Chapter IX: Part 9

The Honourable Isabella could not suppress it: a faint sigh struggled to her lips, and floated away upon the chilly air of that dismal room, like the precursor of the shower that trembled upon the lashes of her eyes.

"Captain Glen!" cried the Honourable Philippa, making an effort to overcome her own nervousness, and dreading a scene on the part of this downright young man, "you astound me!"

"I am very sorry I should take you so by surprise," he said quietly. "I hoped that you would have seen what my feelings were."

"Oh, indeed no!" cried the Honourable Philippa mendaciously, "nothing of the kind--did we, sister?"

The Honourable Isabella's hands shook a great deal, but she did not speak--only looked piteously at their visitor.

"Perhaps I ought to have made my feelings known sooner," said Glen. "However, I have spoken now, Miss Dymcox, and--"

"But, Captain Glen, pray spare us, and spare yourself what must be a very painful declaration, when I tell you that our niece is engaged to be married to Mr Elbraham."

"Then it is true?"

"Oh yes, perfectly true," said the Honourable Philippa.

Glen drew a long breath, and sat for some moments silently gazing down at the carpet as if he could not trust himself to speak. When he opened his lips again his voice was changed.

"Am I to understand, madam, that Miss Clotilde Dymcox accepts this Mr-- Mr Elbraham of her own free choice and will?"

It required a tremendous effort to get out that name "Elbraham," but he forced it from his lips at last.

"Captain Glen," said the Honourable Philippa, rising and darting a very severe glance at her sister because she did not rise as well, "this is presuming upon your position here as an acquaintance--a very casual acquaintance. I cannot discuss this matter with you."

"As you will, madam," replied Glen, who felt hot with indignant rage. "May I ask your permission to see Clotilde?"

"To see Miss Clotilde Dymcox?" said the Honourable Philippa, with dignity. "Under the circumstances, I think, sister, certainly not."

She darted another fierce look at the Honourable Isabella, who was growing weaker and more agitated moment by moment, as she asked herself whether it was possible that, in spite of the disparity of their ages, she might yet try to soothe Marcus Glen's wounded spirit, and offer him the sympathy of her virgin heart.

"I ask it in justice to myself, madam," cried Glen, "for your niece--"

He was going to say more, but he checked himself, and bit his lips. "Of course, ladies, you would be present."

"Impossible!" said the Honourable Philippa grimly.

"Don't--don't you think, sister," faltered the Honourable Isabella, "that--that--Captain Glen might--might just see--just see Clotilde--for a few moments?"

"No!" said the Honourable Philippa, with quite a snap of her artificial teeth, and the Honourable Isabella seemed to shrink back into herself, quite dismayed by her sister's almost ferocious way.

"I thank you, Miss Isabella," said Glen, so warmly that the poor old lady's heart began to palpitate at an unwonted rate, and she trembled and her hands were agitated, as if she would gladly have laid them in their visitor's broad palms.--"You decline, then, to allow me to see Miss Clotilde?"

The Honourable Philippa bowed, and turned to her sister to see if she made as dignified a response to his appeal; but to her horror she saw her sister shaking her head violently as Glen now appealed to her in turn.

"Then, madam," cried Glen angrily, "I give you fair warning that I shall spare no pains to gain an interview with your niece, for I do not, I will not believe that this is honest. It cannot be, and I am certain that the poor girl has been forced into this engagement. Ladies, I will say no more, for I fear that if I do I shall lose my temper. Miss Dymcox, good-morning. Miss Isabella, I thank you for your show of sympathy; good-bye."

He felt that there could be no excuse for a longer stay, and strode angrily from the room; but he had hardly reached the foot of the stairs before he became aware of the fact that Marie was coming out of the schoolroom, where Ruth was now alone and a witness of what passed.

"Thank goodness!" exclaimed Glen joyously, as he sprang forward and caught both Marie's hands in his, making her flush and tremble with the warmth of his greeting. "Tell me, dear Marie, the meaning of all this dreadful news."

She did not speak, but, giving herself up to the joy of the situation, she let her hands rest in his and gazed wistfully in his face, while Ruth sat in her place in the schoolroom and trembled, she knew not why.

"You do not speak," said Glen. "Tell me, for heaven's sake tell me, that this is all in opposition to your sister's wishes."

Marie still gazed wistfully in his face, and her hands, in spite of herself, returned the warm pressure of his.

"Surely--oh no; I will not believe it!" cried Glen. "It cannot be so. Marie, dear Marie, pray have compassion on me and tell me the truth."

"Do--you wish me to tell you?" she said in a low voice that trembled with suppressed emotion.

"Yes, everything. If you have any feeling for me, tell me honestly all."

Marie's hands trembled more and more, and her colour went and came as she spoke.

"I will tell you what you wish, Captain Glen," she said, in her low rich tones; "but do not blame me if it gives you pain."

"I will not; only pray put an end to this terrible anxiety."

There was a few moments' silence, and then Glen said huskily:

"You know how Clotilde loved me, Marie?"

Marie's dark eyes gazed fully, pityingly into his, but there was a slight curl of scorn upon her upper lip as she remained silent.

"No," she said slowly, as she shook her head; "no, I do not."

"You--do not!"

Marie hesitated to plant so sharp a sting in his heart, but, still, she panted to speak--to tell him that he had wasted his honest love upon one who did not value it, in the hope that he might turn to her; but at the same time she feared to overstep the mark, and her compunction to hurt the man she loved came and went.

"Why do you not tell me what you mean?" he said, pressing one of her hands so that he caused her intense pain.

