Chapter IV: A Lesson in Circumspection

"The grip of an old friend's hand ill suits the wearing of a brand new glove; and he whose tongue would learn the jargon of the court must forget he ever spoke in common ears."—ANON.

THE next afternoon Wilhelmina dressed herself to make calls, and went to inquire how Cicely's arm was progressing.

The Andersons' establishment was very homely after Aylesdere. It was in the town, and had only iron railings in front, instead of a sweep of lawn and gravel path; and the door opened so close upon the staircase that the visitor was obliged to step aside before it could be closed by the servant, who for the time was converted into a species of bas-relief on the wall behind it. The sitting-rooms, too, with their low-pitched ceilings and old-fashioned stoves, were decidedly cramped in comparison with the oak-panelled dining-room with its old English furniture, and the spacious drawing-room, in which such a museum of rarities and knick-knacks were exhibited.

But, after all, what could be expected? A house taken on lease is never so well-appointed as one specially designed by the taste of the owner. Moreover, Mr. Anderson had been far outstripped by his old friend Adams,—with whom, by the bye, he had often shared his pennyworth of goodies when a boy, and whose father had been a schoolfellow of his own sire in the days when the latter boasted by far the smarter nankeens and blouse.

But for this fact, Neville and Mina might possibly have dropped the Andersons entirely. This being impossible on account of the old link between the respective parents, they were content to flatter their own vanity by patronising them, taking every available opportunity of making them feel that if they were desirous of being admitted into such high society, they must watch very carefully for their cue.

As will readily be imagined, the object of Mina's mission to Cicely on the afternoon in question was of this nature. Neville had reminded her of it at the breakfast-table, and Mina had her own reasons for being quite ready to fall in with any suggestions of his regarding the furtherance of their acquaintance with the Grandponts.

Unconsciously, both she and Neville were preparing to sell themselves for the paltry price of a petty ambition, the utmost realization of which was totally inadequate to satisfy the cravings of a nature in which the human joins hands with the divine.

Mina found Cicely alone in the sitting-room, with her arm in a sling, listlessly amusing herself with a book.

"I knew you would come," she said, as Mina sat down beside her. "It is so dull, not being able to do anything."

"And I have been longing for a chat," cried Mina, who had had no opportunity overnight of ascertaining her impressions concerning the party and its "lion." "What do you think of Horace Grandpont? 'Isn't' he nice?"

"Yes," replied Cicely, in a doubtful tone, which contrasted sadly with the truthful expression of her eyes. She should have said "not altogether;" for "yea" should be yea, and "nay," nay; and if neither of these words will express the thoughts, the utterance of them becomes a lie. But Cicely's genuine nature was not entirely suppressed yet, and her real thoughts "would" out. "He is very gentlemanly," she added; "only—"

"Only? Surely you haven't found a fault in him?" exclaimed Mina. "I think him perfect. What is your 'only'?"

Cicely was at a loss. To find fault with Mina's beau-ideal was to run the risk of being credited with very bad taste.

"Well!" Mina ejaculated triumphantly, as she still hesitated. "You needn't be afraid to say. I shall not be jealous of you for not liking him, you know. Doesn't he sing well?"

Cicely readily yielded assent to this. Horace Grandpont's voice was of a very passable quality, and he had heard sufficient professional singing to enable him to pick up a pretty good style. He could go through any number of the ballads of the day with a fair amount of good taste, nautical subjects being his favourites, because their peculiarly spirited swing suited his style and made them easy to catch up.

"He sings very well indeed," Cicely admitted; "and he seems very good-natured and entertaining; but somehow I'm not at my ease with him."

"Oh! That is perfectly natural," returned Mina. "You will soon get over it, though, if you see much company,—that is, if you are much at our house. But, Cicely, my dear, you must be a little more circumspect. Didn't you observe how annoyed Neville was?"

"At what?" Cicely was on the point of asking.

But she remembered her blunder about Joseph, and her face began to grow uncomfortably hot again.

"I didn't think," she said. "We all used to be such good friends together; and it seems so strange, to have to give up old friends for new acquaintances."

Mina felt reproved for the moment, in spite of herself; but she quickly recovered. "I daresay it does at first sight," she answered; "but when you come to reflect: how could we possibly introduce Joseph into our drawing-room, with his plebeian ways and clownish clothes? Only fancy him! And of course, if we do not introduce him, we do not want to talk about him."

