# The Semi-detached House/Chapter 16

CHAPTER XVI.
Lord Chester was delighted to meet his old friend Hopkinson again, and carried him off to see Blanche, who seemed also to look on him as an old friend; and spoke so admiringly, and kindly of his daughters, that, as Captain Hopkinson observed afterwards, it was very lucky that the girls were, perhaps, the nicest girls in the world, otherwise, all Lady Chester said, might have sounded too complimentary; but, as it was, nothing could be more discriminating and satisfactory. Then Lord Chester took him to his stables, and offered him the use of any of his riding horses—a proposal that was peremptorily declined, probably to the saving of John's life, and much to the satisfaction of the groom, who ​observed that he never saw the use of putting a naval gentleman on the top of a horse, he never offered to go and navigate their ships, so why could not they let his horses alone. Finally, the gentlemen lit their cigars, and sauntered along the bank, where the sight of Mr. Harcourt in an outrigger roused the Captain to give some strong opinions on the dangers of the river, and the foolhardiness of young men. To those who are not like Wordsworth's primrose, "dwellers on the river's brim," it may be necessary to explain that an outrigger is an apology for a boat, and, apparently, a feeble imitation of a plank—that the individual who hazards his own life in it, is happily prevented, by its absurd form, from making any other person a sharer in his danger—that he is liable to be overset by any passing steamer, or by the slightest change of his own posture—that it is difficult to conceive how he ever got into such a thing, or how he is ever to get out of it again, and that the effect he produces on an unprejudiced spectator, is that of an aquatic ​mouse caught in a boat-trap, from which he will never emerge alive, notwithstanding the continual struggle he appears to keep up.
"Well; every man to his taste," said Captain Hopkinson, "but so far as safety goes, commend me to a gale off Cape Horn. There is less chance of drowning, at all events. I must go home. Pray does your Lordship know anything of a Baron Sampson who threatens me with a neighbourly visit this morning?"
"Nothing beyond his name, which figures in every corner of the paper, wherever there is a subscription or a company. He is supposed to be worth millions, but latterly I have learnt to mistrust that kind of reputation. I should not mind detaching his grey horses from the vulgar carriage, containing his flashy-looking wife, and leading them into my own stables; but I had rather have nothing else to say to him."
"Well, I hope he makes short visits, for I must be in town by three."
​"So must I, so I will call for you in my dog-cart, and we will go together."
Captain Hopkinson shook his head, and said he looked upon a dog-cart as an outrigger on wheels, but still he accepted the offer, and hearing the sound of the baronial coach, hurried home.
The Sampsons came in great force, for Miss Monteneros offered to accompany her uncle and aunt, much to their surprise, as she usually declined morning visiting; and she established herself in the bow window where Janet and Rose were both busily at work embroidering a table cover, which ought to have been finished before their father's return, and at which they were now working with great zeal. Mrs. Hopkinson had of course warned John privately, it was to be a surprise, so, though he ran against it and stumbled over it ten times a day, he was nominally unaware of its existence till the girls went up to bed, when he would light a candle and stand for a quarter of an hour admiring it to his heart's content.
​"Do you like that sort of work?" said Rachel, surveying both work and workers through her glass,
"Why, it is for papa," said Janet, with an air that showed she considered that answer to be a settler.
"But its being for papa does not make the actual needle-work less tedious."
"Does not it?" said Rose, looking at her with astonishment, "I should like to see the thing to be done for him—a dear as he is—that could possibly seem tedious. Besides, Janet and I never think anything tiresome that we work at together."
Rachel sighed. She had come purposely to see a happy family, and even these few sentences had struck the dark chord of her life.
"Have you never had the pleasure, Miss Monteneros, of finishing off what you thought a successful piece of work to give to somebody you loved dearly?" said Janet.
"Never," said Rachel, in a low voice, "and for the best of reasons, I have nobody ​to love, I have never loved any one. My vocation is 'to roam along, the world's tired denizen, with none who bless me, none whom I can bless.'"
The girls looked at her with astonishment, and Janet, laying hold of her hand, said, "Do not talk so, it is not right, I beg your pardon, perhaps you are not speaking seriously. Nobody can exist unless they have somebody to love, and who loves them in return."
