Thomas Carlyle - "History of Friedrich II of Prussia V 10"

From Harper's New Monthly, V. 41, 1870 - "Se quo yah"

Alexandra Kuprin - "Yama (The Pit)"

George Berkeley - "Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous,"

The Woman Hater

C >> Charles Reade >> The Woman Hater




This plan once conceived, she adhered to it with pertinacity and skill.
She rode and walked with them, and in public put herself rather forward,
and asserted the leader; but sooner or later, at a proper time and place,
she lagged behind, or cantered ahead, and manipulated the wooing with
tact and dexterity.

The consequence was that Zoe wrote of her own accord to Mrs. Dover,
asking leave to detain Fanny, because her brother had invited a college
friend, and it was rather awkward for her without Fanny, there being no
other lady in the house at present.

She showed this to Fanny, who said, earnestly,

"As long as ever you like, dear. Mamma will not miss me a bit. Make your
mind easy."

Vizard, knowing his sister, and entirely deceived in Severne, exercised
no vigilance; for, to do Zoe justice, none was necessary, if Severne had
been the man he seemed.

There was no mother in the house to tremble for her daughter, to be
jealous, to watch, to question, to demand a clear explanation--in short,
to guard her young as only the mothers of creation do.

The Elysian days rolled on. Zoe was in heaven, and Severne in a fool's
paradise, enjoying everything, hoping everything, forgetting everything,
and fearing nothing. He had come to this, with all his cunning; he was
intoxicated and blinded with passion.

Now it was that the idea of marrying Zoe first entered his head. But he
was not mad enough for that. He repelled it with terror, rage, and
despair. He passed an hour or two of agony in his own room, and came
down, looking pale and exhausted. But, indeed, the little Dumas, though
he does not pass for a moralist, says truly and well, "Les amours
ille'gitimes portent toujours des fruits amers;" and Ned Severne's turn
was come to suffer a few of the pangs he had inflicted gayly on more than
one woman and her lover.





One morning at breakfast Vizard made two announcements. "Here's news,"
said he; "Dr. Gale writes to postpone her visit. She is ill, poor girl!"

"Oh, dear! what is the matter?" inquired Zoe, always kind-hearted.

"Gastritis--so she says."

"What is that?" inquired Fanny.

Mr. Severne, who was much pleased at this opportune illness, could not
restrain his humor, and said it was a disorder produced by the fumes of
gas.

Zoe, accustomed to believe this gentleman's lies, and not giving herself
time to think, said there was a great escape in the passage the night she
went there.

Then there was a laugh at her simplicity. She joined in it, but shook her
finger at Master Severne.

Vizard then informed Zoe that Lord Uxmoor had been staying some time at
Basildon Hall, about nine miles off; so he had asked him to come over for
a week, and he had accepted. "He will be here to dinner," said Vizard. He
then rang the bell, and sent for Harris, and ordered him to prepare the
blue chamber for Lord Uxmoor, and see the things aired himself. Harris
having retired, cat-like, Vizard explained, "My womankind shall not kill
Uxmoor. He is a good fellow, and his mania--we have all got a mania, my
young friends--is a respectable one. He wants to improve the condition of
the poor--against their will."

"His friend! that was so ill. I hope he has not lost him," said Zoe.

"He hasn't lost him in this letter, Miss Gush," said Vizard. "But you can
ask him when he comes."

"Of course I shall ask him," said Zoe.

Half an hour before dinner there was a grating of wheels on the gravel.
Severne looked out of his bedroom window, and saw Uxmoor drive up. Dark
blue coach; silver harness, glittering in the sun; four chestnuts, glossy
as velvet; two neat grooms as quick as lightning. He was down in a
moment, and his traps in the hall, and the grooms drove the trap round to
the stables.

They were all in the drawing-room when Lord Uxmoor appeared; greeted Zoe
with respectful warmth, Vizard with easy friendship, Severne and Miss
Dover with well-bred civility. He took Zoe out, and sat at her right hand
at dinner.

As the new guest, he had the first claim on her attention and they had a
topic ready--his sick friend. He told her all about him, and his happy
recovery, with simple warmth. Zoe was interested and sympathetic; Fanny
listened, and gave Severne short answers. Severne felt dethroned.

He was rather mortified, and a little uneasy, but too brave to show it.
He bided his time. In the drawing-room Lord Uxmoor singled out Zoe, and
courted her openly with respectful admiration. Severne drew Fanny apart,
and exerted himself to amuse her. Zoe began to cast uneasy glances.
Severne made common cause with Fanny. "We have no chance against a lord,
or a lady, you and I, Miss Dover."