"Because I shrink from telling you that Clotilde never cared for you in the least," she said bitterly.

"How dare you say that?" he cried.

"If she had loved you, Captain Glen, would she have accepted Mr Elbraham for the sake of his wealth?"

He would have dropped her hand, but she held fast, full of passionate grief for him as she saw how deadly pale he had turned, and had they been in a less public place she would have clung to him, and told him how her heart bled for his pain.

"You are her sister, and could not say that which was false," he said simply. "Tell me, then, is this all true?"

"Do you doubt me?" she asked, looking full in his eyes.

He held her hands, and looked down in the dark, handsome face that gazed so unflinchingly in his.

"No," he said softly, "no;" and raising one of her hands to his lips, he kissed it, and then turned and left the place.

Marie's reverie, as she stood there holding one soft hand pressed over the back of the other, where Marcus Glen's lips had been, was interrupted by the voice of Clotilde.

"Rie: has he gone?"

"Yes," said her sister, with a look of disgust, almost loathing, in her face.

"Poor boy! I hope he won't mind much. I say, Rie, you can have him now. I'll make you a present of his love. No, I won't," she said, flashing into life. "You shan't look at him. If you do, I'll tell him such things about you as shall drive him away."

The sisters stood there upon the stairs gazing angrily one at the other, and Ruth, whose heart felt very sore, watched them in turn, and thought how hard all this was for Captain Glen, and also, with a sigh, how weak he must be.

"But they are both so handsome," she said to herself half aloud; and then, with a kind of shiver, she began to think about Mr Montaigne.

Volume 2, Chapter XI.

LADY LITTLETOWN'S DIPLOMACY.

Mr Elbraham had not been long making up his mind to eschew shilly-shallying, and to propose at once. He was a clever man of business, and no one knew better than he how to work a few shares upon the Stock Exchange, and float a company so as to pour thousands into the laps of its promoters; but he had a weak side, and his late action was taken a good deal on account of the opposition he met with from his private secretary.

"Going to dine with `the maids of honour' at Hampton Court!" said this latter gentleman, looking up in astonishment as his principal announced his intention; "why, you grumbled at having to go to Lady Littletown's the other day, and she does give good dinners."

"Capital," said the financier, smacking his lips.

"But you won't get anything fit to eat at the Palace."

"My object is to get into better society," said the financier promptly; "and the Dymcoxes are people of position. Of course, you know I met them there."

"Ah, to be sure; so you did. Well, they certainly belong to a good family."

"Yes," said Mr Elbraham, strutting pompously up and down the room. "Lovely girl that Miss Clotilde!"

"Well, I don't know," said Arthur Litton; "she is handsome, certainly."

"Humph! I should think she is, sir."

"But I've seen many finer women," continued Litton. "Not my style of girl at all."

"Should think not, indeed," said Elbraham hotly. "Bah, sir! stuff, sir! rubbish, sir! What do you know about handsome women?"

"Well, certainly," said Litton humbly, and with a smile, as the financier walked away from him down the room--a smile which was replaced by a look as serious as that of the proverbial judge, when the great man turned; "I suppose my opinion is not worth much."

"I should think not, indeed. I tell you she is magnificent."

"Oh, nonsense, my dear sir," said Litton warmly; "handsome if you like, but magnificent--no! You know dozens of finer women."

"Maybe, maybe," said the financier.

Litton paused for a few moments, tapping his teeth as if undecided, till his chief paused and looked at him curiously.

"Well, what is it?" he said.

"Look here, Mr Elbraham," said Litton, "I suppose we are not very good friends?"

"H'm, I don't know. You are in my pay," said the financier coarsely, "so you ought to be one of my best friends."

"You've said too many sharp things to me, Mr Elbraham, to make me feel warmly towards you; but, all the same, I confess that you have done me some very good turns in money matters; and I hope, though I take your pay, that I am too much of a gentleman to stand by and see anyone take a mean advantage of a weakness on your part."

"Weakness? My part!" said the financier fiercely, as if the very idea of his being weak was absurd.

"Yes, sir, weakness. Look here, Mr Elbraham, I should not like to see you taken in."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Mean?" said Litton. "Well, Mr Elbraham, I'm not afraid of you; so whether you are offended or not, I shall speak out."

"Then speak out, sir, and don't shilly-shally."

"Well, sir, it seems to me that there's a good deal of fortune-hunting about. Those Dymcox people have good blood, certainly; but they're as poor as rats, and I'll be bound to say nothing would please the old aunts better than hooking you, with one of those girls for a bait."

"Will you have the goodness to reply to that batch of letters, Mr Litton?" said Elbraham haughtily. "I asked your opinion--or, rather, gave you my opinion--of Miss Clotilde Dymcox, and you favour me with a pack of impertinent insinuations regarding the family at Hampton Court." Mr Elbraham went angrily out into the hall to don his light and tight overcoat and grey hat, and walk down to the station.

As Litton heard the door close he sank back in his chair at the writing-table, and laughed silently and heartily.

"Ha, ha, ha!" he ejaculated; "and this is your clever financier--this is your man far above the ordinary race in shrewdness! Why am I not wealthy, too, when I can turn the scoundrel round my finger, clever as he believes he is? Clever, talented, great! Why, if I metaphorically pull his tail like one would that of a pig, saying, `You shan't go that way!' he grunts savagely, and makes straight for the hole."

