Still these worries were real of their kind; no mere outgrowth of the imagination. It is fair to admit so much. Sybella Devereux would have been a severe trial to almost any young niece, flung upon her tender mercies. The General, with all his goodness, must have been a pull upon the patience of any wife who could not entirely submit her opinions to his. The sorrow of losing him must have been in any case enhanced by the recollections of previous friction. As for Miss Moggridge—Jean was often fain to admit that she too would have found that excellent lady tiresome as a life-long companion. But then, why had Evelyn created the companionship?
Miss Moggridge was undoubtedly excellent, in the true sense of the word. She excelled alike in right principle, in right feeling, in right action. That is not to say she was perfect; but who is perfect? She had her faults, of course, like other people. She was, theoretically, so liberal-minded that, practically, she could see no manner of illiberality in another without risings of righteous anger. And, unfortunately, with her, as with many other good people, human anger is apt to outrun the righteous boundary.
To put it differently, she was—or, at all events, she counted herself—so broad in her mental and spiritual make, that it made her wrathful to find anybody narrow. But most naturally, the narrow individual, who called his narrowness by the more euphonistic title of "sound principle," failed to see the Christian beauty of a broadism, which was flung like a cudgel at his devoted head. Since his narrower line of thought was every inch as much a matter of right with him as Miss Moggridge's broader line of thought was a matter of right with her, it was to the last degree improbable that she should cudgel him over to her way of thinking. Nay, the question even arises in the mind of a quiet looker-on—was her vaunted broadism altogether broad, and did it not partake of inevitable human narrowness, only under a fresh guise?
Evelyn herself was not narrow, rather the reverse. Since her husband's death, however, she could not patiently endure aught which might seem to be levelled at his memory. This made Miss Moggridge peculiarly liable to tread upon Evelyn's corns; and with all her devotion to Evelyn, Miss Moggridge was clumsy in her manner of walking.
The two ladies had rubbed on together for three years, and might rub on a good deal longer; but such "rubbing on" can hardly mean present happiness, however much it may be expected to improve one's spiritual shape in the end. Moreover, though friction does commonly wear away corners, it may be so applied as only to sharpen the angles.
Jean had been into Evelyn's boudoir, one may safely assert, hundreds of times; yet she rarely entered that room without at least a transient recollection of a certain snowy day, years since, when she had witnessed the last parting between General Villiers and his young wife.
Such recallings were more vivid than usual on this particular afternoon; notwithstanding the difference of a clear May day, cold but sunshiny. Perhaps the association of ideas lay in Evelyn's listless and sad air. She welcomed Jean lovingly; then sank back in a cushioned chair, lifting deep violet eyes, full of the dumb-animal appeal, of which Jean had spoken to Jem. The face, though so much older and strictly less beautiful, was infinitely sweet and attractive. Jean, always strongly under the influence of this attraction, could never agree with Sybella Devereux's verdict as to "how dear Evelyn was gone off in her looks."
"Sit down here by me, Jean. Sit down, and talk me into a better frame of mind. I am feeling wicked. Nothing is worth doing or worth living for; and I am sick of everything and everybody. Except—yes, of course, there are always exceptions. Does it sound very dreadful?"
"It sounds dyspeptic. You had better see Dr. Ingram," Jean said the words in jest; and then she wondered if she ought not to say them seriously. Jem had remarked that Evelyn was not looking well. Not well! The little hand, lying on her knee, was transparent; and the fair face seemed to have shrunk, lending unnatural largeness to the eyes. Had this come suddenly? It dawned upon Jean in a flash.
"Dr. Ingram would laugh at me. O yes, he would. He can laugh at feminine nerves."