"True," said Rachel, "it is not existence, it is a myth.
"'A dreary void,
The leafless desert of the mind,
The waste of feelings unemployed.'"
"But why not employ them?" said Rose, who was not learned in Byron, "you have a home."
"Such as it is."
"And relations."
"Such as they are. However, I did not come here to talk poetry and discontent, ​some people think them synonymous. But I have passed you in your walks, I have seen you at church, you have always looked happy and contented, and I thought I should like to talk to you and to know how you contrived to be so."
"There is no contrivance in it," said Janet, laughing, "Rose and I have good health and good spirits, we have plenty to do in the schools and the hospital, we have the dearest old father and mother in the world, and a comfortable home, and Charlie to play with. What more would you have, Miss Monteneros?"
"Nothing," she said sadly. "Affection, employment, and usefulness—you have, as you say, all. I envy you; you are happy, I am not."
The two sisters were excited by this style of conversation. It had never come into their mind to analyze life. They took it as it came and to them it came happily; and the idea that a young prosperous handsome woman should drop in for a morning ​visit, and mention casually that her life was an entire failure, either for use or enjoyment, was so novel and startling, that they hardly knew how to deal with it. hey were inclined to adopt their usual resource, and to call to mamma to come and rectify the disastrous state of Miss Monteneros' existence. She would know exactly what to do. But on looking towards her, they saw she had present woes of her own, and that she was nearly annihilated by the condescension of the Baroness, and the humility of the Baron—so Janet gallantly threw herself again into the fight.
"Miss Monteneros, you must not be angry," Rachel smiled, "of course, you are much cleverer than we are, and know a great deal more about feelings, and poetry and that sort of thing; but I do not like to hear you say you are not happy."
"I do not like it either," said Rachel, languidly, "but it is a fact, though, perhaps, I need not have mentioned it to you."
"But I am glad you did, if you will let ​me say what I think. Have you no nearer relations than an uncle and aunt?"
"I have no other relations whatever, my father and mother died before I was two years old, and I never had either brother or sister."
"That is sad," said the sisters, looking at each other, 'but still you have a home, and since you have no one else to look to, I suppose your uncle and aunt stand in the place of parents to you; could you not—" Janet stopped, she looked at the Baron and Baroness. It seemed really a waste of words to ask if anybody could love them.
"You are honest," said Rachel, with a hollow laugh, "I foresaw that that sentence could not come to a happy conclusion."
"But people say you are very rich," said Janet, "and just think what money can do for half the poor creatures in the world, and how soon you would attach yourself to any one whom you had relieved from real distress; I assure you, Rose and I are often inclined to cry because we can do so little for sick ​people or starving children, and yet they are so grateful for that little. Miss Monteneros, don't you think that if you cared about others, they would care about you?"
Rachel did not answer, but she leant over the work frame, and Janet felt a hot tear drop on her hand. But they said no more, for Captain Hopkinson came in in a great hurry apologizing for his delay—making Charlie over to his aunts, stumbling over the eternal table-cover, and begging the girls to keep their embroidered gowns out of the way of his feet.
"You see papa has not an idea it is a table-cover for him," whispered the deluded Rose.
The Baron and the sailor were a fine contrast as they stood talking together; the one, sallow, with a broad wrinkled brow, and a keen calculating eye, and having apparently speculated most of his hair off his head, his shoulders bent, his chest contracted, his manner deferential, his voice unnaturally bland, he looked yellow, as if he had never breathed ​any air that was not tainted with the scent of gold. The other, tall, erect, fresh coloured, his crisp dark curls clustering over his manly looking head, and his keen blue eyes full of intelligence, giving his opinions or his information in a few words, and with a careless tone and manner that inspired confidence. He seemed to have no wish to persuade, and no anxiety as to the effect his assertion might make. "I suppose," thought Rachel, "my uncle might cajole me into believing what he has said; but I have faith beforehand in what Captain Hopkinson is going to say."
