The Project Gutenberg EBook of Eleanor, by Mrs. Humphry Ward #2 in our series by Mrs. Humphry WardCopyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the copyright laws for your country before downloadingor redistributing this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do notchange or edit the header without written permission.Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of thisfile. Included is important information about your specific rights and restrictions in how the file may be used. You can alsofind out about how to make a donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts****eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971*******These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****Title: EleanorAuthor: Mrs. Humphry WardRelease Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9087] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] [This file was firstposted on September 4, 2003]Edition: 10Language: English*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELEANOR ***Produced by Jonathan Ingram, William Flis, and Distributed ProofreadersELEANORBYMRS. HUMPHRY WARDWITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ALBERT STERNER1900TO ITALY THE BELOVED AND BEAUTIFUL, INSTRUCTRESS OF OUR PAST, DELIGHT OF OURPRESENT, COMRADE OF OUR FUTURE:— ...
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**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
Title: Eleanor
Author: Mrs. Humphry Ward
Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9087] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first
posted on September 4, 2003]
Edition: 10
Language: English
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELEANOR ***
Produced by Jonathan Ingram, William Flis, and Distributed ProofreadersELEANOR
BY
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ALBERT STERNER
1900
TO ITALY THE BELOVED AND BEAUTIFUL, INSTRUCTRESS OF OUR PAST, DELIGHT OF OUR
PRESENT, COMRADE OF OUR FUTURE:— THE HEART OF AN ENGLISHWOMAN OFFERS THIS
BOOK.LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
ELEANOR
THE VILLA
LUCY FOSTER
THE BEAUTIFYING OF LUCY
THE LOGGIA
FATHER BENECKEPART I.
'I would that you were all to me,
You that are just so much, no more.
Nor yours nor mine, nor slave nor free!
Where does the fault lie? What the core
O' the wound, since wound must be?'CHAPTER I
'Let us be quite clear, Aunt Pattie—when does this young woman arrive?'
'In about half an hour. But really, Edward, you need take no trouble! she is coming to visit me, and I will see that she
doesn't get in your way. Neither you nor Eleanor need trouble your heads about her.'
Miss Manisty—a small elderly lady in a cap—looked at her nephew with a mild and deprecating air. The slight tremor of
the hands, which were crossed over the knitting on her lap, betrayed a certain nervousness; but for all that she had the air
of managing a familiar difficulty in familiar ways.
The gentleman addressed shook his head impatiently.
'One never prepares for these catastrophes till they actually arrive,' he muttered, taking up a magazine that lay on the
table near him, and restlessly playing with the leaves.
'I warned you yesterday.'
'And I forgot—and was happy. Eleanor—what are we going to do with Miss
Foster?'
A lady, who had been sitting at some little distance, rose and came forward.
'Well, I should have thought the answer was simple. Here we are fifteen miles from Rome. The trains might be better—still
there are trains. Miss Foster has never been to Europe before. Either Aunt Pattie's maid or mine can take her to all the
proper things—or there are plenty of people in Rome—the Westertons—the Borrows?—who at a word from Aunt Pattie
would fly to look after her and take her about. I really don't see that you need be so miserable!'
Mrs. Burgoyne stood looking down in some amusement at the aunt and nephew. Edward Manisty, however, was not
apparently consoled by her remarks. He began to pace up and down the salon in a disturbance out of all proportion to its
cause. And as he walked he threw out phrases of ill-humour, so that at last Miss Manisty, driven to defend herself, put the
irresistible question—
'Then why—why—my dear Edward, did you make me invite her? For it was really his doing—wasn't it, Eleanor?'
'Yes—I am witness!'
'One of those abominable flashes of conscience that have so much to answer for!' said Manisty, throwing up his hand in
annoyance.—'If she had come to us in Rome, one could have provided for her. But here in this solitude—just at the most
critical moment of one's work—and it's all very well—but one can't treat a young lady, when she is actually in one's house,
as if she were the tongs!'
He stood beside the window, with his hands on his sides, moodily looking out. Thus strongly defined against the sunset
light, he would have impressed himself on a stranger as a man no longer in his first youth, extraordinarily handsome so
far as the head was concerned, but of a somewhat irregular and stunted figure; stunted, however, only in comparison with
what it had to carry; for in fact he was of about middle height. But the head, face and shoulders were all remarkably large
and powerful; the colouring—curly black hair, grey eyes, dark complexion—singularly vivid; and the lines of the brow, the
long nose, the energetic mouth, in their mingled force and perfection, had made the stimulus of many an artist before
now. For Edward Manisty was one of those men of note whose portraits the world likes to paint: and this 'Olympian head'
of his was well known in many a French and English studio, through a fine drawing of it made by Legros when Manisty
was still a youth at Oxford. 'Begun by David—and finished by Rembrandt': so a young French painter had once described
Edward Manisty.
