The event more than justified this prediction. The storm which
burst when Kyrle proposed himself to Major and Mrs. Joscelyn as a
suitor for Aimée was such as the latter, with all her experience,
had never known before. They would not have received the proposal
of a prince had it been possible to refuse it, for they were
resolutely determined to retain control of the heiress and her
fortune. But a man who by his own acknowledgment had nothing, yet
was capable of throwing away a million or more dollars--words were
too weak to express their opinion of him! They rejected his suit
with scorn, and the major grew fairly inarticulate when trying to
express himself with regard to such unparalleled audacity.
A penny-a-liner, a scribbler for newspapers, possessing not
a dollar in property, yet so insane as to refuse a fortune
for an absurd scruple! By Jove, a raving maniac would be as
suitable a match! Never should Aimée throw herself away in such a
manner--never! If it were necessary, they would constrain her for
her own good. She should not wreck her life and her fortune by
marrying a madman.
But the time had come when they were to learn what was in Aimée.
She had so submissively yielded to their demands hitherto that they
expected her to yield now; but it was characteristic of her that
the strength which her nature possessed only manifested itself on
rare and supreme occasions, so that she now and then took even
those who knew her best by surprise. She certainly took her tyrants
by surprise on this occasion. Quietly, but steadily, she faced them
like a rock.
“I shall marry Mr. Kyrle,” she said. “I am sorry if my choice
does not meet with my mother’s approval; but it is a matter which
concerns myself alone, and I can not suffer dictation with regard
to it.”
The major stormed, Mrs. Joscelyn tried tears and entreaties,
culminating in hysterics, but Aimée remained unmoved. She calmly
repeated her ultimatum, and left them.
Then, in view of the gravity of the situation, another family
council was held. Percy came, pale and venomous with the shock
of hearing that his worst fears had been realized, and Lydia
with a suspicious redness around her eyes. She not only shrank
in anticipation from the bitterness of her brother’s taunts and
reproaches upon the failure of her effort to attract Kyrle, but
there was a sting in the failure itself, for her fancy was of
the order that went out to any man who approached her, and her
eagerness to detain the young correspondent at her side had not
been dictated only by regard for the family interest.
Percy condescended to throw her but one stinging word. “I was a
fool to trust to such poor arts as yours,” he said. “Of course, the
man was only amusing himself with your vanity and laughing in his
sleeve at all of us. You have failed totally in keeping him from
Aimée; have you succeeded better in discovering anything about his
past relations with Mrs. Meredith?”
She shook her head. “No,” she answered, in a crestfallen tone.
“I have never been able to draw anything from him, though I have
tried. But I am sure that I am right--that there was something
between them in the past!”
“So am I,” he retorted, “but what good is there in being sure
when one has no proof? You might have got that out of him if you
had done no more! But, even without proof, I have made up my mind
to see what can be accomplished by threatening Mrs. Meredith
with exposure. _Toujours l’audace!_ She may believe that I know
everything. Heavens! if I only did--”
He glared at poor Lydia as if it were her fault that he did not,
then turned abruptly to his father. “If I fail in what I am going
to try,” he said, “we must adopt a policy of stratagem. Drop
all appearance of opposition, but insist upon returning at once
to Paris. The first and essential thing is to separate Aimée
from the Merediths. Separating her afterward from Kyrle will be
comparatively easy.”
“She is--ah--um--very determined,” said the major.
“So is every girl who fancies herself in love; what does that
matter? She will learn that her determination must bend before
ours. For myself, I will hesitate at _no_ means to accomplish this.
Are you not ready to say the same?”
Under the challenge of that domineering and unscrupulous glance the
major fidgeted, cleared his throat nervously, but finally spoke.
“Yes,” he said, “I think that any means would be--ah--justifiable,
to prevent a thing so mad as what she declares her intention of
doing.”
“Then everything is settled,” said Percy, with sharp decision.
“Make preparations for leaving Venice immediately. Whether I
succeed or fail with Mrs. Meredith, that must be done. Give Aimée
no excuse for refusing to go. Promise anything now. Once away, she
will be in our hands, and the rest is easy.”
Even Lydia shuddered a little at the last words. To be in Percy’s
hands, at Percy’s mercy, was surely a fate not to be desired, and
that, she knew, was what it meant; for he ruled them all, and his
father and stepmother would consent to whatever he proposed. With
the last words he rose.
