# The Semi-detached House/Chapter 22

CHAPTER XXII.
The 'Times' of the following morning announced two more failures of large banking houses, and there were dark hints in the City article about a great capitalist, which were perfectly unintelligible to those who had not been brought up to talk Stock Exchange fluently, but explained by the more learned Willis to allude to Sampson's house. "I fully expect to hear that that fellow has gone off any day, and he will take some of your money with him, Charlie," he said to the little boy, who was sitting on his knee, "I am sorry on your account, but, never mind, we must make the best of it."
The idea of Willis making the best of anything, was so startling, such a very ​astonishing novelty, that this announcement was received much as the intimation of a great misfortune would have been from anybody else. The Hopkinsons all looked at him with the greatest commiseration, and with some curiosity, just as people stare when a fresh beast arrives at the Zoological Gardens. A "Willis-making-the-best-of-it," was quite a new specimen, a rare and interesting animal; and when it further appeared, that his black coat had disappeared, and that he was drest like any other commonplace gentleman, in an equally common-place dark coat, the pity of the family knew no bounds. If he had avowed, that he had lost all his wealth, and was going to hang himself, the girls would have laughed, and said, "how like Charles;" but when he seemed to think that only part of his fortune was at stake, and that, except for Charlie's sake, he did not mean to be miserable about it, they were all in the greatest grief—Captain Hopkinson proferring assistance, Mrs. Hopkinson buried in her pocket handkerchief, and the girls, ​under pretence of coaxing Charlie, actually patting Willis on the shoulder, and stroking his hair, and going through all the usual sisterly methods of consolation.
"By the bye, young ladies, I have brought you some parasols suitable for the day," he said, producing two striking articles of guipure and white silk; "there is a terrible want of shade at Marble Hall, and you will be burnt alive."
"Really," said Rose afterwards to her sister, "I thought I should have fainted if I had known how, when Charles gave us those parasols, and seemed to care whether we should be tanned or not. They are exactly like that parasol of Miss Monteneros' that we admired so much. Janet, he must be in love with Rachel, and all this change is her doing."
"I should not be surprised," said Janet shaking her head sagely. "When people are in love, they are so very benevolent, at least, so I have always heard, of course I know nothing about it. But I am sure there ​was something very interesting in that long talk he and Rachel had in the garden the other day, Charles has been a different man ever since. But now, Rose, it is time to dress."
When they arrived at Marble Hall, any misgivings as to the Sampson prosperity were quite set at rest. There were more servants in dazzling liveries, a thicker forest of greenhouse plants, more pine-apples, and a greater variety of ices (not hot) than ever. The Baroness wore a gown of such very bright yellow that the sun was affronted and went in. She received her guests with the most painful affability—was so obliged to them for coming—so afraid that they would not be amused, as Mario and Bosio had failed her just at the last moment—and so much distressed that the Baron, who was busy about this tiresome Scotch property, had not yet returned from town, that it seemed difficult to respond to her civilities. She wore a thick fall of lace over her face, on pretence of a bad cold, but even through that and ​a still thicker mask of rouge, a keen observer could detect a livid face, blanched lips, and red restless eyes.
Rachel received her two friends with the greatest warmth, and then devoted herself to making Mrs. Hopkinson comfortable; but not before Willis, hovering in the back-ground, had had the pleasure of seeing his parasols examined and apparently admired, and the unusual cordiality with which Rachel afterwards met him, convinced him that his kindness to his sisters-in-law had given satisfaction to the lady of his love.
"I can't think what Lady Chester meant," said Harcourt, joining the two sisters, "by talking of the Baroness as uncivil and important. I have had considerable difficulty in escaping from her gratitude to me, for honouring her with my presence here to-day, I felt like a Royal Duke, and half expected to hear the band play 'God save the Queen,' as I stepped with much dignity out on the lawn. Now, Miss Rose, shall we go and hear the music in the saloon, which the ​Baroness assures me is not unworthy of my notice?"
Whether it were or not, will never be known, for Harcourt and Rose passed the open windows of the saloon, without appearing to perceive the volume of sound that issued from them, and strolled on to a bench in the flower garden, where they seemed to be engaged in earnest conversation. Indeed, Harcourt began their expedition by saying he had something very particular to say. Mr. Greydon asked Janet soon after, if she would not like to follow her sister, and upon her assenting, he led her in an exactly opposite direction. Perhaps, he too had something particular to say.
