The young ladies giggled, because these two rarely opened their mouths to agree, one being a professed woman-hater, and the other a man-hater, in words.
Says Misander, in a sourish way, “Since you value my conversation so, perhaps you will be good enough not to smoke for the next ten minutes.”
Misogyn consented, but sighed. That sigh went unpitied, and the lady wasted no time.
“Do you see what is going on between your sister and that young man?”
“Yes; a little flirtation.”
“A great deal more than that. I caught them, in this very room, making love.”
“You alarm me,” said Vizard, with marked tranquillity.
“I saw him—kiss—her—hand.”
“You relieve me,” said Vizard, as calmly as he had been alarmed. “There's no harm in that. I've kissed the queen's hand, and the nation did not rise upon me. However, I object to it. The superior sex should not play the spaniel. I will tell him to drop that. But, permit me to say, all this is in your department, not mine.
“But what can I do against three of them, unless you support me? There you have let them go out together.”
“Together with Fanny Dover, you mean?”
“Yes; and if Fanny had any designs on him, Zoe would be safe—”
“And poor Ned torn in two.”
“But Fanny, I am grieved to say, seems inclined to assist this young man with Zoe; that is, because it does not matter to her. She has other views—serious ones.”
“Serious! What? A nunnery? Then I pity my lady abbess.”
“Her views are plain enough to anybody but you.”
“Are they? Then make me as wise as my neighbors.”
“Well, then, she means to marry you.”
“What! Oh, come!—that is too good a joke!”
“It is sober earnest. Ask Zoe—ask your friend, Mr. Severne—ask the chambermaids—ask any creature with an eye in its head. Oh, the blindness of you men!”
The Misogyn was struck dumb. When he recovered, it was to repine at the lot of man.
“Even my own familiar cousin—once removed—in whom I trusted! I depute you to inform her that I think her adorable, and that matrimony is no longer a habit of mine. Set her on to poor Severne; he is a ladies' man, and 'the more the merrier' is his creed.”
“Such a girl as Fanny is not to be diverted from a purpose of that sort. Besides, she has too much sense to plunge into the Severne and—pauperism! She is bent on a rich husband, not a needy adventurer.”
“Madam, in my friend's name, I thank you.”
“You are very welcome, sir—it is only the truth.” Then, with a swift return to her original topic: “No; I know perfectly well what Fanny Dover will do this afternoon. She sketches.”
“It is too true,” said Vizard dolefully: “showed me a ship in full sail, and I praised it in my way. I said, 'That rock is rather well done.'”
“Well, she will be seized with a desire to sketch. She will sit down apart, and say, 'Please don't watch me—it makes me nervous.' The other two will take the hint and make love a good way off; and Zoe will go greater lengths, with another woman in sight—but only just in sight, and slyly encouraging her—than if she were quite alone with her mauvais sujet.”
Vizard was pleased with the old lady. “This is sagacious,” said he, “and shows an eye for detail. I recognize in your picture the foxy sex. But, at this moment, who can foretell which way the wind will blow? You are not aware, perhaps, that Zoe and Fanny have had a quarrel. They don't speak. Now, in women, you know, vices are controlled by vices—see Pope. The conspiracy you dread will be averted by the other faults of their character, their jealousy and their petulant tempers. Take my word for it, they are sparring at this moment; and that poor, silly Severne meditating and moderating, and getting scratched on both sides for trying to be just.”
At this moment the door opened, and Fanny Dover glittered on the threshold in Cambridge blue.
“There,” said Vizard; “did not I tell you? They are come home.”
“Only me,” said Fanny gayly.
“Where are the others?” inquired Miss Maitland sharply.
“Not far off—only by the riverside.”
“And you left those two alone!”
“Now, don't be cross, aunt,” cried Fanny, and limped up to her. “These new boots are so tight that I really couldn't bear them any longer. I believe I shall be lame, as it is.”
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself. What will the people say?”
“La! aunt, it is abroad. One does what one likes—out of England.”
“Here's a code of morals!” said Vizard, who must have his slap.
“Nonsense,” said Miss Maitland: “she will be sure to meet somebody. All England is on the Rhine at this time of the year; and, whether or no, is it for you to expose that child to familiarity with a person nobody knows, nor his family either? You are twenty-five years old; you know the world; you have as poor an opinion of the man as I have, or you would have set your own cap at him—you know you would—and you have let out things to me when you were off your guard. Fanny Dover, you are behaving wickedly; you are a false friend to that poor girl.”
Upon this, lo! the pert Fanny, hitherto so ready with her answers, began to cry bitterly. The words really pricked her conscience, and to be scolded is one thing, to be severely and solemnly reproached is another; and before a man!
The official woman-hater was melted in a moment by the saucy girl's tears. “There—there,” said he, kindly, “have a little mercy. Hang it all! Don't make a mountain of a mole-hill.”
The official man-hater never moved a muscle. “It is no use her crying to me: she must give me a proof she is sorry. Fanny, if you are a respectable girl, and have any idea of being my heir, go you this moment and bring them home.”
“Yes, aunt,” said Fanny, eagerly; and went off with wonderful alacrity.
It was a very long apartment, full forty feet; and while Fanny bustled down it, Miss Maitland extended a skinny finger, like one of Macbeth's witches, and directed Vizard's eye to the receding figure so pointedly that he put up his spyglass the better to see the phenomenon.
As Fanny skipped out and closed the door, Miss Maitland turned to Vizard, with lean finger still pointing after Fanny, and uttered a monosyllable:
“LAME!”
Vizard burst out laughing. “La fourbe!” said he. “Miss Maitland, accept my compliments; you possess the key to a sex no fellow can unlock. And, now I have found an interpreter, I begin to be interested in this little comedy. The first act is just over. There will be half an hour's wait till the simulatrix of infirmity comes running back with the pilgrims of the Rhine. Are they 'the pilgrims of the Rhine' or 'the pilgrims of Love?' Time will show. Play to recommence with a verbal encounter; you will be one against three; for all that, I don't envy the greater number.”
“Three to one? No. Surely you will be on the right side for once.
“Well, you see, I am the audience. We can't be all dramatis personae, and no spectator. During