Philip was only too ready to follow his friend's advice, and accordingly
started away there and then--whither he did not care. His only thought
was to get through the day somehow.
He had no wish to encounter old Glover again. In saying that he had had
a considerable row with that worthy he had in no wise overstated
matters. His marked abstention from the fair Edith's society the
previous evening had been quite sufficient, and the old man had got up
with the fixed determination of having it out with the defaulting swain,
and withal giving the latter a very large piece of his mind. This was
all very well. But old Glover, not being a gentleman himself, did not
in the very least understand how to deal with gentlemen, and his method
of handling his grievance was so much that of the triumphant trickster
who has bested his neighbour over a bargain that it revolted Philip,
unconsciously strengthening a resolve which was forming in his mind to
avoid an alliance with connections of this sort at all costs and
hazards.
Now, as he made his way up the mountain path with the quick elastic step
of perfect physical condition, Philip began to feel more sanguine.
Fordham would get him out of the mess somehow. From where he was he
could make out two figures strolling out from the hotel. He had no
glasses with him, but felt sure they were Fordham and old Glover. They
were at it already. Fordham was a wonderful fellow, and could do
anything if he chose. It would not be surprising if he were to succeed
in getting rid of the obnoxious Glovers altogether, and he--Philip--were
to find the field clear again when he returned that evening. He felt
quite hopeful.
Not for long, however. For he remembered there was another horn to the
dilemma. He might free himself from the awkward position in which
circumstances and his own thoughtlessness had combined to land him; but
the new sweet relationship with Alma--ah! that was a thing of the past,
and this he recognised with a keen unerring instinct hardly to be looked
for in his easy-going nature. This he recognised with a despairing
pang, and again his heart was heavy as lead within him.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The first person Fordham encountered on returning to the hotel was old
Glover himself. The latter was seated on a pile of saw-planks stacked
against a chalet, smoking the pipe of solitude and sweet and bitter
fancies--probably the latter, if the expression of his countenance was
aught to go by. So far from being prepared to resent his intervention,
there was an eager look in the old man's eyes as he perceived Fordham,
which was by no means lost upon that astute reader of human nature.
"Er--er--Mr Fordham?" he called out, the other having passed him with a
commonplace remark _in re_ the weather.
Fordham turned with just a gleam of well-feigned astonishment in his
face.
"Ar--Mr Fordham," went on old Glover now more eagerly, "would you--ar--
mind accompanying me for a short stroll? I should--ar--like to have a
few words with you."
"Certainly," was the reply, and an additional touch was thrown into the
well-feigned astonishment. "I am quite at your disposal. Doing nothing
this morning. We might stroll along the level towards the head of the
valley."
The other assented with alacrity, and they started, Fordham keeping the
conversation to strict commonplace until they had got clear of the
clusters of chalets lining the path on either side. Then the valley
opened out into wide, level meadows, and, crossing the log bridge over
the swirling, rushing mountain torrent, Fordham led the way into one of
these.
"Er--ar"--began old Glover, who had with difficulty restrained his
eagerness up till now, "have you, may I ask, known young Orlebar for a
considerable length of time?"
"A goodish while."
"Do you--ar--considar--that you know him well--er--I may say
intimately?"
"Yes, I do."
"Er--now, Mr Fordham--you will--ar--excuse the question, I'm sure.
Have you always found him--ar--straightforward?"
"Invariably. Too much so, in fact, for his own interests."
"Ar--r!" The representative of British commerce drew himself up with a
sidelong stare at his neighbour. This was a quality quite outside his
comprehension. He began to suspect the other was making game of him.
The expanse of waistcoat swelled, and the folds of a truly magnificent
pomposity deepened around its wearer as he went on. "Ar--I am sorry I
cannot agree with you, Mr--ar--Fordham--very sorry indeed. In his
dealings with me--with me and mine--young Orlebar has, I regret to say,
shown the--ar--very reverse of straightforwardness. Are you aware, sir,
that he is engaged to my daughter?"
"I can't say I am."
The old man halted, turned round upon Fordham, and looked him full in
the face as though he could hardly believe in his own sense of hearing.
"I--ar--beg your pardon, Mr--ar--Fordham. Did I--ar--understand you to
say you were not aware of it?"
"Certainly, Mr Glover. I intended you to understand precisely that."
Old Glover was nonplussed. He began to feel small and at a decided
disadvantage, a most unwonted feeling with him. He stared wonderingly,
inquiringly, distrustfully, into the dark, saturnine visage confronting
him, but could read nothing there.
