The kitchen is occupied at present by the Bishop"s lady, Mrs Bridgenorth, who is talking to Mr William Collins, the greengrocer. He is in evening dress, though it is early forenoon. Mrs Bridgenorth is a quiet happy-looking woman of fifty or thereabouts, placid, gentle, and humorous, with delicate features and fine grey hair with many white threads. She is dressed as for some festivity; but she is taking things easily as she sits in the big chair by the hearth, reading The Times.
Collins is an elderly man with a rather youthful waist. His muttonchop whiskers have a coquettish touch of Dundreary at their lower ends. He is an affable man, with those perfect manners which can be acquired only in keeping a shop for the sale of necessaries of life to ladies whose social position is so unquestionable that they are not anxious about it. He is a rea.s.suring man, with a vigilant grey eye, and the power of saying anything he likes to you without offence, because his tone always implies that he does it with your kind permission. Withal by no means servile: rather gallant and compa.s.sionate, but never without a conscientious recognition, on public grounds, of social distinctions. He is at the oak chest counting a pile of napkins.
Mrs Bridgenorth reads placidly: Collins counts: a blackbird sings in the garden. Mrs Bridgenorth puts The Times down in her lap and considers Collins for a moment.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. Do you never feel nervous on these occasions, Collins?
COLLINS. Lord bless you, no, maam. It would be a joke, after marrying five of your daughters, if I was to get nervous over marrying the last of them.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. I have always said you were a wonderful man, Collins.
COLLINS [almost blushing] Oh, maam!
MRS BRIDGENORTH. Yes. I never could arrange anything--a wedding or even dinner--without some hitch or other.
COLLINS. Why should you give yourself the trouble, maam? Send for the greengrocer, maam: thats the secret of easy housekeeping.
Bless you, it"s his business. It pays him and you, let alone the pleasure in a house like this [Mrs Bridgenorth bows in acknowledgment of the compliment]. They joke about the greengrocer, just as they joke about the mother-in-law. But they cant get on without both.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. What a bond between us, Collins!
COLLINS. Bless you, maam, theres all sorts of bonds between all sorts of people. You are a very affable lady, maam, for a Bishop"s lady. I have known Bishop"s ladies that would fairly provoke you to up and cheek them; but n.o.body would ever forget himself and his place with you, maam.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. Collins: you are a flatterer. You will superintend the breakfast yourself as usual, of course, wont you?
COLLINS. Yes, yes, bless you, maam, of course. I always do. Them fashionable caterers send down such people as I never did set eyes on. Dukes you would take them for. You see the relatives shaking hands with them and asking them about the family-- actually ladies saying "Where have we met before?" and all sorts of confusion. Thats my secret in business, maam. You can always spot me as the greengrocer. It"s a fortune to me in these days, when you cant hardly tell who any one is or isnt. [He goes out through the tower, and immediately returns for a moment to announce] The General, maam.
Mrs Bridgenorth rises to receive her brother-in-law, who enters resplendent in full-dress uniform, with many medals and orders.
General Bridgenorth is a well set up man of fifty, with large brave nostrils, an iron mouth, faithful dog"s eyes, and much natural simplicity and dignity of character. He is ignorant, stupid, and prejudiced, having been carefully trained to be so; and it is not always possible to be patient with him when his unquestionably good intentions become actively mischievous; but one blames society, not himself, for this. He would be no worse a man than Collins, had he enjoyed Collins"s social opportunities.
He comes to the hearth, where Mrs Bridgenorth is standing with her back to the fireplace.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. Good morning, Boxer. [They shake hands]. Another niece to give away. This is the last of them.
THE GENERAL [very gloomy] Yes, Alice. Nothing for the old warrior uncle to do but give away brides to luckier men than himself.
Has--[he chokes] has your sister come yet?
MRS BRIDGENORTH. Why do you always call Lesbia my sister? Dont you know that it annoys her more than any of the rest of your tricks?
THE GENERAL. Tricks! Ha! Well, I"ll try to break myself of it; but I think she might bear with me in a little thing like that.
She knows that her name sticks in my throat. Better call her your sister than try to call her L-- [he almost breaks down] L-- well, call her by her name and make a fool of myself by crying. [He sits down at the near end of the table].
MRS BRIDGENORTH [going to him and rallying him] Oh come, Boxer!
Really, really! We are no longer boys and girls. You cant keep up a broken heart all your life. It must be nearly twenty years since she refused you. And you know that it"s not because she dislikes you, but only that she"s not a marrying woman.
THE GENERAL. It"s no use. I love her still. And I cant help telling her so whenever we meet, though I know it makes her avoid me. [He all but weeps].
MRS BRIDGENORTH. What does she say when you tell her?
THE GENERAL. Only that she wonders when I am going to grow out of it. I know now that I shall never grow out of it.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. Perhaps you would if you married her. I believe youre better as you are, Boxer.
THE GENERAL. I"m a miserable man. I"m really sorry to be a ridiculous old bore, Alice; but when I come to this house for a wedding--to these scenes--to--to recollections of the past-- always to give the bride to somebody else, and never to have my bride given to me--[he rises abruptly] May I go into the garden and smoke it off?
MRS BRIDGENORTH. Do, Boxer.
Collins returns with the wedding cake.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. Oh, heres the cake. I believe it"s the same one we had for Florence"s wedding.
THE GENERAL. I cant bear it [he hurries out through the garden door].
COLLINS [putting the cake on the table] Well, look at that, maam! Aint it odd that after all the weddings he"s given away at, the General cant stand the sight of a wedding cake yet. It always seems to give him the same shock.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. Well, it"s his last shock. You have married the whole family now, Collins. [She takes up The Times again and resumes her seat].
COLLINS. Except your sister, maam. A fine character of a lady, maam, is Miss Grantham. I have an ambition to arrange her wedding breakfast.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. She wont marry, Collins.
COLLINS. Bless you, maam, they all say that. You and me said it, I"ll lay. I did, anyhow.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. No: marriage came natural to me. I should have thought it did to you too.
COLLINS [pensive] No, maam: it didnt come natural. My wife had to break me into it. It came natural to her: she"s what you might call a regular old hen. Always wants to have her family within sight of her. Wouldnt go to bed unless she knew they was all safe at home and the door locked, and the lights out. Always wants her luggage in the carriage with her. Always goes and makes the engine driver promise her to be careful. She"s a born wife and mother, maam. Thats why my children all ran away from home.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. Did you ever feel inclined to run away, Collins?
COLLINS. Oh yes, maam, yes: very often. But when it came to the point I couldnt bear to hurt her feelings. Shes a sensitive, affectionate, anxious soul; and she was never brought up to know what freedom is to some people. You see, family life is all the life she knows: she"s like a bird born in a cage, that would die if you let it loose in the woods. When I thought how little it was to a man of my easy temper to put up with her, and how deep it would hurt her to think it was because I didnt care for her, I always put off running away till next time; and so in the end I never ran away at all. I daresay it was good for me to be took such care of; but it cut me off from all my old friends something dreadful, maam: especially the women, maam. She never gave them a chance: she didnt indeed. She never understood that married people should take holidays from one another if they are to keep at all fresh. Not that I ever got tired of her, maam; but my! how I used to get tired of home life sometimes. I used to catch myself envying my brother George: I positively did, maam.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. George was a bachelor then, I suppose?
COLLINS. Bless you, no, maam. He married a very fine figure of a woman; but she was that changeable and what you might call susceptible, you would not believe. She didnt seem to have any control over herself when she fell in love. She would mope for a couple of days, crying about nothing; and then she would up and say--no matter who was there to hear her--"I must go to him, George"; and away she would go from her home and her husband without with-your-leave or by-your-leave.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. But do you mean that she did this more than once? That she came back?
COLLINS. Bless you, maam, she done it five times to my own knowledge; and then George gave up telling us about it, he got so used to it.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. But did he always take her back?
COLLINS. Well, what could he do, maam? Three times out of four the men would bring her back the same evening and no harm done.
Other times theyd run away from her. What could any man with a heart do but comfort her when she came back crying at the way they dodged her when she threw herself at their heads, pretending they was too n.o.ble to accept the sacrifice she was making. George told her again and again that if she"d only stay at home and hold off a bit theyd be at her feet all day long. She got sensible at last and took his advice. George always liked change of company.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. What an odious woman, Collins! Dont you think so?
COLLINS [judicially] Well, many ladies with a domestic turn thought so and said so, maam. But I will say for Mrs George that the variety of experience made her wonderful interesting. Thats where the flighty ones score off the steady ones, maam. Look at my old woman! She"s never known any man but me; and she cant properly know me, because she dont know other men to compare me with. Of course she knows her parents in--well, in the way one does know one"s parents not knowing half their lives as you might say, or ever thinking that they was ever young; and she knew her children as children, and never thought of them as independent human beings till they ran away and nigh broke her heart for a week or two. But Mrs George she came to know a lot about men of all sorts and ages; for the older she got the younger she liked em; and it certainly made her interesting, and gave her a lot of sense. I have often taken her advice on things when my own poor old woman wouldnt have been a bit of use to me.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. I hope you dont tell your wife that you go elsewhere for advice.