# Lady Anne Granard/Chapter 26

CHAPTER XXVI.
When Mr. Glentworth, his young bride, and her gentle sister, set out for Marseilles, the former observed "that there was a necessity for his travelling to that place with all convenient speed; therefore he could not shew them much of Paris, or give to its amusements the time and attention they merited;" but he added, "as soon as ever I have settled my business at the city where I resided so long, I will take you to Italy by way of making amends."
As they both declared a great preference for this most interesting of all countries, and were alike charmed with all they saw, and grateful to him who provided their pleasures, and whose taste and information gave zest to all their enjoyments, nothing could be more delightful than their whole journey, which was rendered more interesting by including the passage of the Rhine, and a portion of Switzerland. The wonder and awe which pervaded Isabella's mind at some periods, the delight she expressed at others, her unsophisticated sentiments, her kind-heartedness, the manner in which (when she was the most moved or charmed) she wished for her sisters to partake her pleasures, were all sources of the sweetest joy to her ​husband, to whom she was as a dear child whom it was luxury to indulge, and amusement to develop.
Entirely as he gave his mind either to the study or the improvement of her's, it yet struck Mary that, however great the goodness, however perfect the kindness of Glentworth, yet the love was principally on Isabella's side. She was too happy at this time to attempt analyzing his feelings or her own; she was so ignorant of all other men, within or without the pale of marriage, that she had no opportunity of comparing him with them, or his ordinary conduct with theirs; and her admiration, her reverence of him, was so intense, her obedience and submission so entire, it was hardly likely she would do so; but if ever she did, if her eyes were once opened, with her acute feelings, her entire devotedness, the tender sister feared that her high wrought happiness might find a downfall proportioned to its present altitude.
Mary had loved once as Isabella loved now; and she had attained that point of reliance, that confiding faith in the beloved, which Isabella enjoyed, and had a sense of sympathy from congeniality of tastes and equality of years, and of knowledge with the one chosen, more perfect than her sister could possibly have with a man so superior in attainments; and, as the loss of this love had been the great misfortune of her life, it was no wonder she estimated it to the extreme of its value, and sought most anxiously, on her sister's behalf, the continuance of that hopefulness ​which was its best substitute. When the pleasures and troubles of travelling ceased, and their little circle became strictly domestic, she saw clearly the time of trial would come, and dreaded lest Isabella should be come sensible alike to her own inability of supplying the society her husband required, and which in London was always at hand; and to the fact of his being unexpectedly, though on her part most innocently, drawn into making an offer, without that profound consideration, and that careful investigation, which can only be affected properly during a certain lapse of time and thought.
The entire change which had taken place in Isabella's situation was enough to dazzle and bewilder a much older and apparently much wiser person. She was taken from the pressure of a poverty that made itself constantly felt, to all the comforts and pleasures of wealth in its best gifts and most luxurious indulgences—from the taunts of a mother who upbraided her for supposed personal deficiencies, and gave grudgingly her barest necessities, to a husband who considered her youth as beauty, or admired her as possessing that description of it to which he had been accustomed long, and preferred much, and on which he lavished freely whatever could enhance its merits, or awaken the gratitude of its possessor.
But a man may idolize a wife (which Glentworth did not), and yet not find her a companion, save as a pupil, which term indicates inferiority. A great ​disparity of years places two people in two distinct areas, as to the history of their country, their connexions, memory, and their feelings, for them to enjoy the friendship of marriage, the fellowship of opinions. At that period, when enthusiasm and romance is natural and even graceful in one, it has subsided in the other, and the genuine eloquence of imagination, the vivid burst of feeling, may elicit a smile; but it is at best sickly, and often sneering. On the other hand, the finest argument ever concocted, the concentrated wisdom drawn from men and books, will fail to charm, like the hilarity of a dance, or the splendour of a gala, the young, gay girl, whose spirits are exuberant, and whose heart is untouched by care, and who, a dozen years afterwards, would, in calm cheerfulness, listen lovingly, and examine carefully, the pleaded reasons offered to her judgment.
Mr. Glentworth had been all his life a close observer of men and things; and, as events of the most extraordinary nature had occurred in the last quarter of a century, and his mind was stored with anecdotes of men and measures, persons and places, it was natural that he should make mention of them in conversation, not unfrequently referring to familiar facts, or asking the aid of another's memory. On these matters of chit chat occurring, Mary always came forward with ready assistance, so far as her recollection or reading enabled her; for, when Isabella had said, "that was before I was born, I believe," a blank shadow seemed ​to spread over the fine countenance of her husband, and he would fall into a fit of silent musing, indicating disappointment, or ennui.
