"O, Cousin Sophy! you have no idea what a lovely old lady I found there." Not even the curl that distorted Miss Sophy's lip just then prevented her from going on.
"She looks as I should imagine an angel might,—I always thought if I made pictures of angels they should be dear old grandmas, and not girls. Her hair is like fine white silk, and waves beautifully. Her eyes are hazel, and they are not old eyes a bit—they are bright and clear. She wore a dove-colored dress, and a soft white mull handkerchief about her neck. And do you know, she is Mrs. Agnew's mother; you remember we saw, Mr. Agnew's death in the paper a few months ago."
This last piece of information had the desired effect, for mother and daughter indulged in a bit of gossip concerning it, but Miss Sophy presently returned to the charge.
"It is perfectly incomprehensible," she went on, "what you find in a company of poverty-stricken old women to interest you. But then, your mother always had just such tastes; never so happy as when she was poking about in some alley or hovel, among miserable people."
If the light had not faded, Cousin Sophy might have seen Esther's cheek pale and flush, and her lips press closely together to keep herself from saying what she should not. But she did not see it; she went on and on in an exasperating manner. Her mother added a word occasionally by way of endorsement and emphasis, and poor Esther had the grace to keep silence, half-wishing that she were an old woman, too, so that she could live where Mrs. Lyman did.
In her uncle's luxurious home there was everything to make life desirable—everything but love and peace. When either mother or daughter was in ill humor Esther was the escape valve. They lectured her on behavior, dress, and the Christian virtues. They criticised all she said and did and thought, and judged her without mercy.
During the last few months, however, it had begun to dawn upon them that the girl was grown up, and possessed decided tastes and opinions of her own. She was becoming a person of more importance, too, because of very pointed attentions bestowed upon her by Mr. Clifford Langdon. He was the son of one of the oldest families—handsome, agreeable, literary, rich. If they sought the world over, where could be found a more desirable husband for Esther? He might have captivated the girl's fancy, perhaps, if she had not heard her aunt and cousin ring the changes on his name until she almost wearied of it. In their eyes he was a paragon. They exhorted her to do this, and not to do that, as Mr. Langdon had very fastidious tastes, and they openly expressed their astonishment that so incomparable a person should do her the honor to notice her.
All this naturally had the effect of causing a girl like Esther to avoid him and to declare that it was a matter of indifference to her what Mr. Langdon thought. She wished for no more critics.
That gentleman was as much in love with Esther as he ever could be with anybody besides himself. Since first he had been conscious of existence, he had never forgotten himself long enough to be absorbed in anything or anybody. His own pleasure was the chief end of his life. Yet he had no vices; his narrow, cold nature did not tempt him in the direction that larger natures are tempted. The world called him a fine, moral young man. They did not know he was selfish, domineering and conceited; his nearest friends would scarcely admit it to themselves. He enjoyed ruling over anything; he took pleasure in his many pets when a boy, chiefly for the sake of training and ordering about a parrot, or dog, or pony; and a tyrannical master he made. As a man, he retained the characteristic. At this time he had just returned from a four years' course of study in Europe, his education completed, and his self-conceit intolerable. He felt competent to sit in judgment upon the creations of genius in art and literature or in anything under the sun, as well as to direct, advise, suggest and control the mental food of all the young ladies of his acquaintance. He at once became an oracle among them. The book he approved was largely read, and the book he condemned was shunned. Whoever differed in opinion from him he considered devoid of fine taste. Solomon must have had this young man in mind when he wrote, "Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit, there is more hope of a fool than of him."
When Mr. Langdon met Esther, he pronounced her a "fine creature," and declared he would like the training of her, much as he would have spoken of Frisk, his black colt. He was not aware that he needed to be put in training himself and taught by Mr. Ruskin how to reverence womanhood.