Name and Fame: A Novel

by Adeline Sergeant

Sydney Campion and Anna Pynsent were married early in September, while Lettice was still in Italy. There had been a death in the Pynsent family since the death of Sydney's mother, and Nan was not sorry to make this a pretext for arranging every thing in the simplest possible manner. She had no bridesmaids, and did without a wedding-feast; and, strange to say, Sydney was perfectly well content.

For it might have been expected that Sydney—with whom the roots of worldliness and selfishness had struck very deep—would desire a wedding that would make a noise in the world, and would not be satisfied with a bride in a severely simple white dress and a complete absence of all display. But it seemed as if all that was good in his character had been brought to the surface by a marriage which his club-friends chuckled over as so absolutely unexceptionable from a worldly point of view. For almost the first time in his life he was a little ashamed of his worldliness. His marriage with Nan Pynsent was making—or so he thought—everything easy for him! His selfishness was pampered by the girl's adoring love, by her generosity, even by her beauty and her wealth; and it recoiled upon itself in an utterly unexpected way. Finding life no longer a battle, Sydney became suddenly ashamed of some of his past methods of warfare; and, looking at his betrothed, could only breathe a silent and fervent aspiration that she might never know the story of certain portions of his life.

He was thoroughly in love with his wife; and—what was more important in a man of his temperament—he admired as well as loved her. Her personal charm was delightful to him, and the high-bred quietness of her manner, the refinement of her accent, the aroma of dignity and respect which surrounded the Pynsent household in general, were elements of his feeling for her as strong as his sense of her grace and beauty. With his high respect for position and good birth, it would have been almost impossible for him to yield his heart for long to a woman in a lower grade of society than his own; even a woman who might be considered his equal was not often attractive to him; he preferred one—other considerations apart—who was socially a little his superior, and could make a link for him with the great families of England. Had Nan been the pretty governess whom he thought her at first, not all her charm, her talent and her originality of character, would have prevailed to make him marry her.

But in spite of these defects, when once his judgment had assented, he gave free rein to his heart. Nan satisfied his taste and his intellect, to begin with; his senses were equally well content with her beauty; and then—then—another kind of emotion came into play. He was a little vexed and impatient with himself at first, to find the difference that she made in his life. She interested him profoundly, and he had never been profoundly interested in any woman before. Her earnestness charmed while it half-repelled him. And her refinement, her delicacy of feeling, her high standard of morality, perpetually astonished him. He remembered that he had heard his sister Lettice talk as Nan sometimes talked. With Lettice he had pooh-poohed her exalted ideas and thought them womanish; in Nan, he was inclined to call them beautiful. Of course, he said to himself, her ideas did not affect him; men could not guide their lives by a woman's standard; nevertheless, her notions were pretty, although puritanical; and he had no desire to see them changed. He would not have Nan less conscientious for the world.

An appeal to Sydney's self-love had always been a direct appeal to his heart. It was sometimes said of him that he cared for others chiefly in proportion as they conferred benefits and advantages upon himself; but he was certainly capable of warm affection when it had been called into existence. He began to display a very real and strong affection for Nan. She had found the way to his heart—though she little suspected it—through his very weaknesses: she had conquered the man she loved by means of his selfishness. The worldly advantages she conferred took his nature by storm. It was not a high-minded way of contracting an engagement for life; but, as a fragrant flower may easily grow upon a very unpleasant dunghill, so the sweet flower of a true, pure love began to flourish on the heap of refuse with which the good in Sydney's nature had been overlaid.

Sydney was treated with considerable generosity by Nan's guardian and trustees. Her fortune was of course to remain largely at her own disposal; but an ambitious man like Sydney Campion was certain to profit by it in some degree. Sir John Pynsent had always known that he was not likely to possess the management of it for long, and the next best thing was that it should be utilized for a member of the Conservative party, one of his own special connection, whose future career he should be able to watch over and promote. Campion must clearly understand that he owed his position and prospects to the Pynsents. He was apt to be somewhat off-hand and independent, but he would improve with a little judicious coaching. A man cannot be independent who owes his seat to the Oligarchy, his introduction in Parliament to individual favor, and his private fortune to the daughter of a house which had always been devoted to the interests of a particular party. This was Campion's position, and Sir John felt that his brother-in-law would soon fall into line.

Sydney was made the proprietor of the London house in which they were to live—the house at Vanebury was let for the present; but the whole of the domestic charges were to be borne by his wife. His professional income would be at his own disposal; and by special arrangement the sum of twenty thousand pounds was set apart as a fund to be drawn upon from time to time, by their joint consent, for the advancement of his purely political interests, in such a manner as might be deemed most expedient.

This was a better arrangement than Sydney had allowed himself to anticipate, and he was naturally elated by his success. He was so grateful to Nan for the good things she had brought him that he studied her tastes and consulted her inclinations in a way quite new to him. No doubt there was selfishness even in the repression of self which this compliance with her habits imposed upon him; but the daily repression was a gain to him.

And Nan recompensed his considerate behavior by giving him that incense of love and esteem and intellectual deference which is desired by every man; and by convincing him that his ambitions—as she knew them—had in her the most complete sympathy, and the most valuable aid. This she did for him, and satisfied all the wishes of his heart.

They had a delightful honeymoon in the Tyrol, and returned to town late in October. The house in Thurloe Square, where they were to reside, had been newly decorated and furnished for them, and was pronounced by critics to be a marvel of luxury and beauty. Sydney, though he did not pretend to be well acquainted with æsthetic fashions, recognized that the rooms had an attractive appearance, and set off Nan's beauty to the best advantage. He fell easily and naturally into the position which his good fortune had marked out for him, and thought, in spite of certain bitter drops, in spite of a touch of gall in the honey, and a suspected thorn on the rose, in spite of a cloud no bigger than a man's hand in an otherwise clear sky, that Fate had on the whole been very kind to him.