The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë (sci fi books to read TXT) 📕

they can’t take so much as a bottle between them without its getting into their heads⁠—”

“You are pouring the cream into your saucer, Mr. Grimsby.”

“Ah! yes, I see, but we’re almost in darkness here. Hargrave, snuff those candles, will you?”

“They’re wax; they don’t require snuffing,” said I.

“ ‘The light of the body is the eye,’ ” observed Hargrave, with a sarcastic smile. “ ‘If thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light.’ ”

Grimsby repulsed him with a solemn wave of the hand, and then turning to me, continued, with the same drawling tones and strange uncertainty of utterance and heavy gravity of aspect as before: “But as I was saying, Mrs. Huntingdon, they have no head at all: they can’t take half a bottle without being affected some way; whereas I⁠—well, I’ve taken three times as much as they have tonight, and you see I’m perfectly steady. Now that may strike you as very singular, but I think I can explain it: you see their brains⁠—I mention no names, but you’ll understand to whom I allude⁠—their brains are light to begin with, and the fumes of the fermented liquor render them lighter still, and produce an entire lightheadedness, or giddiness, resulting in intoxication; whereas my brains, being composed of more solid materials, will absorb a considerable quantity of this alcoholic vapour without the production of any sensible result⁠—”

“I think you will find a sensible result produced on that tea,” interrupted Mr. Hargrave, “by the quantity of sugar you have put into it. Instead of your usual complement of one lump, you have put in six.”

“Have I so?” replied the philosopher, diving with his spoon into the cup, and bringing up several half-dissolved pieces in confirmation of the assertion. “Hum! I perceive. Thus, Madam, you see the evil of absence of mind⁠—of thinking too much while engaged in the common concerns of life. Now, if I had had my wits about me, like ordinary men, instead of within me like a philosopher, I should not have spoiled this cup of tea, and been constrained to trouble you for another.”

“That is the sugar-basin, Mr. Grimsby. Now you have spoiled the sugar too; and I’ll thank you to ring for some more, for here is Lord Lowborough at last; and I hope his lordship will condescend to sit down with us, such as we are, and allow me to give him some tea.”

His lordship gravely bowed in answer to my appeal, but said nothing. Meantime, Hargrave volunteered to ring for the sugar, while Grimsby lamented his mistake, and attempted to prove that it was owing to the shadow of the urn and the badness of the lights.

Lord Lowborough had entered a minute or two before, unobserved by anyone but me, and had been standing before the door, grimly surveying the company. He now stepped up to Annabella, who sat with her back towards him, with Hattersley still beside her, though not now attending to her, being occupied in vociferously abusing and bullying his host.

“Well, Annabella,” said her husband, as he leant over the back of her chair, “which of these three ‘bold, manly spirits’ would you have me to resemble?”

“By heaven and earth, you shall resemble us all!” cried Hattersley, starting up and rudely seizing him by the arm. “Hallo, Huntingdon!” he shouted⁠—“I’ve got him! Come, man, and help me! And d⁠⸺⁠n me, if I don’t make him drunk before I let him go! He shall make up for all past delinquencies as sure as I’m a living soul!”

There followed a disgraceful contest: Lord Lowborough, in desperate earnest, and pale with anger, silently struggling to release himself from the powerful madman that was striving to drag him from the room. I attempted to urge Arthur to interfere in behalf of his outraged guest, but he could do nothing but laugh.

“Huntingdon, you fool, come and help me, can’t you!” cried Hattersley, himself somewhat weakened by his excesses.

“I’m wishing you Godspeed, Hattersley,” cried Arthur, “and aiding you with my prayers: I can’t do anything else if my life depended on it! I’m quite used up. Oh⁠—oh!” and leaning back in his seat, he clapped his hands on his sides and groaned aloud.

“Annabella, give me a candle!” said Lowborough, whose antagonist had now got him round the waist and was endeavouring to root him from the doorpost, to which he madly clung with all the energy of desperation.

“I shall take no part in your rude sports!” replied the lady coldly drawing back. “I wonder you can expect it.” But I snatched up a candle and brought it to him. He took it and held the flame to Hattersley’s hands, till, roaring like a wild beast, the latter unclasped them and let him go. He vanished, I suppose to his own apartment, for nothing more was seen of him till the morning. Swearing and cursing like a maniac, Hattersley threw himself on to the ottoman beside the window. The door being now free, Milicent attempted to make her escape from the scene of her husband’s disgrace; but he called her back, and insisted upon her coming to him.

“What do you want, Ralph?” murmured she, reluctantly approaching him.

“I want to know what’s the matter with you,” said he, pulling her on to his knee like a child. “What are you crying for, Milicent?⁠—Tell me!”

“I’m not crying.”

“You are,” persisted he, rudely pulling her hands from her face. “How dare you tell such a lie!”

“I’m not crying now,” pleaded she.

“But you have been, and just this minute too; and I will know what for. Come, now, you shall tell me!”

“Do let me alone, Ralph! Remember, we are not at home.”

“No matter: you shall answer my question!” exclaimed her tormentor; and he attempted to extort the confession by shaking her, and remorselessly crushing her slight arms in the grip of his powerful fingers.

“Don’t let him treat your sister in that way,” said I to Mr. Hargrave.

“Come now, Hattersley, I can’t allow that,” said that gentleman, stepping up to the ill-assorted couple. “Let my sister alone, if