Her grateful reply to the young earl conveyed all that was perforce ungentle, in the signature of the name of Nesta Victoria Fenellan:—a name he was to hear cited among the cushioned conservatives, and plead for as he best could under a pressure of disapprobation, and compelled esteem, and regrets.
The day following the report of her father’s wish to see her, she and her husband started for England. On that day, Victor breathed his last. Dudley had seen the not hopeful but an ominous illumination of the stricken man; for whom came the peace his Nataly had in earth. Often did Nesta conjure up to vision the palpitating form of the beloved mother with her hand at her mortal wound in secret through long years of the wearing of the mask to keep her mate inspirited. Her gathered knowledge of things and her ruthless penetrativeness made it sometimes hard for her to be tolerant of a world, whose tolerance of the infinitely evil stamped blotches on its face and shrieked in stains across the skin beneath its gallant garb. That was only when she thought of it as the world condemning her mother. She had a husband able and ready, in return for corrections of his demon temper, to trim an ardent young woman’s fanatical overflow of the sisterly sentiments; scholarly friends, too, for such restrainings from excess as the mind obtains in a lamp of History exhibiting man’s original sprouts to growth and fitful continuation of them. Her first experience of the grief that is in pleasure, for those who have passed a season, was when the old Concert-set assembled round her. When she heard from the mouth of a living woman, that she had saved her from going under the world’s waggon-wheels, and taught her to know what is actually meant by the good living of a shapely life, Nesta had the taste of a harvest happiness richer than her recollection of the bride’s, though never was bride in fuller flower to her lord than she who brought the dower of an equal valiancy to Dartrey Fenellan. You are aware of the reasons, the many, why a courageous young woman requires of high heaven, far more than the commendably timid, a doughty husband. She had him; otherwise would that puzzled old world, which beheld her step out of the ranks to challenge it, and could not blast her personal reputation, have commissioned a paw to maul her character, perhaps instructing the gossips to murmur of her parentage. Nesta Victoria Fenellan had the husband who would have the world respectful to any brave woman. This one was his wife.
Daniel Skepsey rejoices in service to his new master, owing to the scientific opinion he can at any moment of the day apply for, as to the military defences of the country; instead of our attempting to arrest the enemy by vociferations of persistent prayer:—the sole point of difference between him and his Matilda; and it might have been fatal but that Nesta’s intervention was persuasive. The two members of the Army first in the field to enrol and give rank according to the merits of either, to both sexes, were made one. Colney Durance (practically cynical when not fancifully, men said) stood by Skepsey at the altar. His published exercises in Satire produce a flush of the article in the Reviews of his books. Meat and wine in turn fence the Hymen beckoning Priscilla and Mr. Pempton. The forms of Religion more than the Channel’s division of races keep Louise de Seilles and Mr. Peridon asunder: and in the uniting of them Colney is interested, because it would have so pleased the woman of the loyal heart no longer beating. He let Victor’s end be his expiation and did not phrase blame of him. He considered the shallowness of the abstract Optimist exposed enough in Victor’s history. He was reconciled to it when, looking on their child, he discerned, that for a cancelling of the errors chargeable to them, the father and mother had kept faith with Nature.
ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS
Admiration of an enemy or oppressor doing great deeds
All of us an ermined owl within us to sit in judgement
An incomprehensible world indeed at the bottom and at the top
Aristocratic assumption of licence
Arrest the enemy by vociferations of persistent prayer
Ask not why, where reason never was
Belief in the narrative by promoting nausea in the audience
But what is it we do (excepting cricket, of course)
Cannot be any goodness unless it is a practiced goodness
Claim for equality puts an end to the priceless privileges
Consent of circumstances
Consent to take life as it is
Continued trust in the man—is the alternative of despair
Country prizing ornaments higher than qualities
Cover of action as an escape from perplexity
Critical fashion of intimates who know as well as hear
Death is our common cloak; but Calamity individualizes
Despises hostile elements and goes unpunished
Dialogue between Nature and Circumstance
Dithyrambic inebriety of narration
Dudley was not gifted to read behind words and looks
Eminently servile is the tolerated lawbreaker
Exuberant anticipatory trustfulness
Fell to chatting upon the nothings agreeably and seriously
Feminine; coming when she willed and flying when wanted
Fire smoothes the creases
Frankness as an armour over wariness
Greater our successes, the greater the slaves we become
Half designingly permitted her trouble to be seen
Half a dozen dozen left
Happy the woman who has not more to speak
Hard to bear, at times unbearable
Haremed opinion of the unfitness of women
He sinks terribly when he sinks at all
He never acknowledged a trouble, he dispersed it
He never explained
He neared her, wooing her; and she assented
He prattled, in the happy ignorance of compulsion
Heathen vindictiveness declaring itself holy
Honest creatures who will not accept a lift from fiction
How little we mean to do harm when we do an injury
How Success derides Ambition!
If only been intellectually a little flexible in his morality
If we are robbed, we ask, How came we by the goods?
If we are really for Nature, we are not lawless
In the pay of our doctors
In bottle if not on draught (oratory)
Intrusion of hard material statements, facts
Judgeing of the destiny of man by the fate of individuals
Kelts, as they are called, can’t and won’t forgive injuries
Let but the throb be kept for others—That is the one secret
Love must needs be an egoism
Man with a material object in aim, is the man of his object
Memory inspired by the sensations
Nation’s half made-up of the idle and the servants of the idle
Naturally as deceived as he wished to be
Nature and Law never agreed
Nature could at a push be eloquent to defend the guilty
Nature’s logic, Nature’s voice, for self-defence
Next door to the Last Trump
No companionship save with the wound they nurse
Not to go hunting and fawning for alliances
Not always the right thing to do the right thing
Obeseness is the most sensitive of our ailments
Official wrath at sound of footfall or a fancied one
Once out of the rutted line, you are food for lion and jackal
One wants a little animation in a husband
Optional marriages, broken or renewed every seven years
People of a provocative prosperity
Pessimy is invulnerable
Portrait of himself by the artist
Put into her woman’s harness of the bit and the blinkers
Repeatedly, in contempt of the disgust of iteration
Satirist is an executioner by profession
Satirist too devotedly loves his lash to be a persuasive teacher
Self-deceiver may be a persuasive deceiver of another
Semblance of a tombstone lady beside her lord
Share of foulness to them that are for scouring the chamber
She was not his match—To speak would be to succumb
She disdained to question the mouth which had bitten her
Slap and pinch and starve our appetites
Slave of existing conventions
Smallest of our gratifications in life could give a happy tone
Smothered in its pudding-bed of the grotesque (obesity)
Snuffle of hypocrisy in her prayer
Startled by the criticism in laughter
State of feverish patriotism
Statistics are according to their conjurors
Subterranean recess for Nature against the Institutions of Man
Tale, which leaves the man’s mind at home
The banquet to be fervently remembered, should smoke
The homage we pay him flatters us
The effects of the infinitely little
The night went past as a year
The old confession, that we cannot cook (The English)
The worst of it is, that we remember
The face of a stopped watch
The impalpable which has prevailing weight
There is little to be learnt when a little is known
They helped her to feel at home with herself
They kissed coldly, pressed a hand, said good night
They do not live; they are engines
Thought of differences with him caused frightful apprehensions
To do nothing, is the wisdom of those who have seen fools perish
Universal censor’s angry spite
Unshamed exuberant male has found the sweet reverse in his mate
We have come to think we have a claim upon her gratitude
We must have some excuse, if we would keep to life
We cannot relinquish an idea that was ours
We’ve all a parlous lot too much pulpit in us
Whimpering fits you said we enjoy and must have in books
Who enjoyed simple things when commanding the luxuries
Who enjoyed simple things when commanding the luxuries