The sinister whispers respecting the absence of their host, which were beginning to circulate amongst his City friends, were stopped by his sudden appearance. He appeared to have escaped the influenza to which the Baroness attributed her changed appearance, and a veil that should conceal his intelligent eye, intellectual forehead, and general aspect of ​benevolence and morality, would have been tantalizing. As usual, he professed inattention to the amusements of the day, and was much occupied in talking over with his moneyed friends the deplorable state of the Corban family, and his intention to organize a subscription for them on a large scale. "Corban may not have had a clear head for business, but I believe, a more honest fellow does not exist, notwithstanding the cry some of his malicious creditors are raising against him. His family are, I am told, in a sad state. There was a talk of bringing out on the stage, that charming Miss Corban, whom you have heard sing at my wife's parties. Now, on the score of morality, I must try to prevent this—her vocal talents, her beauty, her very archness, are all so many snares—I have put down my name for five hundred pounds, and hope to persuade many others to join in this good work. I believe there are sandwiches or some refreshments of that sort in the dining-room; shall we adjourn ​there, and after dinner see what can be done for these poor Corbans?"
And so they all went to the turtle and venison, and pine-apple, that represented sandwiches, and invigorated themselves with a view of being charitable eventually.
Janet and Rose, looking very demure, had rejoined their father and mother; and of course, by the merest accident, Mr. Greydon and Mr. Harcourt met them struggling through the crowd that was flocking into the dining-room, and offered their services. They found places not very far from the Baron, which was an advantageous position, inasmuch as they could hear an occasional axiom of morality, so well worded that it made an impression on the memory, and might be of use to them for life. His liberality, too, for he was still eager in the cause of the Corbans, was good as an example; and Janet began to wonder whether a sovereign, the only one she had, might not be offered more as a tribute to the influence of the Baron's example and exhortations, than with any hope of its being of the smallest ​use. She doubted, indeed, whether he would know a mere single sovereign by sight, he seemed to deal with them so exclusively by hundreds and thousands.
However, at this moment, it would have been impossible to address him; a letter had been brought to him marked 'Immediate.' He read it with apparent unconcern, but his glasses fell from his hand, as he removed them from his eyes. "Ah, my dear lady," he said, turning to the great lady of the party, who was seated at his right hand. "This is one of the petty torments of age, which you will one day have to endure; I am always losing my spectacles, or dropping my glasses. Do take care of your eyes, mine are quite worn out."
As the friend he addressed was past sixty, and had for some years enjoyed, in the seclusion of home, the comfort of what she called clearers, she was particularly pleased with this little address. The Baroness had seen the letter arrive, and the trivial incident of the falling glasses, perhaps, had a meaning to her, which no one else could attach to it. How ​often is the face of the husband, when it seems utterly calm and unmoved to the generality of society, full of strange revelations and terror to the wife who knows its slightest line, its most passing expression. Baroness Sampson saw that, for one moment, her husband's hand had been unnerved, and to her this told all. She passed her handkerchief rapidly over her face, and then suddenly rose from the table. Her pale face and trembling movements, confirming the declaration she made of sudden faintness, she left the room, murmuring that her influenza and the heat of the room had overcome her, and that Rachel must take her place.
The Baron lingered a few minutes, explaining that his wife had been unwell for some days, and then followed to enquire after her, having first requested the company to adjourn to the ball room and begin dancing. He returned shortly, and said that the Baroness was so completely knocked up, he feared she would hardly be able to reappear; and then taking the arm of his son, who had only just ​arrived, he sauntered down the garden walk which led to the river, and was seen no more.
The party dispersed soon after, with a vague feeling that "something was wrong," but merely expressing a wish not to disturb their hostess any longer; the Hopkinson ladies had made their retreat as soon as dinner was over. Thanks to Rachel's attention, Mrs. Hopkinson had really been amused. A breakfast of this kind, with bands of music, singing, jugglers, &c., was quite a novelty to her; and she came home in the highest spirits, making the most ample amends to the girls for ever having disliked their friend.
