An Old Man's Love
obliged to go by what these sort of people say and do. We're to have
a month's honeymoon,--only just a month, because Mr Lowlad won't
make himself as agreeable as he ought to do about the services; and
Newface, the plumber and glazier, says he can't have the house done
as Kattie would like to live in it before the end of August. Where do
you think we're going to, Miss Lawrie? You would never guess."
"Perhaps to Rome," said Mary at a shot.
"Not quite so far. We're going to the Isle of Wight. It's rather
remarkable that I never spent but one week in the Isle of Wight since
I was born. We haven't quite made up our mind whether it's to be
Black Gang Chine or Ventnor. It's a matter of dresses, you see."
"Don't be a fool, Montagu," said Miss Forrester.
"Well, it is. If we decide upon Ventnor, she must have frocks and
things to come out with."
"I suppose so," said Mr Whittlestaff.
"But she'll want nothing of the kind at Black Gang."
"Do hold your tongue, and not make an ass of yourself. What do you
know what dresses I shall want? As it is, I don't think I shall go
either to the one place or the other. The Smiths are at Ryde, and the
girls are my great friends. I think we'll go to Ryde, after all."
"I'm so sorry, Mr Whittlestaff, that we can't expect the pleasure
of seeing you at our wedding. It is, of course, imperative that
Kattie should be married in the cathedral. Her father is one of the
dignitaries, and could not bear not to put his best foot foremost on
such an occasion. The Dean will be there, of course. I'm afraid the
Bishop cannot come up from Farnham, because he will have friends with
him. I am afraid John Gordon will have gone by that time, or else we
certainly would have had him down. I should like John Gordon to be
present, because he would see how the kind of thing is done." The
name of John Gordon at once silenced all the matrimonial chit-chat
which was going on among them. It was manifest both to Mr
Whittlestaff and to Mary that it had been lugged in without a cause,
to enable Mr Blake to talk about the absent man. "It would have been
pleasant; eh, Kattie?"
"We should have been very glad to see Mr Gordon, if it would have
suited him to come," said Miss Forrester.
"It would have been just the thing for him; and we at Oxford
together, and everything. Don't you think he would have liked to be
there? It would have put him in mind of other things, you know."
To this appeal there was no answer made. It was impossible that Mary
should bring herself to talk about John Gordon in mixed company.
And the allusion to him stirred Mr Whittlestaff's wrath. Of course
it was understood as having been spoken in Mary's favour. And Mr
Whittlestaff had been made to perceive by what had passed at Little
Alresford that the Little Alresford people all took the side of John
Gordon, and were supposed to be taking the side of Mary at the same
time. There was not one of them, he said to himself, that had half
the sense of Mrs Baggett. And there was a vulgarity about their
interference of which Mrs Baggett was not guilty.
"He is half way on his road to the diamond-fields," said Evelina.
"And went away from here on Saturday morning!" said Montagu Blake.
"He has not started yet,--not dreamed of it. I heard him whisper to
Mr Whittlestaff about his address. He's to be in London at his club.
I didn't hear him say for how long, but when a man gives his address
at his club he doesn't mean to go away at once. I have a plan in my
head. Some of those boats go to the diamond-fields from Southampton.
All the steamers go everywhere from Southampton. Winchester is on the
way to Southampton. Nothing will be easier for him than to drop in
for our marriage on his way out. That is, if he must go at last."
Then he looked hard at Mary Lawrie.
"And bring some of his diamonds with him," said Evelina Hall. "That
would be very nice." But not a word more was said then about John
Gordon by the inhabitants of Croker's Hall. After that the visitors
went, and Montagu Blake chaperoned the girls out of the house,
without an idea that he had made himself disagreeable.
"That young man is a most egregious ass," said Mr Whittlestaff.
"He is good-natured and simple, but I doubt whether he sees things
very plainly."
"He has not an idea of what a man may talk about and when he should
hold his tongue. And he is such a fool as to think that his idle
chatter can influence others. I don't suppose a bishop can refuse to
ordain a gentleman because he is a general idiot. Otherwise I think
the bishop is responsible for letting in such an ass as this." Mary
said to herself, as she heard this, that it was the most ill-natured
remark which she had ever known to fall from the mouth of Mr
Whittlestaff.
"I think I am going away for a few days," Mr Whittlestaff said to
Mary, when the visitors were gone.
"Where are you going?"
"Well, I suppose I shall be in London. When one goes anywhere, it is
generally to London; though I haven't been there for more than two
months."
"Not since I came to live with you," she said. "You are the most
stay-at-home person by way of a gentleman that I ever heard of." Then
there was a pause for a few minutes, and he said nothing further.
"Might a person ask what you are going for?" This she asked in the
playful manner which she knew he would take in good part.
"Well; I don't quite know that a person can. I am going to see a man
upon business, and if I began to tell you part of it, I must tell it
all,--which would not be convenient."
