Jan. 26.—In the evening Mr. Fairly came to tea. He was grave, and my reception did not make him gayer. General discourse took place till Mrs. Dickenson happened to be named. He knew her very well as Miss Hamilton. Her conjugal conduct, in displaying her Superior power over her husband, was our particular theme, till in the midst of it he exclaimed, “How well you will be trained in by Mrs. Schwellenberg—if you come to trial!”
Ah! thought I, the more I suffer through her, the less and less do I feel disposed to run any new and more lasting risk, But I said not this. I only protested I was much less her humble servant than might be supposed.
“How can that be,” cried he, “when you never contest any one point with her?”
Not, I said, in positive wrangling, which could never answer its horrible pain; but still I refused undue obedience when exacted with indignity, and always hastened to retire when offended and affronted.
He took up Mrs. Smith’s “Emmeline,"[302] which is just lent me by the queen; but he found it not piquant and putting it down, begged me to choose him a Rambler. I had a good deal of difficulty in my decision, as he had already seen almost all I could particularly wish to recommend; and, when he saw me turn over leaf after leaf with some hesitation, he began a serious reproach to me of inflexible reserve. And then away he went.
I hastened immediately to Mrs. Schwellenberg; and found all in a tumult. She had been, she said, alone all the evening, and was going to have sent for me, but found I had my company. She sent for Mlle. Montmoulin but she had a cold; for Miss Gomme, but she could not come because of the snow; for Miss Planta but she was ill with a fever, “what you call head-ache:” she had then “sent to princess royal, who had been to her, and pitied her ver moch, for princess royal was really sensible.”
And all this was communicated with a look of accusation, and a tone of menace, that might have suited an attack upon some hardened felon....
I made no sort of apology nor any other answer than that I had had the honour of Mr. Fairly’s company to tea, which was always a pleasure to me.
I believe something like consciousness whispered her here, that it might really be possible his society was as pleasant as I had found hers, for she then dropped her lamentation, and said she thanked God she wanted nobody, not one; she could always amuse herself, and was glad enough to be alone.
Were it but true!