"I haven't," said she; "but you need not complain. She wishes she were
here."

"So do I. Will you help me?"

"No, I shall not. You can make love to me. I am tired of never being made
love to."

"Well," said this ingenuous youth, "you certainly do not get your deserts
in this house. Even I am so blinded by my passion for Zoe, that I forget
she does not monopolize all the beauty and grace and wit in the house."

"Go on," said Fanny. "I can bear a good deal of it--after such a fast."

"I have no doubt you can bear a good deal. You are one of those that
inspire feelings, but don't share them. Give me a chance; let me sing you
a song."

"A love song?"

"Of course."

"Can you sing it as well as you can talk it?"

"With a little encouragement. If you would kindly stand at the end of the
piano, and let me see your beautiful eyes fixed on me."

"With disdain?"

"No, no."

"With just suspicion?"

"No; with unmerited pity." And he began to open the piano.

"What! do you accompany yourself?"

"Yes, after a fashion; by that means I don't get run over."

Then this accomplished person fixed his eyes on Fanny Dover, and sung her
an Italian love song in the artificial passionate style of that nation;
and the English girl received it pointblank with complacent composure.
But Zoe started and thrilled at the first note, and crept up to the piano
as if drawn by an irresistible cord. She gazed on the singer with
amazement and admiration. His voice was a low tenor, round, and sweet as
honey. It was a real voice, a musical instrument.

"More tunable than lark to shepherd's ear When wheat is green, when
hawthorn buds appear."

And the Klosking had cured him of the fatal whine which stains the
amateur, male or female, and had taught him climax, so that he
articulated and sung with perfect purity, and rang out his final notes
instead of slurring them. In short, in plain passages he was a
reflection, on a small scale, of that great singer. He knew this himself,
and had kept clear of song: it was so full of reminiscence and stings.
But now jealousy drove him to it.

It was Vizard's rule to leave the room whenever Zoe or Fanny opened the
piano. So in the evening that instrument of torture was always mute.

But hearing a male voice, the squire, who doted on good music, as he
abhorred bad, strolled in upon the chance; and he stared at the singer.

When the song ended, there was a little clamor of ladies' voices calling
him to account for concealing his talent from them.

"I was afraid of Vizard," said he; "he hates bad music."

"None of your tricks," said the squire; "yours is not bad music; you
speak your words articulately, and even eloquently. Your accompaniment is
a little queer, especially in the bass; but you find out your mistakes,
and slip out of them Heaven knows how. Zoe, you are tame, but accurate.
Correct his accompaniments some day--when I'm out of hearing. Practice
drives me mad. Give us another."

Severne laughed good-humoredly. "Thus encouraged, who could resist?" said
he. "It is so delightful to sing in a shower bath of criticism."

He sung a sprightly French song, with prodigious spirit and dash.

They all applauded, and Vizard said, "I see how it is. We were not good
enough. He would not come out for us. He wanted the public. Uxmoor, you
are the public. It is to you we owe this pretty warbler. Have you any
favorite song, Public? Say the word, and he shall sing it you."

Severne turned rather red at that, and was about to rise slowly, when
Uxmoor, who was instinctively a gentleman, though not a courtier, said,
"I don't presume to choose Mr. Severne' s songs; but if we are not tiring
him, I own I should like to hear an English song; for I am no musician,
and the words are everything with me."

Severne assented dryly, and made him a shrewd return for his courtesy.

Zoe had a brave rose in her black hair. He gave her one rapid glance of
significance, and sung a Scotch song, almost as finely as it could be
sung in a room:

"My love is like the red, red rose That's newly sprung in June; My love
is like a melody That's sweetly played in tune."

The dog did not slur the short notes and howl upon the long ones, as did
a little fat Jew from London, with a sweet voice and no brains, whom I
last heard howl it in the Theater Royal, Edinburgh. No; he retained the
pure rhythm of the composition, and, above all, sung it with the gentle
earnestness and unquavering emotion of a Briton.

It struck Zoe's heart pointblank. She drew back, blushing like the rose
in her hair and in the song, and hiding her happiness from all but the
keen Fanny. Everybody but Zoe applauded the song. She spoke only with her
cheeks and eyes.

Severne rose from the piano. He was asked to sing another, but declined
laughingly. Indeed, soon afterward he glided out of the room and was seen
no more that night.

Consequently he became the topic of conversation; and the three, who
thought they knew him, vied in his praises.

In the morning an expedition was planned, and Uxmoor proffered his
"four-in-hand." It was accepted. All young ladies like to sit behind four
spanking trotters; and few object to be driven by a viscount with a
glorious beard and large estates.