“Now,” he said, “I am going to try intimidation with Mrs. Meredith.
If I succeed, our work will be easier; if I fail, nothing will be
lost. In any event, we go.”
* * * * *
Fanny Meredith was walking restlessly about her sitting-room,
waiting for the news from Aimée, which Aimée had not yet come to
give. Lennox had looked in after his interview with Major and Mrs.
Joscelyn, made his report, received the sarcastic congratulations
of his ally on having brought about exactly the result she had
predicted, and which she supposed he had desired, and then taken
his departure--for he felt as if solitude was at that moment the
only thing he craved--solitude to dwell upon the look and the tone
of Aimée when she put her hand in his as he was going, and said:
“Do not let any of this trouble you. I shall not change.” Change!
He could have laughed at their folly in fancying they could change
her. How well he knew that light in the brave, dark eyes, and the
unflinching resolution which it indicated!
After his departure, Fanny looked for Aimée to appear shortly; but
as time went on and she did not come, Mrs. Meredith grew restless
and impatient. What was the matter? Even her courage shrank from
bearding the lion in his den--that is, the enraged family in their
own apartments; but she decided that if Aimée did not come soon,
she would go and learn what detained her. It was just after this
resolution had been formed that a knock at the door was followed by
the appearance of Percy Joscelyn.
He was perfectly calm in outward bearing, but his quietness of
manner did not deceive Fanny for a moment. She knew in the first
glance of his eye that he had come for war, and she felt at once
scornfully ready to meet it. What could Percy Joscelyn say that
would matter to her? She threw back her head and met him with the
weapon that always came to her most readily, that of mockery.
“Why, Percy,” she said, “this is a very unexpected pleasure. It
is not often you are good enough to come to see me alone. But I
suppose you want to talk over such an interesting event as Aimée’s
engagement.”
“Not exactly,” replied Percy, blandly, though his glance became
more venomous than ever. “I do not consider that Aimée’s engagement
can take place without the consent of her parents and guardians;
but I wish to congratulate you on your success in getting rid of an
old lover who might tell awkward stories, by the simple expedient
of stopping his mouth with an heiress.”
There was a moment’s pause. The gauntlet had been flung down, and
he stood with his hand on the back of a chair, waiting to see how
she would take it up. As for Fanny, astonishment rather than lack
of courage held her silent for the short space of time in which
they regarded each other. Then she said, with more dignity than any
one could have imagined her capable of displaying:
“So you have come simply to insult me. That, at least, makes
matters clear. I understand and can allow much for your
disappointment with regard to Aimée; but I do not intend to listen
to such insinuations as you have just uttered. Be good enough to
leave my room.”
She lifted her hand and pointed to the door, but Joscelyn did
not stir. On the contrary, he held his position with an air of
determination, as he held her glance by the steadiness of his own.
“It will not be well,” he said, “for you to insist upon my leaving
before I have finished what I have come to say. I know that Kyrle
was your lover before you were married, and that you jilted him for
a richer man. In order to deceive that man, you have represented
him as having been the lover of Aimée. This is a pretense which
might blind Mr. Meredith, but nobody else; and I hardly think it
would blind _him_ very long if one took the trouble to tell him the
truth. Now, I do not propose that Aimée shall be bargained away to
save your secrets, so I plainly give you your choice: send this
fellow away, as I have no doubt you have the power to do, or Mr.
Meredith shall know the whole truth about him and you!”
“My dear,” said Fanny Meredith afterward, in describing the
scene to Aimée, “I was astonished at myself. You know I always
was a coward, and I had no doubt that the horrid wretch did know
everything, as he said, and would tell it to Tom. But, for the life
of me, I _could not_ quail before him! I felt such contempt for
him, and such a sense of outrage that he should dare to threaten me
in that manner, that I suppose it was anger that made me as brave
as a lion.”
Whatever was the force supplying courage, whether anger or
disdain, she did not exaggerate in saying that she showed no sign
of quailing before Percy Joscelyn’s threats. She drew her brows
together, and her eyes blazed as they looked at him. In that
instant he felt that he had made a mistake--that to intimidate this
woman was not possible.