Arthur Litton took one of Mr Elbraham's choice cigars from his case, deliberately pitched aside the letters he had to answer, struck a light, placed his heels upon the table, and, balancing his chair upon two legs, began to smoke.

"Well, so far so good," he said at last, as he watched the aromatic rings of smoke ascend towards the ceiling. "I suppose it is so. Mr Elbraham is one of the cleverest men on 'Change, and he manages the money-making world. I can manage Mr Elbraham. _Ergo_, I am a cleverer man than the great financier; but he makes his thousands where I make shillings and pence. Why is this?"

The answer was all smoke; and satisfactory as that aromatic, sedative vapour was in the mouth, it was lighter than the air upon which it rose, and Arthur Litton continued his soliloquising.

"I'm afraid that I shall never make any money upon 'Change, or by bolstering up bad companies, and robbing the widow, the orphan, the retired officer, and the poor parson of their savings. It is not my way. I should have no compunction if they were fools enough to throw me their money. I should take it and spend it, as Elbraham and a score more such scoundrels spend theirs. What does it matter? What is the difference to him between having a few hundred pounds more or less in this world? They talk about starvation when their incomes are more than mine. They say they are beggared when they have hundreds left. Genteel poverty is one of the greatest shams under the sun."

"Not a bad cigar," he said, after a fresh pause. "He has that virtue in him, certainly, he does get good cigars; and money! money! money! how he does get money--a scoundrel!--while I get none, or next to none. Well, well, I think I am pulling the strings in a way that should satisfy the most exacting of Lady Littletowns, and it is ridiculous how the scoundrel of a puppet dances to the tune I play."

He laughed in a way that would have made his fortune had he played Mephistopheles upon the stage. Then, carefully removing a good inch and a half of ash:

"And now, my sweet old match-maker," he continued, "will you keep your promise? I am a poor unlucky devil, and the only way to save me is by settling me with a rich wife such as she promises.

"Hum, yes!" he said softly, "a wife with a good fortune. Elbraham takes one without a penny, for the sake of her looks; the aunts sell the girl for the sake of his money. A cheerful marriage, and," he added cynically, "as the French say, _apres_?"

"Take my case, as I am in a humour for philosophising. I am to be introduced to a rich lady, and shall marry her for the sake of the fortune. She will marry me for my youth, I suppose, and good looks--I suppose I may say good looks," he continued, rising, crossing the room, and gazing in the glass. "Yes, Arthur, you may add good looks, for you are a gentlemanly fellow, and just of an age to attract a woman who is decidedly off colour."

He paused, rested his elbows upon the chimney-piece, and kept on puffing little clouds of smoke against the mirror, watching them curiously as they obliterated his reflection for the moment, and then rolled slowly up, singularly close to the glass.

He did this again and again, watching his dimly-seen reflection till it had grown plain, and then he laughed as if amused.

"Yes, I am decidedly good-looking, and I say it without vanity," he continued, "for I am looking at myself from a marketable point of view. And the lady? Suppose I always look at her through the clouds, for she will be elderly and plain--of that I may rest assured; but I can gild her; she will be gilded for me, and as the Scots say, `a' cats are grey i' the dark!' so why should I mind? If I wed the fairest woman under the sun I should forget her looks in a week, while other men worried me by their admiration. So there it is, ladies and gentlemen; the fair Clotilde and the manly Arthur Litton about to be sold by Society's prize-auction to the highest bidders, and this is the land where slavery is unknown--the land of the free! This, ladies and gentlemen, is Christian England!"

He seemed to be highly amused at this idea, and laughed and gazed at himself in the glass as if perfectly satisfied that his face would make a change in his lot, after which he threw away the remains of the cigar he was smoking, and taking a bunch of keys from his pocket, he walked across to Elbraham's cabinet, which he unlocked, and helped himself to a couple of the best Rothschilds, one of which he lit.

Arthur Litton was very thoughtful now, and it took some time to get to work; but he finished the task entrusted to him, and then, after a little consideration, he rose to go, making his way to Lady Littletown's.

Her ladyship was at home, in the conservatory, the footman said; and treating the visitor as an old friend, he opened the drawing-room door, and Litton walked in unannounced.

Her ladyship was busy, in a pair of white kid gloves, snipping off faded leaves and flowers, and she left her occupation to greet her visitor.

"Well, Arturo, no bad news, I hope?"

"Only that the great Potiphar, the man of money, is completely hooked, and determined to embark upon the troubled sea of matrimony."

"Is that bad news?" said her ladyship. "I call it a triumph of diplomacy, Arturo. Spoils from the enemy!"

"Then you are satisfied?"

"More than satisfied, my clever diplomat, and you shall have your reward."

"When?"

Lady Littletown snipped here and snipped there, treating some of her choicest flowers in a way that would have maddened her head gardener had he seen, for unfaded flowers dropped here and there beneath the stands in a way that showed her ladyship to be highly excited.

"Now look here, Arturo," she exclaimed at last, as she turned upon him, and seemed to menace him with her sharp-pointed scissors, which poked and snipped at him till a bystander might have imagined that Lady Littletown took him for a flower whose head gave her offence--"Now look here, Arturo, do you want to make me angry?"

"No: indeed no," he cried deprecatingly.

"Then why do you ask me such a question as that?"

"Well," he said, smiling, "is it not reasonable that I should feel impatient?"

"Perhaps so. I'll grant it; but, my good boy, you must be a man of the world; and now that we are upon that subject, let us understand one another."

"By all means," assented Litton eagerly.

"First of all, though, I cannot worry myself with too much work at once. I have those two girls to marry, and I must get that out of hand before I undertake more."