Zoe sat by Uxmoor. Severne sat behind them with Fanny, a spectator of his
open admiration. He could not defend himself so well as last night, and
he felt humiliated by the position.

It was renewed day after day. Zoe often cast a glance back, and drew him
into the conversation; yet, on the whole, Uxmoor thrust him aside by his
advantages and his resolute wooing.

The same thing at dinner. It was only at night he could be number one. He
tuned Zoe's guitar; and one night when there was a party, he walked about
the room with this, and, putting his left leg out, serenaded one lady
after another. Barfordshire was amazed and delighted at him, but Uxmoor
courted Zoe as if he did not exist. He began to feel that he was the man
to amuse women in Barfordshire, but Uxmoor the man to marry them. He
began to sulk. Zoe's quick eyes saw and pitied. She was puzzled what to
do. Lord Uxmoor gave her no excuse for throwing cold water on him,
because his adoration was implied, not expressed; and he followed her up
so closely, she could hardly get a word with Severne. When she did, there
was consolation in every tone; and she took care to let drop that Lord
Uxmoor was going in a day or two. So he was, but he altered his mind, and
asked leave to stay.

Severne looked gloomy at this, and he became dejected. He was miserable,
and showed it, to see what Zoe would do. What she did was to get rather
bored by Uxmoor, and glance from Fanny to Severne. I believe Zoe only
meant, "Do pray say things to comfort him;" but Fanny read these gentle
glances _'a la_ Dover. She got hold of Severne one day, and said,

"What is the matter with you?"

"Of course you can't divine," said he, sarcastically.

"Oh yes, I can; and it is your own fault."

"My fault! That is a good joke. Did I invite this man with all his
advantages? That was Vizard's doing, who calls himself my friend."

"If it was not this one, it would be some other. Can you hope to keep Zoe
Vizard from being courted? Why, she is the beauty of the county! and her
brother not married. It is no use your making love by halves to her. She
will go to some man who is in earnest."

"And am I not in earnest?"

"Not so much as he is. You have known her four months, and never once
asked her to marry you."

"So I am to be punished for my self-denial."

"Self-denial! Nonsense. Men have no self-denial. It is your cowardice."

"Don't be cruel. You know it is my poverty."

"Your poverty of spirit. You gave up money for her, and that is as good
as if you had it still, and better. If you love Zoe, scrape up an income
somehow, and say the word. Why, Harrington is bewitched with you, and he
is rolling in money. I wouldn't lose her by cowardice, if I were you.
Uxmoor will offer marriage before he goes. He is staying on for that.
Now, take my word for it, when one man offers marriage, and the other
does not, there is always a good chance of the girl saying this one is in
earnest, and the other is not. We don't expect self-denial in a man; we
don't believe in it. We see you seizing upon everything else you care
for; and, if you don't seize on us, it wounds our vanity, the strongest
passion we have. Consider, Uxmoor has title, wealth, everything to bestow
with the wedding-ring. If he offers all that, and you don't offer all you
have, how much more generous he looks to her than you do!"

"In short, you think she will doubt my affection, if I don't ask her to
share my poverty."

"If you don't, and a rich man asks her to share his all, I'm sure she
will. And so should I. Words are only words."

"You torture me. I'd rather die than lose her."

"Then live and win her. I've told you the way."

"I will scrape an income together, and ask her."

"Upon your honor?"

"Upon my soul."

"Then, in my opinion, you will have her in spite of Lord Uxmoor."

Hot from this, Edward Severne sat down and wrote a moving letter to a
certain cousin of his in Huntingdonshire.





"MY DEAR COUSIN--I have often heard you say you were under obligations to
my father, and had a regard for me. Indeed, you have shown the latter by
letting the interest on my mortgage run out many years and not
foreclosing. Having no other friend, I now write to you, and throw myself
on your pity. I have formed a deep attachment to a young lady of infinite
beauty and virtue. She is above me in everything, especially in fortune.
Yet she deigns to love me. I can't ask her hand as a pauper; and by my
own folly, now deeply repented, I am little more. Now, all depends on
you--my happiness, my respectability. Sooner or later, I shall be able to
repay you all. For God's sake come to the assistance of your affectionate
cousin,

EDWARD SEVERNE."

"The brother, a man of immense estates, is an old friend, and warmly
attached to me. If I could only, through your temporary assistance or
connivance, present my estate as clear, all would be well, and I could
repay you afterward."





