THE narrative returns to South Morden, and follows the events which
attended Isabel’s marriage engagement.
To say that Miss Pink, inflated by the triumph, rose, morally speaking,
from the earth and floated among the clouds, is to indicate faintly the
effect produced on the ex-schoolmistress when her niece first informed
her of what had happened at the farm. Attacked on one side by her aunt,
and on the other by Hardyman, and feebly defended, at the best, by her
own doubts and misgivings, Isabel ended by surrendering at discretion.
Like thousands of other women in a similar position, she was in the last
degree uncertain as to the state of her own heart. To what extent she
was insensibly influenced by Hardyman’s commanding position in believing
herself to be sincerely attached to him, it was beyond her power of
self-examination to discover. He doubly dazzled her by his birth and
by his celebrity. Not in England only, but throughout Europe, he was a
recognized authority on his own subject. How could she--how could any
woman--resist the influence of his steady mind, his firmness of purpose,
his manly resolution to owe everything to himself and nothing to his
rank, set off as these attractive qualities were by the outward and
personal advantages which exercise an ascendancy of their own? Isabel
was fascinated, and yet Isabel was not at ease. In her lonely moments
she was troubled by regretful thoughts of Moody, which perplexed and
irritated her. She had always behaved honestly to him; she had never
encouraged him to hope that his love for her had the faintest prospect
of being returned. Yet, knowing, as she did, that her conduct was
blameless so far, there were nevertheless perverse sympathies in her
which took his part. In the wakeful hours of the night there were
whispering voices in her which said: “Think of Moody!” Had there been
a growing kindness towards this good friend in her heart, of which she
herself was not aware? She tried to detect it--to weigh it for what it
was really worth. But it lay too deep to be discovered and estimated,
if it did really exist--if it had any sounder origin than her own morbid
fancy. In the broad light of day, in the little bustling duties of life,
she forgot it again. She could think of what she ought to wear on the
wedding day; she could even try privately how her new signature, “Isabel
Hardyman,” would look when she had the right to use it. On the whole, it
may be said that the time passed smoothly--with some occasional checks
and drawbacks, which were the more easily endured seeing that they took
their rise in Isabel’s own conduct. Compliant as she was in general,
there were two instances, among others, in which her resolution to take
her own way was not to be overcome. She refused to write either to Moody
or to Lady Lydiard informing them of her engagement; and she steadily
disapproved of Miss Pink’s policy of concealment, in the matter of the
robbery at Lady Lydiard’s house. Her aunt could only secure her as a
passive accomplice by stating family considerations in the strongest
possible terms. “If the disgrace was confined to you, my dear, I might
leave you to decide. But I am involved in it, as your nearest relative;
and, what is more, even the sacred memories of your father and mother
might feel the slur cast on them.” This exaggerated language--like all
exaggerated language, a mischievous weapon in the arsenal of weakness
and prejudice--had its effect on Isabel. Reluctantly and sadly, she
consented to be silent.
Miss Pink wrote word of the engagement to Moody first; reserving to a
later day the superior pleasure of informing Lady Lydiard of the very
event which that audacious woman had declared to be impossible. To her
aunt’s surprise, just as she was about to close the envelope Isabel
stepped forward, and inconsistently requested leave to add a postscript
to the very letter which she had refused to write! Miss Pink was not
even permitted to see the postscript. Isabel secured the envelope the
moment she laid down her pen, and retired to her room with a headache
(which was heartache in disguise) for the rest of the day.
While the question of marriage was still in debate, an event occurred
which exercised a serious influence on Hardyman’s future plans.
He received a letter from the Continent which claimed his immediate
attention. One of the sovereigns of Europe had decided on making some
radical changes in the mounting and equipment of a cavalry regiment;
and he required the assistance of Hardyman in that important part of the
contemplated reform which was connected with the choice and purchase
of horses. Setting his own interests out of the question, Hardyman owed
obligations to the kindness of his illustrious correspondent which made
it impossible for him to send an excuse. In a fortnight’s time, at the
latest, it would be necessary for him to leave England; and a month or
more might elapse before it would be possible for him to return.
Under these circumstances, he proposed, in his own precipitate way, to
hasten the date of the marriage. The necessary legal delay would permit
the ceremony to be performed on that day fortnight. Isabel might then
accompany him on his journey, and spend a brilliant honeymoon at the
foreign Court. She at once refused, not only to accept his proposal, but
even to take it into consideration. While Miss Pink dwelt eloquently on
the shortness of the notice, Miss Pink’s niece based her resolution
on far more important grounds. Hardyman had not yet announced the
contemplated marriage to his parents and friends; and Isabel was
determined not to become his wife until she could be first assured of a
courteous and tolerant reception by the family--if she could hope for no
warmer welcome at their hands.
Hardyman was not a man who yielded easily, even in trifles. In the
present case, his dearest interests were concerned in inducing Isabel
to reconsider her decision. He was still vainly trying to shake her
resolution, when the afternoon post brought a letter for Miss Pink which
introduced a new element of disturbance into the discussion. The letter
was nothing less than Lady Lydiard’s reply to the written announcement
of Isabel’s engagement, despatched on the previous day by Miss Pink.