"Exactly; and all is now in train."

"Many a slip, Arturo, 'twixt cup and lip; but we shall see--we shall see."

Her ladyship went on snipping vigorously.

"I want you to understand me. To speak plainly, Arturo, you are a gentleman of great polish."

"Thanks," he said, bowing.

"And a good presence."

He bowed again.

"You are not quite handsome, but there is an aristocratic, well-bred look about you that would recommend you to any lady--and I mean you to marry a lady."

"Yes, by all means. Pray don't find me a young person who might pass for a relative of the great Elbraham."

"My good boy, there is no such party in the field; and if there were, I should not allow you to try and turn up that haughty aristocratic nose at her. A hundred thousand pounds, dear Arturo, would gild over a great many blemishes."

"True, O queen!" he said, smiling.

"As I said before, let us understand one another. You must not be too particular. Suppose the lady chances to be old?"

Litton made a grimace.

"And rich--very rich?"

"That would make amends," he said with a smile.

"I could marry you myself, Arturo," she continued, looking very much attenuated and hawk-like as she smiled at him in a laughing way.

"Why not?" he cried eagerly, as the richly-furnished home and income opened out to his mind ease and comfort for life.

"Because I am too old," she said, smiling at the young man's impetuosity.

"Oh, no," he cried; "you would be priceless in my eyes."

"Hold your tongue, Arturo, and don't be a baby," said her ladyship. "I tell you I am too old to be foolish enough to marry. There are plenty of older women who inveigh against matrimony, and profess to have grown too sensible and too wise to embark in it, who would give their ears to win a husband."

"Why should not Lady Littletown be placed in this list?" said Litton meaningly.

"Because I tell you she is too old in a worldly way. No, my dear boy, when an elderly woman marries, it is generally because she is infatuated with the idea of possessing a young husband. She thinks for the moment that he woos her for her worldly store; but she is so flattered by his attentions that these outweigh all else, and she jumps at the opportunity of changing her state."

"Again, then," he whispered impressively, "why should not this apply to Lady Littletown?"

"Silence, foolish boy!" she cried, menacing him again with the scissors, and holding up her flower-basket as if to catch the snipped-off head. "I tell you I am too old in a worldly way, When a matter-of-fact woman reaches my years, and knows that she has gradually been lessening her capital in the bank of life, she tries to get as much as possible in the way of enjoyment out of what is left."

"Exactly," he cried eagerly.

"She takes matters coolly and weighs them fairly before her. `If,' she says, `I take the contents of this scale I shall get so much pleasure. If I choose the contents of this other scale, I shall again obtain so much.'"

"Well, what then?" said Litton, for her ladyship paused in the act of decapitating a magnificent Japan lily.

"What then? Foolish boy! Why, of course she chooses the scale that will give her most pleasure."

"Naturally," he said.

"Then that is what I do."

"But would not life with a man who would idolise you be far beyond any other worldly pleasure?"

"Yes," said her ladyship drily; "but give me credit, _mio caro_ Arturo, for not being such an old idiot as to believe that you would idolise me, as you call it."

"Ah, you don't know," he cried.

"What you would be guilty of to obtain a good settlement in life, my dear boy?"

"You insult me," he cried angrily.

"Oh no, my impetuous young friend; but really, Arturo, that was well done. Capital! It would be winning with some ladies. Rest assured that you shall have a rich wife. As for me, I have had you in the scale twice over. I did once think of marrying you."

"You did?" he cried with real surprise.

"To be sure I did," she said quietly. "Why not? I said to myself, `I am careless of the opinion of the world, and shall do as I please;' and I pictured out my home with you, a _distingue_ man, at the head."

"You did?" he said excitedly.

"Of course I did. And then I pictured it as it is, with Lady Littletown, a power in her way, a well-known character in society, whose word has its influence, and one who can sway the destinies of many, in many ways, in the world."

"No; say in one," he exclaimed rather bitterly--"in the matrimonial world."

"As you will, _cher_ Arthur," replied her ladyship. "You see, I am frank with you. I weighed it all carefully, as I said, and weighed it once again, to be sure that I was making no mistake, and the result was dead against change."

"Highly complimentary to me!"

"A very excellent thing for you, my dear boy; for you would have led a wretched life."

"Assuming that your ladyship's charms had conquered my youthful, ardent heart?" he said.

"Silly boy! you are trying to be sarcastic," said Lady Littletown. "Pish! I am too thick-skinned to mind it in the least. Be reasonable and listen, dear brother-in-arms."

"Why not lover-in-arms?" he cried quickly--"in those arms."

Lady Littletown placed her scissors in the hand that held the basket, raised her square gold eyeglass, and looked at her visitor.

"Well done, Arturo! excellent, _mon general_! Why, you would carry the stoutest fort I set you to attack in a few days. I have not heard anything so clever as that apt remark of yours for months. Really," she continued, dropping the glass and resuming her scissors, "I am growing quite proud of you--I am indeed."

"And so you mock at me," he said angrily.

"Not I, Arturo; you were only practising; and it was very smart. No, my dear, it would not do for you; and I tell you frankly, you have had a very narrow escape."

"Why?" he said; and his eyes glanced round at the rich place with its many indications of wealth, and as he noted these there came to his memory his last unpaid bill.

"Because I have a horrible temper, and I am a terrible tyrant. Of course you would have married me for my money and position."

"Don't say that," cried Litton.

"Don't be a donkey, Arthur, _mon cher_," said the lady. "Well, to proceed: I should have married you because you were young and handsome."

