CHAPTER 6
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Illustrating the Laws of AttraIT is evident to you now, that Maggie had arrived at a moment in her life which must be sidered by all prudent persons as a great opportunity for a young woman. Launched into the higher society of St Oggs, with a striking person which had the advantage of being quite unfamiliar to the majority of beholders, and with such moderate assistance of e as you have seen foreshadowed in Lucys anxious colloquy with aunt Pullet, Maggie was certainly at a arting-point in life. At Lucys first evening party, young Torry fatigued his facial muscles more than usual in order that `the dark-eyed girl there, in the er, might see him in all the additional style ferred by his eye-glass; and several young ladies went home intending to have short sleeves with black lad to plait their hair in a broad et at the back of their head - `That cousin of Miss Deanes looked so very well. In faaggie, with all her inward sciousness of a painful past and her prese of a troublesome future, was on the way to bee an object of some envy - a topic of discussion in the newly-established billiard-room, aween fair friends who had s from each other on the subject of trimmings. The Miss Guests, who associated chiefly on terms of dession with the families of St Oggs, ahe glass of fashion there, took some exception to Maggies manners. She had a way of not assenting at oo the observations current in good society and of saying that she didnt know whether those observatiorue or not which gave her an air of gaucherie and impeded the even flow of versation; but it is a fact capable of an amiable interpretation that ladies are not the worse disposed towards a new acquaintance of their own sex because she has points of inferiority. And Maggie was so entirely without those pretty airs of coquetry which have the traditional reputation of drivilemen to despair, that she won some femiy for being so iive in spite of her beaty. She had not had many advantages, poor thing! and it must be admitted there was no pretension about her: her abruptness and unevenness of manner were plainly the result of her secluded and lowly circumstances. It was only a wohat there was no tinge of vulgarity about her, sidering what the rest of poor Lucys relations were: an allusion which always made the Miss Guests shudder a little. It was not agreeable to think of any e by marriage with such people as the Gleggs and the Pullets; but it was of no use to tradict Stephen, when once he had set his mind on anything, aainly there was no possible obje to Lu herself - no one could help liking her. She would naturally desire that the Miss Guests should behave kindly to this cousin of whom she was so fond, and Stephen would make a great fuss if they were defit in civility. Uhese circumstahe invitations to Park House were not wanting, and elsewhere also, Miss Deane was too po<figure></figure>pular and too distinguished a member of society in St Oggs for any attention towards her to be ed.
Thus Maggie was introduced for the first time to the young ladys life, and knew what it was to get up in the m without any imperative reason for doing ohing more than ahis new sense of leisure and unchecked enjoyment amidst the soft-breathing airs and gardes of advang Spring, amidst the new abundanusid lingering strolls in the sunshine and delicious dreaminess of gliding on the river, could hardly be without some intoxig effe her after her years of privation; and even in the first week Maggie began to be less haunted by her sad memories and anticipations. Life was certainly very pleasant just now: it was being very pleasant to dress in the evening and to feel that she was one of the beautiful things of this spring time. And there were admiring eyes always awaiting her now; she was no longer an unheeded person, liable to be chid, from whom attention was tinually claimed, and on whom no o bound to fer any. It leasant, too, when Stephen and Lucy were go riding, to sit down at the piano alone, and find that the old fitness between her fingers and the keys remained and revived, like a sympathetiship not to be worn out by separation - to get the tunes she had heard the evening before a them again and again until she had found out a way of produg them so as to make them a more pregnant, passionate language to her. The mere cord of octaves was a delight to Maggie, and she would often take up a book of Studies rather than any melody, that she might taste more keenly by abstra the more primitive sensation of intervals. Not that her enjoyment of music was of the kind that indicates a great specific talent: it was rather that her sensibility to the supreme excitement of music was only one form of that passionate sensibility which beloo her whole nature and made her faults and virtues all merge in each other - made her affe sometimes an angry demand, but also prevented her vanity from taking the form of mere feminine coquetry and device, and gave it the poetry of ambition. But you have known Maggie a long while, ao be told, not her characteristics, but her history, which is hardly to be predicted eve<s>九九藏书</s>n from the pletest knowledge of characteristics. For the tragedy of our lives is not created entirely from within. `Character - says Novalis, in one of his questionable aphorisms - `character is destiny. But not the whole of our destiny. Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, eculative and irresolute, and we have a great tragedy in sequence. But if his father had lived to a good old age, and his uncle had died an early death, we ceive Hamlets having married Ophelia and got through life with a reputation of sanity notwithstanding many soliloquies, and some moody sarcasms towards the fair daughter of Polonius, to say nothing of the fra incivility to his father-in-law.
