Sandra Belloni | Page 3

a cold for myself," said Mr. Pericles, from the elevation of a
shrug, feeling that he was doomed to go forth. He acted reluctance so
well that the ladies affected a pretty imperiousness; and when at last he
consented to join the party, they thanked him with a nicely simulated
warmth, believing that they had pleased him thoroughly.
Their brother Wilfrid was at Brookfield. Six months earlier he had
returned from India, an invalided cornet of light cavalry, with a
reputation for military dash and the prospect of a medal. Then he was
their heroic brother he was now their guard. They love him tenderly,
and admired him when it was necessary; but they had exhausted their
own sensations concerning his deeds of arms, and fancied that he had
served their purpose. And besides, valour is not an intellectual quality,
they said. They were ladies so aspiring, these daughters of the merchant
Samuel Bolton Pole, that, if Napoleon had been their brother, their
imaginations would have overtopped him after his six months' inaction
in the Tuileries. They would by that time have made a stepping-stone
of the emperor. 'Mounting' was the title given to this proceeding. They
went on perpetually mounting. It is still a good way from the head of
the tallest of men to the stars; so they had their work before them; but,
as they observed, they were young. To be brief, they were very
ambitious damsels, aiming at they knew not exactly what, save that it
was something so wide that it had not a name, and so high in the air

that no one could see it. They knew assuredly that their circle did not
please them. So, therefore, they were constantly extending and refining
it: extending it perhaps for the purpose of refining it. Their
susceptibilities demanded that they should escape from a city circle.
Having no mother, they ruled their father's house and him, and were at
least commanders of whatsoever forces they could summon for the
task.
It may be seen that they were sentimentalists. That is to say, they
supposed that they enjoyed exclusive possession of the Nice Feelings,
and exclusively comprehended the Fine Shades. Whereof more will be
said; but in the meantime it will explain their propensity to mount; it
will account for their irritation at the material obstructions surrounding
them; and possibly the philosopher will now have his eye on the source
of that extraordinary sense of superiority to mankind which was the
crown of their complacent brows. Eclipsed as they may be in the gross
appreciation of the world by other people, who excel in this and that
accomplishment, persons that nourish Nice Feelings and are intimate
with the Fine Shades carry their own test of intrinsic value.
Nor let the philosopher venture hastily to despise them as pipers to
dilettante life. Such persons come to us in the order of civilization. In
their way they help to civilize us. Sentimentalists are a perfectly natural
growth of a fat soil. Wealthy communities must engender them. If with
attentive minds we mark the origin of classes, we shall discern that the
Nice Feelings and the Fine Shades play a principal part in our human
development and social history. I dare not say that civilized man is to
be studied with the eye of a naturalist; but my vulgar meaning might
almost be twisted to convey: that our sentimentalists are a variety
owing their existence to a certain prolonged term of comfortable
feeding. The pig, it will be retorted, passes likewise through this
training. He does. But in him it is not combined with an indigestion of
high German romances. Here is so notable a difference, that he cannot
possibly be said to be of the family. And I maintain it against him, who
have nevertheless listened attentively to the eulogies pronounced by the
vendors of prize bacon.

After thus stating to you the vast pretensions of the ladies of Brookfield,
it would be unfair to sketch their portraits. Nothing but comedy
bordering on burlesque could issue from the contrast, though they
graced a drawing-room or a pew, and had properly elegant habits and
taste in dress, and were all fair to the sight. Moreover, Adela had not
long quitted school. Outwardly they were not unlike other young ladies
with wits alert. They were at the commencement of their labours on
this night of the expedition when they were fated to meet something
greatly confusing them.
CHAPTER II
Half of a rosy mounting full moon was on the verge of the East as the
ladies, with attendant cavaliers, passed, humming softly, through the
garden-gates. Arabella had, by right of birth, made claim to Mr.
Pericles: not without an unwontedly fretful remonstrance from Cornelia,
who said, "My dear, you must allow that