To this letter he received an immediate reply:





"DEAR EDWARD--I thought you had forgotten my very existence. Yes, I owe
much to your father, and have always said so, and acted accordingly.
While you have been wandering abroad, deserting us all, I have improved
your estate. I have bought all the other mortgages, and of late the rent
has paid the interest, within a few pounds. I now make you an offer. Give
me a long lease of the two farms at three hundred pounds a year--they
will soon be vacant--and two thousand pounds out of hand, and I will
cancel all the mortgages, and give you a receipt for them, as paid in
full. This will be like paying you several thousand pounds for a
beneficial lease. The two thousand pounds I must insist on, in justice to
my own family.

"Your affectionate cousin,

"GEORGE SEVERNE."





This munificent offer surprised and delighted Severne, and, indeed, no
other man but Cousin George, who had a heart of gold, and was grateful to
Ned's father, and also loved the scamp himself, as everybody did, would
have made such an offer.

Our adventurer wrote, and closed with it, and gushed gratitude. Then he
asked himself how to get the money. Had he been married to Zoe, or not
thinking of her, he would have gone at once to Vizard, for the security
was ample. But in his present delicate situation this would not do. No;
he must be able to come and say, "My estate is small, but it is clear.
Here is a receipt for six thousand pounds' worth of mortgages I have paid
off. I am poor in land but rich in experience, regrets, and love. Be my
friend, and trust me with Zoe."

He turned and twisted it in his mind, and resolved on a bold course. He
would go to Homburg, and get that sum by hook or by crook out of Ina
Klosking's winnings. He took Fanny into his confidence; only he
substituted London for Homburg.

"And oh, Miss Dover," said he, "do not let me suffer by going away and
leaving a rival behind."

"Suffer by it!" said she. "No, I mean to reward you for taking my advice.
Don't you say a word to _her._ It will come better from me. I'll let her
know what you are gone for; and she is just the girl to be upon honor,
and ever so much cooler to Lord Uxmoor because you are unhappy, but have
gone away trusting her."

And his artful ally kept her word. She went into Zoe's room before dinner
to have it out with her.

In the evening Severne told Vizard he must go up to London for a day or
two.

"All right," said Vizard. "Tell some of them to order the dog-cart for
your train."

But Zoe took occasion to ask him for how long, and murmured, "Remember
how we shall miss you," with such a look that he was in Elysium that
evening.

But at night he packed his bag for Homburg, and that chilled him. He lay
slumbering all night, but not sleeping, and waking with starts and a
sense of horror.

At breakfast, after reading his letters, Vizard asked him what train he
would go by.

He said, the one o'clock.

"All right," said Vizard. Then he rang the bell, countermanded the
dog-cart, and ordered the barouche.

"A barouche for me!" said Severne. "Why, I am not going to take the
ladies to the station."

"No; it is to bring one here. She comes down from London five minutes
before you take the up train."

There was a general exclamation: Who was it? Aunt Maitland?

"No," said Vizard, tossing a note to Zoe--"it is Doctress Gale."





Severne's countenance fell.



CHAPTER XVII.

EDWARD SEVERNE, master of arts, dreaded Rhoda Gale, M.D. He had deluded,
in various degrees, several ladies that were no fools; but here was one
who staggered and puzzled him. Bright and keen as steel, quick and
spirited, yet controlled by judgment and always mistress of herself, she
seemed to him a new species. The worst of it was, he felt himself in the
power of this new woman, and, indeed, he saw no limit to the mischief she
might possibly do him if she and Zoe compared notes. He had thought the
matter over, and realized this more than he did when in London. Hence the
good youth's delight at her illness, noticed in a former chapter.

He was very thoughtful all breakfast time, and as soon as it was over
drew Vizard apart, and said he would postpone his visit to London until
he had communicated with his man of business. He would go to the station
and telegraph him, and by that means would do the civil and meet Miss
Gale. Vizard stared at him.

"You meet my virago? Why, I thought you disapproved her entirely."

"No, no; only the idea of a female doctor, not the lady herself. Besides,
it is a rule with me, my dear fellow, never to let myself disapprove my
friends' friends."

"That is a bright idea, and you are a good fellow," said Vizard. "Go and
meet the pest, by all means, and bring her here to luncheon. After
luncheon we will drive her up to the farm and ensconce her."

Edward Severne had this advantage over most impostors, that he was
masculine or feminine as occasion required. For instance, he could be
hysterical or bold to serve the turn. Another example--he watched faces
like a woman, and yet he could look you in the face like a man,
especially when he was lying. In the present conjuncture a crafty woman
would have bristled with all the arts of self-defense, but stayed at home
and kept close to Zoe. Not so our master of arts; he went manfully to
meet Rhoda Gale, and so secure a _te'te-'a-te'te,_ and learn, if
possible, what she meant to do, and whether she could be cannily
propitiated. He reached the station before her, and wired a very
intelligent person who, he knew, conducted delicate inquiries, and had
been very successful in a divorce case, public two years before. Even as
he dispatched this message there was a whistling and a ringing, and the
sound of a coming train, and Ned Severne ran to meet Rhoda Gale with a
heart palpitating a little, and a face beaming greatly to order. He
looked for her in the first-class carriages, but she was in the second,
and saw him. He did not see her till she stepped out on the platform.
Then he made toward her. He took off his hat, and said, with respectful
zeal, "If you will tell me what luggage you have, the groom shall get it
out."

