He that will not when he may; vol. I

by Mrs. Oliphant

And then Lady Markham interposed, and assured Paul that he was talking nonsense.

“Why should you take such foolish notions into your head? No one of your family ever did so before. And can you really imagine,” she asked with gentle severity, “that you are a better judge of such matters than your papa?” but neither did this powerful argument convince the unreasonable boy.

There was one member of the family, however, who was affected by Paul’s arguments, and this was his sister. Alice was dazzled at once by the magnanimity of his sentiments and by his eloquence. Altogether independent of this, she was, as a matter of course, his natural partisan and defender, always standing up for Paul, with a noble disregard for the right or the wrong in question, which is a characteristic of girls and sisters. (For, Alice justly argued, if he was wrong, he had all the more need for some one to stand up for him.) But in this case her mind was, if not convinced, at least dazzled and imposed upon by the grandeur of this new way of thinking. She would not admit it to Paul, and indeed maintained with him a pretence of serious opposition, arguing very feebly for the most part, though sometimes dealing now and then, all unaware of its weight, a sudden blow under which the adversary staggered, and in the success of which Alice rejoiced without seeing very clearly how it was that one argument should tell so much more than another. But at heart she was profoundly touched by the generosity and nobleness of her brother’s views. Such a sweeping revolution would not be pleasant. To be brought down from her own delightful place, to be no longer Miss Markham of the Chase, but only a little girl on the same level with her maid, was a thing she could not endure to think of, and which brought the indignant blood to her cheek. “That you could never do,” she cried; “you might take away our money, but you could never make gentlefolk into common people.” This was one of the hits which found out a joint in Paul’s armour, but unaware of that Alice went on still more confidently. “You know good blood makes all the difference—you cannot take that from us. People who have ancestors as we have can never be made into nobodies.” At which her brother scoffed and laughed, and bade her remember that old Brown had quite as many grandfathers as they, and was descended from Adam as certainly as the Queen was. “And Harry Fleetwood,” said this defiler of his own nest, “do you call him an example of the excellence of blood?” Poor Alice was inclined to cry when her disreputable cousin was thus thrown in her teeth. She clung to her flag and fought for her caste like a little heroine. But when Paul was gone, she owned to her mother that there was a great deal in what he said. It was very noble as Paul stated it. When he asked with lofty indignation, “What have I done to deserve all I have got? I have taken the trouble to be born,”—Alice felt in her heart that there was no answer to this plea.

“My dear,” Lady Markham said, “think how foolish it all is; does he know better than your papa and all the men that have considered the subject before him?”

“It may be silly,” said Alice, changing her argument, “but it is very different from other young men. They all seem to think the world was made for them; and if Paul is wrong, it is finer than being right like that.”

This was a fanciful plea which moved Lady Markham, and to which she could make no reply. She shook her head and repeated her remark about Paul’s presumption in thinking himself wiser than papa; but she too was affected by the generosity and magnanimity which seemed the leading influences of the creed so warmly adopted by her boy.

This was the state of semi-warfare, not serious enough to have caused real pain, but yet a little disquieting in respect to Paul’s future, when the event occurred which has been recorded in the two last chapters. The ladies saw more of the strange companion whom Paul had brought with him than they generally saw of ordinary visitors. He had no letters to write, nor calls to make, nor private occupations of any kind; neither had he sufficient understanding of the rules of society to know that guests are expected to amuse themselves, and not to oppress with their perpetual presence the ladies of the house. What he wanted, being as it were a traveller in an undiscovered country, was to study the ways of the house, and the women of it, and the manner of their life. And as he was so original as not to know anybody they knew, Lady Markham in her politeness was led to invent all kinds of subjects of conversation, upon which, without exception, Mr. Spears found something to say. He assailed them on all points with the utmost frankness. He sat (on the edge of his chair) and watched Lady Markham at her worsted work, and found fault even with that.

“You spend a great deal of time over it,” he said; “and what do you mean to do with it?”

This was the second evening, and they had become quite accustomed to Spears.

“I am not quite sure, to tell the truth. It is for a cushion—probably I shall put it on that sofa, or it will do for a window-seat somewhere, or——”