The Marriage of Elinor. Mrs. Oliphant

way of treating all intellectual subjects, his indifference to books and pictures, and even nature, had amused and pleased her, giving a piquancy to the physical strength and enjoying manhood, the perpetual activity and state of doing something in which he was. It was not a kind of life which she had ever known before, and it dazzled her with its apparent freedom and fulness, the variety in it, the constant movement, the crowd of occupations and people. To her who had been used to finding a great deal of her amusement in reading, in sketching (not very well), in playing (tunes), and generally practising with very moderate success arts for which she had no individual enthusiasm, it had seemed like a new life to be plunged into the society of horses and dogs, into the active world which was made up of a round of amusements, race meetings, days on the river, follies of every conceivable kind, exercise, and air, and movement. The ignorance of all these people dazzled her as if it had been a new science. It had seemed something wonderful and piquant to Elinor to find people who knew so much of subjects she had never heard of, and nothing at all of those she had been trained to know. And then there had come a moment when she had begun to sigh under her breath, as it were, and wish that Phil would sometimes open a book, that when he took up the newspaper he would look at something more than the{vol. i_122} sporting news and the bits of gossip, that he would talk now and then of something different from the racings and the startings, and the odds, and the scrapes other men got into, and the astonishing “frocks” of the Jew—those things, so wonderful at first, like a new language, absurd, yet amusing, came to be a little tiresome, especially when scraps of them made up the bulk of the very brief letters which Phil scribbled to his betrothed. But during this day, after his unexpected arrival, the joy of seeing him suddenly, the pleasure of feeling that he had broken through all his engagements to come to her, and the fervour of his satisfaction in being with her again (that very fervour which shocked her mother), Elinor’s first glow of delight in her love came fully back. And as they wandered through the pleasant paths of the copse, his very talk seemed somehow changed, and to have gained just that little mingling of perception of her tastes and wishes which she had desired. There was a little autumnal mist about the softening haze which was not decay, but only the “mellow fruitfulness” of the poet; and the day, notwithstanding this, was as warm as June, the sky blue, with only a little white puff of cloud here and there. Phil paused to look down the combe, with all the folds of the downs that wrapped it about, going off in blue outlines into the distance, and said it was “a jolly view”—which amused Elinor more than if he had used the finest language, and showed that he was beginning (she thought) to care a little for the things which pleased{vol. i_123} her. “And I suppose you could see a man coming by that bit of road.”

      “Yes,” said Elinor, “you could see a man coming—or going: but, unless you were to make believe very strong, like the Marchioness, you could not make out who the man was.”

      “What Marchioness?” said Phil. “I didn’t know you had anybody with a title about here. I say, Nell, it’s a very jolly view, but hideously dull for you, my pet, to have lived so long here.”

      “I never found it in the least dull,” she said.

      “Why, there is nothing to do! I suppose you read books, eh? That’s what you call amusing yourself. You ought to have made the old lady take you about a deal, abroad, and all over the place: but I expect you have never stood up for yourself a bit, Nell.”

      “Don’t call mamma the old lady, Phil. She is not old, and far prettier than most people I know.”

      “Well, she should have done it for herself. Might have picked up a good match, eh? a father-in-law that would have left you a pot of money. You don’t mean to say you wouldn’t have liked that?”

      “Oh, Phil, Phil! I wish you could understand.”

      “Well, well, I’ll let the old girl alone.” And then came the point at which Phil improved so much. “Tell me what you’ve been reading last,” he said. “I should like to know what you are thinking about, even if I don’t understand it myself. I say, Nell, who do you think that can be dashing so fast along the road?{vol. i_124}”

      “It is the people at Reddown,” she said. “I know their white horses. They always dash along as if they were in the greatest hurry. Do you really want to know what I have been reading, Phil? though it is very little, I fear, because of the dressmakers and—all the other things.”

      “You see,” he said, “when you have lots to do you can’t keep up with your books: which is the reason why I never pretend to read—I have no time.”

      “You might find a little time. I have seen you look very much bored, and complain that there was nothing to do.”

      “Never when you were there, Nell, that I’ll answer for—but of course there are times when a fellow isn’t doing anything much. What would you have me read? There’s always the Sporting and Dramatic, you know, the Pink ’un, and a few more.”

      “Oh, Phil! you don’t call them literature, I hope.”

      “I don’t know much about what you call literature. There’s Ruff, and Hoyle, and—I say, Nell, there’s a dog-cart going a pace! Who can that be, do you suppose?”

      “I don’t know all the dog-carts about. I should think it was some one coming from the station.”

      “Oh!” he said, and made a long pause. “Driving like that, if they don’t break their necks, they should be here in ten minutes or so.”

      “Oh, not for twice that time—the road makes such a round—but there is no reason to suppose that any dog-cart from the station should be coming here.{vol. i_125}”

      “Well, to return to the literature, as you call it. I suppose I shall have to get a lot of books for you to keep you amused—eh, Nell? even in the honeymoon.”

      “We shall not have time to read very much if we are moving about all the time.”

      “Not me, but you. I know what you’ll do. You’ll go and leave me planted, and run up-stairs to read your book. I’ve seen the Jew do it with some of her confounded novels that she’s always wanting to turn over to me.”

      “But there are some novels that you would like to read, Phil.”

      “Not a bit. Why, Nell, I know far better stories of fellows in our own set than any novel these writing men ever can put on paper: fellows, and women, too—stories that would make your hair stand on end, and that would make you die with laughing. You can’t think what lots I know. That cart would have been here by this time if it had been coming here, eh?”

      “Oh, no, not yet—the road makes such a long round. Do you expect any one, Phil?”

      “I don’t quite know; there’s something on at that confounded office of ours; everything, you know, has gone to smash. I didn’t think it well to say too much to the old lady last night. There’s been a regular row, and the manager’s absconded, and all turns on whether they can find some books. I shouldn’t wonder if one of the fellows came down here, if they find out where I am. I say, Nell, mind you back me up whatever I say.{vol. i_126}”

      “But I can’t possibly know anything about it,” said Elinor, astonished.

      “Never mind—about dates and that—if you don’t stand by me, there may be a fuss, and the wedding delayed. Remember that, my pet, the wedding delayed—that’s what I want to avoid. Now, come, Nell, let’s have another go about the books. All English, mind you. I won’t buy you any of the French rot. They’re too spicy for a little girl like you.”

      “I don’t know what you mean, Phil. I hope you don’t think that I read nothing but novels,” Elinor said.

      “Nothing but novels! Oh, if you go in for mathematics and that sort of thing, Nell! the novels are too deep for me. Don’t say poetry, if you love me. I could stand most things from you, Nell, you little darling—but, Nell, if you come spouting verses all the time——”

      His look of horror made Elinor laugh. “You need not be afraid.