CHAPTER XX

JEMIMA REFUSES TO BE MANAGED

It was no wonder that the lookers-on were perplexed as to the state of affairs between Jemima and Mr. Farquhar, for they two were sorely puzzled themselves at the sort of relationship between them.  Was it love, or was it not? that was the question in Mr. Farquhar’s mind.  He hoped it was not; he believed it was not; and yet he felt as if it were.  There was something preposterous, he thought, in a man nearly forty years of age being in love with a girl of twenty.  He had gone on reasoning, through all the days of his manhood, on the idea of a staid, noble-minded wife, grave and sedate, the fit companion in experience of her husband.  He had spoken with admiration of reticent characters, full of self-control and dignity; and he hoped—­he trusted, that all this time he had not been allowing himself unconsciously to fall in love with a wild-hearted, impetuous girl, who knew nothing of life beyond her father’s house, and who chafed under the strict discipline enforced there.  For it was rather a suspicious symptom of the state of Mr. Farquhar’s affections, that he had discovered the silent rebellion which continued in Jemima’s heart, unperceived by any of her own family, against the severe laws and opinions of her father.  Mr. Farquhar shared in these opinions; but in him they were modified, and took a milder form.  Still, he approved of much that Mr. Bradshaw did and said; and this made it all the more strange that he should wince so for Jemima, whenever anything took place which he instinctively knew that she would dislike.  After an evening at Mr. Bradshaw’s, when Jemima had gone to the very verge of questioning or disputing some of her father’s severe judgments, Mr. Farquhar went home in a dissatisfied, restless state of mind, which he was almost afraid to analyse.  He admired the inflexible integrity—­and almost the pomp of principle—­evinced by Mr. Bradshaw on every occasion; he wondered how it was that Jemima could not see how grand a life might be, whose every action was shaped in obedience to some eternal law; instead of which, he was afraid she rebelled against every law, and was only guided by impulse.  Mr. Farquhar had been taught to dread impulses as promptings of the devil.  Sometimes, if he tried to present her father’s opinion before her in another form, so as to bring himself and her rather more into that state of agreement he longed for, she flashed out upon him with the indignation of difference that she dared not show to, or before, her father, as if she had some diviner instinct which taught her more truly than they knew, with all their experience; at least, in her first expressions there seemed something good and fine; but opposition made her angry and irritable, and the arguments which he was constantly provoking (whenever he was with her in her father’s absence) frequently ended in some vehemence of expression on