Kabanata Kabanata 25 · Chapter XXV

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How trace the why and wherefore in a mind reduced to the barrenness of

a fastidious egoism, in which all direct desires are dulled, and have

dwindled from motives into a vacillating expectation of motives: a

mind made up of moods, where a fitful impulse springs here and there

conspicuously rank amid the general weediness? ’Tis a condition apt to

befall a life too much at large, unmoulded by the pressure of

obligation. _Nam deteriores omnes sumus licentiæ_, or, as a more

familiar tongue might deliver it, _“As you like” is a bad finger-post._

Potentates make known their intentions and affect the funds at a small

expense of words. So when Grandcourt, after learning that Gwendolen had

left Leubronn, incidentally pronounced that resort of fashion a beastly

hole, worse than Baden, the remark was conclusive to Mr. Lush that his

patron intended straightway to return to Diplow. The execution was sure

to be slower than the intention, and, in fact, Grandcourt did loiter

through the next day without giving any distinct orders about

departure—perhaps because he discerned that Lush was expecting them:

he lingered over his toilet, and certainly came down with a faded

aspect of perfect distinction which made fresh complexions and hands

with the blood in them, seem signs of raw vulgarity; he lingered on the

terrace, in the gambling-rooms, in the reading-room, occupying himself

in being indifferent to everybody and everything around him. When he

met Lady Mallinger, however, he took some trouble—raised his hat,

paused, and proved that he listened to her recommendation of the waters

by replying, “Yes; I heard somebody say how providential it was that

there always happened to be springs at gambling places.”

“Oh, that was a joke,” said innocent Lady Mallinger, misled by

Grandcourt’s languid seriousness, “in imitation of the old one about

the towns and the rivers, you know.”

“Ah, perhaps,” said Grandcourt, without change of expression. Lady

Mallinger thought this worth telling to Sir Hugo, who said, “Oh, my

dear, he is not a fool. You must not suppose that he can’t see a joke.

He can play his cards as well as most of us.”

“He has never seemed to me a very sensible man,” said Lady Mallinger,

in excuse of herself. She had a secret objection to meeting Grandcourt,

who was little else to her than a large living sign of what she felt to

be her failure as a wife—the not having presented Sir Hugo with a son.

Her constant reflection was that her husband might fairly regret his

choice, and if he had not been very good might have treated her with

some roughness in consequence, gentlemen naturally disliking to be

disappointed.

Deronda, too, had a recognition from Grandcourt, for which he was not

grateful, though he took care to return it with perfect civility. No

reasoning as to the foundations of custom could do away with the

early-rooted feeling that his birth had been attended with injury for

which his father was to blame; and seeing that but for this injury

Grandcourt’s prospects might have been his, he was proudly resolute not

to behave in any way that might be interpreted into irritation on that

score. He saw a very easy descent into mean unreasoning rancor and

triumph in others’ frustration; and being determined not to go down

that ugly pit, he turned his back on it, clinging to the kindlier

affections within him as a possession. Pride certainly helped him

well—the pride of not recognizing a disadvantage for one’s self which

vulgar minds are disposed to exaggerate, such as the shabby equipage of

poverty: he would not have a man like Grandcourt suppose himself envied

by him. But there is no guarding against interpretation. Grandcourt did

believe that Deronda, poor devil, who he had no doubt was his cousin by

the father’s side, inwardly winced under their mutual position;

wherefore the presence of that less lucky person was more agreeable to

him than it would otherwise have been. An imaginary envy, the idea that

others feel their comparative deficiency, is the ordinary _cortège_ of

egoism; and his pet dogs were not the only beings that Grandcourt liked

to feel his power over in making them jealous. Hence he was civil

enough to exchange several words with Deronda on the terrace about the

hunting round Diplow, and even said, “You had better come over for a

run or two when the season begins.”

Lush, not displeased with delay, amused himself very well, partly in

gossiping with Sir Hugo and in answering his questions about

Grandcourt’s affairs so far as they might affect his willingness to

part with his interest in Diplow. Also about Grandcourt’s personal

entanglements, the baronet knew enough already for Lush to feel

released from silence on a sunny autumn day, when there was nothing

more agreeable to do in lounging promenades than to speak freely of a

tyrannous patron behind his back. Sir Hugo willingly inclined his ear

to a little good-humored scandal, which he was fond of calling _traits

de mœurs_; but he was strict in keeping such communications from

hearers who might take them too seriously. Whatever knowledge he had of

his nephew’s secrets, he had never spoken of it to Deronda, who

considered Grandcourt a pale-blooded mortal, but was far from wishing

to hear how the red corpuscles had been washed out of him. It was

Lush’s policy and inclination to gratify everybody when he had no

reason to the contrary; and the baronet always treated him well, as one

of those easy-handled personages who, frequenting the society of

gentlemen, without being exactly gentlemen themselves, can be the more

serviceable, like the second-best articles of our wardrobe, which we

use with a comfortable freedom from anxiety.