Her Ladyship’s answer was a surprisingly short one. It only contained
these lines:
“Lady Lydiard begs to acknowledge the receipt of Miss Pink’s letter
requesting that she will say nothing to Mr. Hardyman of the loss of
a bank-note in her house, and, assigning as a reason that Miss Isabel
Miller is engaged to be married to Mr. Hardyman, and might be prejudiced
in his estimation if the facts were made known. Miss Pink may make her
mind easy. Lady Lydiard had not the slightest intention of taking Mr.
Hardyman into her confidence on the subject of her domestic affairs.
With regard to the proposed marriage, Lady Lydiard casts no doubt on
Miss Pink’s perfect sincerity and good faith; but, at the same time,
she positively declines to believe that Mr. Hardyman means to make
Miss Isabel Miller his wife. Lady L. will yield to the evidence of a
properly-attested certificate--and to nothing else.”
A folded piece of paper, directed to Isabel, dropped out of this
characteristic letter as Miss Pink turned from the first page to the
second. Lady Lydiard addressed her adopted daughter in these words:
“I was on the point of leaving home to visit you again, when I received
your aunt’s letter. My poor deluded child, no words can tell how
distressed I am about you. You are already sacrificed to the folly of
the most foolish woman living. For God’s sake, take care you do not fall
a victim next to the designs of a profligate man. Come to me instantly,
Isabel, and I promise to take care of you.”
Fortified by these letters, and aided by Miss Pink’s indignation,
Hardyman pressed his proposal on Isabel with renewed resolution. She
made no attempt to combat his arguments--she only held firmly to her
decision. Without some encouragement from Hardyman’s father and mother
she still steadily refused to become his wife. Irritated already by
Lady Lydiard’s letters, he lost the self-command which so eminently
distinguished him in the ordinary affairs of life, and showed the
domineering and despotic temper which was an inbred part of his
disposition. Isabel’s high spirit at once resented the harsh terms in
which he spoke to her. In the plainest words, she released him from his
engagement, and, without waiting for his excuses, quitted the room.
Left together, Hardyman and Miss Pink devised an arrangement which
paid due respect to Isabel’s scruples, and at the same time met Lady
Lydiard’s insulting assertion of disbelief in Hardyman’s honor, by a
formal and public announcement of the marriage.
It was proposed to give a garden party at the farm in a week’s time
for the express purpose of introducing Isabel to Hardyman’s family and
friends in the character of his betrothed wife. If his father and mother
accepted the invitation, Isabel’s only objection to hastening the union
would fall to the ground. Hardyman might, in that case, plead with his
Imperial correspondent for a delay in his departure of a few days more;
and the marriage might still take place before he left England. Isabel,
at Miss Pink’s intercession, was induced to accept her lover’s excuses,
and, in the event of her favorable reception by Hardyman’s parents at
the farm, to give her consent (not very willingly even yet) to hastening
the ceremony which was to make her Hardyman’s wife.
On the next morning the whole of the invitations were sent out,
excepting the invitation to Hardyman’s father and mother. Without
mentioning it to Isabel, Hardyman decided on personally appealing to
his mother before he ventured on taking the head of the family into his
confidence.
The result of the interview was partially successful--and no more. Lord
Rotherfield declined to see his youngest son; and he had engagements
which would, under any circumstances, prevent his being present at the
garden party. But at the express request of Lady Rotherfield, he was
willing to make certain concessions.
“I have always regarded Alfred as a barely sane person,” said his
Lordship, “since he turned his back on his prospects to become a horse
dealer. If we decline altogether to sanction this new act--I won’t say,
of insanity, I will say, of absurdity--on his part, it is impossible to
predict to what discreditable extremities he may not proceed. We must
temporise with Alfred. In the meantime I shall endeavor to obtain some
information respecting this young person--named Miller, I think you
said, and now resident at South Morden. If I am satisfied that she is
a woman of reputable character, possessing an average education and
presentable manners, we may as well let Alfred take his own way. He is
out of the pale of Society, as it is; and Miss Miller has no father and
mother to complicate matters, which is distinctly a merit on her part
and, in short, if the marriage is not absolutely disgraceful, the wisest
way (as we have no power to prevent it) will be to submit. You will say
nothing to Alfred about what I propose to do. I tell you plainly I
don’t trust him. You will simply inform him from me that I want time to
consider, and that, unless he hears to the contrary in the interval, he
may expect to have the sanction of your presence at his breakfast, or
luncheon, or whatever it is. I must go to town in a day or two, and I
shall ascertain what Alfred’s friends know about this last of his many
follies, if I meet any of them at the club.”
Returning to South Morden in no serene frame of mind, Hardyman found
Isabel in a state of depression which perplexed and alarmed him.