"Your ladyship seemed to indicate just now that I was not handsome," said Litton.

"Did I? Well, I retract. I do think you handsome, Arturo, and I should have been horribly jealous of you as soon as I found that you were paying your court elsewhere."

"Does your ladyship still imagine that I could be such a scoundrel?" cried Litton, in indignant tones.

The square golden eyeglass went up again.

"Excellent, Arturo, my dear boy! You would have made a fortune upon the stage in tragi-comedy. Nothing could have been finer than that declaration. Really, I am proud of you! But I should have led you a horrible life, and been ready to poison you if I found you out in deception."

"Lady Littletown, I hope I am a gentleman," said the visitor haughtily.

"I hope you are, I'm sure, my dear boy," said her ladyship, smiling at him serenely. "But, as you see, I could not have put up with my money being lavished upon others; and hence I thought it better to let someone else have you."

"But, my dear Lady Littletown--"

"Ah, tut, tut, tut! no rhapsodies, please, my sweet ingenuous Lubin. I am no Phyllis now, believe me, and all this is waste of words. There, be patient, my dear boy, and you shall have a rich wife, and she shall be as young as I can manage; but, mind, I do not promise beauty. Do you hear? Are the raptures at an end?"

"Oh yes, if you like," he said bitterly.

"I do like, my dear boy; so they are at an end. Really, Arturo, I feel quite motherly towards you, and, believe me, I shall not rest until I see you well mated."

"Thanks, my dear Lady Littletown," he said; "and with that, I suppose, I am to be contented."

"Yes, sir; and you ought to be very thankful, Do you hear?"

"Yes," he replied, taking and kissing one of her ladyship's gardening gloves. "And now I must be for saying _au revoir_."

"_Au revoir, cher garcon_!" replied her ladyship; and she followed her visitor out of the conservatory into the drawing-room, and rang the bell for the servant in attendance to show him out.

"It wouldn't have been a bad slice of luck to have married her and had this place. But, good heavens, what an old hag!"

"I should have been an idiot to marry him," said her ladyship, as soon as she was alone. "He is very handsome and gentlemanly and nice; but he would have ruined me, I am sure of that. Ah well, the sooner I find him someone else with a good income the better. Let him squander that. Why--"

She stopped short.

"How stupid of me! The very thing! Lady Anna Maria Morton has just come in for her brother's estate."

Lady Littletown stood thinking.

"She is fifty if she is a day, perhaps fifty-five, and as tremulous as Isabella Dymcox. But what of that? Dear Anna Maria! I have not called upon her for a fortnight. How wrong! I shall be obliged to have a little _partie carree_ to dinner. Let me see--Lady Anna Maria, Arthur, myself, and--dear, dear--dear, dear me! Who shall I have that is not stupid enough to spoil sport?"

She walked about in a fidgety manner, and then picked up her card-basket, raised the square gold eyeglass, and turned the cards over in an impatient manner.

"Not one--not one!" she cried reluctantly. "Never mind; she shall come to a _tete-a-tete_ dinner, and Arthur shall drop in by accident, and stop. Dear boy, how I do toil and slave on his behalf! But stay," she added, after a pause; "shall I wait and get the Dymcox business over first? No; what matters? I am diplomat enough to carry on both at once; and, by-the-bye, I must not let that little military boy slip through my fingers, for he really is a prize. Taken with Marie; but that won't do," she continued. "Moorpark must have her, and I dare say somebody will turn up."

She took her seat at the table then, and began to write a tiny note upon delicately-scented paper. The first words after the date were: "My dearest Anna Maria," and she ended with: "Your very affectionate friend."

Volume 2, Chapter XII.

A MATTER-OF-FACT MATCH.

Dick Millet received a note in his uncle's crabbed hand one morning at Hampton Court, obtained leave, and hurried up to town, calling at Grosvenor Square to hear the last news about Gertrude, but finding none.

On arriving at Wimpole Street, Vidler opened the door to the visitor, and smiled as he did so in rather a peculiar way.

"Can I speak to my uncle?" said Dick importantly. And he was shown up into the drawing-room, which seemed more gloomy now, lit as it was by four wax-candles, which were lost, as it were, in a great mist of old-time air, that had been shut up in that room till it had grown into a faded and yellow atmosphere carefully preserved from the bleaching properties of the sun.

The little opening was to his right, with the white hand visible on the ledge; but Dick hardly saw it, for, as he entered, Gertrude ran to his arms, to fall sobbing on his neck, while John Huish came forward offering his hand.

"Then it was you, John Huish, after all?" Dick exclaimed angrily, as he placed his own hand behind his back.

"Yes, it was I. What else could I do, forbidden as I was to come to the house? Come, my dear Dick, don't be hard upon me now."

"But," exclaimed Dick in a puzzled way, "how was all this managed?"

"Shall we let that rest?" said Huish, smiling. "Neither Gertrude nor I are very proud of our subterfuges. But come, we are brothers now. We can count upon you, can we not, to make friends with her ladyship."

"I--don't know," said Dick quietly, for his mind was busy with the thoughts of the awkward reports he had heard concerning Huish and his position at various clubs, and he asked himself whether he should be the friend and advocate of a man who was declared to be little better than a blackleg.

"Surely I can count upon you," said Huish, after a pause.

"Suppose we step down into the dining-room," said Dick stiffly; but he gave his sister an encouraging smile as she caught his hand.

"Dick," she whispered, "what does this mean?"

