Come, drop that stone. You know I’m a species. Every woman knows I am a species. No need to quote bacchanalian lyrics, to mangle Moore, or steal from Morris, to prove that a man may be fond of one and flirt with many. But since the testimonies of the great are always valuable, hear musical Prior sing:
“So when I am wearied with wandering all day,
To thee, my delight, in the evening I come.
No matter what beauties I saw in my way,
They were but my visits, but thou art my home!”
Theresa gained upon me every day. Fresh characteristics were for ever cropping up to charm me with new aspects of her nature. She was hearty, genuine, cheerful; piquant with candour, amusing with originality. Moreover, I found my admiration of her fine face and figure increase in proportion as I grew familiar with them. The longer Conny remained silent the more powerful became my regard for her cousin. I pictured that fair-haired girl devoted—to Curling; and jealousy stung me, and turned me to Theresa, and obliged me to think of her.
And how did Theresa treat me? Amiably. Her behaviour admitted no other construction. But of one thing I was sure; had she suspected the very doubtful feelings that made my mind wave to and fro like a Brahmin swinging at a holy festival, she would have chilled me into a very decorous and distant reserve. Pride she had in abundance. It peeped out in all directions. But it did not affect her behaviour to me; simply because she believed me heart and soul devoted to Conny; and attributed any effervescing manner of mine to the most cousinly impulses, and the most laudable anxiety to be thought amiable.
I had been now ten days at my uncle’s. He had begged me in his hearty, hospitable manner to stop the fortnight, and I had consented.
There had been a time during those ten days when I was eager for nothing but to return to Updown. But Conny’s silence had made me rebellious. I have indicated some of the thoughts that upset me. Since she wouldn’t write to me, what right had she to expect me to show any great desire to see her? I said to myself: “She ought to understand that I am not to be trifled with. My feelings are not to be trampled upon. If she really cares about me, my prolonged absence will chafe her; and an irritant may serve to excite her languid emotion into a good, sturdy passion. She will conclude that I have found something very fascinating in Theresa; thus, by reasoning herself into a jealous mood, she will be taught that she loves; my behaviour shall attest my sincerity, and the rest shall be lost in the murmurs of the marriage-service.”
However, I should be untruthful to pretend that my resolution to stop a fortnight at Thistlewood was entirely owing to my desire to pique Conny.