"Why, how one weeps
When one's too weary! Were a witness by,
He'd say some folly—"
So the bill went on. And the season too. Winter merged into spring; the change of temperature reminded Eleanor of the changing face of the earth out of London; and even in London the parks gave testimony of it. She longed for Wiglands and the Lodge; but there was no token of the family's going home at present. Parliament was in session; Mr. Carlisle was busy there every night almost; which did not in the least hinder his being busied with Eleanor as well. Where she and her mother went, for the most part he went; and at home he was very much at home indeed. Eleanor began to feel that the motions of the family depended on him; for she could find no sufficient explanation in her father's health or her mother's pleasure for their continued remaining in town. The Squire was much as he had been all winter; attended now and then by a physician, and out of health and spirits certainly; yet Eleanor could not help thinking he would be better at home, and somewhat suspected her father thought so. Mrs. Powle enjoyed London, no doubt; still, she was not a woman to run mad after pleasure, or after anything else; not so much but that the pleasure of her husband would have outweighed hers. Nevertheless, both the Squire and she were as quietly fixed in London, to judge by all appearance, as if they had no other place to go to; and the rising of parliament was sometimes hinted at as giving the only clue to the probable time of their departure.
Did you ever lay brands together on a hearth, brands with little life in them too, seemingly; when with no breath blown or stirring of air to fan them, gradually, by mere action and reaction upon each other, the cold grey ends began to sparkle and glow, till by and by the fire burst forth and flame sprang up? Circumstances may be laid together so, and with like effect.
Everything went on in a train at the house in Cadogan Square; nobody changed his attitude or behaviour with respect to the others, except as by that most insensible, unnoticeable, quiet action of elements at work; yet the time came when Eleanor began to feel that things were drawing towards a crisis. Her place was becoming uncomfortable. She could not tell how, she did not know when it began, but a change in the home atmosphere became sensible to her. It was growing to be oppressive. Mother, father, and friends seemed by concert to say that she was Mr. Carlisle's; and the gentleman himself began to look it, Eleanor thought, though he did not say it. A little tacit allowance of this mute language of assignment, and either her truth would be forfeited or her freedom. She must make a decided protest. Yet also Eleanor felt that quality in the moral atmosphere which threatened that if any clouds came up they would be stormy clouds; and she dreaded to make any move. Julia's society would have been a great solace now; when she never could have it. Julia comforted her, whenever they were together in company or met for a moment alone, by her energetic whisper—"I remember, Eleanor!—" but that was all. Eleanor could get no further speech of her. At the Ragged school Mr. Carlisle was pretty sure to be, and generally attended her home. Eleanor remonstrated with her mother, and got a sharp answer, that it was only thanks to Mr. Carlisle she went there at all; if it were not for him Mrs. Powle certainly would put a stop to it. Eleanor pondered very earnestly the question of putting a stop to it herself; but it was at Mr. Carlisle's own risk; the poor boys in the school wanted her ministrations; and the "bill" was in process of preparation. Eleanor's heart was set on that bill, and her help she knew was greatly needed in its construction; she could not bear to give it up. So she let matters take their course; and talked reform diligently to Mr. Carlisle all the time they were driving from West-Smithfield home.
At last to Eleanor's joy, the important paper was drawn up according to her mind. It satisfied her. And it was brought to a reading in the House and ordered to be printed. So much was gained. The very next day Mr. Carlisle came to ask Eleanor to drive out with him to Richmond, which she had never seen. Eleanor coolly declined. He pressed the charms of the place, and of the country at that season. Eleanor with the same coolness of manner replied that she hoped soon to enjoy the country at home; and that she could not go to Richmond. Mr. Carlisle withdrew his plea, sat and talked some time, making himself very agreeable, though Eleanor could not quite enjoy his agreeableness that morning; and went away. He had given no sign of understanding her or of being rebuffed; and she was not satisfied. The next morning early her mother came to her.
"Eleanor, what do you say to a visit to Hampton Court to-day?"
"Who is going, mamma?"
"Half the world, I suppose—there or somewhere else—such a day; but with you, your friend in parliament."
"I have several friends in parliament."
"Pshaw, Eleanor! you know I mean Mr. Carlisle. You had better dress immediately, for he will be here for you early. He wants to have the whole day. Put on that green silk which becomes you so well. How it does, I don't know; for you are not blonde; but you look as handsome as a fairy queen in it. Come, Eleanor!"