BOOK 6 CHAPTER 1
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A Duet in ParadiseTHE well-furnished drawing-room, with the open grand piano and the pleasant outlook down a sloping garden to a boat-house by the side of the Floss, is Mr Deahe little lady in m, whose light brlets are falling over the coloured embroidery with which here fingers are busy, is of course Lucy Deane; and the fine young man who is leaning down from his chair to snap the scissors iremely abbreviated face of the `King Charles lying on the young ladys feet, is no other than Mr Stephe, whose diam, attar of roses, and air of nonchalant leisure at twelve oclo the day are the graceful and odoriferous result of the largest oil-mill and the most extensive wharf in St Oggs. There is an apparent triviality iion with the scissors, but your disment perceives at ohat there is a design in it which makes it emily worthy of a large-headed, long-limbed young man; for you see that Lucy wants the scissors and is pelled, relut as she may be, to shake her ris back, raise her soft hazel eyes, smile playfully down on the face that is so very nearly on a level with her knee, and holding out her little shell-pink palm, to say, `My scissors, please, if you renouhe great pleasure of perseg my poor Minny.
The foolish scissors have slipped too far over the knuckles, it seems, and Hercules holds out his entrapped fingers hopelessly.
`found the scissors! The oval lies the wrong lease, draw them off for me.
`Draw them off with your other hand, says Miss Lucy, roguishly.
`O but thats my left hand: Im not left-handed. Lucy laughs and the scissors are drawn off with geouches from tiny tips, whiaturally dispose Mr Stephen for a repetition da capo. Accly, he watches for the release of the scissors that he may get them into his possession again.
`No, no, said Lucy, stig them in her band, `you shall not have my scissain - you have straihem already. Now do Minny growling again. Sit up and behave properly, and then I will tell you some news.
`What is that? said Stephen, throwing himself bad hanging his right arm over the er of his chair. He might have been sitting for his portrait, which would have represented a rather striking young man of five and twenty, with a square forehead, short dark-brown hair standi with a slight wave at the end like a thick crop of , and a half-ardent, half-sarcastic glance from under his well- marked horizontal eyebrows. `Is it very important news?
`Yes, very. Guess.
`Yoing to ge Minnys diet, and give him three ratafias soaked in a dessertspoonful of cream daily.
`Quite wrong.
`Well, then, Dr Kenn has been preag against buckram, and you ladies have all been sending him a round robin, saying "This is a hard doe; who bear it?"
`For shame! said Lucy, adjusting her little mouth gravely. `It is rather dull of you not<code></code> to guess my news, because it is about something I mentioo you not very long ago.
`But you have mentioned many things to me not long ago. Does your femiyranny require that when you say, the thing you mean is one of several things, I should know it immediately by that mark?
`Yes, I know you think I am silly.
`I think you are perfectly charming.
`And my silliness is part of my charm?
`I didnt say that.
`But I know you like women to be rather insipid. Philip Wakem betrayed you: he said so one day when you were not here.
`O I know Phil is fier that point - he makes it quite a personal matter. I think he must be love-sick for some unknown lady - some exalted Beatrice whom he met abroad.
`By the by! said Lucy, pausing in her work. `It has just occurred to me that I have never found out whether my cousin Maggie will object to see Philip, as her brother does. Tom will er a room where Philip is if he knows it: perhaps Maggie may be the same and then we shant be able to sing lees, shall we?
`What, is your cousin ing to stay with you? said Stephen, with a look of slight annoyance.
`Yes; that was my news, which you have fotten. Shes going to leave her situation, where she has been nearly two years, poor thing - ever since her fathers death, and she will stay with me a month or two - many months, I hope.
`And am I bound to be pleased at that news?
`O no, not at all, said Lucy, with a little air of pique. `I am pleased, but that, of course, is no reason why you should be pleased. There is no girl in the world I love so well as my cousin Maggie.
`And you will be inseparable, I suppose, when she es. There will be no possibility of a tête-à-tête with you any more, unless you find an admirer for her, who will pair off with her occasionally. What is the ground of dislike to Philip? He might have been a resource.
`It is a family quarrel with Philips father. There were very painful circumstances, I believe - I never quite uood them or khem all. My uulliver was unfortunate and lost all his property, and I think he sidered Mr Wakem was somehow the cause of it. Mr Wakem bought Dorlill, my uncles old place, where he always lived. You must remember my uulliver, dont you?
`No, said Stephen, with rather supercilious indifference. `Ive always known the name, and I daresay I khe man by sight, apart from his name. I know half the names and faces in the <bdi></bdi>neighbourhood in that detached, disjointed way.