Miss Gale's eyes wandered over him loftily. "I have only a box and a bag,
sir, both marked 'R. G.' "

"Joe," said he--for he had already made friends with all the servants,
and won their hearts--"box and bag marked 'R. G.' Miss Gale, you had
better take your seat in the carriage."

Miss Gale gave a little supercilious nod, and he showed her obsequiously
into the carriage. She laid her head back, and contemplated vacancy ahead
in a manner anything but encouraging to this new admirer Fate had sent
her. He turned away, a little discomfited, and when the luggage was
brought up, he had the bag placed inside, and the box in a sort of boot,
and then jumped in and seated himself inside. "Home," said he to the
coachman, and off they went. When he came in she started with
well-feigned surprise, and stared at him.

"Oh," said she, "I have met you before. Why, it is Mr. Severne. Excuse me
taking you for one of the servants. Some people have short memories, you
know."

This deliberate affront was duly felt, but parried with a master-hand.

"Why, I _am_ one of the servants," said he; "only I am not Vizard's. I'm
yours."

"In-deed!"

"If you will let me."

"I am too poor to have fine servants."

"Say too haughty. You are not too poor, for I shan't cost you anything
but a gracious word now and then."

"Unfortunately I don't deal in gracious words, only true ones."

"I see that."

"Then suppose you imitate me, and tell me why you came to meet me?"

This question came from her with sudden celerity, like lightning out of a
cloud, and she bent her eyes on him with that prodigious keenness she
could throw into those steel gray orbs, when her mind put on its full
power of observation.

Severne colored a little, and hesitated.

"Come now," said this keen witch, "don't wait to make up a reason. Tell
the truth for once--quick!--quick!--why did _you_ come to meet _me?"_

"I didn't come to be bullied," replied supple Severne, affecting
sullenness.

"You didn't!" cried the other, acting vast surprise. "Then what _did_ you
come for?"

"I don't know; and I wish I hadn't come."

"That I believe." Rhoda shot this in like an arrow.

"But," continued Severne, "if I hadn't, nobody would; for it is Vizard's
justicing day, and the ladies are too taken up with a lord to come and
meet such vulgar trifles as genius and learning and sci--"

"Come, come!" said Rhoda, contemptuously; "you care as little about
science and learning and genius as I possess them. You won't tell me?
Well, I shall find you out." Then, after a pause, "Who is this lord?"

"Lord Uxmoor."

"What kind of a lord is he?"

"A very bushy lord."

"Bushy?--oh, bearded like the pard! Now tell me," said she, "is he
cutting you out with Miss Vizard?"

"You shall judge for yourself. Please spare me on that one topic--if you
ever spared anybody in your life."

"Oh, dear me!" said Rhoda, coolly. "I'm not so very cruel. I'm only a
little vindictive and cat-like. If people offend me, I like to play with
them a bit, and amuse myself, and then kill them--kill them--kill them;
that is all."

This pretty little revelation of character was accompanied with a cruel
smile that showed a long row of dazzling white teeth. They seemed capable
of killing anything from a liar up to a hickory-nut.

Severne looked at her and gave a shudder. "Then Heaven forbid you should
ever be my enemy!" said he, sadly, "for I am unhappy enough already."

Having delivered this disarming speech, he collapsed, and seemed to be
overpowered with despondency. Miss Gale showed no signs of melting. She
leaned back and eyed him with steady and composed curiosity, as a
zoologist studying a new specimen and all its little movements.

They drove up to the Hall door, and Miss Gale was conducted to the
drawing-room, where she found Lord Uxmoor and the two young ladies. Zoe
shook hands with her. Fanny put a limp paw into hers, which made itself
equally limp directly, so Fanny's dropped out. Lord Uxmoor was presented
to her, at his own request. Soon after this luncheon was announced.
Vizard joined them, welcomed Rhoda genially, and told the party he had
ordered the break, and Uxmoor would drive them to the farm round by
Hillstoke and the Common. "And so," said he, "by showing Miss Gale our
most picturesque spot at once, we may perhaps blind her to the horrors of
her situation--for a time."

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