A Dark Nights Work | Page 6

things to Mr. Wilkins,
even while he was giving his consent to the match; that was his temper,
his proud, evil temper; but he really and permanently was satisfied with
the connection, though he would occasionally turn round on his
nephew-in-law, and sting him with a covert insult, as to his want of
birth, and the inferior position which he held, forgetting, apparently,
that his own brother-in-law and Lettice's father might be at any moment
brought to the bar of justice if he attempted to re-enter his native
country.
Edward was annoyed at all this; Lettice resented it. She loved her
husband dearly, and was proud of him, for she had discernment enough
to see how superior he was in every way to her cousins, the young
Holsters, who borrowed his horses, drank his wines, and yet had caught
their father's habit of sneering at his profession. Lettice wished that
Edward would content himself with a purely domestic life, would let
himself drop out of the company of the --shire squirearchy, and find his
relaxation with her, in their luxurious library, or lovely drawing-room,
so full of white gleaming statues, and gems of pictures. But, perhaps,
this was too much to expect of any man, especially of one who felt
himself fitted in many ways to shine in society, and who was social by
nature. Sociality in that county at that time meant conviviality. Edward
did not care for wine, and yet he was obliged to drink--and by-and-by
he grew to pique himself on his character as a judge of wine. His father
by this time was dead; dead, happy old man, with a contented heart--his
affairs flourishing, his poorer neighbours loving him, his richer
respecting him, his son and daughter-in-law, the most affectionate and
devoted that ever man had, and his healthy conscience at peace with his
God.
Lettice could have lived to herself and her husband and children.

Edward daily required more and more the stimulus of society. His wife
wondered how he could care to accept dinner invitations from people
who treated him as "Wilkins the attorney, a very good sort of fellow,"
as they introduced him to strangers who might be staying in the country,
but who had no power to appreciate the taste, the talents, the impulsive
artistic nature which she held so dear. She forgot that by accepting such
invitations Edward was occasionally brought into contact with people
not merely of high conventional, but of high intellectual rank; that
when a certain amount of wine had dissipated his sense of inferiority of
rank and position, he was a brilliant talker, a man to be listened to and
admired even by wandering London statesmen, professional diners-out,
or any great authors who might find themselves visitors in a --shire
country- house. What she would have had him share from the pride of
her heart, she should have warned him to avoid from the temptations to
sinful extravagance which it led him into. He had begun to spend more
than he ought, not in intellectual--though that would have been
wrong--but in purely sensual things. His wines, his table, should be
such as no squire's purse or palate could command. His dinner-
parties--small in number, the viands rare and delicate in quality, and
sent up to table by an Italian cook--should be such as even the London
stars should notice with admiration. He would have Lettice dressed in
the richest materials, the most delicate lace; jewellery, he said, was
beyond their means; glancing with proud humility at the diamonds of
the elder ladies, and the alloyed gold of the younger. But he managed
to spend as much on his wife's lace as would have bought many a set of
inferior jewellery. Lettice well became it all. If as people said, her
father had been nothing but a French adventurer, she bore traces of her
nature in her grace, her delicacy, her fascinating and elegant ways of
doing all things. She was made for society; and yet she hated it. And
one day she went out of it altogether and for evermore. She had been
well in the morning when Edward went down to his office in Hamley.
At noon he was sent for by hurried trembling messengers. When he got
home breathless and uncomprehending, she was past speech. One
glance from her lovely loving black eyes showed that she recognised
him with the passionate yearning that had been one of the
characteristics of her love through life. There was no word passed
between them. He could not speak, any more than could she. He knelt

down by her. She was dying; she was dead; and he knelt on immovable.
They brought him his eldest child, Ellinor, in utter despair what to do in
order to rouse him. They had no