The final effect of this discord, however, was an effect of power—of personality—of something that claimed and held
attention. So at least it was described by Manisty's friends. Manisty's enemies, of whom the world contained no small
number, had other words for it. But women in general took the more complimentary view.
The two women now in his company were clearly much affected by the force—wilfulness—extravagance—for one might
call it by any of these names—that breathed from the man before them. Miss Manisty, his aunt, followed his movements
with her small blinking eyes, timidly uneasy, but yet visibly conscious all the time that she had done nothing that any
reasonable man could rationally complain of; while in the manner towards him of his widowed cousin Mrs. Burgoyne, in
the few words of banter or remonstrance that she threw him on the subject of his aunt's expected visitor, there was an
indulgence, a deference even, that his irritation scarcely deserved.
'At least, give me some account of this girl'—he said, breaking in upon his aunt's explanations. 'I have really not given her
a thought—and—good heavens!—she will be here, you say, in half an hour. Is she young—stupid—pretty? Has she any
experience—any conversation?'
'I read you Adèle's letter on Monday,' said Miss Manisty, in a tone of patience—'and I told you then all I knew—but Inoticed you didn't listen. I only saw her myself for a few hours at Boston. I remember she was rather good-looking—but
very shy, and not a bit like all the other girls one was seeing. Her clothes were odd, and dowdy, and too old for her
altogether,—which struck me as curious, for the American girls, even the country ones, have such a natural turn for
dressing themselves. Her Boston cousins didn't like it, and they tried to buy her things—but she was difficult to manage—
and they had to give it up. Still they were very fond of her, I remember. Only she didn't let them show it much. Her manners
were much stiffer than theirs. They said she was very countrified and simple—that she had been brought up quite alone
by their old uncle, in a little country town—and hardly ever went away from home.'
'And Edward never saw her?' inquired Mrs. Burgoyne, with a motion of the head towards Manisty.
'No. He was at Chicago just those days. But you never saw anything like the kindness of the cousins! Luncheons and
dinners!'—Miss Manisty raised her little gouty hands—'my dear—when we left Boston I never wanted to eat again. It
would be simply indecent if we did nothing for this girl. English people are so ungrateful this side of the water. It makes
me hot when I think of all they do for us.'
The small lady's blanched and wrinkled face reddened a little with a colour which became her. Manisty, lost in irritable
reflection, apparently took no notice.
'But why did they send her out all alone?' said Mrs. Burgoyne. 'Couldn't they have found some family for her to travel with?'
'Well, it was a series of accidents. She did come over with some Boston people—the Porters—we knew very well. And
they hadn't been three days in London before one of the daughters developed meningitis, and was at the point of death.
And of course they could go nowhere and see nothing—and poor Lucy Foster felt herself in the way. Then she was to
have joined some other people in Italy, and they changed their plans. And at last I got a letter from Mrs. Porter—in
despair—asking me if I knew of anyone in Rome who would take her in and chaperon her. And then—well, then you know
the rest.'
And the speaker nodded again, still more significantly, towards her nephew.
'No, not all,' said Mrs. Burgoyne, laughing. 'I remember he telegraphed.'
'Yes. He wouldn't even wait for me to write. No—"Of course we must have the girl!" he said. "She can join us at the villa.
And they'll want to know, so I'll wire." And out he went. And then that evening I had to write and ask her to stay as long as
she wished—and—well, there it is!'
'And hence these tears,' said Mrs. Burgoyne. 'What possessed him?'
'Well, I think it was conscience,' said the little spinster, plucking up spirit. 'I know it was with me. There had been some
Americans calling on us that day—you remember—those charming Harvard people? And somehow it recalled to us both
what a fuss they had made with us—and how kind everybody was. At least I suppose that was how Edward felt. I know I
did.'
Manisty paused in his walk. For the first time his dark whimsical face was crossed by an unwilling smile—slight but
agreeable.
'It is the old story,' he said. 'Life would be tolerable but for one's virtues. All this time, I beg to point out, Aunt Pattie, that
you have still told us nothing about the young lady—except somethin