"It is an odd thing that Phil should not have informed me of the fact,"
went on Fordham. "He is usually openness itself--indeed, too much so,
as I said just now. Wears his heart on his sleeve, I always tell him.
However, I shall have to congratulate him the next time I see him. By
the way, I suppose his father is delighted? Philip is an only son, you
know."
Nothing could be more innocent than Fordham's tone, nothing more
unsuspecting than the look of half-amused wonder with which he received
the intelligence. But his keen perception noted the disconcerted wave
which passed over his interlocutor's face at this allusion to Sir
Francis Orlebar.
"Fathers have different ways of taking news of that kind," he continued,
innocently. "Now, partly as a student of character, partly by reason of
some slight acquaintance with Sir Francis himself, I am curious to know
how he took the news of his son's engagement. How did he?"
The question was put with blunt and cruel directness. No slippery
commercial instincts could avail here. It must be answered. Poor old
Glover felt unprecedentedly small in the hands of his wily opponent.
Those piercing dark eyes penetrated his poor coating of pomposity as a
lance-head might penetrate the rind of a pumpkin.
"I am not aware how Sir Francis took the news," he answered, stiffly.
"He was informed, of course?" pursued Fordham, remorselessly. "Really--
ar--Mr Fordham. Your tone is--ar--very strange. I am at a loss to--
ar--"
"Oh, a thousand pardons. I merely asked the question because I thought
I understood you to say that Philip was engaged to your daughter. If I
was mistaken--But I quite understand. Of course the affair is no
business of mine. At the same time allow me to remind you, Mr Glover,
that the topic was broached by yourself, and, moreover, that you
requested me to accompany you for a stroll with that object. It is
naturally of far greater interest to you than to me, but if it is
distasteful to you, we will drop it at once. So let us talk of
something more congenial."
His manner was the perfection of ingenuous indifference. Thorough cynic
as he was, Fordham was enjoying the embarrassment of this inflated old
schemer, who he well knew had not brought him thus far in order to "drop
the subject" at any such early stage of the conversation. And the next
words proved it.
"You were not mistaken, sir. He is engaged to my daughter. And--ar--
when you come to look at the matter in its right light, Mr Fordham, you
will, I am sure, agree with me that he has acted with very great want of
straightforwardness."
"Perhaps. But you know, Mr Glover, Philip is an only son. It does, I
confess, appear strange to me that no reference should have been made to
his father at the time he asked for your consent to the engagement. He
did ask for it, I suppose?"
"Hang it, sir!" blared forth the other, goaded to fury by his own
helpless flounderings, which only served to entangle him deeper and
deeper within the net. "Hang it, sir! You know as well as I do that in
these days young people don't trouble their heads about their fathers in
matters of this kind. They take it all into their own hands--arrange it
between themselves."
The expression of astonished disapproval upon Fordham's face as he
received this announcement would have delighted the heart of the most
confirmed stickler for the old-fashioned proprieties.
"Do they? I was not aware of it," he said, "Pardon my ignorance, but I
still can't help thinking that, whatever may be the general rule, for
the only son of a man of Sir Francis Orlebar's position to be allowed to
drift into a tacit engagement without consulting either the young lady's
father or his own, is--pardon me again--somewhat of an odd proceeding."
"What is a beggarly baronet?" cried old Glover, the coarse huckstering
blood showing through the veneer of a would-be stately pomposity in his
blind rage at finding himself outwitted at every point. "Pooh! I could
buy up a dozen of them."
"True. I was not thinking so much, though, about what was due to a
`beggarly baronet' as to a gentleman and the son of a gentleman.
However," he resumed, after a pause just perceptible enough to carry
that last shaft home, "let us now be frank with each other--talk as men
of the world, in fact. I presume you had some object in seeking this
interview with me, Mr Glover?"
Their stroll had brought them to a large rock which at some period more
or less remote had fallen from above and embedded itself in the meadow.
In the shade formed by this Fordham proposed that they should sit down.
A beetling cliff sheered up behind to a great height, but in front and
around the approaches to the place were open.
"You are right in your surmise, Mr--ar--Fordham. As an intimate friend
of young Orlebar, a man, I believe, considerably older than himself, it
occurred to me that you would be--ar--likely to have some influence over
him--and--ar--might exert that influence towards inducing him to do what
is right."
"You may command any influence I may possess in that direction, Mr
Glover," said Fordham, suavely, though inwardly chuckling over the cool
impudence of the proposal and the opacity of the mind which could
propound it.
