Cecil and Fanny Molyneux were certainly exceptions to the rule of unsociability, but the general dullness of those réunions infected them, and made the atmosphere oppressive; it required a vast amount of leaven to make such a large, heavy lump light or palatable. Besides, it is not pleasant to carry on a conversation with twenty or thirty people looking on and listening, as if it were some theatrical performance that they had paid money to see, and consequently had a right to criticise. The fair friends had held counsel together as to the expediency of gratifying others at a great expense to themselves on the present occasion, and had made their election—not to go.
Early the next morning Miss Tresilyan encountered Keene; their conversation was very brief; but, just as he was quitting her, the latter remarked, in a matter-of-course way, “We shall meet this evening at Madame de Verzenay’s?”
She looked at him in some surprise, for she knew he must have heard from Mrs. Molyneux of their intention to absent themselves. She told him as much.
“Ah! last night she did not mean to go,” replied Royston; “but she changed her mind this morning while I was with them. When I left them, ten minutes ago, there was a consultation going on with Harry as to what she should wear. I don’t think it will last more than half an hour; and then she was coming to try to persuade you to keep her fickleness in countenance.”
Now the one point upon which Cecil had been most severe on la mignonne was the way in which the latter suffered herself to be guided by her husband’s friend. It is strange how prone is the unconverted and unmated feminine nature to instigate revolt against the Old Dominion—never more so than when the beautiful Carbonara feels that its shadow is creeping fast over the frontier of her own freedom. Nay, suppose the conquest achieved, and that they themselves are reduced to the veriest serfdom, none the less will they strive to goad other hereditary bondswomen into striking the blow. Is it not known that steady old “machiners,” broken for years to double harness, will encourage and countenance their “flippant” progeny in kicking over the traces? How otherwise could the name of mother-in-law, on the stage and in divers domestic circles, have become a synonym for firebrand? Look at your wife’s maid, for instance. She will spend two thirds of her wages and the product of many silk dresses (“scarcely soiled”) in furnishing that objectionable and disreputable suitor of hers with funds for his extravagance. He has beggared two or three of her acquaintance already, under the same flimsy pretense of intended marriage, that scarcely deludes poor Abigail; she has sore misgivings as to her own fate. Alternately he bullies and cajoles, but all the while she knows that he is lying, deliberately and incessantly, yet she never remonstrates or complains. It is true that, if you pass the door of her little room late into the night, you will probably go to bed haunted by the sound of low, dreary weeping; but it would be worse than useless to argue with her about her folly; she cherishes her noisome and ill-favored weed as if it were the fairest of fragrant flowers, and will not be persuaded to throw it aside. Well, if you could listen to that same long-suffering and soft-hearted young female, in her place in the subterranean Upper House, when the conduct of “Master” (especially as regards Foreign Affairs) is being canvassed; the fluency and virulence of her anathemas would almost 30 take your breath away. Even that dear old housekeeper—who nursed you, and loves you better than any of her own children—when she would suggest an excuse or denial of the alleged peccadilloes, is borne away and overwhelmed by the abusive torrent, and can at last only grumble her dissent. Very few women, of good birth and education, make confidantes nowadays of their personal attendants; and the race of “Miggs” is chiefly confined to the class in which Dickens has placed it, if it is not extinct utterly. But there is a season—while the brush passes lightly and lingeringly over the long trailing “back hair”—when a hint, an allusion, or an insinuation, cleverly placed, may go far toward fanning into flame the embers of matrimonial rebellion. I know no case where such serious consequences may be produced, with so little danger of implication to the prime mover of the discontent, except it be the system of the patriotic and intrepid Mazzini. Many outbreaks, perhaps—quelled after much loss on both sides, in which the monarchy was only saved by the judicious expenditure of much mitraille—might have been traced to the covert influence of that mild-eyed, melancholy camériste.
Cecil, who was not exempt from these revolutionary tendencies, any more than from other weaknesses of her sex, was especially provoked by this fresh instance of Fanny’s subordination.
“Mrs. Molyneux is perfectly at liberty to form her own plans,” she said, very haughtily. “Beyond a certain point, I should no more dream of interfering with them than she would with mine. She is quite right to change her mind as often as she thinks proper, only in this instance I should have thought it was hardly worth while.”
“Well,” Keene answered, in his cool, slow way, “Mrs. Molyneux has got that unfortunate habit of consulting other people’s wishes and convenience in preference to her own; it’s very foolish and weak; but it is so confirmed, that I doubt even your being able to break her of it. This time I am sure you won’t. It is a pity you are so determined on disappointing the public. I know of more than one person who has put off other engagements in anticipation of hearing you sing.”
He was perfectly careless about provoking her now, or he would have been more cautious. That particular card was the very last in his hand to have played. Miss Tresilyan was good-nature itself in placing her talents at the service of any man, woman, or child who could appreciate them. She would go through half her repertoire to amuse a sick friend any day; neither was she averse to displaying them before the world in general at proper seasons, but she liked the “boards” to be worthy of the prima donna, and had no idea of “starring it in the provinces.” All the pride of her race gathered on her brow just then, like a thunder-cloud, and her eyes flashed no summer lightning.
“Madame de Verzenay was wrong to advertise a performer who does not belong to her troupe. I hope the audience will be patient under their disappointment, and not break up the benches. If not, she must excuse herself as best she may. I have signed no engagement, so my conscience is clear. I certainly shall not go.”