The Tenant of Wildfell Hall | Page 7

her I knew better.'
'Some romantic young widow, I suppose,' said I, 'come there to end her
days in solitude, and mourn in secret for the dear departed - but it won't
last long.'
'No, I think not,' observed Rose; 'for she didn't seem very disconsolate
after all; and she's excessively pretty - handsome rather - you must see

her, Gilbert; you will call her a perfect beauty, though you could hardly
pretend to discover a resemblance between her and Eliza Millward.'
'Well, I can imagine many faces more beautiful than Eliza's, though not
more charming. I allow she has small claims to perfection; but then, I
maintain that, if she were more perfect, she would be less interesting.'
'And so you prefer her faults to other people's perfections?'
'Just so - saving my mother's presence.'
'Oh, my dear Gilbert, what nonsense you talk! - I know you don't mean
it; it's quite out of the question,' said my mother, getting up, and
bustling out of the room, under pretence of household business, in
order to escape the contradiction that was trembling on my tongue.
After that Rose favoured me with further particulars respecting Mrs.
Graham. Her appearance, manners, and dress, and the very furniture of
the room she inhabited, were all set before me, with rather more
clearness and precision than I cared to see them; but, as I was not a
very attentive listener, I could not repeat the description if I would.
The next day was Saturday; and, on Sunday, everybody wondered
whether or not the fair unknown would profit by the vicar's
remonstrance, and come to church. I confess I looked with some
interest myself towards the old family pew, appertaining to Wildfell
Hall, where the faded crimson cushions and lining had been unpressed
and unrenewed so many years, and the grim escutcheons, with their
lugubrious borders of rusty black cloth, frowned so sternly from the
wall above.
And there I beheld a tall, lady-like figure, clad in black. Her face was
towards me, and there was something in it which, once seen, invited me
to look again. Her hair was raven black, and disposed in long glossy
ringlets, a style of coiffure rather unusual in those days, but always
graceful and becoming; her complexion was clear and pale; her eyes I
could not see, for, being bent upon her prayer-book, they were
concealed by their drooping lids and long black lashes, but the brows
above were expressive and well defined; the forehead was lofty and
intellectual, the nose, a perfect aquiline and the features, in general,
unexceptionable - only there was a slight hollowness about the cheeks
and eyes, and the lips, though finely formed, were a little too thin, a
little too firmly compressed, and had something about them that
betokened, I thought, no very soft or amiable temper; and I said in my

heart - 'I would rather admire you from this distance, fair lady, than be
the partner of your home.'
Just then she happened to raise her eyes, and they met mine; I did not
choose to withdraw my gaze, and she turned again to her book, but
with a momentary, indefinable expression of quiet scorn, that was
inexpressibly provoking to me.
'She thinks me an impudent puppy,' thought I. 'Humph! - she shall
change her mind before long, if I think it worth while.'
But then it flashed upon me that these were very improper thoughts for
a place of worship, and that my behaviour, on the present occasion, was
anything but what it ought to be. Previous, however, to directing my
mind to the service, I glanced round the church to see if any one had
been observing me; - but no, - all, who were not attending to their
prayer-books, were attending to the strange lady, - my good mother and
sister among the rest, and Mrs. Wilson and her daughter; and even
Eliza Millward was slily glancing from the corners of her eyes towards
the object of general attraction. Then she glanced at me, simpered a
little, and blushed, modestly looked at her prayer-book, and
endeavoured to compose her features.
Here I was transgressing again; and this time I was made sensible of it
by a sudden dig in the ribs, from the elbow of my pert brother. For the
present, I could only resent the insult by pressing my foot upon his toes,
deferring further vengeance till we got out of church.
Now, Halford, before I close this letter, I'll tell you who Eliza Millward
was: she was the vicar's younger daughter, and a very engaging little
creature, for whom I felt no small degree of partiality; - and she knew it,
though I had never come to any direct explanation, and had no definite
intention of so