English fiction -- 19th century; Tailors -- Fiction
Lady Jocelyn belonged properly to that order which the Sultans and the
Roxalanas of earth combine to exclude from their little games, under
the designation of blues, or strong-minded women: a kind, if genuine,
the least dangerous and staunchest of the sex, as poor fellows learn
when the flippant and the frail fair have made mummies of them. She had
the frankness of her daughter, the same direct eyes and firm step: a
face without shadows, though no longer bright with youth. It may be
charged to her as one of the errors of her strong mind, that she
believed friendship practicable between men and women, young or old.
She knew the world pretty well, and was not amazed by extraordinary
accidents; but as she herself continued to be an example of her faith:
we must presume it natural that her delusion should cling to her. She
welcomed Evan as her daughter’s friend, walked half-way across the room
to meet him on his introduction to her, and with the simple words, “I
have heard of you,” let him see that he stood upon his merits in her
house. The young man’s spirit caught something of hers even in their
first interview, and at once mounted to that level. Unconsciously he
felt that she took, and would take him, for what he was, and he rose to
his worth in the society she presided over. A youth like Evan could not
perceive, that in loving this lady’s daughter, and accepting the place
she offered him, he was guilty of a breach of confidence; or reflect,
that her entire absence of suspicion imposed upon him a corresponding
honesty toward her. He fell into a blindness. Without dreaming for a
moment that she designed to encourage his passion for Rose, he yet
beheld himself in the light she had cast on him; and, received as her
daughter’s friend, it seemed to him not so utterly monstrous that he
might be her daughter’s lover. A haughty, a grand, or a too familiar
manner, would have kept his eyes clearer on his true condition. Lady
Jocelyn spoke to his secret nature, and eclipsed in his mind the
outward aspects with which it was warring. To her he was a gallant
young man, a fit companion for Rose, and when she and Sir Franks said,
and showed him, that they were glad to know him, his heart swam in a
flood of happiness they little suspected.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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