"Only a little clearing up between John Huish and me, dear," he said. "After that, I dare say I shall be able to tell you I'm glad you're his wife."

Gertrude smiled, and Huish followed down to the dining-room, which, lit by one candle, looked like a vault. Arrived here, though, Dick turned sharply upon his brother-in-law.

"Now, look here, John Huish," he said, "I won't quarrel about the past and this clandestine match, for perhaps, if I had been situated as you were, I should have done the same; but there is something I want cleared up."

"Let us clear it up at once then," said Huish, smiling. "What is it?"

"Well, there are some sinister reports about you--you see, I speak plainly."

"Yes, of course. Go on."

"Well, they say commonly that you have been playing out of the square at the clubs; that you've been expelled from two, and that your conduct has been little better than that of a blackleg. John Huish, as a gentleman and my brother-in-law, how much of this is true? Stop a moment," he added hastily. "I know, old man, what it is myself to be pinched for money, and how a fellow might be tempted to do anything shady to get some together to keep up appearances. If there has been anything queer it must be forgiven; but you must give me your word as a man that for the future all shall be right."

"My dear Dick," cried Huish, "I give you my word that all in the future shall be square, as you term it; and I tell you this, that if any man had spoken such falsehoods about my wife's brother, I should have knocked him down. There isn't a word of truth in these reports, though I must confess they have worried me a great deal. Now, will you shake hands?"

"That I will," cried Dick eagerly; "and I tell you now that I am glad that you have thrown dust in our eyes as you have. I always liked you, Huish, and you were about the only man from whom I never liked to borrow money."

"Why?" said Huish, smiling.

"Because I was afraid of losing a friend. Come up now, for Gertrude will be in a fidget to know what we have been saying.--Gertrude, my dear," he said as they re-entered the drawing-room, "it's all right."

An hour later Dick parted from the young couple at the little house they had taken in Westbourne Road, and cabbed back, to send her ladyship into a fainting fit by the announcement that his sister and her husband had been at his uncle's.

"For," said Lady Millet, "I can never forgive Gertrude; and as to that dreadful man Huish, in marrying him she has disgraced herself beyond the power to redeem her lot. Ah me! and these are the children I have nurtured in my bosom."

It was rather hard work for Dick Millet, with his own love affairs in a state of "check," with no probability of "mate," but he felt that he must act; and in his newly assumed character of head of the family he determined to go and try to smooth matters over at Chesham Place, and took a hansom to see Frank Morrison, who was now back at his own house, but alone, and who surlily pointed to a chair as he sat back pale and nervous of aspect, wrapped in a dressing-gown.

"Look here, Frank," said Dick, sitting down, and helping himself to a cigar, "we're brothers-in-law, and I'm not going to quarrel. I've come for the other thing."

"My cigars, seemingly," said the other.

"Yes; they're not bad. But look here, old fellow, light up; I want to talk to you."

"If you want to borrow twenty pounds, say so, and I'll draw you a cheque."

"Hang your cheque! I didn't come to borrow money. Light up."

Morrison snatched up a cigar, bit off the end, and lit it, threw himself back in his chair, and began to smoke quickly.

"Go on," he said. "What is it?"

"Wait a minute or two," said Dick. "Smoke five minutes first."

Morrison muttered something unpleasant, but went on smoking, and at last Dick, who was sitting with his little legs dangling over the side of the chair, began.

"Fact is," he said, "I'm going to speak out. I shan't quarrel, and I'm such a little chap that you can't hit me."

"No; but I could throw you downstairs," said Morrison, who was half amused, half annoyed by his visitor's coming, though in his heart of hearts he longed to hear news of Renee.

"I saw my uncle yesterday."

"Indeed! Poor old lunatic! What had he got to say?"

"Ah, there you are wrong!" said Dick sharply. "He said something which you will own proved that he was no lunatic."

"What was it?" said Morrison coldly.

"That you were a confounded scoundrel."

Frank Morrison jumped up in his chair, scowling angrily; but he threw himself back again with a contemptuous "Pish!"

"Proves it, don't it?"

"Look here," cried Morrison angrily, "I've had about enough of your family, so please finish your cigar and go."

"Shan't. There, it's no use to twist about. I've come on purpose to sit upon you."

"Look here," cried Morrison sternly, "has your sister sent you?"

"No. I've come of my own free will, as I tell you, to show you what a fool you are, and to try and bring you to your senses."

"You are very ready at calling people fools," said Morrison, biting his nails.

"Well, don't you deserve to be called one for acting as you have acted? What did you do? Went mad after a woman who didn't care a _sou_ for you; neglected a dear, good girl who did care for you, and exposed her to the persecutions of a scoundrel who has no more principle than that."

He snapped his fingers, and, instead of firing up with rage, Morrison turned his face away and smoked furiously.

"Now, isn't that all true, Frank? Here, give me a light."

Morrison lit a spill, passed it to his brother-in-law, and sank back in his chair.

"I say," continued Dick, as he lit his cigar again, "isn't it (_puff_) quite (_puff_) true?"

"I suppose so," said the other listlessly. "She never cared for me, though, Dick. That scoundrel and she were old flames."

"First, a lie; second, true," said Dick quietly. "Renee is as good as gold; and when she found she was to be your wife, she accepted the inevitable and tried to do her duty, poor girl! She was already finding out what a bad one Malpas was."

"Curse him! don't mention his name here!" cried Morrison savagely.

"I say she was already finding out what a cursed scoundrel Malpas was when she married you."