“Well, you will let me know the turn of events,” said Sir Hugo, “if

this marriage seems likely to come off after all, or if anything else

happens to make the want of money pressing. My plan would be much

better for him than burdening Ryelands.”

“That’s true,” said Lush, “only it must not be urged on him—just

placed in his way that the scent may tickle him. Grandcourt is not a

man to be always led by what makes for his own interest; especially if

you let him see that it makes for your interest too. I’m attached to

him, of course. I’ve given up everything else for the sake of keeping

by him, and it has lasted a good fifteen years now. He would not easily

get any one else to fill my place. He’s a peculiar character, is

Henleigh Grandcourt, and it has been growing on him of late years.

However, I’m of a constant disposition, and I’ve been a sort of

guardian to him since he was twenty; an uncommonly fascinating fellow

he was then, to be sure—and could be now, if he liked. I’m attached to

him; and it would be a good deal worse for him if he missed me at his

elbow.”

Sir Hugo did not think it needful to express his sympathy or even

assent, and perhaps Lush himself did not expect this sketch of his

motives to be taken as exact. But how can a man avoid himself as a

subject in conversation? And he must make some sort of decent toilet in

words, as in cloth and linen. Lush’s listener was not severe: a member

of Parliament could allow for the necessities of verbal toilet; and the

dialogue went on without any change of mutual estimate.

However, Lush’s easy prospect of indefinite procrastination was cut off

the next morning by Grandcourt’s saluting him with the question,

“Are you making all the arrangements for our starting by the Paris

train?”

“I didn’t know you meant to start,” said Lush, not exactly taken by

surprise.

“You might have known,” said Grandcourt, looking at the burned length

of his cigar, and speaking in that lowered tone which was usual with

him when he meant to express disgust and be peremptory. “Just see to

everything, will you? and mind no brute gets into the same carriage

with us. And leave my P. P. C. at the Mallingers’.”

In consequence they were at Paris the next day; but here Lush was

gratified by the proposal or command that he should go straight on to

Diplow and see that everything was right, while Grandcourt and the

valet remained behind; and it was not until several days later that

Lush received the telegram ordering the carriage to the Wanchester

station.

He had used the interim actively, not only in carrying out Grandcourt’s

orders about the stud and household, but in learning all he could of

Gwendolen, and how things were going on at Offendene. What was the

probable effect that the news of the family misfortunes would have on

Grandcourt’s fitful obstinacy he felt to be quite incalculable. So far

as the girl’s poverty might be an argument that she would accept an

offer from him now in spite of any previous coyness, it might remove

that bitter objection to risk a repulse which Lush divined to be one of

Grandcourt’s deterring motives; on the other hand, the certainty of

acceptance was just “the sort of thing” to make him lapse hither and

thither with no more apparent will than a moth. Lush had had his patron

under close observation for many years, and knew him perhaps better

than he knew any other subject; but to know Grandcourt was to doubt

what he would do in any particular case. It might happen that he would

behave with an apparent magnanimity, like the hero of a modern French

drama, whose sudden start into moral splendor after much lying and

meanness, leaves you little confidence as to any part of his career

that may follow the fall of the curtain. Indeed, what attitude would

have been more honorable for a final scene than that of declining to

seek an heiress for her money, and determining to marry the attractive

girl who had none? But Lush had some general certainties about

Grandcourt, and one was that of all inward movements those of

generosity were least likely to occur in him. Of what use, however, is

a general certainty that an insect will not walk with his head

hindmost, when what you need to know is the play of inward stimulus

that sends him hither and thither in a network of possible paths? Thus

Lush was much at fault as to the probable issue between Grandcourt and

Gwendolen, when what he desired was a perfect confidence that they

would never be married. He would have consented willingly that

Grandcourt should marry an heiress, or that he should marry Mrs.

