Having thus given a general outline of affairs, I shall in the next chapter enter more minutely into some particulars, without which the detail of events will not be complete.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

     In which the sine qua non of all Novels is, for the first time,
     introduced.

In the last chapter I have said in few words that Bessy Godwin had been sent to school, and had since returned home.  She had been home nearly a year before the period to which I brought up my history, but now she no longer was employed in any menial service, the girl who had been hired during her absence being still retained.  Bessy now superintended the household, but did nothing more; and there was a greater degree of comfort and expenditure than had formerly been the case.  Whether this was on Bessy’s account, or from Bessy’s imbibed ideas, I cannot pretend to say; but certainly there was a great change in our style of living, which Bramble appeared to sanction.  Mrs. Maddox remained as a mere pensioner, sitting by the fire, and perhaps finishing a pair of stockings about every five or six weeks, talking as usual at and to everybody and with everything.  In another point, also, there was a change in Bramble’s house:  it was much oftener filled with company; this was, I presume, to be ascribed to Bessy’s personal charms, which certainly were very great.  She was of a peculiar and much admired style of beauty, a description which strikes some people at first sight, and not others—­those not perceiving it at first eventually admiring it even more than the others.  She was taller than the middle height, her person finely developed, yet not so much so as to take away from its grace:  her complexion was pale and clear, her eyes and hair very dark; there was a coldness about her beauty when in repose, like statuary marble; but if the least excited or animated, the color would mantle in her cheek; her eyes would beam, till they appeared as if, like bright planets, they could almost cast a shadow; and dimples, before concealed, would show themselves when she indulged in her silvery laugh.  Although her form was commanding, still she was very feminine:  there was great attraction in her face, even when in repose—­she was cold, but not chilling.

I had seen little of her for three years, during which she had sprung up to womanhood, for she was now seventeen, and appeared to be at least eighteen years old.  Before, when we were living together, we kissed as brother and sister:  since we had again become inmates of the same house, we had been friends, but nothing more.  Bessy certainly showed as great a preference to me as our relative situations would admit; but still it appeared as if the extreme intimacy of childhood had been broken off, and that it was necessary that a renewed intimacy under another aspect should take place, to restore us to our former relations.  Here it was for me to make the first overtures; not for her, as maidenly reserve would not permit it.  Bramble seemed to be most anxious that such should be the case—­indeed, considered it as a matter of course:  perhaps Bessy thought so too in her own bosom; and the continual raillery of Bramble did more harm than good, as it appeared to warrant her thinking that it ought to be so.  Why it was not I will now explain to the reader.