# The Semi-attached Couple/Chapter 35

CHAPTER XXXV
Yes, Helen had returned again to her home. Again she was with those dear ones who had never looked at her but with admiration, and never spoken to her but with tenderness—again with those who had encircled her youthful days with blessings and love, and whom she had yearned to see with the deep longing of young affection. But she was not so happy when restored to them—at least, not quite so happy—as she had expected to be: there was a doubt whether she had done what was right; there was a slight feeling of mortification when she compared her sisters with herself, and saw their husbands treated as sons of the house, while she had returned unaccompanied by hers. She felt discontented with her own loneliness as she saw their fullness of companionship. The harsh words that used to terrify her were softened down by time and absence; they faded away as all offences will fade when the heart is tender and the mind well regulated; and the glowing words of love, the deep tones of passionate adoration, came back—
"Apparelled in more precious habit,
More moving delicate, and full of life,"
than when she heard them from the lips of her husband. Sometimes the recollection of them stirred her very soul, and she pondered over them till she wondered at her own coldness, till she hated herself for not having prized them more, and began to pine for that from which she had voluntarily fled.
"For it so falls out,
That what we have we prize not to the worth
While we enjoy it, but, being lack'd and lost.
Why, then we reach its value ; then we find
The virtue that possession did not show us
While it was ours. So did it fare with Claudio."
And so was it beginning to fare with Helen. Moreover, she had not the same timidity in writing to her husband that she had felt in speaking to him; and the natural playfulness of her disposition sometimes broke out in her letters with far less restraint than she had felt in his actual presence. He too wrote to her openly, and she seemed to herself to grow better acquainted with him by writing than she had by words. Then she became curious to know what her own family thought of her position; how much Beaufort had observed at St. Mary's, and how much of the result of his observations he might have imparted to his mother. But in this respect she was soon reassured. Lady Eskdale had been dorlotée through a prosperous life into a quiet belief that everything was for the best; and well might she think so, for she had had the best of everything; and she could not imagine for a moment that her daughters were not to be as happy as she had been in their married lives; or happier, inasmuch as she thought them more perfect than herself Therefore she merely lamented over dear Teviot's absence as a misfortune rendered endurable because it must be short; and she admired Helen more than ever for submitting with apparent fortitude to such a heavy trial. Lord Eskdale had the real manly political feeling about it. He would have thought it the height of absurdity if Helen had undertaken a voyage at that season, and with the prospect of such a short stay; and his cares turned solely on the success of Lord Teviot's negotiation, and the effect it might have on parties at home and abroad. And as he was in the habit every session of speaking—his enemies called it ​prosing—on the subject of foreign politics, he was delighted with the prospect of the information he should obtain from his son-in-law, and the certainty of good facts to go upon; a point in which his speeches had hitherto been rather deficient.
Amelia was the only one whose scrutiny Helen had to dread, if dread were the feeling it inspired; for, in fact, she would have been glad to talk over her griefs with her sister had she not been restrained by the strong rules of discretion which Lady Eskdale had laid down for the guidance of her daughters. Still she hoped that, without infringing her duty, she might consult her sister on some of her troubles; but Amelia was absorbed in her baby, and had hardly recovered from her confinement; and at all times there would have been insuperable difficulties in making her comprehend that there could be differences between husband and wife; so for the present Helen was left to her own cogitations and Lord Teviot's letters, and to the sense of her own inferiority as a wife and a happy woman when compared with her sisters.
Three or four days passed away; the invalids were all well again; the usual habits of the house were resumed, various guests arrived, and Helen drove over to Thornbank to claim Mary Forrester's promised visit. Eliza listened eagerly to the names of the company at Eskdale, and her disappointment at not being one of them was much mitigated when she found that her hero was not there; and on mature deliberation she came to the conclusion that as only a certain number of the days of her life could be passed at Eskdale, it would be a bad speculation to waste any of them on such a very incomplete party. So she was prepared with arguments against Mrs. Douglas's view of the case, which differed materially from hers.
"Well, that visit is over. I rather thought I liked Miss Forrester while she was here; but somehow I am ​not sorry she is gone. I always think that having people to stay in one's house gives more trouble than pleasure."
"But Mary did not give much trouble, mamma."
"I do not know what you call trouble, my dear; but there was a fire in her room all day; and we always had game for second course, and she drinks cocoa at breakfast, which is quite ridiculous. That is one of the pretensions which young people set up in these days; they care about their diet; that was never allowed in my time. I should like to have seen my aunt's face if I had asked for cocoa for breakfast when I was a girl."
"She has pleasant, lively manners," said Mr. Douglas.
"And likes a joke," added Mr. Wentworth. "How she laughed at my story about Hammond!"
"I don't wonder," said Sarah; "there are no stories so amusing as yours."
"You have not heard the fiftieth part of them yet. Why, when I was at Christchurch, Thompson, Hammond, and I used sometimes to sit up till two in the morning, telling good stories; and I suppose you never heard anything more amusing. Lady Teviot laughed at my pun about rain, did not she, Sarah?"
"That she did; she was quite delighted with it."
"The Beauforts all laugh as if they thought they had good teeth," said Mrs. Douglas.
"And so they have, Anne."
"My dear, I am not disputing the fact, I merely observe that they are convinced of it themselves. Eliza, did Lady Teviot say anything to you about going there?"
"No, mamma; she said Lady Eskdale sent her love."
"What wonderful munificence! and Lady Teviot brought it quite safe all the way from the Castle. How very kind! I suppose when Lady Eskdale is left alone again you will be sent for."
​"I shall like it just as well, mamma, when there is only a family party as when the house is full."
"I hope you will be invited then, my child; but I would not advise you to trust in any of these fine people; the Eskdales above all."
"They ought not to give themselves airs," said Mr. Wentworth; "I consider them quite a new family. I do not believe they were heard of before Henry the Seventh's time. My family dates back to the Conquest; and they have as little right to look down on Douglases as on Wentworths, if I am not mistaken."
"No right upon earth," said Mrs. Douglas, "but that they choose to set up for great people. I am not sorry they have not asked Eliza; though I shall always say it is very odd they have not; but nobody can live much with them without being more or less spoiled. Miss Forrester was civil enough while she was here, but she will be just like all the rest of that set when she has been with them a week. I beg to observe that Lady Sophia has not called here at all; and it would not the least surprise me if Lady Walden were not to send over a card of thanks, though I sent to inquire after her at immense inconvenience to myself."