.

In the present posture of events, to arrive at that conclusion was enough for Mrs. Gallilee. Without stopping to pursue the idea, she rang the bell, and ordered her carriage to be ready that afternoon, at three o’clock.

Doubtful, and more than doubtful, though it might be, the bare prospect of finding herself possessed, before the day was out, of a means of action capable of being used against Carmina, raised Mrs. Gallilee’s spirits. She was ready at last to attend to her correspondence.

One of the letters was from her sister in Scotland. Among other subjects, it referred to Carmina.

“Why won’t you let that sweet girl come and stay with us?” Lady Northlake asked. “My daughters are longing for such a companion; and both my sons are ready to envy Ovid the moment they see her. Tell my nephew, when you next write, that I thoroughly understand his falling in love with that gentle pretty creature at first sight.”

Carmina’s illness was the ready excuse which presented itself in Mrs. Gallilee’s reply. With or without an excuse, Lady Northlake was to be resolutely prevented from taking a foremost place in her niece’s heart, and encouraging the idea of her niece’s marriage. Mrs. Gallilee felt almost pious enough to thank Heaven that her sister’s palace in the Highlands was at one end of Great Britain, and her own marine villa at the other!

The marine villa reminded her of the family migration to the sea-side.

When would it be desirable to leave London? Not until her mind was relieved of the heavier anxieties that now weighed on it. Not while events might happen—in connection with the threatening creditors or the contemplated marriage—which would baffle her latest calculations, and make her presence in London a matter of serious importance to her own interests. Miss Minerva, again, was a new obstacle in the way. To take her to the Isle of Wight was not to be thought of for a moment. To dismiss her at once, by paying the month’s salary, might be the preferable course to pursue—but for two objections. In the first place (if the friendly understanding between them really continued) Carmina might communicate with the discarded governess in secret. In the second place, to pay Miss Minerva’s salary before she had earned it, was a concession from which Mrs. Gallilee’s spite, and Mrs. Gallilee’s principles of paltry economy, recoiled in disgust. No! the waiting policy in London, under whatever aspect it might be viewed, was, for the present, the one policy to pursue.

She returned to the demands of her correspondence. Just as she had taken up her pen, the sanctuary of the boudoir was violated by the appearance of a servant.

“What is it now? Didn’t the housekeeper tell you that I am not to be disturbed?”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am. My master—”

“What does your master want?”

“He wishes to see you, ma’am.”

This was a circumstance entirely without parallel in the domestic history of the house. In sheer astonishment, Mrs. Gallilee pushed away her letters, and said “Show him in.”

When the boys of fifty years since were naughty, the schoolmaster of the period was not accustomed to punish them by appealing to their sense of honour. If a boy wanted a flogging, in those days, the educational system seized a cane, or a birch-rod, and gave it to him. Mr. Gallilee entered his wife’s room, with the feelings which had once animated him, on entering the schoolmaster’s study to be caned. When he said “Good-morning, my dear!” his face presented the expression of fifty years since, when he had said, “Please, sir, let me off this time!”

“Now,” said Mrs. Gallilee, “what do you want?”

“Only a little word. How well you’re looking, my dear!”

After a sleepless night, followed by her defeat in Carmina’s room, Mrs. Gallilee looked, and knew that she looked, ugly and old. And her wretched husband had reminded her of it. “Go on!” she answered sternly.

Mr. Gallilee moistened his dry lips. “I think I’ll take a chair, if you will allow me,” he said. Having taken his chair (at a respectful distance from his wife), he looked all round the room with the air of a visitor who had never seen it before. “How very pretty!” he remarked softly. “Such taste in colour. I think the carpet was your own design, wasn’t it? How chaste!”

“Will you come to the point, Mr. Gallilee?”

“With pleasure, my dear—with pleasure. I’m afraid I smell of tobacco?”

“I don’t care if you do!”

This was such an agreeable surprise to Mr. Gallilee, that he got on his legs again to enjoy it standing up. “How kind! Really now, how kind!” He approached Mrs. Gallilee confidentially. “And do you know, my dear, it was one of the most remarkable cigars I ever smoked.” Mrs. Gallilee laid down her pen, and eyed him with an annihilating frown. In the extremity of his confusion Mr. Gallilee ventured nearer. He felt the sinister fascination of the serpent in the expression of those awful eyebrows. “How well you are looking! How amazingly well you are looking this morning!” He leered at his learned wife, and patted her shoulder!

For the moment, Mrs. Gallilee was petrified. At his time of life, was this fat and feeble creature approaching her with conjugal endearments? At that early hour of the day, had his guilty lips tasted his favourite champagne, foaming in his well-beloved silver mug, over his much-admired lump of ice? And was this the result?

“Mr. Gallilee!”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Sit down!”

Mr. Gallilee sat down.

“Have you been to the club?”

Mr. Gallilee got up again.

“Sit down!”

Mr. Gallilee sat down. “I was about to say, my dear, that I’ll show you over the club with the greatest pleasure—if that’s what you mean.”

“If you are not a downright idiot,” said Mrs. Gallilee, “understand this! Either say what you have to say, or—” she lifted her hand, and let it down on the writing-table with a slap that made the pens ring in the inkstand—“or, leave the room!”

Mr. Gallilee lifted his hand, and searched in the breast-pocket of his coat. He pulled out his cigar-case, and put it back in a hurry. He tried again, and produced a letter. He looked piteously round the room, in sore need of somebody whom he might appeal to, and ended in appealing to himself. “What sort of temper will she be in?” he whispered.

“What have you got there?” Mrs. Gallilee asked sharply. “One of the letters you had this morning?”

Mr. Gallilee looked at her with admiration. “Wonderful woman!” he said. “Nothing escapes her! Allow me, my dear.”

He rose and presented the letter, as if he was presenting a petition. Mrs. Gallilee snatched it out of his hand. Mr. Gallilee went softly back to his chair, and breathed a devout ejaculation. “Oh, Lord!”

It was a letter from one of the tradespeople, whom Mrs. Gallilee had attempted to pacify with a payment “on account.” The tradesman felt compelled, in justice to himself, to appeal to Mr. Gallilee, as master of the house (!). It was impossible for him (he submitted with the greatest respect) to accept a payment, which did not amount to one-third of the sum owing to him for more than a twelvemonth. “Wretch!” cried Mrs. Gallilee. “I’ll settle his bill, and never employ him again!” She opened her cheque-book, and dipped her pen in the ink. A faint voice meekly protested. Mr. Gallilee was on his legs again. Mr. Gallilee said. “Please don’t!”