The Sentimentalists | Page 5

In my
boudoir I am alone one minute, and then the door opens to the
inevitable. I pay a visit, he is passing the house as I leave it. He will not
even affect surprise. I belong to him, I am cat's mouse. And he will
look doating on me in public. And when I speak to anybody, he is that
fearful picture of all smirks. Fling off a kid glove after a round of calls;
feel your hand--there you have me now that I am out of him for my half
a day, if for as long.
ASTRAEA: This is one of the world's happy marriages!
LYRA: This is one of the world's choice dishes! And I have it planted
under my nostrils eternally. Spare me the mention of Pluriel until he
appears; that's too certain this very day. Oh! good husband! good kind
of man! whatever you please; only some peace, I do pray, for the
husband- haunted wife. I like him, I like him, of course, but I want to
breathe. Why, an English boy perpetually bowled by a Christmas
pudding would come to loathe the mess.
ASTRAEA: His is surely the excess of a merit.
LYRA: Excess is a poison. Excess of a merit is a capital offence in
morality. It disgusts, us with virtue. And you are the cunningest of

fencers, tongue, or foils. You lead me to talk of myself, and I hate the
subject. By the way, you have practised with Mr. Arden.
ASTRAEA: A tiresome instructor, who lets you pass his guard to
compliment you on a hit.
LYRA: He rather wins me.
ASTRAEA: He does at first.
LYRA: Begins Plurielizing, without the law to back him, does he?
ASTRAEA: The fencing lessons are at an end.
LYRA: The duetts with Mr. Swithin's violoncello continue?
ASTRAEA: He broke through the melody.
LYRA: There were readings in poetry with Mr. Osier, I recollect.
ASTRAEA: His own compositions became obtrusive.
LYRA: No fencing, no music, no poetry! no West Coast of Africa
either, I suppose.
ASTRAEA: Very well! I am on my defence. You at least shall not
misunderstand me, Lyra. One intense regret I have; that I did not live in
the time of the Amazons. They were free from this question of marriage;
this babble of love. Why am I so persecuted? He will not take a refusal.
There are sacred reasons. I am supported by every woman having the
sense of her dignity. I am perverted, burlesqued by the fury of wrath I
feel at their incessant pursuit. And I despise Mr. Osier and Mr. Swithin
because they have an air of pious agreement with the Dame, and are
conspirators behind their mask.
LYRA: False, false men!
ASTRAEA: They come to me. I am complimented on being the
vulnerable spot.

LYRA: The object desired is usually addressed by suitors, my poor
Astraea!
ASTRAEA: With the assumption, that as I am feminine I must
necessarily be in the folds of the horrible constrictor they call Love, and
that I leap to the thoughts of their debasing marriage.
LYRA: One of them goes to Mr. Homeware.
ASTRAEA: All are sent to him in turn. He can dispose of them.
LYRA: Now that is really masterly fun, my dear; most creditable to
you! Love, marriage, a troop of suitors, and uncle Homeware. No, it
would not have occurred to me, and--I am considered to have some
humour. Of course, he disposes of them. He seemed to have a fairly
favourable opinion of Mr. Arden.
ASTRAEA: I do not share it. He is the least respectful of the
sentiments entertained by me. Pray, spare me the mention of him, as
you say of your husband. He has that pitiful conceit in men, which sets
them thinking that a woman must needs be susceptible to the
declaration of the mere existence of their passion. He is past argument.
Impossible for him to conceive a woman's having a mind above the
conditions of her sex. A woman, according to him, can have no ideal of
life, except as a ball to toss in the air and catch in a cup. Put him
aside. . . . We creatures are doomed to marriage, and if we shun it, we
are a kind of cripple. He is grossly earthy in his view of us. We are
unable to move a step in thought or act unless we submit to have a
husband. That is his reasoning. Nature! Nature! I have to hear of Nature!
We must be above Nature, I tell him, or, we shall be very much below.
He is ranked among our clever young men; and he can be amusing. So
far he passes muster; and he has a pleasant voice. I dare say he is an
uncle Homeware's