`He was a very hot-tempered man. I remember, when I was a little girl and used to go to see my cousins, he often frightened me by talking as if he was angry. Papa told me there was a dreadful quarrel the very day before my uncles death, between him an<abbr></abbr>d Mr Wakem, but it was hushed up. That was when you were in London. Papa says my uncle was quite mistaken in many ways - his mind had bee embittered. But Tom and Maggie must naturally feel it very painful to be reminded of these things. They have had so much - so very much trouble. Maggie was at school with me six years ago, when she was fetched away because of her fathers misfortunes, and she has hardly had any pleasure since, I think. She has been in a dreary situation in a school sincles death because she is determio be indepe, and not live with aunt Pullet; and I could hardly wish her to e to me then, because dear mamma was ill and everything was so sad. That is why I wao e to me now, and have a long, long holiday.
`Very sweet and angelic of you, said Stephen, looking at her with an admiring smile, `and all the more so if she has the versational qualities of her mother.
`Poor aunty! You ar<a>９９ｌib?</a>e cruel to ridicule her. She is very valuable to me, I know. She mahe house beautifully - much better than any stranger would. And she was a great fort to me in mammas illness.
`Yes, but in point of panionship, one would prefer that she should be represented by her brandy cherries and cream cakes. I think with a shudder that her daughter will always be present in person, and have no agreeable proxies of that kind - a fat blonde girl, with round blue eyes, who will stare at us silently.
`O yes! exclaimed Lucy, laughing wickedly and clapping her hands, `that is just my cousin Maggie. You must have seen her!
`No, indeed: Im only guessing what Mrs Tullivers daughter must be. And then, if she is to banish Philip, our only apology for a tenor, that will be an additional bore.
`But I hope that may not be. I think I will ask you to call on Philip and tell him Maggie is ing tomorrow. He is quite aware of Toms feeling and always keeps out of his way; so he will uand if you tell him that I asked you to warn him not to e until I write to ask him.
`I think you had better write a pretty note for me to take. Phil is so sensitive, you know the least thing might frighten him off ing at all, and we had hard work to get him. I ever induce him to e to the Park: he doesnt like my sisters, I think. It is only your fa?ry touch that lay his ruffled feathers.
Stephen mastered the little hand that was straying towards the table, and touched it lightly with his lips. Little Lucy felt very proud and happy. She and Stephen were in that stage of courtship which makes the most exquisite moment of youth, the freshest blossom-time of passion - when each is sure of the others love, but no formal declaration has been made and all is mutual divinatioing the most trivial word, the lightest gesture, into thrills delicate and delicious as wafted jasmine st. The expliess of an e wears off this fi edge of susceptibility: it is jasmihered and presented in a large bouquet.
`But it is really odd that you should have hit so exactly on Maggies appearand manners, said the ing Lucy, moving to reach her desk, `because she might have been like her brother, you know; and Tom has not round eyes; and he is as far as possible from staring at people.
`O, I suppose he is like the father - he seems to be as proud as Lucifer. Not a brilliant panion, though, I should think.
`I like Tom. He gave me my Minny when I lost Lolo. And papa is very fond of him - he says Tom has excellent principles. It was through him that his father was able to pay all his debts before he died.
`Oh, ah, Ive heard about that; I heard your father and mialking about it a little while ago, afte<mark>?９9lib?</mark>r dinner, in one of their interminable discussions about business. They think of doing something for young Tulliver - he saved them from a siderable loss by riding home in some marvellous way, like Turpin, t them news about the stoppage of a bank or something of that sort. But I was rather drowsy at the time.
Stephen rose from his seat, and sauo the piano, humming in falsetto, `Graceful sort, as he turned over the volume of `The Creation, which stood open on the desk.
`e and sing this, he said, when he saw Lucy rising.
`What, "Graceful sort"? I dont think it suits your voice.
`Never mind; it exactly suits my feeling, which, Philip will have it, is the grand element of good singing. I notice men with indifferent voices are usually of that opinion.
`Philip burst into one of his iives against "The Creation" the other day, said Lucy, seating herself at the piano. `He says it has a sort of sugared plad flattering make-believe in it, as if it were written for the birthday fête of a German Grand Duke.
`O pooh! He is the fallen Adam with a soured temper. We are Adam and Eve unfallen - in paradise. Now, then - the recitative, for the sake of the moral. You will sing the whole duty of woman - "And from obedience grows my pride and happiness."
`O no, I shall not respe Adam whs the tempo, as you will, said Lucy, beginning to play the duet.
Surely the only courtship unshaken by doubts and fears must be that in which the lovers sing together. The sense of mutual fithat springs from the two deep notes fulfilling expectation just at the right momeweees of the silvery soprano, from the perfect accord of desding thirds and fifths, from the precerted loving chase of a fugue, is likely enough to supersede any immediate demand for less impassioned forms of agreement. The tralto will not care to catechise the bass; the tenor will foresee no embarrassih of remark in evenings spent with the lovely soprano. In the provioo, where music was so scar that remote time, how could the musical people avoid falling in love with each other? Even political principle must have been in danger of relaxation under such circumstances; and a violin faithful to rotten bhs must have beeed to fraternise in a demoralising way with a ref violoncello. In this case, the lihroated soprano, and the full-toned bass, singing,
`With thee delight is every new, With thee is life incessant bliss,
believed what they sang all the more because they sang it.