The affectionate anxiety felt for her sister's happiness, together with the change of air, and that moral change of scene which was best of all, had the happiest effect on the health, spirits, and person of that most amiable young woman so long designated as "poor Mary." She was still very quiet, and somewhat subdued, from long habit, but she was cheerful and sensible, peculiarly alive to the happiness of all around her, and unobtrusively solicitous to display the good qualities, or supply the deficiencies of her young sister to the guests whom they occasionally entertained. These were generally merchants, with whom Mr. Glentworth was formerly connected, and with whom he was now finally settling, or such of his countrymen as were returning from Greece, Egypt, or Turkey. He always listened with great delight to the details given by these travellers, and not un- frequently expressed a great desire to follow in their steps, in which case Isabella always expressed a willingness to set out immediately; but not one traveller thought such journeying desirable for ladies, and the conversation generally ended with his saying, "No, no; Italy must be your place of travel. I know it so well, that I shall make a good guide; but, by the same rule, I shall find nothing new, which one always requires in travelling."
​ "I should think you had left your own country long enough, Glentworth, and, since you are married, would think it right to settle in England, go into parliament, and so forth," said a friend.
"So I intend, certainly; but I have promised to go to Italy."
"Surely, dear Mr. Glentworth, you do not apprehend that I shall trouble you to keep that promise—the sooner I go to England the sooner I see my sisters, you know," said Isabella; "besides, I shall be with you in either case."
"My promise must be kept, Isabella; but be assured I feared no trouble of any kind from you, who are always the best little girl in the world."
"I shall not be the best little one much longer, for I am growing very fast since we left England. Dr. Bartolomé says it is the climate, and that I may go on for a year or two; and, being quite tall enough already, I am willing to leave Marseilles whenever you please, for I don't want to be a may-pole."
There was something so extremely ridiculous in the idea of having a wife who was so very much a child as to be growing, in the opinion of poor Glentworth (who was in all respects a fastidious and sensitive man), that he evidently shrunk from the eyes of his company, several of whom were exchanging smiles. Mary saw his situation, and observed immediately—
"You forget the words, dear Isabella—he said you would grow till you were eighteen; and that time ​will come soon enough to save you from being taller than my mother, who is a very fine woman of a commanding not masculine height."
Foolish as his annoyance had been, these words were a positive relief to Glentworth, but, unhappily, they brought before his eyes a form which had perhaps never entirely left them, since he too frequently studied to find her lineaments in the face of Isabella, who had a much greater resemblance to her than English women in general exhibit, and was at least the only one in her family whom, as a matter of taste, he would have preferred. "The eyes blue languish and the golden hair" had with him no comparative charm with the smooth, fine-grained skin of the olive beauty, united with dark, hazel eyes, arched brows, an out line of classic chiselling, teeth of pearly whiteness, and lips of vermilion redness; the round, soft throat, becoming whiter as it recedes from the eye, and leaves to imagination the perfection of the half-defined and delicately-proportioned bust. Such were the lineaments on which he had gazed in passionate admiration, dwelt on with tender devotion, and lamented with sorrow, the more deep and abiding in that it was silent and unsuspected, nourished and fed, despite of the wealth which offered every other treasure, and even of the young, innocent, and ardent love of Isabella's virgin heart.
The long companionship of years, the interchange of thought, the gradual unfolding of affection, ripening ​ripening by degrees, until the whole being is absorbed in one object, and holds existence as tending to one end. Communion of thoughts, and fears, and hopes, on the most important subjects and doctrines that can affect the human mind and agitate the immortal soul—difficulties that retard, and delicacies that enhance the blessing, long promised but never obtained, form altogether bonds for the heart, from which it can be never wholly exempt so long as life and memory endures—for what may be termed the small fibres, as well as the substantial cordage, contribute to bind it. The habits of seeing through another's eyes, of referring to another's judgment, and using your own on her behalf—of pitying her sorrows or her pains, trembling for her happiness or her life, rejoicing in her joy, and exulting in her excellence—these are the spirit's sacred marriage bonds, rarely felt in their most extensive character, and only felt by the best and noblest of mankind, never broken with impunity, or severed even by death, though time, which tames down all passion, and religion, which controls and purifies all motive, may bestow a sweet and even glorious sunset to a cloudy or tempestuous day—but we return.
Miss Granard had always received the kindest attention from her brother-in-law, but she remarked that he henceforward paid her more respect than he was wont, and sought to place Isabella more immediately under her surveillance; and, although, in point ​of fact, she could not increase her love or her solicitude, she was not sorry to obtain from him approbation on any point she desired to carry with his wife.