The news that his mother might be expected to be present at the garden
party failed entirely to raise her spirits. The only explanation she
gave of the change in her was, that the dull heavy weather of the
last few days made her feel a little languid and nervous. Naturally
dissatisfied with this reply to his inquiries, Hardyman asked for
Miss Pink. He was informed that Miss Pink could not see him. She was
constitutionally subject to asthma, and, having warnings of the return
of the malady, she was (by the doctor’s advice) keeping her room.
Hardyman returned to the farm in a temper which was felt by everybody in
his employment, from the trainer to the stable-boys.
While the apology made for Miss Pink stated no more than the plain
truth, it must be confessed that Hardyman was right in declining to be
satisfied with Isabel’s excuse for the melancholy that oppressed her.
She had that morning received Moody’s answer to the lines which she had
addressed to him at the end of her aunt’s letter; and she had not yet
recovered from the effect which it had produced on her spirits.
“It is impossible for me to say honestly that I am not distressed (Moody
wrote) by the news of your marriage engagement. The blow has fallen very
heavily on me. When I look at the future now, I see only a dreary blank.
This is not your fault--you are in no way to blame. I remember the time
when I should have been too angry to own this--when I might have said or
done things which I should have bitterly repented afterwards. That time
is past. My temper has been softened, since I have befriended you in
your troubles. That good at least has come out of my foolish hopes,
and perhaps out of the true sympathy which I have felt for you. I
can honestly ask you to accept my heart’s dearest wishes for your
happiness--and I can keep the rest to myself.
“Let me say a word now relating to the efforts that I have made to help
you, since that sad day when you left Lady Lydiard’s house.
“I had hoped (for reasons which it is needless to mention here) to
interest Mr. Hardyman himself in aiding our inquiry. But your aunt’s
wishes, as expressed in her letter to me, close my lips. I will only
beg you, at some convenient time, to let me mention the last discoveries
that we have made; leaving it to your discretion, when Mr. Hardyman
has become your husband, to ask him the questions which, under other
circumstances, I should have put to him myself.
“It is, of course, possible that the view I take of Mr. Hardyman’s
capacity to help us may be a mistaken one. In this case, if you still
wish the investigation to be privately carried on, I entreat you to let
me continue to direct it, as the greatest favor you can confer on your
devoted old friend.
“You need be under no apprehension about the expense to which you are
likely to put me. I have unexpectedly inherited what is to me a handsome
fortune.
“The same post which brought your aunt’s letter brought a line from a
lawyer asking me to see him on the subject of my late father’s affairs.
I waited a day or two before I could summon heart enough to see him, or
to see anybody; and then I went to his office. You have heard that
my father’s bank stopped payment, at a time of commercial panic. His
failure was mainly attributable to the treachery of a friend to whom
he had lent a large sum of money, and who paid him the yearly interest,
without acknowledging that every farthing of it had been lost in
unsuccessful speculations. The son of this man has prospered in
business, and he has honorably devoted a part of his wealth to the
payment of his father’s creditors. Half the sum due to _my_ father has
thus passed into my hands as his next of kin; and the other half is to
follow in course of time. If my hopes had been fulfilled, how gladly
I should have shared my prosperity with you! As it is, I have far more
than enough for my wants as a lonely man, and plenty left to spend in
your service.
“God bless and prosper you, my dear. I shall ask you to accept a little
present from me, among the other offerings that are made to you before
the wedding day.--R.M.”
The studiously considerate and delicate tone in which these lines were
written had an effect on Isabel which was exactly the opposite of the
effect intended by the writer. She burst into a passionate fit of tears;
and in the safe solitude of her own room, the despairing words escaped
her, “I wish I had died before I met with Alfred Hardyman!”
As the days wore on, disappointments and difficulties seemed by a kind
of fatality to beset the contemplated announcement of the marriage.
Miss Pink’s asthma, developed by the unfavorable weather, set the
doctor’s art at defiance, and threatened to keep that unfortunate lady
a prisoner in her room on the day of the party. Hardyman’s invitations
were in some cases refused; and in others accepted by husbands with
excuses for the absence of their wives. His elder brother made an
apology for himself as well as for his wife. Felix Sweetsir wrote, “With
pleasure, dear Alfred, if my health permits me to leave the house.” Lady
Lydiard, invited at Miss Pink’s special request, sent no reply. The one
encouraging circumstance was the silence of Lady Rotherfield. So long as
her son received no intimation to the contrary, it was a sign that Lord
Rotherfield permitted his wife to sanction the marriage by her presence.
Hardyman wrote to his Imperial correspondent, engaging to leave England
on the earliest possible day, and asking to be pardoned if he failed to
express himself more definitely, in consideration of domestic affairs,
which it was necessary to settle before he started for the Continent.
If there should not be time enough to write again, he promised to send
a telegraphic announcement of his departure. Long afterwards, Hardyman
remembered the misgivings that had troubled him when he wrote that
letter. In the rough draught of it, he had mentioned, as his excuse
for not being yet certain of his own movements, that he expected to
be immediately married. In the fair copy, the vague foreboding of some
accident to come was so painfully present to his mind, that he struck
out the words which referred to his marriage, and substituted the
designedly indefinite phrase, “domestic affairs.”