Maggies destiny, then, is at present hidden, and we must wait for it to reveal itself like the course of an unmapped river: we only know that the river is full and rapid, and that for all rivers there is the same final home. Uhe charm of her new pleasures, Maggie herself was ceasing to think, with her eager prefiguring imagination, of her future lot, and her ay about her first interview with Philip was losing its predominance: perhaps, unsciously to herself, she was not sorry that the interview had been deferred.
For Philip had not e the evening he was expected, and Mr Stephe brought word that he was goo the coast - probably, he thought, on a sketg expedition; but it was not certain when he would return. It was just like Philip - to go off in that way without telling any o was not until the twelfth day that he returo find both Luotes awaiting him: he had left before he knew of Maggies arrival.
Perhaps one had o be een again to be quite vinced of the feelings that were crowded fgie into those twelve days - of the length to which they were stretched for her by the y of her experien them and the varying attitudes of her mind. The early days of an acquaintance almost always have this importance for us, and fill up a larger spa our memory than longer subsequent periods which have been less filled with discovery and new impressions. There were not many hours in those ten days in which Mr Stephe was not seated by Lucys side, or standing near her at the piano, or apanying her on some out-door excursion: his attentions were clearly being more assiduous, and that was what every one had expected. Lucy was very happy - all the happier because Stephens society seemed to have beuch more iing and amusing since Maggie had been there. Playful discussions - sometimes serious ones - where going forward, in which both Stephen and Maggie revealed themselves, to the admiration of the gentle unobtrusive Lucy; and it more than once crossed her mind what a charming quartet they should have through life when Maggie married Philip. Is it an inexplicable thing that a girl should enjoy her lovers society the more for the presence of a third person, ahout the slightest spasm of jealousy that the third person had the versation habitually directed to her? Not when that girl is as tranquil-hearted as Lucy, thhly possessed with a belief that she knows the state of her panions affes, and not proo the feelings which shake such a belief in the absence of positive evidence against it. Besides, it was Lucy by whom Stephen sate, to whom he gave his arm, to whom he appealed as the person sure to agree with him; and every day there was the same tender politeowards her, the same sciousness of her wants and care to supply them. Was there really the same? - it seemed to Lucy that there was more, and it was no wohat the real significe of the ge escaped her. It was a subtle act of s Stephen, that even he himself was not aware of. His personal attentions to Maggie were paratively slight, and there had even sprung up an apparent distaweehat prevehe renewal of that faint resemblao gallantry into which he had fallen the first day, in the boat. If Stephen came in when Lucy was out of the room - if Lucy left them together, they never spoke to each other: Stephen, perhaps, seemed to be examining books or musid Maggie bent her head assiduously over her work. Each pressively scious of the others presence, even to the finger-ends. Yet each looked and longed for the same thing to happen the day. her of them had begun to refle the matter, or silently to ask, `To what does all this tend? Maggie only felt that life was revealing something quite o her, and she was absorbed in the direct, immediate experiehout any energy left for taking at of it, and reasoning about it. Stephen wilfully abstained from self-questioning, and would not admit to himself that he felt an influence which was to have aermining effe his duct. And when Lucy came into the room again, they were once more unstrained: Maggie could tradict Stephen and laugh at him, and he could reend to her sideration the example of that most charming heroine, Miss Sophia Western, who had a great `respect for the uandings of men. Maggie could<samp>.99lib.</samp> look at Stephen - which for some reason or other, she always avoided when they were alone, and he could even ask her to play his apa for him, since Lucys fingers were so busy with that bazaar-work; aure her on hurrying the tempo, which was certainly Maggies oint.
One day - it was the day of Philips return - Lucy had formed a sudden e to spend the evening with Mrs Kenn, whose delicate state of health, threatening to bee firmed illhrough an attack of bronchitis, obliged her tn her funs at the ing bazaar into the hands of other ladies, of whom she wished Lucy to be ohe e had been formed in Stephens presence, and he had heard Lucy promise to rise early and call at six ocloiss Torry, whht Mrs Kenns request.
`Here is another of the moral results of this idiotic bazaar, Stephen burst forth, as soon as Miss Torry had left the room - `taking young ladies from the duties of the domestic hearth into ses of dissipation among urn-rugs and embroidered reticules! I should like to know what is the proper fun of women if it is not to make reasons for husbands to stay at home and still stronger reasons for bachelors to <kbd>9９ｌiｂ?</kbd>go out. If this goes on much lohe bounds of society will be dissolved.