Glasher: in the one match there would have been the immediate abundance

that prospective heirship could not supply, in the other there would

have been the security of the wife’s gratitude, for Lush had always

been Mrs. Glasher’s friend; and that the future Mrs. Grandcourt should

not be socially received could not affect his private comfort. He would

not have minded, either, that there should be no marriage in question

at all; but he felt himself justified in doing his utmost to hinder a

marriage with a girl who was likely to bring nothing but trouble to her

husband—not to speak of annoyance if not ultimate injury to her

husband’s old companion, whose future Mr. Lush earnestly wished to make

as easy as possible, considering that he had well deserved such

compensation for leading a dog’s life, though that of a dog who enjoyed

many tastes undisturbed, and who profited by a large establishment. He

wished for himself what he felt to be good, and was not conscious of

wishing harm to any one else; unless perhaps it were just now a little

harm to the inconvenient and impertinent Gwendolen. But the

easiest-humored of luxury and music, the toad-eater the least liable to

nausea, must be expected to have his susceptibilities. And Mr. Lush was

accustomed to be treated by the world in general as an apt, agreeable

fellow: he had not made up his mind to be insulted by more than one

person.

With this imperfect preparation of a war policy, Lush was awaiting

Grandcourt’s arrival, doing little more than wondering how the campaign

would begin. The first day Grandcourt was much occupied with the

stables, and amongst other things he ordered a groom to put a

side-saddle on Criterion and let him review the horse’s paces. This

marked indication of purpose set Lush on considering over again whether

he should incur the ticklish consequences of speaking first, while he

was still sure that no compromising step had been taken; and he rose

the next morning almost resolved that if Grandcourt seemed in as good a

humor as yesterday and entered at all into talk, he would let drop the

interesting facts about Gwendolen and her family, just to see how they

would work, and to get some guidance. But Grandcourt did not enter into

talk, and in answer to a question even about his own convenience, no

fish could have maintained a more unwinking silence. After he had read

his letters he gave various orders to be executed or transmitted by

Lush, and then thrust his shoulder toward that useful person, who

accordingly rose to leave the room. But before he was out of the door

Grandcourt turned his head slightly and gave a broken, languid “Oh.”

“What is it?” said Lush, who, it must have been observed, did not take

his dusty puddings with a respectful air.

“Shut the door, will you? I can’t speak into the corridor.”

Lush closed the door, came forward, and chose to sit down.

After a little pause Grandcourt said, “Is Miss Harleth at Offendene?”

He was quite certain that Lush had made it his business to inquire

about her, and he had some pleasure in thinking that Lush did not want

_him_ to inquire.

“Well, I hardly know,” said Lush, carelessly. “The family’s utterly

done up. They and the Gascoignes too have lost all their money. It’s

owing to some rascally banking business. The poor mother hasn’t a

_sou_, it seems. She and the girls have to huddle themselves into a

little cottage like a laborer’s.”

“Don’t lie to me, if you please,” said Grandcourt, in his lowest

audible tone. “It’s not amusing, and it answers no other purpose.”

“What do you mean?” said Lush, more nettled than was common with

him—the prospect before him being more than commonly disturbing.

“Just tell me the truth, will you?”

“It’s no invention of mine. I have heard the story from

several—Bazley, Brackenshaw’s man, for one. He is getting a new tenant

for Offendene.”

“I don’t mean that. Is Miss Harleth there, or is she not?” said

Grandcourt, in his former tone.

“Upon my soul, I can’t tell,” said Lush, rather sulkily. “She may have

left yesterday. I heard she had taken a situation as governess; she may

be gone to it for what I know. But if you wanted to see her no doubt

the mother would send for her back.” This sneer slipped off his tongue

without strict intention.

“Send Hutchins to inquire whether she will be there to-morrow.” Lush did

not move. Like many persons who have thought over beforehand what they

shall say in given cases, he was impelled by an unexpected irritation

to say some of those prearranged things before the cases were given.

Grandcourt, in fact, was likely to get into a scrape so tremendous that

it was impossible to let him take the first step toward it without

remonstrance. Lush retained enough caution to use a tone of rational

friendliness, still he felt his own value to his patron, and was

prepared to be daring.

“It would be as well for you to remember, Grandcourt, that you are

coming under closer fire now. There can be none of the ordinary

flirting done, which may mean everything or nothing. You must make up

your mind whether you wish to be accepted; and more than that, how you

would like being refused. Either one or the other. You can’t be

philandering after her again for six weeks.”

Grandcourt said nothing, but pressed the newspaper down on his knees

and began to light another cigar. Lush took this as a sign that he was

willing to listen, and was the more bent on using the opportunity; he

wanted, if possible, to find out which would be the more potent cause

of hesitation—probable acceptance or probable refusal.