"I was sure of it--sure of it," reiterated the other, much mollified at
the prospect of so welcome an alliance. "As I said before, he is not
behaving straightforwardly, and you will--ar--agree with me. Well, now,
some months ago it was that he came first to my place. I've got a
little crib down at Henley, you know, Mr Fordham--shall be happy to see
you there if you are returning to England--very happy. Well, we had
plenty of fun going on--parties and picnics and rowing and all that.
I'm a man that likes to see young folks enjoying themselves. I don't
stint them--not I. Let them enjoy themselves when they are young, say
I. Don't you agree with me?"
"Undoubtedly," murmured Fordham.
"Well, among other young fellows who came sparking around was this young
Orlebar," went on old Glover, forgetting his stilted pomposity in the
thread of his narrative. "I was always glad to see him--ask him if I
wasn't. Soon it seemed to me that he was taking a fancy to my Edie.
She's my eldest, you know, as good a girl as ever was. She's a pretty
girl, too, and looks at home anywhere--in the Park, or wherever she may
be. Now doesn't she?"
"I quite agree with you on the subject of Miss Glover's attractions,"
said Fordham, gravely. "She would, as you say, look thoroughly at home
in the Park--with a perambulator and a soldier," he added to himself.
"All day and every day he made some excuse or other to run down. He'd
take her out on the river by the hour, sit about the garden with her, be
sending her flowers and things and all that. If that don't mean
intentions, I'd like to know what does. Well, I didn't feel called upon
to step in. I don't believe in interfering with young folks'
inclinations. I liked the young fellow--we all did--and it seemed he
was old enough to know his own mind. This went on for some time--some
months. Then suddenly we heard he'd gone abroad, and from that day on
heard no more about him by word or line. My poor Edie felt it
dreadfully. She didn't say anything at first, nor for a long time, and
at last I got it all out of her. Now, that isn't the way a girl should
be treated, is it, Mr Fordham? If you had daughters of your own you
would not like to see them treated like that, would you?"
"Certainly not. But pray go on--I am interested."
He was--but in reading _between the lines_ of this very ingenuous and
pathetic tale of base and black hearted treachery. To the narrator his
sympathetic tone and attitude conveyed the liveliest satisfaction, but
that hoary plutocrat little guessed at what a dismally primitive hour it
was requisite to rise in order to get the blind side of saturnine
Richard Fordham.
"I'd taken the girls to the seaside for their summer outing," continued
the narrator--"a thing they generally go wild with delight over. But
poor Edie this time said she hated the sea. She wanted to go abroad.
Would I take her abroad? At first I wouldn't, till she grew quite thin
and pale. Then I knew why she wanted to go, and she told me. If she
could find him out herself--make up a pleasant little surprise, she
said--it would all come right. It would all be as before, and they
would be as jolly as grigs. I hadn't the heart to refuse her, and so we
came. We found out where young Orlebar was, and dropped down on him
with the pleasant little surprise we'd planned. But--it didn't seem a
pleasant surprise at all."
"No, by Jove, it didn't!" said the listener to himself, putting up his
hand to hide a sardonic grin.
"You saw that it didn't. You saw how he behaved. Didn't seem at all
glad to see us, hardly spoke to us. And that girl had been breaking her
heart about him--yes, breaking her heart--and he's never been near her
since the moment she arrived. But I see how it is--he's got another
string to his bow. That high and mighty young woman that was sitting
near you--Miss--what's her name?--Miss Wyatt, isn't it? Well--"
"Excuse me if I remind you, Mr Glover, that among ourselves it is not
usual to drag ladies' names into other people's differences in that
free-and-easy sort of fashion," said Fordham, stiffly, though inwardly
convulsed with mirth at the idea of finding himself, of all people,
taking up the cudgels on behalf of one of the detested sex.
"Eh--what? Why, they told me he was engaged to her."
"Who told you he was?"
"Why, let me see--some of the people last night. I don't quite
recollect which of them. But perhaps you can tell me for certain. Is
he?"
"Not that I am aware of."
"Not--eh?" with a very distrustful look into Fordham's face, and in no
wise convinced; for to this representative of British commerce a man was
bound to be lying, provided any adequate motive existed for mendacity,
and here such motive undoubtedly did exist. "Well, they told me the
pair of them were never apart, out together all day, sitting together
all the evening--never apart, except at bedtime."
"Pooh! that means nothing. Here you see, and in places like this,
society is a pretty happy-go-lucky assortment, and the harmonious
elements gravitate towards each other. And while we are on this
subject, Mr Glover, I may as well remind you that Philip is young, a
great favourite with women, and consequently a devil of a fellow to
flirt. He's always over head and ears in some flirtation or other--
always has been ever since I've known him. But he means nothing by it,
and it always comes to nothing."