`Now for Raphaels great song, said Lucy, when they had fihe duet. `You do the "heavy beasts" to perfe.
`That sounds plimentary, said Stephen, looking at his watch. `By Jove, its nearly half-past one. Well, I just sing this.
Stephen delivered with admirable ease the deep notes representing the tread of the heavy beasts: - but when a singer has an audience of two, there is room for divided ses. Minnys mistress was charmed, but Minny, who had intrenched himself, trembling, in his basket as soon as the music began, found this thunder so little to his taste that he leaped out and scampered uhe remotest chiffonnière, as the most eligible pla which a small dog could await the crack of doom.
`Adieu, "graceful sort," said Stephen, buttoning his coat across when he had done singing, and smiling down from his tall height, with the air of rather a patronising lover to the little lady on the music-stool. `My bliss is not incessant, for I must gallop home. I promised to be there at lunch.
`You will not be able to call on Philip, then? It is of no sequence: I have said everything in my note.
`You will be engaged with your cousin tomorrow, I suppose?
`Yes, we are going to have a little family party. My cousin Tom will dih us, and poor aunty will have her two children together for the first time. It will be very pretty - I think a great deal about it.
`But I may e the day?
`O yes! e aroduced to my cousin Maggie - though you hardly be said not to have seen her, - you have described her so well.
`Good-by, then. And there was that slight pressure of the hands and momentary meeting of the eyes, which will often leave a little lady with a slight flush and smile on her face that do not subside immediately when the door is closed, and with an ination to walk up and down the room rather than to seat herself quietly at her embroidery, or other rational and improving occupation. At least this was the effe Lucy; and you will not, I hope, sider it an indication of vanity predominating over more tender impulses, that she just glanced in the ey glass as her walk brought her near it. The desire to know that one has not looked an absolute fright during a few hours of versation may be strued as lying within the bounds of a laudable benevolent sideration for others. And Lucy had so much of this benevolen her nature that I am ined to think her small egoisms were impregnated with it, just as there are people not altogether unknown to you, whose small benevolences have a predominant and somewhat rank odour of egoism. Even now, that she is walking up and down with a little triumphant flutter of her girlish heart at the sehat she is loved by the person of chief sequen her small world, you may see in her hazel eyes an ever present sunny benignity in which the momentary harmless flashes of personal vanity are quite lost, and if she is happy in thinking of her lover it is because the thought of him mingles readily with all the gentle affes and goodnatured offices with which she fills her peaceful days. Even now, her mind, with that instantaneous alternation which makes two currents of feeling or imagination seem simultaneous, is glang tinually from Stephen to the preparations she has only half finished in Maggies room. Cousin Maggie shall be treated as well as the gra lady visitor - nay, better, for she shall have Lucys best prints and drawings in her bedroom, and the very fi bouquet of spring flowers oable. Maggie would enjoy all that - she was so fond of pretty things! And there oor aunt Tulliver, that no one made any at of - she was to be surprised with the present of a cap of superlative quality, and to have her health drunk in a gratifying manner, for which Lucy was going to lay a plot with her father this evening. Clearly, she had not time to indulge in long reveries about her oy love-affairs! With this thought she walked towards the door, but paused there.
`Whats the matter, then, Minny? she said, stooping in ao some whimpering of that small quadruped, and lifting his glossy head against her pink cheek. `Did you think I was going without you? e, the us go and see Sindbad.
Sindbad was Lucys chestnut horse, that she always fed with her own hand when he was turned out in the paddock. She was fond of feeding depe creatures, and khe private tastes of all the animals about the house, delighting itle rippling sounds of her aries when their beaks were busy with fresh seed, and in the small nibbling pleasures of certain animals which, lest she should appear too trivial, I will here call the more familiar rodents.
Was not Stephe right in his decided opinion that this slim maiden of eighteen was quite the sort of wife a man would not be likely to repent of marrying? - a woman who was loving and thoughtful for other women, not giving them Judas-kisses with eyes askan their wele defects, but with real care and vision for their half-hidden pains and mortifications, with long ruminating enjoyment of little pleasures prepared for them? Perhaps the emphasis of his admiration did not fall precisely on this rarest quality in her - perhaps he approved his own choice of her chiefly because she did not strike him as a remarkable rarity. A man likes his wife to be pretty: well, Lucy retty, but not to a maddenient. A man likes his wife to be aplished, gentle, affeate and not stupid; and Lucy had all these qualifications. Stephen was not surprised to find himself in love with her, and was scious of excellent judgment in preferrio Miss Leyburn, the daughter of the ty member, although Lucy was only the daughter of his fathers subordinate partner; besides, he had had to defy and overe a slight unwillingness and disappoi in his father and sisters - a circumstance which gives a young man an agreeable sciousness of his own dignity. Stephen was aware that he had sense and independenough to choose the wife who was likely to make him happy, unbiassed by any i siderations. He meant to choose Lucy: she was a little darling, aly the sort of woman he had always most admired.
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