His marriage would be a mere piece of bitter irony if they could not go on loving each other. He had long ago made up his mind to what he thought was her negative character--her want of sensibility, which showed itself in disregard both of his specific wishes and of his general aims. The first great disappointment had been borne:
the tender devotedness and docile adoration of the ideal wife must be renounced, and life must be taken up on a lower stage of expectation, as it is by men who have lost their limbs. But the real wife had not only her claims, she had still a hold on his heart, and it was his intense desire that the hold should remain strong.
In marriage, the certainty, "She will never love me much,"is easier to bear than the fear, "I shall love her no more." Hence, after that outburst, his inward effort was entirely to excuse her, and to blame the hard circumstances which were partly his fault.
He tried that evening, by petting her, to heal the wound he had made in the morning, and it was not in Rosamond's nature to be repellent or sulky; indeed, she welcomed the signs that her husband loved her and was under control. But this was something quite distinct from loving HIM. Lydgate would not have chosen soon to recur to the plan of parting with the house; he was resolved to carry it out, and say as little more about it as possible.
But Rosamond herself touched on it at breakfast by saying, mildly--"Have you spoken to Trumbull yet?"
"No," said Lydgate, "but I shall call on him as I go by this morning.
No time must be lost." He took Rosamond's question as a sign that she withdrew her inward opposition, and kissed her head caressingly when he got up to go away.
As soon as it was late enough to make a call, Rosamond went to Mrs. Plymdale, Mr. Ned's mother, and entered with pretty congratulations into the of the coming marriage. Mrs. Plymdale's maternal view was, that Rosamond might possibly now have retrospective glimpses of her own folly; and feeling the advantages to be at present all on the side of her son, was too kind a woman not to behave graciously.
"Yes, Ned is most happy, I must say. And Sophy Toller is all I could desire in a daughter-in-law. Of course her father is able to do something handsome for her--that is only what would be expected with a brewery like his. And the connection is everything we should desire. But that is not what I look at.
She is such a very nice girl--no airs, no pretensions, though on a level with the first. I don't mean with the titled aristocracy.
I see very little good in people aiming out of their own sphere.
I mean that Sophy is equal to the best in the town, and she is contented with that.""I have always thought her very agreeable," said Rosamond.
"I look upon it as a reward for Ned, who never held his head too high, that he should have got into the very best connection,"continued Mrs. Plymdale, her native sharpness softened by a fervid sense that she was taking a correct view. "And such particular people as the Tollers are, they might have objected because some of our friends are not theirs. It is well known that your aunt Bulstrode and I have been intimate from our youth, and Mr. Plymdale has been always on Mr. Bulstrode's side. And I myself prefer serious opinions.
But the Tollers have welcomed Ned all the same.""I am sure he is a very deserving, well-principled young man,"said Rosamond, with a neat air of patronage in return for Mrs. Plymdale's wholesome corrections.
"Oh, he has not the style of a captain in the army, or that sort of carriage as if everybody was beneath him, or that showy kind of talking, and singing, and intellectual talent. But I am thankful he has not. It is a poor preparation both for here and Hereafter.""Oh dear, yes; appearances have very little to do with happiness,"said Rosamond. "I think there is every prospect of their being a happy couple. What house will they take?""Oh, as for that, they must put up with what they can get.
They have been looking at the house in St. Peter's Place, next to Mr. Hackbutt's; it belongs to him, and he is putting it nicely in repair. I suppose they are not likely to hear of a better.
Indeed, I think Ned will decide the matter to-day.""I should think it is a nice house; I like St. Peter's Place.""Well, it is near the Church, and a genteel situation.
But the windows are narrow, and it is all ups and downs.
You don't happen to know of any other that would be at liberty?"said Mrs. Plymdale, fixing her round black eyes on Rosamond with the animation of a sudden thought in them.
"Oh no; I hear so little of those things."Rosamond had not foreseen that question and answer in setting out to pay her visit; she had simply meant to gather any information which would help her to avert the parting with her own house under circumstances thoroughly disagreeable to her. As to the untruth in her reply, she no more reflected on it than she did on the untruth there was in her saying that appearances had very little to do with happiness.
Her object, she was convinced, was thoroughly justifiable:
it was Lydgate whose intention was inexcusable; and there was a plan in her mind which, when she had carried it out fully, would prove how very false a step it would have been for him to have descended from his position.
She returned home by Mr. Borthrop Trumbull's office, meaning to call there. It was the first time in her life that Rosamond had thought of doing anything in the form of business, but she felt equal to the occasion. That she should be obliged to do what she intensely disliked, was an idea which turned her quiet tenacity into active invention. Here was a case in which it could not be enough simply to disobey and be serenely, placidly obstinate: