If you think it incredible that to imagine Lydgate
as a man of family could cause thrills of satisfaction
which had anything to do with the sense that she was
in love with him, I will ask you to use your power
of comparison a little more effectively, and consider
whether red cloth and epaulets have never had an influence
of that sort. Our passions do not live apart
in locked chambers, but, dressed in their small wardrobe
of notions, bring their provisions to a common table
and mess together, feeding out of the common store
according to their appetite.
Rosamond, in fact, was entirely occupied not exactly
with Tertius Lydgate as he was in himself, but with
his relation to her; and it was excusable in a girl
who was accustomed to hear that all young men might,
could, would be, or actually were in love with her,
to believe at once that Lydgate could be no exception.
His looks and words meant more to her than other
men’s, because she cared more for them:
she thought of them diligently, and diligently attended
to that perfection of appearance, behavior, sentiments,
and all other elegancies, which would find in Lydgate
a more adequate admirer than she had yet been conscious
of.
For Rosamond, though she would never do anything that
was disagreeable to her, was industrious; and now
more than ever she was active in sketching her landscapes
and market-carts and portraits of friends, in practising
her music, and in being from morning till night her
own standard of a perfect lady, having always an audience
in her own consciousness, with sometimes the not unwelcome
addition of a more variable external audience in the
numerous visitors of the house. She found time
also to read the best novels, and even the second best,
and she knew much poetry by heart. Her favorite
poem was “Lalla Rookh.”
“The best girl in the world! He will be
a happy fellow who gets her!” was the sentiment
of the elderly gentlemen who visited the Vincys; and
the rejected young men thought of trying again, as
is the fashion in country towns where the horizon
is not thick with coming rivals. But Mrs. Plymdale
thought that Rosamond had been educated to a ridiculous
pitch, for what was the use of accomplishments which
would be all laid aside as soon as she was married?
While her aunt Bulstrode, who had a sisterly faithfulness
towards her brother’s family, had two sincere
wishes for Rosamond—that she might show
a more serious turn of mind, and that she might meet
with a husband whose wealth corresponded to her habits.
CHAPTER XVII.
“The clerkly person
smiled and said
Promise was a pretty
maid,
But being poor she died
unwed.”
