The Last Chronicle of Barset [429]
then she walked about again. 'What could a woman better be, than a finger-post, as you call it, with such a purpose?'
'Nothing better, of course;--though a milestone to tell a fellow his distances, is very good.'
'Psha!'
'You don't like the idea of being a milestone?'
'No!'
'Then you can make up your mind to be a finger-post.'
'John, shall I be finger-post for you?.' She stood and looked at him for a moment or two, with her eyes full of love, as though she were going to throw herself into his arms. And she would have done so, no doubt, instantly, had he risen to his legs. As it was, after having gazed at him for the moment with her love-laden eyes, she flung herself on the sofa, and hid her face among the cushions.
He had felt that it was coming for the last quarter of an hour--and he had felt also, that he was quite unable to help himself. He did not believe that he should ever be reduced to marrying Miss Demolines, but he did see plainly enough that he was getting into trouble; and yet, for his life, he could not help himself. The moth who flutters round the light knows that he is being burned, and yet he cannot fly away from it. When Madalina had begun to talk to him about woman in general, and then about herself, and had told him that such a woman as herself--even one so liable to the disturbance of violent emotions--might yet be as true and honest as the sun, he knew he ought to get up and make his escape. He did not exactly know how the catastrophe would come, but he was quite sure that if he remained there he would be called in some way for a declaration of his sentiments--and that the call would be one which all his wit would not enable him to answer with any comfort. It was very well jesting about milestones, but every jest brought him nearer to the precipice. He perceived that however ludicrous might be the image which his words produced, she was clever enough in some way to turn that image to her own purpose. He had called a woman a finger-post, and forthwith she had offered to come to him and be a finger-post to him for life! What was he to say to her? It was clear that he must say something. As at this moment she was sobbing violently, he could not pass the offer by as a joke. Women will say that his answer should have been very simple, and his escape very easy. But men will understand that it is not easy to reject even a Miss Demolines when she offers herself for matrimony. And, moreover--as Johnny bethought himself at this crisis of his fate--Lady Demolines was no doubt at the other side of the drawing-room door, ready to stop him, should he attempt to run away. In the meantime the sobs on the sofa became violent, and still more violent. He had not even yet made up his mind what to do, when Madalina, springing to her feet, stood before him, with her curls wildly waving and her arms extended. 'Let it be as though it were unsaid,' she exclaimed. John Eames had not the slightest objection; but, nevertheless, there was a difficulty even in this. Were he simply to assent to this latter proposition, it could not be that the feminine nature of Miss Demolines would be outraged by so uncomplimentary an acquiescence. He felt that he ought at least to hesitate a little --to make some pretence at closing upon the rich offer that had been made to him; only that were he to show any such pretence the rich offer would, no doubt, be repeated. His Madalina had twitted him in the earlier part of their interview with knowing nothing of the nature of women. He did know enough to feel assured that any false step on his part now would lead him into very serious difficulties. 'Let it be as though it were unsaid! Why, oh why, have I betrayed myself?' exclaimed Madalina.
John had now risen from his chair, and coming up to her took her by the arm and spoke a word. 'Compose yourself,' he said. He spoke in his most affectionate voice, and he stood very close to her.
'How easy it is to bid me to do that,' said Madalina. 'Tell the sea to compose itself when it rages.'
'Madalina!' said he.
'Well--what of
'Nothing better, of course;--though a milestone to tell a fellow his distances, is very good.'
'Psha!'
'You don't like the idea of being a milestone?'
'No!'
'Then you can make up your mind to be a finger-post.'
'John, shall I be finger-post for you?.' She stood and looked at him for a moment or two, with her eyes full of love, as though she were going to throw herself into his arms. And she would have done so, no doubt, instantly, had he risen to his legs. As it was, after having gazed at him for the moment with her love-laden eyes, she flung herself on the sofa, and hid her face among the cushions.
He had felt that it was coming for the last quarter of an hour--and he had felt also, that he was quite unable to help himself. He did not believe that he should ever be reduced to marrying Miss Demolines, but he did see plainly enough that he was getting into trouble; and yet, for his life, he could not help himself. The moth who flutters round the light knows that he is being burned, and yet he cannot fly away from it. When Madalina had begun to talk to him about woman in general, and then about herself, and had told him that such a woman as herself--even one so liable to the disturbance of violent emotions--might yet be as true and honest as the sun, he knew he ought to get up and make his escape. He did not exactly know how the catastrophe would come, but he was quite sure that if he remained there he would be called in some way for a declaration of his sentiments--and that the call would be one which all his wit would not enable him to answer with any comfort. It was very well jesting about milestones, but every jest brought him nearer to the precipice. He perceived that however ludicrous might be the image which his words produced, she was clever enough in some way to turn that image to her own purpose. He had called a woman a finger-post, and forthwith she had offered to come to him and be a finger-post to him for life! What was he to say to her? It was clear that he must say something. As at this moment she was sobbing violently, he could not pass the offer by as a joke. Women will say that his answer should have been very simple, and his escape very easy. But men will understand that it is not easy to reject even a Miss Demolines when she offers herself for matrimony. And, moreover--as Johnny bethought himself at this crisis of his fate--Lady Demolines was no doubt at the other side of the drawing-room door, ready to stop him, should he attempt to run away. In the meantime the sobs on the sofa became violent, and still more violent. He had not even yet made up his mind what to do, when Madalina, springing to her feet, stood before him, with her curls wildly waving and her arms extended. 'Let it be as though it were unsaid,' she exclaimed. John Eames had not the slightest objection; but, nevertheless, there was a difficulty even in this. Were he simply to assent to this latter proposition, it could not be that the feminine nature of Miss Demolines would be outraged by so uncomplimentary an acquiescence. He felt that he ought at least to hesitate a little --to make some pretence at closing upon the rich offer that had been made to him; only that were he to show any such pretence the rich offer would, no doubt, be repeated. His Madalina had twitted him in the earlier part of their interview with knowing nothing of the nature of women. He did know enough to feel assured that any false step on his part now would lead him into very serious difficulties. 'Let it be as though it were unsaid! Why, oh why, have I betrayed myself?' exclaimed Madalina.
John had now risen from his chair, and coming up to her took her by the arm and spoke a word. 'Compose yourself,' he said. He spoke in his most affectionate voice, and he stood very close to her.
'How easy it is to bid me to do that,' said Madalina. 'Tell the sea to compose itself when it rages.'
'Madalina!' said he.
'Well--what of