CHAPTER XI.

SOPHIE’S WORK.

     A nature half transformed, with qualities
     That oft betrayed each other, elements
     Not blent, but struggling, breeding strange effects
     Passing the reckoning of his friends or foes.

     George Eliot.

     High minds of native pride and force
     Most deeply feel thy pangs, remorse! 
     Fear for their scourge, mean villains have,
     Thou art the torturer of the brave.

     Scott.

This was what Sophie had done:  she had invoked forces that she could not control, and she felt, as people are apt to feel when they watch their monster growing into strength, a little frightened and a little sorry.  No doubt it had seemed to her a very small thing, to favor the folly of a girl of seventeen, fascinated by the voice and manner of a nameless stranger; it was a folly most manifest, but she had nothing to do with it, and was not responsible; a very small thing to allow, and to encourage what, doubtless, she flattered herself, her discouragement could not have subdued.  It was very natural that she should not wish Richard to many any one; she was not more selfish than most sisters are.  Most sisters do not like to give their brothers up.  She would have to give up her home (one of her homes, that is,) as well.  She did not think Richard’s choice a wise one:  she was not subject to the fascination of outline and coloring that had subjugated him, and she felt sincerely that she was the best judge.  If Richard must marry (though in thinking of her own married life, she could not help wondering why he must), let him marry a woman who had fortune, or position, or talent.  Of course there was a chance that this one might have money, but that would be according to the caprice of a selfish old man, who had never been known to show any affection for her.

But money was not what Richard wanted:  his sister knew much better what Richard wanted, than he knew himself.  He wanted a clever woman, a woman who would keep him before the world and rouse him into a little ambition about what people thought of him.  Sophie was disappointed and a little frightened when she found that Richard did not give up the outline and coloring pleasantly.  She had thought he would be disillusionized, when he found he was thrown over for a German tutor, who could sing.  She had not counted upon seeing him look ill and worn, and finding him stern and silent to her; to her, of whom he had always been so fond.  She found he was taking the matter very seriously, and she almost wished that she had not meddled with the matter.

And this German tutor—­who could sing—­well, it was strange, but he was the worst feature of her Frankenstein, and the one at which she felt most sorry and most frightened.  Richard was very bad, to be sure, but he would no doubt get over it:  and if it all came out well, she would be the gainer.  As to “this girl for whom his heart was sick,” she had no manner of patience with her or pity for her.