The Twins | Page 7

the unknown gentleman, with somewhat of
offended dignity.
At last, down came the wife: our general at once perceived himself
mistaken in the matter of Mrs. Green; and, coldly bowing to the

bedizened dame, acknowledged her pretensions with a courteous--
"Mrs. General Tracy, allow me to introduce to you Miss Emily Warren,
the daughter of a very particular friend of mine:--Miss Warren, Mrs.
Tracy."
For other welcomings, mutual astonishment at each other's fat, some
little sorrowful talk of the twenty years ago, and some dull paternal jest
about this dozen feet of sons, made up the chilly meeting: and the
slender thread of sentimentals, which might possibly survive it, was
soon snapt by paying post-boys, orders after luggage, and devouring
tiffin.
The only persons who felt any thing at all, were Mrs. Tracy, vexed at
her dishabille, and mortified at so cool a reception of, what she hoped,
her still unsullied beauties; and Charles, poor fellow, who ran up to his
studious retreat, and soothed his grief, as best he might, with
philosophic fancies: it was so cold, so heartless, so unkind a greeting.
Romantic youth! how should the father have known him for a son?
CHAPTER IV.
THE GENERAL AND HIS WARD.
IT is surprising what a change twenty years of a tropical sun can make
in the human constitution. The captain went forth a good-looking,
good-tempered man, destitute neither of kind feelings nor masculine
beauty: the general returned bloated, bilious, irascible, entirely selfish,
and decidedly ill-favoured. Such affections as he ever had seemed to
have been left behind in India--that new world, around which now all
his associations and remembrances revolved; and the reserve (clearly
rëproduced in Charles), the habit of silence whereof we took due notice
in the spring-tide of his life, had now grown, perhaps from some
oppressive secret, into a settled, moody, continuous taciturnity, which
made his curious wife more vexed at him than ever; for,
notwithstanding all the news he must have had to tell her, the company
of John George Julian Tracy proved to his long-expectant Jane any
thing but cheering or instructive. His past life, and present feelings, to

say nothing of his future prospects, might all be but a blank, for any
thing the general seemed to care: brandy and tobacco, an easy chair,
and an ordnance map of India, with Emily beside him to talk about old
times, these were all for which he lived: and even the female curiosity
of a wife, duly authorized to ask questions, could extract from him
astonishingly little of his Indian experiences. As to his wealth, indeed,
Mrs. Tracy boldly made direct inquiry; for Julian set her on to beg for a
commission, and Charles also was anxious for a year or two at college;
but the general divulged not much: albeit he vouchsafed to both his
sons a liberally increased allowance. It was only when his wife, piqued
at such reserve, pettishly remarked,
"At any rate, sir, I may be permitted to hope, that Miss Warren's friends
are kind enough to pay her expenses;"
That the veteran, in high dudgeon at any imputation on his Indian
acquaintances, sternly answered,
"You need not be apprehensive, madam; Emily Warren is amply
provided for." Words which sank deep into the prudent mother's mind.
But we must not too long let dock-leaves hide a violet; it is high time,
and barely courteous now, to introduce that beautiful exotic, Emily
Warren. Her own history, as she will tell it to Charles hereafter, was so
obscure, that she knew little of it certainly herself, and could barely
gather probabilities from scattered fragments. At present, we have only
to survey results in a superficial manner: in their due season, we will
dig up all the roots.
No heroine can probably engage our interest or sympathy who
possesses the infirmity of ugliness: it is not in human nature to admire
her, and human nature is a thing very much to be consulted. Moreover,
no one ever yet saw an amiable personage, who was not so far pleasing,
or, in other parlance, so far pretty. I cannot help the common course of
things; and however hackneyed be the thought, however common-place
the phrase, it is true, nevertheless, that beauty, singular beauty, would
be the first idea of any rational creature, who caught but a glimpse of
Emily Warren; and I should account it little wonder if, upon a calmer

gaze, that beauty were found to have its deepest, clearest fountain in
those large dark eyes of heir's.
Aware as I may be, that "large dark eyes" are no novelty in tales like
this; and famous for rare originality as my pen (not to say genius)
would become, if an attempt were herein made to interest the world in a
pink-eyed heroine, still I prefer plodding