# The Semi-detached House/Chapter 15

CHAPTER XV.
When Janet and Rose returned from their concert, the door was opened for them by their father, and in the delight of this unexpected meeting, St. Maur House was for the time forgotten, almost in disgrace, for having taken them away just at the wrong moment. Captain Hopkinson was a particularly pleasant father, firmly and thoroughly convinced that his own children were superior to the children of all other fathers, that nobody ought to find fault with them, because, as he emphatically observed, they had no faults! It was very odd, he had carried out to India hundreds of young women, well educated amiable young women; but some had bad tempers, some were nervous, ​some would flirt with the cadets, most of them were affected and all of them sea-sick. "Now my girls are nice, natural, good-humoured girls, they would not give that," (whatever that is) "for the attentions of a whole regiment of those silly boys; and the only time I gave them a trip in the 'Alacrity,' they were as steady on their pins as if they had been at sea all their lives." Janet was the shorter of the two, so at every return from his voyages he found out she had grown considerably, and as Rose was pale, he dwelt much on her blooming looks. Now that they burst upon him dressed, thanks to Madame Justine's supervision, in very becoming costumes, excited by the amusements of the day, and flushed with the delight of seeing him—he looked at them with the profoundest admiration, and when they left the room to take off their finery, he turned to his wife and said, "Well, old lady, those are not bad looking girls, by any means. Why, the Miss Wallaces, who went out to Calcutta this last time, and were thought great ​beauties, and gave me no end of trouble, because all the young fellows on board would propose to them—they were not to be named in a day with our girls."
"Law, my dear, you see them dressed out just for once in a way, and I don't think, John, you'll quite like the bill when you see it."
"Oh, hang the bills, I don't grudge them a little finery. Could not they always be dressed so, Jane? I should like to give them a walk in those gowns, one on each arm, just to see people stare."
"Stare! I should think they well might, if they saw our girls go flaunting about Dulham in those fly-away gowns. No, it's all very well for once in a way, as they had a fancy to hear this music; and as the Duchess was so kind as to ask them, I thought it respectful to dress them out; but we must go back to the old brown gowns, John. And to-morrow you must go and see that nice Captain Templeton, Lord Chester that was—No, is, I mean—and they are so ​kind to little Charlie. What have you brought for Charlie, John?"
"For Charlie? Well! if I did not forget him altogether, I had no time for going about bazaars. Regent Street for my money if you want anything."
This was a little scene invariably enacted after every voyage. Captain Hopkinson always gave it to be understood that his family had been utterly forgotten by him from the hour he sailed; and then, when the ship came up the river, immense stores of shawls, playthings, and trinkets, came pouring out for several days—rarities from every port at which he had touched.
The girls came back in their brown gowns, and hoped "Papa would not quite despise his Cinderellas," and still he thought them very superior to the Miss Wallaces, and hugged himself in the consciousness of two Indian shawls, now in his locker, on board the 'Alacrity.' His arm-chair was brought from its banishment. Mrs. Hopkinson became so fidgetty and so red in the face if any ​body sat down in "John's chair," that the girls always removed it from the drawing-room when he was away; but this evening it was replaced at the head of the table, and when they all four sat down to their evening meal, and the Captain said grace, adding thanks for his return to his dear wife and children, they all began to cry, as if the greatest misfortune had happened to them, till Mrs. Hopkinson wiping her eyes, observed, "Well, if ever there were four fools in the world, here they sit. The idea of our crying because John's come home. It's just like Willis. How poor Willis would enjoy having a good cry with us, I wish he were here."
"Indeed, I don't, mamma, it is the last thing I should like—spoiling papa's first day. I was just thinking of putting the chain over the door, and that we should all pretend to be out, or asleep if he came. And besides, we have so much to tell you. The concert was such fun, and St. Maur House is so magnificent."
​"And then the music!" said Rose. "I think, mamma, they must be laughing at us when they admire our singing. If you could but have heard that duet of Piccolomini and Giuglini's, I wonder what you would have said. It quite took away my breath."
"Oh, I know the sort of thing," said Captain Hopkinson, "I used to go to the Opera at Lisbon, and such a quavering, and shaking, and screaming, with great loud crashes of the orchestra at the end, enough to deafen you. When I went on board again and heard John Leary, one of our best mizen-top-men, sing "Home, sweet home," the rest of the watch joining in the chorus, I thought that was music, the other was only noise."
"John Leary—he has sailed with you several times, my dear," said Mrs. Hopkinson, who was divided in mind between the 'Alacrity' and St. Maur House, "he has a sweet voice; and his wife has had twins while he was away. But I dare say Pico—what's his name—is he a man or a woman?—sings very well too. One of the twins is called ​John. And, I suppose, the Duchess had not time to take any notice of you, girls?"
"But she did indeed, mamma; you know we were with Lady Sarah, and the Duchess took such care of her, and took her and Miss Grenville to some of the best places in the room, and made us sit there with them, and when she was walking by with the Duchess of Cambridge and Princess Mary, she stopped to talk to us and ask how we liked the music."
