Lillian Stewart tells her own story: born in a small cottage, raised in a grand mansion after her father’s rise, and surrounded by pride and love. But the house becomes a burden. Her father’s fortune is mostly tied up in appearances, so when she marries, her husband feels cheated to discover she has no real dowry. He mocks the mansion’s spires and calls it a fraud meant to lure men into marrying a poor woman. His bitterness poisons their life together until she returns home and spends her remaining years keeping house for her father, like an old maid. The mood is quiet and rueful—shaped by disappointment, social pressure, and the sense that a beautiful home hid fragile foundations.
Lillian Stewart — Summary
I was the daughter of Lambert Hutchins, Born in a cottage near the grist-mill, Reared in the mansion there on the hill, With its spires, bay-windows, and roof of slate. How proud my mother was of the mansion How proud of father’s rise in the world! And how my father loved and watched us, And guarded our happiness. But I believe the house was a curse, For father’s fortune was little beside it; And when my husband found he had married A girl who was really poor, He taunted me with the spires, And called the house a fraud on the world, A treacherous lure to young men, raising hopes Of a dowry not to be had; And a man while selling his vote Should get enough from the people’s betrayal To wall the whole of his family in. He vexed my life till I went back home And lived like an old maid till I died, Keeping house for father.