`Well, it will not go on much longer, said Lucy, laughing, `for the bazaar is to take plaonday week.
`Thank heaven! said Stephen. `Kenn himself said the other day, that he didnt like this plan of making vanity do the work of charity; but just as the British public is not reasonable enough to bear direct taxation, so St Oggs has not got forotive enough to build and endow schools without calling in the force of folly.
`Did he say so? said little Lucy, her hazel eyes opening wide with ay. `I never heard him say anything of that kind - I thought he approved of what we were doing.
`Im sure he appoves you, said Stephen, smiling at her affeately; `your du going out to-night looks vicious, I own, but I know there is benevole the bottom of it.
`O, you think too well of me, said Lucy, shaking her head, with a pretty blush. And there the subjeded. But it was tacitly uood that Stephen would not e in the evening, and orength of that tacit uanding he made his m visit the longer, not saying good-by until after four.
Maggie was seated in the drawing-room alone, shortly after dinner, with Minny on her lap, havi her uo his wine and his nap, and her mother to the promise between knitting and nodding which, when there was no pany, she always carried on in the dining-room till tea-time. Maggie was stooping to caress the tiny silke, and f him for his mistresss absence, when the sound of a footstep on the gravel made her look up and she saw Mr Stephe walking up the garden as if he had e straight from the river. It was very unusual to see him so soon after dinner! He often plaihat their dinner-hour was late at Park House. heless, there he was, in his black dress: he had evidently been home, and must have e again by the river. Maggie felt her cheeks glowing and her heart beating: it was natural she should be so nervous, for she was not aced to receive visitors alone. He had seen her look up through the open window, and raised his hat as he walked towards it, to ehat way instead of by the door. He blushed too, aainly looked as foolish as a young man of some wit and self-possession be expected to look, as he walked in with a roll of musi his hand, and said with an air of hesitating improvisation,
`You are surprised to see me again, Miss Tulliver - I ought to apologise for ing upon you by surprise, but I wao e into the town, and I got our man to row me, so I thought I would bring these things from the "Maid of Artois" for your cousin. I fot them this m. Will you give them to her?
`Yes, said Maggie, who had risen fusedly with Minny in her arms, and now, not quite knowing what to do, sat down again.
Stephen laid down his hat, with the music, which rolled on the floor, and sat down in the chair close by her. He had never done so before, and both he and Maggie were quite aware that it was airely new position.
`Well, you pampered minion! said Stephen, leaning to pull the long curly ears that drooped gies arm. It was not a suggestive remark, and as the speaker did not follow it up by further development, it naturally left the versation at a stand-still. It seemed to Stephen like some a in a dream that he was obliged to do, and wo himself all the while - to go on stroking Minnys head. Yet it was very pleasant: he only wished he dared l<bdi>?９９ｌib?</bdi>ook at Maggie, and that she would look at him, - let him have one long look into those deep strange eyes of hers and then he would be satisfied and quite reasoer that. He thought it was being a sort of monomania with him, to want that long look from Maggie, and he was rag his iion tinually to find out some means by which he could have it without its appearing singular aailing subsequent embarrassment. As fgie she had no distinct thought - only the sense of a presence like that of a closely-h broad-winged bird in the darkness, for she was uo look up and saw nothing but Minnys back wavy coat.
But this must end some time - perhaps it ended very soon, and only seemed long, as a minutes dream does. Stephen at last sat upright, sideways in his chair, leaning one hand and arm over the bad looking at Maggie. What should he say?
`We shall have a splendid su, I think. Shant you go out a?
`I dont know, said Maggie. Then, ceously raising her eyes and looking out of the window, `If Im not playing cribbage with my uncle.
A pause: during which Minny is stroked again, but has suffit insight not to be grateful for it - to growl rather.
`Do you like sitting alone?
A rather arch look came gies face, and just glang at Stephen, she said, `Would it be quite civil to say "yes"?
`It was rather a dangerous question for an intruder to ask, said Stephen, delighted with that glance, aiermio stay for another. `But you will have more than half an hour to yourself after I am gone, he added, taking out his watch. `I know Mr Deane never es in till half-past seven.
Another pause: during which Maggie looked steadily out of the window, till by a great effort she moved her head to look down at Minnys back again, and said,
`I wish Lucy had not been obliged to go out. We lose our music.
`We shall have a new voiorrow night, said Stephen. `Will you tell your cousin that your friend Philip Wakem is e back? I saw him as I went home.