"Did she indeed?" said Mrs. Hopkinson, looking extremely pleased, "and so you saw the Duchess of Cambridge and Princess Mary quite close. Only to think, John, of our girls being at a party with their Royal Highnesses. When you came in so suddenly and asked what had become of them, you little thought they were in such company, and all just because everybody is so very good-natured. Only think, there was a Sir Somebody Something, who, it appears, asked your father to stay at his house at Garden Reach, all the time the 'Alacrity' was at Calcutta; and Lady ​Chester has given Charlie such a nice little dog. And, I dare say, if the Queen had come to St. Maur House, the Duchess would have been just the same to you. People are so kind. I suppose Her Majesty did not drop in?" added Mrs. Hopkinson faintly.
"No, mamma."
"No, of course not; what with all her children, and what with making war and making peace, and giving balls and proroguing parliaments and the Government always changing, she has not much time for visiting, poor thing! I suppose you did not know any of the company?"
"Oh yes, there were Lord Chester, and Colonel Hilton, and Mr. Grenville; and Mr. Harcourt," said Janet, "got a seat next to Rose."
Captain Hopkinson thought Rose had really more colour now than her sister.
"And Mr. Greydon," said Rose, "took us to the refreshment-room, and afterwards to the carriage."
Janet drew herself up, and her father said ​she was quite a tall woman now. Then the 'Alacrity' became the topic for a time, there had been gales that sounded unpleasant to the hearers, but which were gales of great merit, as proving the wonderful sailing qualities of the ship; then in a fog she had nearly run aground off the Island of Tattyminibo, having mistaken it for the port of Tammyhominy, and no other ship could have behaved so unexceptionably under the circumstances, as she did. Mrs. Hopkinson was convinced that it was the island which was to blame, and which had come and put itself in the way; she knew of an island in the Mediterranean or Baffin's Bay, that had played just the same trick; and then, as she hated to hear of dangers at sea, she turned the conversation to her own doings during the day—how Lady Chester had sent for her to give her opinion upon some baby clothes that had been sent down to Pleasance; and how she had recommended the cheapest, which were finer than any she had ever seen; and how Lady Chester had always chosen ​the dearest; and how they had had a nice chat about nurses and babies, and Charlie; and how she had just got home and was thinking about the Valenciennes round the mantle, when John walked in.
And at this crisis, in walked Willis, comfortably gloomy, after the Marble Hall festivities. "All black again," whispered Rose to her sister, "even to his gloves; then there has been no proposal."
"Or a refusal," answered her sister, "he will be worse than ever."
But Willis was a different mannered man under the control of his sensible, straightforward father-in-law, than when he domineered over the good-natured Mrs. Hopkinson. Captain Hopkinson administered a large spoonful of good sense to every dose of querulousness—put aside the prospect of future grievances, as not worth consideration, and either disputed or laughed at the petty troubles of the day. Parade of real grief he looked upon as an impossibility. It was to be wrestled with alone, not forced on the ​attention of the public. And by persisting in the supposition that Willis must take some interest in the interests of others, and by steadily treating him as a member of his own very cheerful family, he always brought him into a more companionable shape. Willis did not quite like it, but he succumbed. In fact, it would have been difficult to resist the influence of that cheerful-looking room and that happy family. He finally deigned to ask if the girls had been amused, and hardly sighed when Mrs. Hopkinson asked if Princess Mary's gown was blue, though she ought to have known that the court was in mourning for the Prince of Saxe Badenheim. He even gave a succinct account of the breakfast at Marble Hall, comprised in the few words that there were a great many overdressed people, that the tables were overloaded, and the ball-room over-crowded.
"In short, it was nearly all 'over' with you, Charles," said Captain Hopkinson.
"With me?" said Willis, "oh, I see; a pun—I am not quick at puns. In fact, I ​am not in spirits to-night." (Janet and Rose looked at each other.) "The Baroness took me to hear the singing," and he shuddered naturally, as he mentioned the comic song and the more comic songstress.
"But there is nothing dispiriting in that," said Janet, "you often hear us sing."
"Yes, so often, that it does not annoy me at all, I am quite used to it, I really hardly hear it. It does not even prevent me from attending to my book," and Willis thought that he was paying his sisters a most gratifying compliment, "but this Miss Corban screamed out her deplorable jokes, so that it was impossible to help hearing them. It was a pitiable spectacle!"
"Could you not just give us an idea, Charles, of the air, and some of the words?" said Rose.
"I! I sing a comic song! my dear Rose, do think a little before you speak. Have you ever seen anything in me, that would lead you to suppose that I can sing?"
"No, but I never, till the other day, saw anything in you that led me to suppose you ​could dance. Singing may come next. Papa, you can't think how well Charles dances, such neat little chassé's and balancé's and his 'grand rond' was almost a round and a half. It was quite exhilarating to look at him."
Willis chafed up and down the room as Captain Hopkinson's peals of laughter hailed his saltatory triumphs, and took up his hat to go. But before he went, he announced that Baron Sampson was coming to make acquaintance with the Captain, and to gain some information that might be of importance to one of his schemes; and a twinge of conscience induced him to add, "He is rather a sanguine plausible man, and you had better take his statements, where any speculations are concerned, with a little abatement."
"He is not a bad fellow after all," said the Captain as the door closed on Willis.
Who? poor dear Willis? Oh no! he is too tender-hearted, and cannot get over poor Mary's loss, otherwise, as I tell the girls, he would be as pleasant as everybody else." It need hardly be added that this comment was made by Mrs. Hopkinson.
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