"Upon my word, Mr--ar--Fordham," replied the other, again bristling up
with pomposity, "you seem to treat this matter with strange--ar--levity.
Whatever--ar--_you_ may see fit to call it, _I_ look upon this--ar--
outrageous trifling with my daughter's feelings as the act of an
unprincipled scoundrel. Yes, sir, an unprincipled scoundrel," he added,
rolling the words, in his delight at having hit upon a good, sounding,
double-barrelled epithet. "But what do you want him to do?"
"Well, really--ar--Mr Fordham, that is a strange question to come from
a man of your--ar--knowledge of the world. What is the usual--ar--
outcome of a young man's winning a girl's affection?"
"I am bound in candour to reply that its nature varies. Further it
might be as well to approach this matter with caution and common sense.
You are doubtless aware that Sir Francis Orlebar is not a rich man--for
a man in his position a decidedly poor one, and Philip has not a
shilling in the world beyond what his father allows him? Now if his
father should disapprove of this--er--engagement--as not having been
consulted it is extremely likely he will--he may cut off that allowance
summarily."
"In that case I should be prepared to allow the people--ar--something to
go on with."
"What do you mean precisely by `something to go on with,' Mr Glover?"
"Well--really now--ar--Mr Fordham. You must excuse my saying so, but
you are--ar--I mean this is--"
"Taking a great liberty? I quite understand," was the perfectly
unruffled rejoinder. "But then you must remember this, Mr Glover. You
broached the subject. You called me into consultation, so to say. You
asked me to use my influence with Philip in this matter. I need hardly
tell you I have no interest in it one way or the other. We will drop
the subject altogether if you like."
"I think you mistake me," said the other, hurriedly. "I did not--ar--
say the words you were good enough to put into my mouth."
"Well, then, you must allow me, Mr Glover, to keep an eye upon my
friend's interests. He is very young, remember, a mere thoughtless boy.
Now we, as men of the world, are bound to look at everything from a
practical point of view. Let us talk plainly then. How much are you
prepared to settle in the event of Philip--er--fulfilling the engagement
into which you say he has entered?"
"I should be, as I said before, prepared to make them a fairly liberal
allowance," he jerked forth, with the air of a man who has just had a
tooth drawn and has found the process less painful than he had expected.
But Fordham shook his head.
"The `allowance' system is an unsatisfactory one," he said. "I have
known people let into queer quandaries by trusting to it. Allowances
may be cut off at the mere caprice of the allower. Now, don't be
offended," he added, with the shadow of a smile. "We agreed to speak
plainly and as men of the world. No--the thing must be a _settlement_.
Now what are you prepared to settle?"
"I think I may say this. I will settle four hundred a year upon them
now. At my death of course--Why what is the matter? Is that not
enough?"
The last in an astonished and indignant tone. For an almost derisive
shake of the head on the part of the other had cut short his words.
"Most certainly not. It is, in fact, ridiculous."
"Many a young couple has begun life on less."
"And many a man has ruined his life by beginning on far more. No. I
think my young friend will rate himself at a far higher value than that.
Why there are shoals of women with six times that income who would jump
at him."
"And are truth and honour to go for nothing?" spluttered old Glover,
swelling himself out with virtuous wrath until the expanse of the white
waistcoat was so tight that you could hear the seams crack. "Truth and
honour and good faith--and a sweet girl's broken heart?" he repeated,
working up a highly effective sniffle.
"My dear sir, you can't run a household, and a milliner, and a
dressmaker, and a butcher and baker, and a pocket doctor, and a lawyer--
in fact, an unlimited liability, upon truth and honour; nor can you pay
the Queen's taxes with a sweet girl's mended heart. Now, can you?"
"You have a most--ar--peculiar way of putting things, I must say, Mr
Fordham. Well, I'll tell you what I'll do--I'll make it five hundred.
There!"
"You might just as well make it five hundred pence, Mr Glover. I can't
advise my friend to throw himself away."
"I consider five hundred a year ample," said old Glover, magisterially
inserting his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat. "If he wants
more let him work for it. Let him go into some business."
"Why should he? He is young, and has the world at his feet. Why should
he grind away at some dingy and uncongenial money-grubbing mill just for
the fun of supporting your, or any other man's, daughter. It isn't good
enough, and I tell you so candidly. And remember this: he has
everything to lose and nothing to gain by the transaction, and with
yourselves it is the other way about."
