CHAPTER XIII

MRS. MCDERMOTT

RS. MCDERMOTT had now the pleasing prospect of seeing her daughter with two strings to her bow, a position that is much more appreciated by the ladies than by the gentlemen. We question whether any man ever got a wife who hadn’t had some other excellent offer, or who hadn’t neglected some other excellent prospect, or who hadn’t been very much admired. Mrs. McDermott, when she thought matters over—how Mr. Bunting had made up to Rosa, how indefatigably he had danced with her, how enraptured he seemed, coupled with the not altogether uninteresting fact that he had a large fortune, and that too in possession—felt extremely well satisfied with her day’s adventures, and glad that their house, Privett Grove, wanted painting. Not that she thought of giving young “sivin and four” his congé, but a little competition is an agreeable thing, and flattering. The ladies call it admiration—but the admiration generally ends one way, namely, by the best man being accepted. Of course in saying “best” we are now speaking commercially, not morally. Then as there is an old adage “that an egg to-day is worth a hen to-morrow,” the fact of a man being in possession—not subject to the whims and caprices of the friends or relations of this world—is a very important consideration, and one that always has its due weight. It’s an awkward thing when a youth has to please a whole regiment of his own relations with a wife, equally awkward when an unfortunate has to run the gauntlet of a too severely critical set of wife’s connections. All things considered it is a wonder how people ever get scrambled through, to say nothing of the friendly attentions of the lawyers, each bent on doing what they call “the best” for their clients—that is, making a case of Jew versus Jew of a match.

Mrs. McDermott thought all these points over, and came to the very sensible conclusion, that there was no harm in Rosa seeing a little of the world before she finally settled for life. Still she was a prudent Mamma, and not at all disposed to press matters on hastily, and as Rosa seemed a little paler than usual after her unwonted exercise, she resolved to keep her quietly at home the day after the pic-nic, instead of following up her advantage on the flags, as many over-anxious ladies would have done.

We often wonder that young girls on their preferment, should be so fond of showing themselves, when they are not quite up to the mark. We always think they had much better forego the momentary gratification of the dance, or the interview, rather than risk the consequences of making an unfavourable impression. If we might without offence institute a comparison between the fairest of bipeds and the noblest of quadrupeds, we would observe that no man who knows what he is about will ever show a horse that he wants to sell after a hard day’s hunting, or even hacking on the road. He will say, when a customer comes, that the horse is not fit to show, and into the stable he will not let him pass, lest his first look should satisfy or dissatisfy him altogether. So it is with the fair. It is impossible for young ladies to dance and twirl, and talk vehemently all night in the heated atmosphere of a ball-room, and appear next day with the bloom of youth, and the healthy glow of freshness peculiar only to pure air, gentle exercise, and early hours. Yet show they will, pale, haggard, and weary though they be; nay, declare they are not in the least fatigued, and quite ready to go to another ball that evening, if they can get. But nature, inexorable nature, will have her own way, and just as we see scarlet-coated young gentlemen ride twenty miles to cover, hunt, return, dance all night, and smoke till it is time to hunt again, declaring as they dismount the second time, that they never felt so fresh and corkey in their lives, yet drop asleep directly after dinner; so the weary listlessness of over-exertion will prevail even in the gayest and the liveliest throng, and time’s relentless graver begins to draw those lines that so soon separate the ageing from the young—

as our poetical friend, Mr. Bunting, would say. Mrs. McDermott did not risk this sort of thing. She saw that Rosa was not herself, and instead of letting other people see the same, she kept her quietly in the cool of the back drawing-room until the heat of the day was over, when she took her by the retired route of Rosemary Gardens, Park Place, and Victoria Villas, up on to the breezy downs, at the back of the sea-stretching town. Here, amid groups of nursery-maids and children, flannelclad cricketers, and small young gentlemen wheeling about in charge of large drill-sergeants, they sat and sauntered about until it was time to return to tea.

Meanwhile Mr. Bunting, as we have shown, polished the flags of Promenade Gardens, Belvidere Terrace, Parnassus Place, all the likely draws where people most do congregate, without a find. Dull and dispirited he at length withdrew to his dinner, hoping for better luck on the morrow, and inwardly upbraiding himself for not having gone boldly to call.