"May I not ask how long you will be away? There can't be any dreadful
secret in that. And I shall want to know what to get for your dinner
when you come back." She was standing now at his elbow, and he was
holding her by the arm. It was to him almost as though she were
already his wife, and the feeling to him was very pleasant. Only if
she were his wife, or if it were positively decided among them that
she would become so, he would certainly tell her the reason for which
he might undertake any journey. Indeed there was no reason connected
with any business of his which might not be told, other than that
special reason which was about to take him to London. He only
answered her now by pressing her hand and smiling into her face.
"Will it be for a month?"
"Oh dear, no! what should I do away from home for a month?"
"How can I tell? The mysterious business may require you to be absent
for a whole year. Fancy my being left at home all that time. You
don't think of it; but you have never left me for a single night
since you first brought me to live here."
"And you have never been away."
"Oh, no! why should I go away? What business can a woman have to move
from home, especially such a woman as I am."
"You are just like Mrs Baggett. She always talks of women with
supreme contempt. And yet she is just as proud of herself as the
queen when you come to contradict her."
"You never contradict me."
"Perhaps the day may come when I shall." Then he recollected himself,
and added, "Or perhaps the day may never come. Never mind. Put up
my things for one week. At any rate I shall not be above a week
gone." Then she left him, and went away to his room to do what was
necessary.
She knew the business on which he was about to travel to London, as
well as though he had discussed with her the whole affair. In the
course of the last two or three days there had been moments in which
she had declared to herself that he was cruel. There had been moments
in which she had fainted almost with sorrow when she thought of the
life which fate had in store for her. There must be endless misery,
while there might have been joy, so ecstatic in its nature as to make
it seem to her to be perennial. Then she had almost fallen, and had
declared him to be preternaturally cruel. But these moments had been
short, and had endured only while she had allowed herself to dream
of the ecstatic joy, which she confessed to herself to be an unfit
condition of life for her. And then she had told herself that Mr
Whittlestaff was not cruel, and that she herself was no better than a
weak, poor, flighty creature unable to look in its face life and all
its realities. And then she would be lost in amazement as she thought
of herself and all her vacillations.
She now was resolved to take his part, and to fight his battle to
the end. When he had told her that he was going up to London, and
going up on business as to which he could tell her nothing, she knew
that it behoved her to prevent him from taking the journey. John
Gordon should be allowed to go in quest of his diamonds, and Mr
Whittlestaff should be persuaded not to interfere with him. It was
for her sake, and not for John Gordon's, that he was about to make
the journey. He had asked her whether she were willing to marry him,
and she had told him that he was pressing her too hard. She would
tell him now,--now before it was too late,--that this was not so. His
journey to London must at any rate be prevented.
CHAPTER XVIII.
MR AND MRS TOOKEY.
On the day arranged, early on the morning after the dinner at Little
Alresford Park, John Gordon went up to London. He had not been much
moved by the intimation made to him by Mr Whittlestaff that some
letter should be written to him at his London address. He had made
his appeal to Mr Whittlestaff, and had received no answer whatever.
And he had, after a fashion, made his appeal also to the girl. He
felt sure that his plea must reach her. His very presence then
in this house had been an appeal to her. He knew that she so far
believed in him as to be conscious that she could at once become
his wife--if she were willing to throw over his rival. He knew also
that she loved him,--or had certainly loved him. He did not know the
nature of her regard; nor was it possible that he should ever know
that,--unless she were his wife. She had given a promise to that
other man, and--it was thus he read her character--she could be
true to her promise without any great heart-break. At any rate, she
intended to be true to it. He did not for a moment suspect that Mr
Whittlestaff was false. Mary had declared that she would not withdraw
her word,--that only from her own mouth was to be taken her intention
of such withdrawal, and that such intention she certainly would never
utter. Of her character he understood much,--but not quite all. He
was not aware of the depth of her feeling. But Mr Whittlestaff he
did not understand at all. Of all those vacillating softnesses he
knew nothing,--or of those moments spent with the poet, in which he
was wont to fight against the poet's pretences, and of those other
moments spent with Mrs Baggett, in which he would listen to, and
always finally reject, those invitations to manly strength which she
would always pour into his ears. That Mr Whittlestaff should spend
hour after hour, and now day after day, in teaching himself to regard
nothing but what might best suit the girl's happiness,--of that he
was altogether in the dark. To his thinking, Mr Whittlestaff was
a hard man, who, having gained his object, intended to hold fast
by what he had gained. He, John Gordon, knew, or thought that he
knew, that Mary, as his wife, would lead a happier life than with Mr
Whittlestaff. But things had turned out unfortunately, and there was
nothing for him but to return to the diamond-fields.
Therefore he had gone back to London with the purpose of preparing
for his journey. A man does not start for South Africa to-morrow, or,
if not to-morrow, then the next day. He was aware that there must be
some delay; but any place would be better in which to stay than the
neighbourhood of Croker's Hall. There were things which must be done,
and people with whom he must do it; but of all that, he need say