"And what amount would meet your friend's views, Mr Fordham?" was the
rejoinder, quick spoken, and with cutting irony.
"He will have a position and title to keep up by and by," answered
Fordham, tranquilly. "I should say, a capital sum representing three
thousand a year--not one farthing less."
Old Glover sprang to his feet with a snort and an activity one would
hardly have credited him with. He stared wildly at Fordham, gasped for
breath and snorted again. Then he spluttered forth.
"I never heard anything so monstrous--such an outrageous piece of
impertinence in my life."
"But, my dear sir, surely I've put the case plain enough--"
"Don't talk to me any more about it, sir," interrupted the other
furiously, "I won't hear of such a preposterous suggestion."
"Do I understand that you refuse the condition, then?"
"Most emphatically you may understand that very thing. Three thousand a
year--ha--ha! He must be mad! But I tell you what it is, sir," he
blared forth, stung by Fordham's cool and indifferent demeanour. "That
young scoundrel--yes--that young scoundrel, I say," with a stamp of the
foot, "shall be _made_ to fulfil his engagement--shall be made to, I
say."
"Shall he? Excuse my reminding you of the old proverb concerning the
horse which may be taken to the water."
"Sha'n't he! I'll sue him for breach of promise. I'll claim such
swinging damages as never were asked for in a court of law yet. I'll
ruin him--yes, I'll ruin him, by God!"
"You may obtain a few hundreds at the outside. But you said something
just now about your daughter's heart being broken. Do you propose to
heal that fractured organ by exposing the young lady to the jeers of a
not over particular crowd in a public court, and making her the laughing
stock of every newspaper reader in the kingdom for the sake of a few
hundred pounds?"
"That's _my_ business, sir--that's _my_ business," was the savage reply.
"Even then you will have to prove any specific promise at all. Under
the circumstances this will be a matter of some difficulty, I imagine.
Why not think over the terms I have stated?"
"Never, sir I never! Such unheard-of impudence?" And he fairly danced
at the idea.
"Well, then, I've no more to say. In my opinion a man is a fool who
ties himself to any woman. A lion might as well make himself the slave
of a cat. But when he is expected to embrace the exhilarating career of
a mill-horse in order that the dear creature may own a conveniently
supporting slave--if he does so, I say, he deserves to be hung on sight.
I shall certainly advise Phil Orlebar not to marry anybody on a cent
less than three thousand a year, and I believe he will take my advice."
"Very well, sir. We shall see--we shall see. And, by the way, Mr--
ar--Fordham"--and the trade mind of the successful huckster again rose
to the surface--"you are really a most clever advocate, and I must--ar--
congratulate you. But `nothing for nothing,' you know. Now how much of
this fabulous income was to have found its way into your pocket if
obtained? Commission, you understand."
There was such a lurid look in Fordham's dark face as he quickly rose to
his feet, that even old Glover, dancing with rage, quailed and stepped
back a pace or two.
"I must congratulate _you_, Mr Glover, on your good fortune in being an
_old_ man at this moment. However," and his tone resumed its normal
sarcastic ring. "However, there are no witnesses present so we may as
well speak our minds to each other. It is abundantly obvious that you
have laid yourselves out to hook young Philip Orlebar, and have done it
deucedly clumsily too--so clumsily, that luckily for himself the bird
has seen the limed twig in time. Anyhow, to rush him as you have done,
and bestow the paternal blessing before it was asked for--in public
too--is just the way to choke off irrevocably a youngster of his stamp.
I don't know that there's anything more to be said, except this. Bring
your action by all means, but you will find it as hard a matter to prove
a specific promise, as you will to persuade any jury that it is not a
clear case of trying to entrap the son of a man of position and superior
birth."
To convey any idea of old Glover's state as he listened to this
harangue, would be impossible. At first he was speechless, and Fordham
began to think he was on the verge of apoplexy. Eventually he found his
tongue, and the great cliff in the background fairly echoed to the sound
of a volley of strange and gurgling oaths. Then the full torrent of his
wrath burst forth. He would sue the delinquent Phil--would ruin him--
would sue them both--for conspiracy, libel--what not. There was
nothing, in fact, that he would not do--shooting--horse-whipping--every
form of violence was enumerated. He should rue the day--every one
concerned should rue the day, etc, etc.
But Fordham, lighting a fresh pipe, leaned comfortably back against the
rock, and waited with perfect unconcern until this human boiler should
have blown off all its steam--or burst--it didn't matter which.