Maggie gave a little start - it seemed hardly more than a vibration that passed from head to foot in an instant. But the new images summoned by Philips name, dispersed half the oppressive spell she had been under. She rose from her chair with a sudden resolution, and laying Minny on his cushioo reach Lucys large work-basket from its er. Stephen was vexed and disappointed: he thought, perhaps Maggie didnt like the name of Wakem to be mentioo her in that abrupt way - for he now recalled what Lucy had told him of the family quarrel. It was of no use to stay any longer. Maggie was seating herself at the table with her work and looking chill and proud; and he - he looked like a simpleton for having e. A gratuitous, entirely superfluous visit of that sort was sure to make a man disagreeable and ridiculous. Of course it alpable to Maggies thinking that he had dined hastily in his own room for the sake of setting off again and finding her alone.
A boyish state of mind of an aplished youleman of five and twenty, not without legal knowledge! But a refereo history, perhaps, may make it not incredible.
At this moment Maggies ball of knitting-wool rolled along the ground and she started up to reach it. Stephen rose too, and, pig up the ball, met her with a vexed plaining look that gave his eyes quite a new expression to Maggie, whose own eyes met them as he presehe ball to her.
`Good-by, said Stephen, in a tohat had the same beseeg distent as his eyes. He dared not put out his hand - he thrust both hands into his tail pockets as he spoke. Maggie thought she had perhaps been rude.
`Wont you stay? she said timidly, not looking away - for that would have seemed rude again.
`No, thank you, said Stephen, looking still into the half-unwilling, half-fasated eyes, as a thirsty man looks towards the track of the distant brook. `The boat is waiting for me,... Youll tell your cousin.
`Yes.
`That I brought the music, I mean.
`Yes.
`And that Philip is e back.
`Yes. (Maggie did not notice Philips his time.)
`Wont you e out a little way into the garden? said Stephen, in a still geone, but the moment he was vexed that she did not say `No, for she moved away now towards the open window, and he was obliged to take his hat and walk by her side. But he thought of something to make him amends.
`Do take my arm, he said, in a low tone, as if it were a secret.
There is something strangely winning to most women in that offer of the firm arm: the help is not wanted physically at that moment, but the sense of help - the presence of strength that is outside them aheirs, meets a tinual want of the imaginatioher on that ground or some other, Maggie took the arm. And they walked together round the grassplot and uhe drooping green of the laburnums, in the same dim dreamy state as they had been in a quarter of an hour before; only that Stephen had had the look he longed for, without yet perceiving in himself the symptoms of returning reasonableness, and Maggie had darting thoughts across the dimness: - how came she to be there? - why had she e out? Not a word oken. If it had been, each would have been less intensely scious of the other.
`Take care of this step, said Stephen, at last.
`O, I will go in now, said Maggie, feeling that the step had e like a rescue. `Good evening.
In an instant she had withdrawn her arm, and was running back to the house. She did not reflect that this sudden a would only add to the embarrassing recolles of the last half-hour - she had no thought left for that. She only threw herself into the low armchair, and burst into tears.
`O Philip, Philip, I wish we were together again - so quietly - in the Red Deeps.
Stephen looked after her a moment, the on to the boat, and was soon la the Wharf. He spent the evening in the billiard-room, smoking one cigar after another, and losing lives at pool. But he would not leave off. He was determined not to think - not to admit any more distinct remembrahan was urged upon him by the perpetual presenaggie. He was looking at her and she was on his arm.
But there came the y of walking home in the cool starlight: and with it the y of cursing his own folly, and bitterly determining that he would rust himself aloh Maggie again. It was all madness: he was in love, thhly attached to Lucy, and engaged - engaged as strongly as an honourable man need be. He wished he had never seen this Maggie Tulliver, to be thrown into a fever by her in this way: she would make a sweet, straroublesome, adorable wife to some man or other - but he would never have chosen her himself. Did she feel as he did? He hoped she did - not. He ought not to have gone. He would master himself in future. He would make himself disagreeable to her - quarrel with her perhaps. - Quarrel with her? Was it possible to quarrel with a creature who had such eyes - defying and depreg, tradig and ging, imperious and beseeg - full of delicious opposites. To see such a creature subdued by love for one would be a lot worth having - to another man.
There was a muttered exclamation whided this inward soliloquy, as Stephen threw away the end of his last cigar, and thrusting his hands into his pockets stalked along at a quieter pace through the shrubbery. It was not of a beory kind.
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