As she considered the whole family under the highest obligation to him, on their dear Louisa's account, and her young married sister in a superior, as well as happier, situation than herself, she would have found it difficult to interfere with Mrs. Glentworth (although her youngest sister), had she not been the sweet and amiable creature she was—if her husband had been the doting lover, one so much older is generally supposed to be. Since their arrival at Marseilles he was much engaged, and soon found that his business would detain him longer than he had expected; this information did not render his young wife, for a moment, petulant or impatient, for she was habituated to bend to another's will, and his pleasure was the law of her life; but his absence, which was frequently prolonged far beyond the time he had named for his return, always gave her extreme uneasiness, the effects of which were visible, despite of every effort made by her sister to divert her attention or amuse her time.
Men, who are bachelors to six and thirty, have rarely the punctuality required in married life; they are neither habituated to the sharp reproach of a hungry wife, nor the pleading paleness of an ailing one; and, when not selfish by nature, they become careless from habit, and, lacking the pleasures of a social meal, accept the freedom conferred as their ​substitute. This fault in Glentworth increased the more as his desire to conclude his stay in Marseilles increased, and it affected Isabella very painfully. She had grown fast and was become very thin, at the time when a new claim was made on the strength of her constitution, and her appetite became failing and capricious at the very period when its assistance was required to sustain the waste subtracted. It would, therefore, not unfrequently happen that when she had been for an hour fainting almost for want of food, on its arrival she could scarcely taste it, or, having done so, was obliged to leave the table. Her constant efforts to appear better than she felt, and her actual delight when she received her husband, deceived him as to the extent of the injury under which she was suffering; and, one day, when she had waited too long, and yet felt unable to eat, her husband remarked "that Lady Anne Granard could manage petted children better than he could."
Isabella coloured, but did not speak, or even look up; but Mary, seeing the English servant had left the room, and knowing the French one would not understand her, said, in a low voice, but with something of asperity, perfectly new in her—
"Lady Anne Granard had no petted child to manage, and I am sure you have none, Mr. Glentworth, at present. Were my father alive, he would tell you to be very indulgent towards the one you may expect."
​ "Isabella, my sweet Isabella! pardon me, my love; my kind, patient girl." Isabella was in his arms, but she had fainted, for the revulsion in her feelings had been too rapid. He carried her, himself, to her couch, and, after seeing her recovered and cheerful, returned to dinner, much relieved, saying to Mary, "he had more satisfaction, a great deal, in knowing poor Isabella was unable to eat, than in believing her subject to airs and affectations, such as some girls were guilty of, and which of late he had been apprehensive she was adopting."
"I cannot say I have equal stoicism," said Mary; "I love her far too well to see her sufferings unmoved, much as I admire her fortitude and patience: but you cannot understand her as well as I do. You consider her as a mere child; I know her to be a well-principled woman, with an understanding far in advance of her years, and a strength of mind only equalled by the integrity and beautiful simplicity of her character. I had hoped that, as a sensible man, you chose her for her excellent qualities, as my mother always called her the plainest of the family. She is the only brunette, certainly."
"She is; and I liked her for that reason. Moreover, before she became so poorly, she approached my standard of beauty more nearly every day. In fact, she grew very like——"
Isabella at this moment entered the room: she found herself better, and could not forego the ​pleasure of her husband's society; and never had he rendered it so agreeable since "he was the bright, particular star" who alone illumined the dull dwelling in Welbeck Street. Mary managed to prove the truth of her own assertions, by enabling Isabella to speak with more freedom than usual in the presence of her husband, for whom she had too much admiring reverence for the ease and freedom necessary to domestic intercourse. This had been more felt, and therefore more acted upon, since her marriage than before, because she had become properly sensible that her sphere of action was enlarged, that she had new duties to fulfil, and that, as the mistress of an important establishment, the wife of a man whom every one looked up to, she ought to assume, with modest propriety, the consequence that belonged to her. Considering it was time to "put away childish things," her husband never called her a child, or referred to her as one, but she felt it as the harshest remonstrance, the cruellest reproach he could use, and preferred being silent in general to saying any thing which might be construed into that which was her innocent fault, her positive, yet not irremediable misfortune. She neither dared be playful, nor enjoy the playfulness of another; yet, being utterly devoid of dissimulation in repressing the natural buoyancy of her spirits, she only half succeeded, and, whilst she suppressed the laugh of gaiety, failed to display the womanly composure, or the imposing gravity, she sought to obtain and to exhibit.
​ It is impossible for the most thoughtful girl to appear the experienced woman; but the lady-like and gentle, the reasoning and listening, will never be condemned as inadequate companions, either by the old, the sorrowful, or the fastidious, to each of whom they may impart, as by a happy contagion, some portion of their own elastic spirits and ever-springing hopefulness.