40.  Melchester (continued)

The commotion wrought in Julian’s mind by the abrupt incursion of Ethelberta into his quiet sphere was thorough and protracted.  The witchery of her presence he had grown strong enough to withstand in part; but her composed announcement that she had intended to marry another, and, as far as he could understand, was intending it still, added a new chill to the old shade of disappointment which custom was day by day enabling him to endure.  During the whole interval in which he had produced those diapason blasts, heard with such inharmonious feelings by the three auditors outside the screen, his thoughts had wandered wider than his notes in conjectures on the character and position of the gentleman seen in Ethelberta’s company.  Owing to his assumption that Lord Mountclere was but a stranger who had accidentally come in at the side door, Christopher had barely cast a glance upon him, and the wide difference between the years of the viscount and those of his betrothed was not so particularly observed as to raise that point to an item in his objections now.  Lord Mountclere was dressed with all the cunning that could be drawn from the metropolis by money and reiterated dissatisfaction; he prided himself on his upright carriage; his stick was so thin that the most malevolent could not insinuate that it was of any possible use in walking; his teeth had put on all the vigour and freshness of a second spring.  Hence his look was the slowest of possible clocks in respect of his age, and his manner was equally as much in the rear of his appearance.

Christopher was now over five-and-twenty.  He was getting so well accustomed to the spectacle of a world passing him by and splashing him with its wheels that he wondered why he had ever minded it.  His habit of dreaming instead of doing had led him up to a curious discovery.  It is no new thing for a man to fathom profundities by indulging humours:  the active, the rapid, the people of splendid momentum, have been surprised to behold what results attend the lives of those whose usual plan for discharging their active labours has been to postpone them indefinitely.  Certainly, the immediate result in the present case was, to all but himself, small and invisible; but it was of the nature of highest things.  What he had learnt was that a woman who has once made a permanent impression upon a man cannot altogether deny him her image by denying him her company, and that by sedulously cultivating the acquaintance of this Creature of Contemplation she becomes to him almost a living soul.  Hence a sublimated Ethelberta accompanied him everywhere—­one who never teased him, eluded him, or disappointed him:  when he smiled she smiled, when he was sad she sorrowed.  He may be said to have become the literal duplicate of that whimsical unknown rhapsodist who wrote of his own similar situation—­

   ’By absence this good means I gain,
      That I can catch her,
      Where none can watch her,
   In some close corner of my brain: 
      There I embrace and kiss her;
      And so I both enjoy and miss her.’