Cicely was silent. She saw the justice of her friend's words, but not the rightness of them. "He is your cousin, you see," she said, after a few minutes' pause.

"Oh! Cousins are not much to each other," returned Mina indifferently. "Very often they are not even acquainted."

"But you are," urged Cicely. "Why! We all went to school together."

"Well! For goodness' sake, don't mention that. I've been to boarding-school since, and do not want it known that I ever was inside the National till the bazaar last spring. That was where I first saw Horace Grandpont, Cicely."

Cicely said, "Was it?"

And Mina continued,—

"As regards our being cousins, you know, of course, it is a blood relationship, and such ties are sacred in a certain way." (She did not stop to specify in "what" way, or she might have added, "in the sight of Him who ordained them.") "But when one brother makes his way, as papa as done, I do not see that the others can justly expect him to tie himself down to their slow pace."

"Is it through any fault of Joseph's father that he has not done the same as your papa?" asked Cicely, willing to find a way out of the difficulty. "If the younger brother had remained poor through his own slothfulness or prodigality, there would be perfect justice in leaving him behind in the race."

But Mina's answer put this out of the question.

"Not exactly, I suppose," she said. "Papa is the eldest son, and of course all the house property descended to him. It was not so very much; but it enabled him to gain a start."

"That doesn't seem fair," said Cicely. "It is enough to sow discord among brothers that all the house property should go to one. Why shouldn't it be equally divided? If Joseph's father had received an equal share, he might have done as well as yours, although neither would have been quite so rich."

Mina looked as if she thought such a change in the disposition of things far from desirable.

"It's the law," she answered, somewhat testily; "and I suppose neither you nor I can propose to alter the laws of the country. Besides, mamma has money of her own. Her family is a very old one. She wants papa to have a genealogical tree made. People think so much of that, you know."

"I suppose they do," said Cicely, beginning to wonder that it had never occurred to "her" to inquire what noble root her own family had sprung from.

"Tyrrel is a very old name," continued Mina, "and we expect to be able to trace our branch of it right back to the time of William Rufus."

"I never can exactly see why those who have any worth in themselves should not be as much respected as those who are only well descended," said Cicely thoughtfully, after a pause, during which she had been ostensibly arranging her sling more comfortably, but in reality reflecting over Mina's words. "It always appears to me that one's 'own' merit must be of more value than ever so much nobility on the part of one's ancestors, who perhaps after all only had large estates and plenty of wealth."

"Of course, as far as that goes," replied Mina, "merit is always merit, wherever it exists; and the Bible estimate would be just about what you say—that personal worth is of more value than outward possessions. But that holds good in religious communities whose members despise all worldly blessings, rather than in society."

Cicely was silent.

"I don't mean to say," continued Mina, "that society ignores the Bible estimate. Of course it mustn't set itself up against the Bible. And nobody ought to be tolerated who isn't morally upright, and all that sort of thing—even if he dined off gold every day of his life. But then well-to-do people generally are all that they ought to be. They are surrounded by so many refinements. And after all, if you meet with any genius or merit in members of the lower orders, it may generally be referred to their remote connection with some ancient family. So there, again, you see descent is everything."

Cicely was silenced; but her conviction that the Bible estimate must be the correct one for "every" class of society was struggling against her anxiety to curry favour at Aylesdere, and she was not convinced.

"It isn't as if these less refined people were absolutely dependent on us for society," continued Mina. "There are plenty of companions far more suited to Joseph than Neville and myself. There really is very little in common between us."

"Still he is your cousin," returned Cicely, warming at the mention of Joseph. "You need not invite him to meet your other friends; but it does not seem right to cast him off entirely. His father and yours are brothers; and the Bible says, 'He that loveth not his own brother—'"

"Oh! There was no society then," said Mina lightly; "besides, I shouldn't cast him off altogether. I should speak to him if we met, of course—unless I chanced to be walking with Horace Grandpont's sister, whom I intend to 'cultivate.' I might take measures not to see him, in that case," she added, in a sudden burst of truthfulness.

Cicely attempted no further argument, and the conversation turned upon other topics, for which Joseph and the whole question connected with him were speedily forgotten—at any rate on Mina's side.

The afternoon sped rapidly away, and Mina finally allowed herself to be persuaded into staying to tea, to beguile Cicely's loneliness, leaving immediately afterwards, however, as Horace was coming to play chess with Neville.