“Everything has a more serious look now than it had before. There is

her family to be provided for. You could not let your wife’s mother

live in beggary. It will be a confoundedly hampering affair. Marriage

will pin you down in a way you haven’t been used to; and in point of

money you have not too much elbow-room. And after all, what will you

get by it? You are master over your estates, present or future, as far

as choosing your heir goes; it’s a pity to go on encumbering them for a

mere whim, which you may repent of in a twelvemonth. I should be sorry

to see you making a mess of your life in that way. If there were

anything solid to be gained by the marriage, that would be a different

affair.”

Lush’s tone had gradually become more and more unctuous in its

friendliness of remonstrance, and he was almost in danger of forgetting

that he was merely gambling in argument. When he left off, Grandcourt

took his cigar out of his mouth, and looking steadily at the moist end

while he adjusted the leaf with his delicate finger-tips, said,

“I knew before that you had an objection to my marrying Miss Harleth.”

Here he made a little pause before he continued. “But I never

considered that a reason against it.”

“I never supposed you did,” answered Lush, not unctuously but dryly.

“It was not _that_ I urged as a reason. I should have thought it might

have been a reason against it, after all your experience, that you

would be acting like the hero of a ballad, and making yourself

absurd—and all for what? You know you couldn’t make up your mind

before. It’s impossible you can care much about her. And as for the

tricks she is likely to play, you may judge of that from what you heard

at Leubronn. However, what I wished to point out to you was, that there

can be no shilly-shally now.”

“Perfectly,” said Grandcourt, looking round at Lush and fixing him with

narrow eyes; “I don’t intend that there should be. I dare say it’s

disagreeable to you. But if you suppose I care a damn for that you are

most stupendously mistaken.”

“Oh, well,” said Lush, rising with his hands in his pockets, and

feeling some latent venom still within him, “if you have made up your

mind!—only there’s another aspect of the affair. I have been speaking

on the supposition that it was absolutely certain she would accept you,

and that destitution would have no choice. But I am not so sure that

the young lady is to be counted on. She is kittle cattle to shoe, I

think. And she had her reasons for running away before.” Lush had moved

a step or two till he stood nearly in front of Grandcourt, though at

some distance from him. He did not feel himself much restrained by

consequences, being aware that the only strong hold he had on his

present position was his serviceableness; and even after a quarrel the

want of him was likely sooner or later to recur. He foresaw that

Gwendolen would cause him to be ousted for a time, and his temper at

this moment urged him to risk a quarrel.

“She had her reasons,” he repeated more significantly.

“I had come to that conclusion before,” said Grandcourt, with

contemptuous irony.

“Yes, but I hardly think you know what her reasons were.”

“You do, apparently,” said Grandcourt, not betraying by so much as an

eyelash that he cared for the reasons.

“Yes, and you had better know too, that you may judge of the influence

you have over her if she swallows her reasons and accepts you. For my

own part I would take odds against it. She saw Lydia in Cardell Chase

and heard the whole story.”

Grandcourt made no immediate answer, and only went on smoking. He was

so long before he spoke that Lush moved about and looked out of the

windows, unwilling to go away without seeing some effect of his daring

move. He had expected that Grandcourt would tax him with having

contrived the affair, since Mrs. Glasher was then living at Gadsmere, a

hundred miles off, and he was prepared to admit the fact: what he cared

about was that Grandcourt should be staggered by the sense that his

intended advances must be made to a girl who had that knowledge in her

mind and had been scared by it. At length Grandcourt, seeing Lush turn

toward him, looked at him again and said, contemptuously, “What

follows?”

Here certainly was a “mate” in answer to Lush’s “check”; and though his

exasperation with Grandcourt was perhaps stronger than it had ever been

before, it would have been idiocy to act as if any further move could

be useful. He gave a slight shrug with one shoulder, and was going to

walk away, when Grandcourt, turning on his seat toward the table, said,

as quietly as if nothing had occurred, “Oblige me by pushing that pen

and paper here, will you?”

No thunderous, bullying superior could have exercised the imperious

spell that Grandcourt did. Why, instead of being obeyed, he had never

been told to go to a warmer place, was perhaps a mystery to those who

found themselves obeying him. The pen and paper were pushed to him, and

as he took them he said, “Just wait for this letter.”

He scrawled with ease, and the brief note was quickly addressed. “Let

Hutchins go with it at once, will you?” said Grandcourt, pushing the

letter away from him.

As Lush had expected, it was addressed to Miss Harleth, Offendene. When

his irritation had cooled down he was glad there had been no explosive

quarrel; but he felt sure that there was a notch made against him, and

that somehow or other he was intended to pay. It was also clear to him

that the immediate effect of his revelation had been to harden

Grandcourt’s previous determination. But as to the particular movements

that made this process in his baffling mind, Lush could only toss up

his chin in despair of a theory.