“Why not I? You are thinking of this business about—my wife. That was no reason why you should turn from me. Innocent, be wise in time, and give this man up.”
He did not remember that she too had suggested to him to give up his marriage, with more simplicity, but not less unreasonableness. She shook her head half-sadly, half-smiling. She had no wish to marry Sir Alexis. The thought, indeed, filled her with vague alarm when it occurred to her. But he had taken her burden on his shoulders,—he had promised to set it right. And Innocent, not asking any questions, had been able to believe him. Such help no one else in the world had offered her. It seemed the only thing she understood or cared for in her life.
Thus the time stole away,—the interval between this rapid settlement of affairs and the marriage-day, which was so strangely unlike other marriage-days. Innocent had her trousseau prepared like other brides, and The Elms was full of the excitement of the preparations. I am not even sure, notwithstanding all the circumstances involved which tempered the pleasure, that Mrs. Eastwood and Nelly did not derive a certain enjoyment from choosing her dresses, and buying her “things,” and deciding how this and that was to be made. She was passive herself, and took little interest in what was going on, but she was a very patient lay figure in their hands, suffering draperies of all sorts to be tried upon her, without active rebellion. The other ladies had the satisfaction of artists in dressing Innocent. She had never been “dressed” before, and to get her up as Lady Longueville ought to be got up, was a delightful exercise of skill and ingenuity. Men, no doubt, have other solacements of a like character,—but one requires to be a woman to understand the genuine, simple, and natural pleasures which Nelly Eastwood, though her heart was sore, and her mind full of a thousand anxieties, got out of her cousin’s trousseau. To try how one thing after another would look upon Innocent, to see which shade, which fashion would become her best, to fit her out, in short, for her new position, according to their own ideal of what that position was, amused the mother and daughter as few other things could have done, and distracted them from their own cares. If you despise Mrs. Eastwood and Nelly for this, my dear reader, I do not agree with you. The marriage itself was one in which they had no responsibility. They had not been consulted in it—it was Innocent’s own doing,—and considering all the circumstances, and the peculiarity of Innocent’s character, it was, to Mrs. Eastwood at least, as she said, “a matter of great thankfulness,” that Innocent had selected for herself so efficient a protector, so kind a guardian as Sir Alexis. “He will give her everything that this world can give,” Mrs. Eastwood said, addressing an indignation meeting of her own two younger boys which had been hastily convened on the occasion. “He is very fond of her, and will consider her happiness in everything. He is an old friend of the family, and it need not trouble us to know that he is acquainted with all our circumstances.” This last remark was intended for Frederick, who stood sullenly at the window, turning his back upon the others, with his figure relieved against the light.
“Our circumstances?” said Jenny. “Is there anything in our circumstances that may not be known to all the world?”
“That is all very well, mother,” cried Dick, who was less observant, “but I don’t know how you can make up your mind to give Innocent to an old fogie like Longueville. He looks a hundred and fifty. He has old ways of thinking, old habits; in short, he is an old fogie, neither more nor less, and she is eighteen. It is the sort of thing one reads of in novels. Such things don’t happen in real life——”
“My dear boy—” began Mrs. Eastwood.
“At least they oughtn’t to,” said Dick, “and as for its being Innocent’s own choice, what does she know about it? She has been talked over. She has been seduced by all that trash of dresses and finery—-”
Dick had spent half the precious morning helping to decide between a blue silk and a green one, and he was naturally wrathful (after it was over) at that loss of his valuable time.
“Innocent doesn’t care for that sort of thing,” said Jenny. “Has some one been hard upon her? has some one worried her? I don’t know what my mother means about our circumstances. I thought Innocent was to get the same as the rest of us. She may have my share, if that will keep her from marrying old Longueville. I don’t see why she should want to marry any one;—I don’t.”
“How can I explain it to you?” said poor Mrs. Eastwood; “a girl is not like a young man. If anything was to happen to me, what would become of Innocent?—who would take care of her? You, or you? Dick, who is going to India, or Jenny who has his own way to make in the world,—or Nelly? Nelly will have some one else to consult——”