Keeping up Appearances CHAPTER 13.
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Didn't I see you with Miss Laurie at Ole Bull's concert last night?" asked a young friend of Arthur Lewis. "Perhaps so. I was there." "I thought it was she. I haven't seen Annetta but a few times since her father died; and then it has been in your company. Last Sunday I met you with her in Broadway, coming home from church. She 's a splendid looking girl, Lewis! I always admired her. Have you really serious intentions in that quarter?"
The young men were quite intimate, and in the habit of familiar fellowship.
"I certainly admire Annetta; and, perhaps, entertain for her a warmer sentiment," replied Lewis.
"Indeed! I didn't suspect you of having preferences in that quarter. But don't you know that her father's affairs, after his death, proved to be in a desperate condition?"
"I ought to know it, for we shall lose four or six hundred pounds in the end, besides laying out of the use of some two thousand pounds, there is no telling how long."
"And we are pretty much in the same condition. Then you don't go in for the money."
"Oh, no! Money and matrimony ought to be separated in idea, as far as possible. They should have nothing to say for or against a young lady, in the mind of her lover."
"Not the prevailing notion on the subject, at least," remarked the young man.
"No, I am sorry to say that it is not. Too much regard is had, I know, to things outside of the person with whom an alliance is sought to be made. Beauty, wealth or brilliant accomplishments — are more frequently the attractive forces — instead of those qualities of mind and heart that go to make up the true woman, and which remain when all things merely extrinsic have passed away. How a young man can be so blind as to set a higher regard upon what is merely external and adjoined to the person, than uponmental and moral excellencies — is more than I can tell. To marry a woman because of the possession of these, without regard to the other — is, in my view, an act of insanity!
"As to money, it seems to me that it must be self-evident to anyone that such a sacrifice of a man's comfort and happiness is paying too dear for its attainment. It is much better for him to devote more time and energy to business, or do with less of the world's goods — than to tie himself to a woman whom he cannot love, perhaps not even respect; and have to bear with her contrarieties, bad passions, disgusting sensuality, unhappy temper, or weakness of character — it may be, something worse: for a woman who is wedded to a man she does not love, and who does not love her, is particularly exposed to the influx of temptation to evil. What can compensate for such a life-contact in this most intimate possible relationship, that exposes both parties to lacerations from incongruous things in each other? Nothing, my friend! nothing! No! no; this is a piece of folly I am not willing to commit! I do not wish to take a skeleton into my chamber — nay, into my very bed!"
"Then you would make money an objection?" said the friend.
"I did not say so. It is, in my mind, a matter of indifference. I do not permit myself to think of it. I endeavor to look simply at the qualities and endowments of the person; at only such things as are intrinsic, and will therefore certainly remain through life."
"These you think are possessed by Annetta Laurie?"
"I hope so; but I am not altogether satisfied. There are times when I have serious doubts."
"Do you never have doubts of her position?"
"In what respect?"
"You know the terms of the arrangement made between the executors of her father's estate, and the creditors?"
"Oh, very well. It was through my influence that the furniture and silverware were spared."
"I believe the widow received one hundred pounds besides."
"Yes. I managed that also. I tried hard to have it made two hundred — but did not succeed."
"The furniture and silverware, with these one hundred pounds, you believed to be the widow's sole possession."
"I did."
"And yet her style of living is the same as before her husband died?"
"It is."
"Do you understand how this can be?"
"No, I cannot."
"Does it never create doubts and questions in your mind?"
"Certainly. It causes me to doubt and question all the while. If, as soon as Mrs. Laurie was informed of the true state of affairs, she would have sunk down into an external condition corresponding with what we all believed to be her real circumstances, and Annetta would have shown, by her conduct under those new circumstances, that she looked rather to what it was her duty to do, than to any mere appearance — I would have offered her my hand at once. But there being no change whatever in things external, causes me to hesitate and doubt; and this must continue until I understand precisely what it all means."
"Can it be possible that Mrs. Laurie has money?"
"I do not know."
"She must have, to support this style."
"It certainly cannot be supported without money."
"Where does this money come from?" asked the friend.
Lewis shook his head.
"May not all this be merely a desperate effort to keep up appearances?" suggested the friend.
"For what purpose?"
The friend significantly shrugged his shoulders, and with a peculiar expression of face, said,
"Can't you guess?"
"What?"
"If you can't guess yourself, I shall not help you by any suggestions. But, it is seriously my opinion that all this is merely assumed, and that one of these days we will see this fabric of elegance and style melt like frost-work in the sun. I know that Annetta's two sisters have been taken from school, and that they have given up their music lessons."
"How do you know?" asked Lewis.
"My sisters go to the school where they went; and they have the same music teacher. And I'll tell you another thing that looks suspicious, although there may be nothing really in it."
"What is it?"
"We needed another piano, as three of my sisters are taking lessons in music and practicing a good deal, and I was commissioned to get one. As we did not need a costly instrument, I thought I would step into Barker's auction rooms and see if something there would not suit me. I found a splendid rosewood piano, for which one hundred pounds were asked; but as it was to go off to the highest bidder on the next day, I thought I would wait and take my chance for it. I did so, and got the instrument for thirty pounds. When it was sent home my sister Anna said, the moment she placed her eyes upon it, that it was Annetta Laurie's piano, for which her father had paid one hundred pounds."
"Impossible!"
"So I insisted. But Anna says it's no use for me to talk about it. She knows the instrument almost as well as she knows her own."
Lewis looked thoughtful and perplexed. He remembered that Annetta's piano had been removed from the back parlor to the chamber above. And he now remembered, that he had not heard anyone playing on it since the evening he had remarked upon the fact of its having been taken from its old position in the back parlor.
"I'll tell you where there is a girl that has shown herself to be made of the right kind of qualities," said the friend, seeking to change the subject, for he saw that it fretted the mind of Lewis.
"Where?" said the other indifferently.
"You remember Lucy Hartman?"
"Very well, and I know all about her. You are right; she has passed through a severe ordeal and retained an untarnished character."
"There are not many girls who could have acted so brave a part," said the friend. "I must own to an especial admiration of her conduct, in a matter requiring so much promptness of action, and yet against such a pressing array of influences. We could hardly have blamed her, even if she had sacrificed herself for her uncle's sake — for to have married Mr. Burnside would have been to her, a hopeless sacrifice. No man need fear to make her his wife; for he could not win her unless she loved him; and loving him, she would stand up by his side unflinchingly through good and evil report, prosperity or adversity, health or sickness, even unto the end. I often regret her absence from the circles in which she used to move. I have never been so fortunate as to meet her since the occurrence of the event to which allusion has just been made. Have you?"
"Yes; several times."
"Indeed! Where?"
"At Mrs. Morton's, where she lived until the death of her uncle."
"Where is she now?"
"She is with her aunt somewhere in town, in part of a house which she rents. Her salary supports them comfortably. I am told that they are living very happily together."
"There is nothing equivocal about her," remarked the young man.
"No, indeed! Nothing. You see her as she is. "Whoever wins her for his wife, will be a happy man."
"Really! I must think about this matter," returned the friend, more seriously. "I don't know what my sisters would say to my marrying a French teacher — but the fact is, this Lucy Hartman is worth a dozen of the girls we ordinarily meet in fashionable society."
"Tell them from me," said Lewis, "that they ought to be proud of an alliance with her."
"So I think."
Here the young men parted, Arthur Lewis with his mind full of doubts, questionings, and anxiety.
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