The conversation was gradually drawn by the Baron to foreign trade, to China, and finally to a projected Hongkong railroad. "I am delighted to obtain such valuable information from such excellent authority, I have taken a few shares in this company, not, as you may imagine, with any idea of profit. With a certain twelve per cent from our Banking Company, these railroad shares are, to me, a dead loss; but my City friends ​did me the honour to wish for me as a director; and then I feel that railroads, and harbours—in fact, facilities for trade are our best means for the conversion of our Eastern brethren, Don't you agree with me Captain Hopkinson? Though these railroads may carry opium, Christianity will have its ticket too."
"I hope it may, Baron; but I am sorry to say that the Christian in the East, carries little Christianity with him. However, we must hope for the best, and now I am afraid I must leave you to the care of my wife and daughters, I am obliged to be in town at three, and have a friend waiting at the door for me."
"We must be going too," said the Baroness, rising, "we have paid a most unconscionable visit. I hope Rachel has persuaded those young ladies to honour us on the twenty-third, and to bring their music with them. We had a most delightful singer last Wednesday, Miss Corban, daughter of Corban, Isaacs & Co., elle chante à ravir, such delightful comic songs. ​She does not sing generally at large parties, but she could not refuse me, nobody does, so remember that, young ladies."
At this juncture the Baroness was interrupted by the rapid entrance of Lord Chester, who could not resist having a look at the owner of the grey horses; though Blanche had charged him not to be drawn into an acquaintance with 'that overpowering woman" on any account.
"Now, Hopkinson, are you ready?" he said, with a sort of sweeping bow to the whole party. "I am sorry to hurry you, but we must be off; and I had hardly time to run in, but my Lady charged me to say, Mrs. Hopkinson, that she cannot accept your excuse, and has thrown your note into the fire, and we expect you all—mind what I say—all, at half past seven, so, no more nonsense about it."
"Well, my Lord, you may expect, but you will not get me to come to one of your grand late dinners; they are quite out of ​my way, and I should be quite in your way; John and the girls may go, if they like."
"They have no option about it, and you had better not oblige me to come with two policemen and march you in to dinner too, I am quite capable of it. Now, John," and he hurried him off.
"Well, if ever there was a ridiculous, nonsensical dear boy, there he goes," said Mrs. Hopkinson, in a pleased soliloquy.
"Lord Chester, I believe?" said the Baroness, in a most subdued tone, "not ill? looking by any means. Adieu, my dear Mrs. Hopkinson, nous nous reverrons on the 23rd."
"Good bye," said Rachel, who lingered for a moment behind, "I see you do not mean to come, and you are right; but may I come again to see your daughters?"
"Of course, my dear, whenever you like."
"And—and—can you tell Captain Hopkinson—"
"Rachel, your aunt is waiting," said the Baron, from the bottom of the stairs.
"Tell him," she added hurriedly, "not ​to begin mixing himself up with railroads and shares; ask him to consult Mr. Willis first," and she ran down.
"Well now, what with the aunt's French, and the niece's English, I am fairly puzzled!" said Mrs. Hopkinson, throwing herself back with a sigh of relief, "I daresay they are very nice people, but I should not very much care if I were never to see any of them again."
"And what is your opinion of the Baron now?" said Lord Chester as he drove off with Captain Hopkinson.
"A sharp fellow, and he seems to know what he is about, which is more than I do; for I never could catch his eye, and I never feel sure of a man who will not look me in the face."
"Rachel," said the Baroness, who seemed slightly out of sorts, "I do wish you would not keep me waiting an hour while you are dawdling through your civilities to those people. Their heads will be quite turned. As for that coxcomb, Lord Chester, I can't ​think what he means, I suppose he was making a jest of the old lady."
"Perhaps," said the Baron, "he is in love with one of the young ones,"
"Don't talk nonsense, my love," said the Baroness, sharply, "I never saw two more uninteresting girls—no manner, no usage du monde. What could you find to say to them, Rachel? I am sure you have seen nothing like them in my set."
"Nothing whatever that bears the slightest resemblance to them, Aunt."
"I thought so; and what did you make of the Captain, Baron?"
A shrug of the shoulders was the Baron's reply; but then, in his character of benevolent man, he added, "an honest, frank sailor, and it is not his fault if he does not spoil the view at Pleasance by setting the Thames on fire. I suspect he is well off, the fellow has such independant 'manners.'"
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