"She encouraged his visits afterwards," cried Morrison fiercely. "The villain owned it to me."

"And you didn't thrust your fist down his throat?"

Morrison got up and paced the room.

"Look here, Frank, old fellow: you are beginning to find out what a donkey you have been. You are easy-going, and it's no hard job to lead you away. Now tell me this: didn't Malpas introduce you to a certain lady?"

"Yes," was the sulky reply.

"Of course," said Dick. "He takes you and moulds you like putty, introduces you to people so as to make your wife jealous, out of revenge for your supplanting him, and then tries to supplant you in turn."

"Dick Millet," cried Morrison, "you mean well, but I can't bear this. Either be silent or go. If I think of the scene on that dreadful night when I was sent home by a note written by that scoundrel of a brother-in-law of yours--"

"Meaning yourself?" said Dick coolly.

"I mean that double-faced, double-lived, double-dyed traitor, John Huish."

"What!"

"The man who has fleeced me more than Malpas--curse him!--ever did."

"Gently! I won't sit and hear John Huish maligned like that."

"Maligned!" cried Morrison, with a bitter laugh.

"As if anyone could say anything bad enough of the scoundrel!"

"Look here, Frank," said Dick rather warmly, "I came here to try and do you a good turn, not to hear John Huish backbitten. He's a good, true-hearted fellow, who has been slandered up and down, and he don't deserve it."

Morrison sat up, stared at him in wonder, and then burst into a scornful laugh.

"Dick Millet," he exclaimed, "you called me a fool a little while ago. I won't call you so, only ask you whether you don't think you are one."

"I dare say I am," said Dick sharply. "But look here, are you prepared to prove all this about John Huish?"

"Every bit of it, and ten times as much," said Morrison. "Why, this scoundrel won or cheated me of the money that paid for his wedding trip. He was with me till the last instant. Yes, and, as well as I can recollect, after he had got your sister away."

Dick's cigar went out, and his forehead began to pucker up.

"Look here," he said: "you told me that he sent you the note that made you go home that night. Where were you?"

"At a supper with some actresses."

"But John Huish was not there!"

"Not there. Why, he was present with the lady who was his companion up to the time that he honoured your sister with his name. I believe he visits her now."

"I can't stand this," cried Dick, throwing away his cigar. "How a fellow who calls himself a man can play double in this way gets over me. Frank Morrison, if I did as much I should feel as if I had `liar' written on my face, ready for my wife to see. It's too much to believe about John Huish. I can't--I won't have it. Why, it would break poor little Gerty's heart."

"Break her heart!" said Morrison bitterly. "Perhaps she would take a leaf out of her sister's book."

"Confound you, Frank Morrison!" cried Dick, in a rage, as he jumped up and faced his brother-in-law. "I won't stand it. My two sisters are as pure as angels. Do you dare to tell me to my face that you believe Renee guilty?"

There was a dead silence in the room, and at last Frank Morrison spoke.

"Dick," he said, and his voice shook, "you are a good fellow. You are right: I am a fool and a scoundrel."

"Yes," cried Dick; "but do you dare to tell me you believe that of Renee?"

"I'd give half my life to know that she was innocent," groaned Morrison.

"You are a fool, then," cried Dick, "or you'd know it. There, I didn't come to quarrel, but to try and make you both happy; and now matters are ten times worse. But I won't believe this about John."

"It's true enough," said Morrison sadly. "Poor little lass! I liked Gertrude. You should not have let that scoundrel have her."

"We have a weakness for letting our family marry scoundrels."

"Yes," said Morrison, speaking without the slightest resentment; "she had better have had poor Lord Henry Moorpark."

"Oh!" said Dick. "There, I'm going. 'Day."

He moved towards the door, but Morrison stopped him.

"Dick," he said; "did Renee know you were coming?"

"No," was the curt reply.

"Is she--is she still at your uncle's?"

"Yes, nearly always."

"Is she--is she well?"

"No. She is ill. Heartsick and broken; and if what you say is true, she will soon have poor Gerty to keep her company."

Dick Millet hurried away from his brother-in-law's house, pondering upon his own love matters, and telling himself that he had more to think of than he could bear.

In happy ignorance of her ladyship's prostrate state, John Huish, soon after his brother-in-law's departure, hurried off to pay a hasty visit to his club, where he asked to see the secretary, and was informed that that gentleman was out. He threw himself into a cab, looking rather white and set of countenance as he had himself driven to Finsbury Square, where Daniel looked at him curiously as he ushered him into the doctor's room.

"My dear, dear boy, I am glad!" cried the doctor, dashing down his glasses. "You did the old lady, after all, and carried the little darling off. Bless her heart! Why, the gipsy! Oh, won't I talk to her about this. That's the best thing I've known for years. What does your father say?"

"He wrote me word that he was very glad, and said he should write to Gertrude's uncle."

"Ah, yes. H'm!" said the doctor. "Best thing, too. They were once very great friends, John."

"Yes, I have heard so," said Huish. "I think Captain Millet loved my mother."

"H'm, yes," said the doctor, nodding. "They quarrelled. Well, but this is a surprise! You dog, you! But the secrecy of the whole thing! How snug you kept it! But, I say, you ought to have written to us all."

"Well, certainly, I might have written to you, doctor, but I confess I forgot."

"I say, though, you should have written to the old man."

"We did, letter after letter."

"Then that old--there, I won't say what, must have suppressed them. She was mad because her favourite lost. It would have been murder to have tied her up to that wreck. I say, though, my boy," continued the doctor seriously, "I don't think you ought to have carried on so with Frank Morrison. He has had D.T. terribly."

