Chapter IX: Gerard and His Father

Gathering up the reins and driving very slowly, he began:

“Was that Gerard whom I saw tricked out as a kitchen cook?”

“Gerard was there. Yes,” Mildred answered, and he continued in that cool, determined tone which means more than words themselves, “Is he often there? Is he interested in your sister? If he is, it must stop. I tell you it must stop,” he added more emphatically as his wife made no reply. “I married you because——” he paused a moment and looked at the woman sitting at his side in all her glowing beauty, and then went on in a softer tone,—“because I loved you more than I loved my pride, which, however, is so great, that it will not quietly submit to my son’s marrying your sister.”

“Does he intend to?” Mildred asked so coolly that it exasperated him, and he replied, “He will not with my consent, and he will hardly dare do so without it. Why, he has scarcely a dollar of his own, and no business either. More’s the pity, or he wouldn’t be capering round a kitchen in an old woman’s apron.”

“I think it was Bessie’s,” Mildred said quietly, and angrier than ever, her husband continued. “You told me in Paris that your sister was engaged to Mr. McGregor.”

“It was a mistake,” Mildred said, her heart beating heavily as she thought of all the mistake had done for her.

“Yes,” Mr. Thornton repeated, “I ventured to rally Hugh a little this morning, and he denied the story while something in his manner aroused a suspicion which the sight of Gerard confirmed. What was he doing there?”

“Pitting cherries for Bessie,” Mildred said with provoking calmness, and he continued, “I tell you it shall not be. Gerard Thornton must look——” here he stopped, not quite willing to finish the sentence, which Milly, however, finished for him—“must look higher than Bessie Leach?”

“Yes, that’s what I mean, although I might not have said it, for I do not wish to wound you unnecessarily; but I tell you again it must not be, and you are not to encourage it, or encourage so much visiting between my children and the Leach’s. Why, that girl,—Bessie, I think is her name,—is at the Park half the time. Heavens! What would it be if they knew who you were! I was wise to do as I did, but I am sorry I came here at all, and I mean to return to New York earlier than I intended, and if necessary, sell the place. That will break up the whole business.”

To this Mildred made no reply, but sat thinking, with a growing conviction that she now knew her husband’s real reason for wishing to keep her identity a secret during their stay at the Park. It was to prevent the intimacy which he knew would ensue between her and her family, if they knew who she was, and with all the strength of her will she rebelled against it. “I will not encourage the young people, but he shall not keep me from my mother,” she thought, and the face at which her husband looked a little curiously as he helped her from the phaeton, had in it an expression he did not understand.

“I believe she’s got a good deal of the old Harry in her after all, but I shall be firm,” he thought, as he drove to the stable and gave his horse to the groom.

Lunch was nearly over when Gerard appeared, the cherry stains washed from his face, but showing conspicuously on his nails and the tips of his fingers, from which he had tried in vain to remove them.

“Why, Gerard, what have you been doing to your hands?” Alice asked, and with an amused look at Mildred, he replied, “Stoning cherries with them,” while his father hastily left the table.

“Gerard,” he said, pausing a moment in the doorway, “Come to the library after lunch. I want to see you.”

“Yes, sir,” Gerard answered, feeling as certain then of what was coming as he did twenty minutes later when his father asked abruptly, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five last May.”

“Twenty-five,—yes; and been graduated three years, and no business yet. Nothing to do but wear a kitchen apron and stone cherries for Bessie Leach. I saw you. I don’t like it, and as soon as we are in New York I shall find something for you to do.”

At the mention of Bessie, Gerard had stiffened, for his father’s tone was offensive. But his answer was respectful: “I shall be glad of something to do, sir, although I do not think myself altogether to blame for having been an idler so long. When I left college you know I was in so bad health that you and the doctor both, fearing I had inherited my mother’s malady, prescribed perfect rest and quiet for a long time. But I am strong now and will do anything you think best. I prefer law, and would like to go into Mr. McGregor’s office. I can get on faster there than in New York.”

“Yes, and see Bessie Leach oftener,” Mr. Thornton began angrily. “I tell you I will not have it. The girl is well enough and pretty enough, but I won’t have it, and if you are getting too much interested in her, quit her at once.”

“Quit Bessie!” Gerard said. “Quit Bessie! Never! She has promised to be my wife!”

“Your wife!” Mr. Thornton repeated, aghast with anger and surprise, for he never dreamed matters had gone so far.

“Yes, my wife. I was only waiting for you to know her better to tell you of our engagement,” Gerard replied, and then for half an hour, Mildred, who was in her room over the library, heard the sound of excited voices,—Gerard’s low and determined, and his father’s louder and quite as decided.

And when the interview was over, and her husband came up to her, he said:

“I am very sorry, my darling, because, in a way, the trouble touches you through your sister; but you must see that it is not a suitable match for my son. She is not you, and has not had your advantages. She is a plain country girl, and if Gerard persists in marrying her he will have no help from me, either before or after my death.”

“You mean you will disinherit him?” Mildred asked, and he replied:

“Yes, just that; and I have told him so, and given him the summer in which to make up his mind. He has some Quixotic idea of studying law with McGregor, which will of course keep him here after we have gone. I don’t intend to live in a quarrel, and shall say no more to him on the subject, or try to control his actions in any way. If he goes with us to New York, all right; and if he chooses to stay here, I shall know what to do.”

A slight inclination of Mildred’s head was her only reply, until her husband said:

“Do you think Bessie would marry him if she knew he was penniless?”

And then she answered proudly: “I do,” and left the room, saying to herself as she went out into the beautiful grounds, whose beauty she did not see: “What will he do when he hears of Alice and Tom? Three Leaches instead of one. Poor Tom! Poor Bessie! And I am powerless to help them.”