Morgans had farmed their land for hundreds of
years; they were what Miss Gervase and Miss Colley and the rest of them
called common people. Tennyson's noble gentleman thought of their ladies
with something of reticence; they imagined them dressed in flowing and
courtly robes, walking with slow dignity; they dreamed of them as always
stately, the future mistresses of their houses, mothers of their heirs.
Such lovers bowed, but not too low, remembering their own honor, before
those who were to be equal companions and friends as well as wives. It
was not such conceptions as these that he embodied in the amazing emblems
of his ritual; he was not, he told himself, a young officer, "something
in the city," or a rising barrister engaged to a Miss Dixon or a Miss
Gervase. He had not thought of looking out for a nice little house in a
good residential suburb where they would have pleasant society; there
were to be no consultations about wall-papers, or jocose whispers from
friends as to the necessity of having a room that would do for a nursery.
No glad young thing had leant on his arm while they chose the suite in
white enamel, and china for "our bedroom," the modest salesman doing
his best to spare their blushes. When Edith Gervase married she would get
mamma to look out for two really good servants, "as we must begin
quietly," and mamma would make sure that the drains and everything
were right. Then her "girl friends" would come on a certain solemn day to
see all her "lovely things." "Two dozen of everything!" "Look, Ethel, did
you ever see such ducky frills?" "And that insertion, isn't it quite too
sweet?" "My dear Edith, you are a lucky girl." "All the underlinen
specially made by Madame Lulu!" "What delicious things!" "I hope he knows
what a prize he is winning." "Oh! do look at those lovely ribbon-bows!"
"You darling, how happy you must be." "Real Valenciennes!" Then a whisper
in the lady's ear, and her reply, "Oh, don't, Nelly!" So they would chirp
over their treasures, as in Rabelais they chirped over their cups; and
every thing would be done in due order till the wedding-day, when mamma,
who had strained her sinews and the commandments to bring the match
about, would weep and look indignantly at the unhappy bridegroom. "I
_hope_ you'll be kind to her, Robert." Then in a rapid whisper to the
bride: "Mind, you _insist_ on Wyman's flushing the drains when you come
back; servants are so careless and dirty too. Don't let him g