If there were a woman in the world who might
be formed and fitted to reconcile Kenelm Chillingly
to the sweet troubles of love and the pleasant bickerings
of wedded life, one might reasonably suppose that
that woman could be found in Cecilia Travers.
An only daughter and losing her mother in childhood,
she had been raised to the mistress-ship of a household
at an age in which most girls are still putting their
dolls to bed; and thus had early acquired that sense
of responsibility, accompanied with the habits of
self-reliance, which seldom fails to give a certain
nobility to character; though almost as often, in
the case of women, it steals away the tender gentleness
which constitutes the charm of their sex.
It had not done so in the instance of Cecilia Travers,
because she was so womanlike that even the exercise
of power could not make her manlike. There was
in the depth of her nature such an instinct of sweetness
that wherever her mind toiled and wandered it gathered
and hoarded honey.
She had one advantage over most girls in the same
rank of life,—she had not been taught to
fritter away such capacities for culture as Providence
gave her in the sterile nothingnesses which are called
feminine accomplishments. She did not paint figures
out of drawing in meagre water-colours; she had not
devoted years of her life to the inflicting on polite
audiences the boredom of Italian bravuras, which they
could hear better sung by a third-rate professional
singer in a metropolitan music-hall. I am afraid
she had no other female accomplishments than those
by which the sempstress or embroideress earns her
daily bread. That sort of work she loved, and
she did it deftly.
But if she had not been profitlessly plagued by masters,
Cecilia Travers had been singularly favoured by her
father’s choice of a teacher: no great
merit in him either. He had a prejudice against
professional governesses, and it chanced that among
his own family connections was a certain Mrs. Campion,
a lady of some literary distinction, whose husband
had held a high situation in one of our public offices,
and living, much to his satisfaction, up to a very
handsome income, had died, much to the astonishment
of others, without leaving a farthing behind him.
Fortunately, there were no children to provide for.
A small government pension was allotted to the widow;
and as her husband’s house had been made by
her one of the pleasantest in London, she was popular
enough to be invited by numerous friends to their country
seats; among others, by Mr. Travers. She came
intending to stay a fortnight. At the end of
that time she had grown so attached to Cecilia, and
Cecilia to her, and her presence had become so pleasant
and so useful to her host, that the Squire entreated
her to stay and undertake the education of his daughter.
Mrs. Campion, after some hesitation, gratefully consented;