“What a contemptible creature you are,” she said, in a clear,
vibrating tone, “and what a fool besides, to think that you could
accomplish anything with _me_ by such a method as this! I will not
condescend to answer your insolent assertions and insinuations. If
you can induce my husband to listen to you, you can tell him what
you please. But understand once for all that every effort in my
power shall be devoted to helping Lennox Kyrle to rescue Aimée from
any further association with such a person as yourself. Now will
you go--or shall I be forced to ring for the servants to put you
out of my apartment?”
Brave as a lion she surely was, or she would have shrunk from
the impotent and vindictive rage that almost convulsed Percy’s
countenance as he looked at her. There was little in his power to
give which he would not have given at this moment to be able to
crush her by some revelation such as he had hinted at, but which he
now began to think had no existence in reality; for it seemed to
him impossible that any one whose conscience convicted her of the
falsity charged, could have been so daring and defiant. No, he had
made a mistake, and yet--
What was this? Why did Fanny’s expression change so suddenly
and greatly? Why did something like fear--yes, he could not be
mistaken, it _was_ fear--come into her eyes, as she looked past
him at the door to which she had again haughtily directed him? He
turned quickly and faced Mr. Meredith, who paused astonished at the
angry scene before him.
“Fanny!” he said, involuntarily addressing his wife.
Fanny felt as if her last hour had come, but to betray this to
Percy Joscelyn was impossible! The spirit that was in her still
kept her head erect and her manner dauntless, although it had not
been able to keep from her eyes that sudden expression of fear
which had leaped into them. She now addressed her husband with
admirable composure, notwithstanding that there was a perceptible
quiver of excitement in her voice.
“I have just requested Mr. Joscelyn to leave the room,” she said.
“He has so forgotten himself, under the disappointment of Aimée’s
engagement, that he has ventured to come here and threaten me--”
“Threaten you!” repeated Mr. Meredith, as she paused. He made a
stride forward that brought him close to Percy Joscelyn, and then
he stopped, controlling himself by an effort, but with all its
usual genial expression gone from his face, and, instead, fierce
indignation in every line. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked,
sternly. “Explain yourself!”
A bitter sneer curled the other’s lip. He could not, indeed,
explain himself as he should have liked to do; he could not
explicitly charge Fanny with duplicity which he only suspected, but
he could at least throw a firebrand, and make, he fondly hoped,
trouble between herself and her husband. So it was that the sneer
came as he looked at that gentleman.
“Mrs. Meredith seems to have regarded it as a threat,” he said,
“that I requested her to use her influence over her old lover to
induce him to relinquish his fortune-hunting scheme with regard to
Aimée, or else I should have the pleasure of enlightening you with
regard to some episodes of her past connected with that gentleman.”
It was a desperate venture, this speech, for if he had been asked
for the episodes----But he fancied that he knew Tom Meredith too
well to fear that, and the event proved him right. Mr. Meredith did
not glance at his wife at all, but looked at Joscelyn himself with
lowering brows and gleaming eyes.
“You are a cowardly cur!” he said, distinctly. “My wife told you to
leave the room. I now repeat the advice; and if you do not follow
it instantly, I shall be obliged to kick you out!”
* * * * *
“O Tom, Tom,” cried Fanny, hysterically, “how good you were not
even to gratify the wretch by listening to him!”
“Is it possible that you could have imagined that I would?” her
husband asked. “Then I can only say that you don’t know me very
well yet. Even if I had believed what he implied, do you think I
would have let _him_ know it? But how did such an idea enter his
mind?” he inquired after a moment, as he sat down. “Is he not aware
that Mr. Kyrle was Aimée’s lover long ago?”
Fanny stood silent, motionless, incapable, it seemed to her, of
movement or speech. Never had that old falsehood, told so lightly
and heedlessly in the past, appeared to her so odious, so black, so
dishonorable as now! Oh, what a vile return for her husband’s trust
and goodness to let him still be deceived, still believe a thing
which was not so, still be less wise (so she fancied) than Percy
Joscelyn, still think her better than she was! No, if it lost her
his love forever, if he never, never forgave her the long deceit,
she would tell him the truth _now_, while she had the saving grace
and courage to speak. Perhaps Mr. Meredith had never in his life
been more surprised than when she suddenly rushed forward, sank on
her knees by his chair, and burst into tears.
“O Tom,” she said, “I don’t know that you will ever forgive me for
having deceived you so long, but I _must_ tell the truth! Lennox
Kyrle was never Aimée’s lover at all. He was mine.”