"What had that to do with me?" said Huish. "If a man will drink, he must take the consequences."

"Exactly," said the doctor coldly; "but his friends need not egg him on so as to win his money."

"He should not choose scoundrels for his companions," said Huish coldly.

"H'm, no, of course not," said the doctor, coughing, and hurrying to change the conversation. "By the way, why didn't you tell me all this when you came last?"

"How could I?" said Huish, smiling. "I was not a prophet."

"Prophet, no! but why keep it secret then?"

"Secret? Well," said Huish; "but really--I was not justified in telling it then."

"What I not when you had been married?"

"I don't understand you," said Huish, with his countenance changing.

"I mean," said the doctor, "why didn't you tell me when you were here a fortnight ago; and--let me see," he continued, referring to his note-book, "you were due here last Wednesday, and again yesterday."

John Huish drew a long breath, and the pupils of his eyes contracted as he said quietly:

"Why, doctor, I told you that I had been on the Continent, and only returned two days ago."

"Yes; of course. We know--fashionable fibs: Out of town; not at home, etcetera, etcetera."

"My dear doctor," said Huish, fidgeting slightly in his seat, "I have always made it a practice to try and be honest in my statements. I tell you I only came back two days ago."

"That be hanged, John Huish!" cried the doctor. "Why, you were here a fortnight ago yesterday."

"Nonsense," cried Huish excitedly. "How absurd!"

"Absurd? Hang it, boy! do you think I'm mad? Here is the entry," he continued, reading. "Seventh, John Huish, Nervous fit-- over-excitement--old bite of dog--bad dreams--dread of hydrophobia. Prescribed, um--um--um--etcetera, etcetera. Now then, what do you say to that?"

"You were dreaming," said Huish.

"Dreaming?" said the doctor, laughing. "What! that you--here, stop a moment." He rang the bell. "Ask Daniel yourself when you were here last."

"What nonsense!" said Huish, growing agitated. Then as the door opened, "Daniel," he said quietly, "when was I here last?"

"Yesterday fortnight, sir," said the man promptly.

"That will do, Daniel!" and the attendant retired as Huish sank back in his chair, gazing straight before him in a strange, vacant manner. "What a fool I am!" muttered the doctor. "I've led him on to it again. Hang it! shall I never understand my profession?"

"I'll go now," said Huish drearily, as he rose; but Dr Stonor pressed him back in his seat.

"No, no; sit still a few minutes," he said quietly.

"I--I thought it was gone," said Huish; "and life seemed so bright and happy on ahead. Doctor, I've never confessed, even to you, what I have suffered from all this. I have felt horrible at times. The devil has tempted me to do the most dreadful things."

"Poor devil!" said the doctor. "What a broad back he must have to bear all that the silly world lays upon it!"

"You laugh. Tell me, what does it mean? How is it? Do I do things in my sleep, or when I am waking, and then do they pass completely away from my memory? Tell me truly, and let me know the worst. Am I going to lose my reason?"

"No, no, no!" cried the doctor. "Absurd! It is a want of tone in the nerves--a little absence of mind. The liver is sluggish, and from its stoppage the brain gets affected."

"Yes; that is what I feared," cried Huish excitedly.

"Not as you mean, my dear boy," cried the doctor. "When we say the brain is affected, we don't always mean madness. What nonsense! The brain is affected when there are bad headaches--a little congestion, you know. These fits of absence are nothing more."

"Nothing more, doctor?" said Huish dejectedly. "If I could only think so! Oh, my darling! my darling," he whispered to himself, as his head came down upon his hands for a moment when he started up, for Dr Stonor's hand was upon his arm. "Oh, doctor!" he cried in anguished tones, "I am haunted by these acts which I do and forget. I am constantly confronted with something or another that I cannot comprehend, and the dread is always growing on me that I shall some day be a wreck. Oh, I have been mad to link that poor girl's life to such a life as mine! Doctor--doctor--tell me--what shall I do?"

"Be a man," said the doctor quietly, "and don't worry yourself by imagining more than is real. You are a deal better than when I saw you last. You have not worried yourself more about the bite?"

"No, I have hardly thought of it. Dog-bite? But tell me, doctor, would the virus from a dog-bite have any effect upon a man's mental organisation?"

"Oh no, my dear boy; but you are better in health."

"I felt so well and happy to-day," he cried, "that all seemed sunshine. Now all is cloud."

"Of course; yes!" said the doctor. "That shows you how much the imagination has to do with the mental state. The greater part of my patients are ill from anxiety. Now, look here, my dear John, the first thing you have to bear in mind is that every man is a screw. There may be much or little wrong, and it may vary from a tiny discoloration from rust, up to a completely worn-out worm or a broken head. Your little ailment is distressing; but so is every disorder. Keep yourself in good health, take matters coolly, and in place of getting worse you may get better, perhaps lose the absence of mind altogether. If you do not-- bear it like a man. Why trouble about the inevitable? I am getting on in years now, and, my dear fellow, I know that some time or other I shall be lying upon my deathbed gasping for the last breath I shall have to draw. Now, my dear boy, do I sit down and make my life miserable because some day I have got to die? Does anybody do so except a fool, and those weakly-strung idiots who make death horrible when it is nothing but the calm rest and sleep that comes to the worn-out body? No; we accept the inevitable, enjoy life as it is given us, make the best of our troubles and pains, and thank God for everything. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, doctor, yes," said the young man sadly. "But this is very dreadful!"