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You will seek out lodgings in X ." Quitting the window, I walked back to the hearth. "Of course I shall seek out lodgings in X ," I answered. "It would not suit me either to lodge at Crimsworth Hall." My tone was quiet. I always speak quietly. Yet Mr. Crimsworth's blue eye became incensed; he took his revenge rather oddly. Turning to me he said bluntly
They are disputing about Victor, of whom Hunsden affirms that his mother is making a milksop. Mrs. Crimsworth retaliates:
I don't know what sort of a bow I made; an ordinary one, I suppose, for I was in a tranquil, commonplace frame of mind; I felt none of the agitation which had troubled my first interview with Edward Crimsworth. M. Pelet's bow was extremely polite, yet not theatrical, scarcely French; he and I were presently seated opposite to each other.
"That is none of mine," thought I, approaching; "it must be meant for somebody else." I stooped to examine the address: "Wm. Crimsworth, Esq., No , St., Brussels." I was puzzled, but concluding that the best way to obtain information was to ask within, I cut the cords and opened the case.
"Crimsworth Hall is sold," said he. "Sold!" was my echo. "Yes; you know, of course, that your brother failed three months ago?" "What! Edward Crimsworth?" "Precisely; and his wife went home to her fathers; when affairs went awry, his temper sympathized with them; he used her ill; I told you he would be a tyrant to her some day; as to him " "Ay, as to him what is become of him?"
She suffers through her circumstances, not through her temperament. The motives handled in The Professor belong to the outer rather than the inner world; the pressure of circumstance, bereavement, poverty, the influences of alien and unloved surroundings, these are the springs that determine the drama of Frances and of Crimsworth.
Crimsworth, but I had never spoken to him, nor he to me, and I owed him a sort of involuntary grudge, because he had more than once been the tacit witness of insults offered by Edward to me. I had the conviction that he could only regard me as a poor-spirited slave, wherefore I now went about to shun his presence and eschew his conversation.
Brown's breakfast-room, I found him, as before, seated at the table, and he was not alone a gentleman stood by the hearth. Two words of introduction designated him as my future master. "M. Pelet, Mr. Crimsworth; Mr. Crimsworth, M. Pelet" a bow on each side finished the ceremony.
In giving William Crimsworth his mother's picture, I give him sweets, bells, and bone all in one; what grieves me is, that I cannot behold the result; I would have added five shillings more to my bid if the auctioneer could only have promised me that pleasure.
So in The Professor, her earliest but posthumous tale, Frances Henri again is simply a little Swiss Brontë. That story also is told as an autobiography, but, though the narrator is supposed to be one William Crimsworth, it is a woman who speaks, sees, and dreams all through the book.
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