"She is a good, kind-hearted girl as ever lived, and very attentive to her elders, which I look upon as a very fine quality. I have come to the age when I enjoy a little attention from young people. To be sure she says a few odd things, but then I have been thinking that if every body talked in the same way, if they were all as commonplace as I am, for example, it would be very dull, and Miss Monteneros is very amusing; and, my dears, I ​am quite sure now, though I did not think so at first, that Charles admires her very much. He was always following us about, and that could not be for my sake, as he sees more than enough of me, and he was so civil and obliging. Well; she is fond of little Charlie and she will make a good step-mother if he is to have one; and now here we are at home, and I have not heard a word from either of you. I am afraid you have not been so well amused as I have, and I can't get Willis out of my head, I really think we shall have a wedding soon in the family."
Janet burst out laughing, and Rose began to cry; and then they changed parts, Janet cried, and Rose laughed, while Mrs. Hopkinson, sinking back in her comfortable chair, and carefully taking off her best bonnet, stared at them with wonder. But the bonnet was twitched out of her hand, and flung irreverantly on the floor, and the daughters' arms were clasped round the mother's neck, before she could recover herself enough to speak, while Janet said:
​"Mamma, dearest mamma, you talk of one wedding, what would you say to two more? Indeed, we liked the breakfast, and shall like the recollection of it all our lives; mamma, we are both so happy, so very happy, if it were not for the notion of leaving papa and you—Rose is engaged to Mr. Harcourt."
"And Janet to Mr. Greydon," added Rose.
"My dear, dear children," gasped Mrs. Hopkinson, "do stop a minute, I can't understand these sudden changes. Oh! where is John? He said it would be so, and I thought it was all nonsense; and so you are both engaged, and that dear Mr. Greydon will be our son; such a good man, and we have always looked up to him as something quite above us. And I shall like Mr. Harcourt, Janet, no, Rose, I mean, quite as much when I know him as well, And, my darlings, I will say that for you, that such good daughters will make excellent wives, and I hope you will both be as happy in your married lives as I have been. But I wish John would come ​home; and do, Janet, pick up my bonnet, I shall want it for the wedding, and then both of you sit down and tell me how all this came about, and you may both talk at once this time, though I do not like it in general."
They availed themselves of this permission, and Mrs. Hopkinson turned from one to the other, sometimes in a state of delight at their prospects, sometimes in a fit of desperation at her own, and finally she sank into a reverie, from which she awoke with a placid smile, saying, "My daughters, Mrs. Greydon and Mrs. Harcourt; well, if that is not droll; I had quite forgotten that you were not mere children still. Ah! there is John at last, how shall we tell him?"
But there was nothing to tell; he had been detained by the lovers, not greatly to his surprise, as he had been more observant than his wife of the proceedings of the day, and he walked straight up to his daughters, and, with much emotion, congratulated them affectionately on their happy prospects.
"I assure you," he said to his wife, when ​the girls had withdrawn, "that those are two as fine young men as ever I wish to see; I had rather a prejudice against Harcourt on account of that crinkum-crankum boat, that he chooses to sport; but he is really so well aware of Rosy's merits, and so fond of her, that, as there is no room for her in that absurd outrigger, I gave my consent very willingly. He is a liberal fellow. I said that I was afraid they would be disappointed in the portions I could give my daughters; and Greydon said, that with the excellent living Lord Chesterton had given him, he wanted no more; and then Harcourt took me aside, and said, that he wished I would add to Janet's share whatever I meant to give to Rose. 'We shall have fortune enough of our own,' Harcourt said, 'and Mr. Greydon will do a great deal of good with the money. It would all go in opera tickets and concerts with me, which are of no earthly use, though very pleasant.' Altogether, Jane, I think we ought to be very thankful to see our two dear children so well settled."
​"Yes, my dear, and I am most thankful, but I never was so miserable in all my life. It is all very well for you, John, who are used to be away from them a year at a time; but they are the daily happiness of my life, and I know you will be going to sea again, and then what is to become of me?"
"You must go with me, my love," and there the matter ended for the present; poor Mrs. Hopkinson being as nearly selfish and fretful as ever she was in her life. She was somewhat consoled by a visit from Lady Chester, who came prepared to hear of great results from the fête, and was not disappointed. And she insisted on Mrs. Hopkinson's seeing the sunny side of this labyrinth, told her she was the luckiest mother in the world, and laid out a long avenue of grandchildren, leading anywhere but to the possibility of Mrs. Hopkinson's going off to India. In fact, Lady Chester assured her so solemnly that she had a presentiment that Captain Hopkinson would not go to sea again, that ​Mrs. Hopkinson ended by believing her, and gave herself up to be considered singularly fortunate.
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