The interview between Colonel de St. Severan and Mr. Barkley was short
but stormy. That morning the former had called upon Lord Barkley to
learn what were his true feelings with regard to his son's marriage.
Lord Barkley was a most plausible old gentleman, and liked to keep well
with everybody; accordingly he bespattered Colonel de St. Severan with
compliments, said that he himself found Mademoiselle Arbi charming, and
that nothing grieved him more than being obliged to tell Edmund that
if he married without getting a fortune of thirty or forty thousand
pounds, he must leave the ancestral estate, in order to preserve it
in the family, away from him; but were it not for their unfortunate
embarrassments he would be only too delighted to receive Mademoiselle
as his daughter-in-law.
Colonel de St. Severan thanked him and took his leave. Now that he
had heard from Lord Barkley's own lips how much he approved of Marie
personally, and that he left his son free to marry her if he chose to
brave the threat of the family estate being left away from him, Colonel
de St. Severan felt himself authorised in making the proposal to Mr.
Barkley of which he had spoken to Marie.
Unfortunately for Mr. Barkley he had been out all the morning, and went
to the de St. Severans without having heard what had passed between
his father and Colonel de St. Severan, so he was completely taken
by surprise when the latter called him into his study, and having
explained how it was that by chance he discovered the attachment which
existed between him and Marie, he proceeded to relate all that Lord
Barkley had said to him; then in a concise but cutting manner he blamed
Mr. Barkley for his conduct throughout the whole affair. He concluded
by saying that it pained him deeply to think that Marie should have
bestowed her affections upon one who had acted towards her as Mr.
Barkley had done, but that she had wrung from him a promise not to put
any obstacle in the way of her happiness, and in compliance with this
promise he named the fortune which he was ready to give Marie, showing
at the same time that he knew such a portion would enable Mr. Barkley
to marry her--if he really loved her--independently of his father.
Mr. Barkley was not, as we said before, in a serene mood when he
entered the study, and this speech of Colonel de St. Severan's worked
him up almost into a passion. It was forcing him to do the very thing
which he did not wish to do--to choose at once between love and mammon.
To give up the latter and resolve to live on the thousand or so a year
which his own and Marie's income would amount to, seemed to him too
alarming a sacrifice. On the other hand he saw plainly that if he did
not make it he must renounce Marie for ever, as he had no excuse to
give for any further hesitation, save the true one of his unwillingness
to run the risk of being a comparatively poor man all his life; after
what his father had said he had not the courage to plead that fear of
displeasing him was his motive.
He hated the colonel for placing him in such a position, and in vain
he tried to think calmly how he could answer, until Colonel de St.
Severan, tired of waiting for a reply, said--
"Your silence, I suppose, is a tacit acknowledgment that you have been
merely trifling with Mademoiselle Arbi all this time; but indeed it is
only what one might have expected from the whole tenor of your past
conduct."
This was like applying a lighted match to a train of gunpowder. Mr.
Barkley lost all control of himself, accused Colonel de St. Severan
of false dealing, in having gone secretly to speak about him to
his father, and said many other things which, had he been master
of himself, he would never have uttered. Colonel de St. Severan
interrupted him in a voice of thunder, commanded him to leave his
presence instantly, and never to dare to speak to him or Mademoiselle
Arbi again. He pointed to the door, and Mr. Barkley--awed by the
dignity of his manner--obeyed the gesture silently, quailing like a
bold schoolboy before the great and just anger of his superior.
He rushed out of the house in a state of wild excitement, and, as the
fates ordained, almost at the door he met some young Frenchmen of his
acquaintance.
They said they were going to dine at the Trois Frères, and asked him
to join them. Mr. Barkley, glad to have any company rather than that
of his own thoughts, accepted the proposal, and away they went to the
Palais Royal.
The repast was most _recherché_, and naturally the wines were in
keeping with it. Mr. Barkley drank freely of them all, and especially
of champagne, until his spirits became quite exuberant, and when
_écarté_ was suggested as a fitting wind-up to the evening, he eagerly
expressed his pleasure at the suggestion. He played high and lost
considerable sums, but the more he lost the more recklessly he played,
and it was with difficulty that his companions got him away from the
card-table in time to dress for the ambassador's ball, to which they
were all going.
It chanced that the Molyneuxes and Mr. Barkley arrived about the same
time, and he secured Miss Molyneux for the next valse. She looked
dazzlingly handsome in some sort of a light-blue dress over white
satin, and a necklace of turquoise. A buzz of admiration followed her
as she moved in her stately manner through the crowd, leaning on her
partner's arm, so that Mr. Barkley began to feel that at least she
would be a wife that a man could be proud of; and the valse finished
the matter. Excitement, champagne, and that rapid dance all told upon
him, and fired his heart with a momentary fancy for Miss Molyneux.
He made desperate love to her, proposed, and was sobered by her calm
acceptation of his offer. Up to that moment he scarcely knew what he
was saying, but her cool answer and suggestion that they should return
to "papa" made him fully sensible of what he had done. It was as if a
pail of iced water had been thrown over him, and he could scarcely help
shivering as he offered his arm to his affianced bride to lead her to
her parents.
Mr. Barkley passed that night in all the torture of self-reproach.
More than once, after he returned from the ambassador's, he attempted
to write an apology to Colonel de St. Severan, but each time he tore
up what he had written, feeling that it would look like a mockery to
send an apology after that night's work, as he knew that of course the
de St. Severans must hear of his engagement. When he did at last go to
bed, he lay tossing on it with sleepless eyes and a racking headache as
well as _heartache_.
The next morning he went into his father's room, about ten o'clock,
looking so "_seedy_" and haggard that the latter exclaimed--
"Why, Edmund, you must have supped after the ball last night. You
certainly look as if you had a good bout of it."
"Such an one, sir, as I shall never forget, only it was _at_ the ball
and not after it," answered his son; "and I have come to tell you that
my happiness is destroyed for life, but your wishes are gratified. Miss
Molyneux is my affianced wife. I hope _she_ has money enough for you!"
"My dear Edmund, you amaze me! I should indeed have been delighted
to hear of your engagement if you did not speak of it in this
extraordinary manner. Surely I did not insist upon your proposing to
Miss Molyneux."
"No, but you drove me to desperation by opposing my marriage with the
woman I love. I behaved like a scoundrel to her and to Colonel de St.
Severan; then to escape from my own thoughts I drank and gambled until
I was half mad with excitement, and in that state I proposed to Miss
Molyneux."
"Don't flurry yourself about it, my dear boy; under the circumstances,
we can explain away anything a little too tender which you may have
said to Miss Molyneux. I should be very sorry if you were to marry
a girl whom you don't like; and as for the de St. Severan affair, I
don't understand what you mean. I saw the colonel yesterday morning and
explained everything to him. Why, we parted like the dearest friends in
the world!"
"I know it, sir, but I have seen Colonel de St. Severan since, and----,
but, no, I cannot speak of it. Now, with regard to Miss Molyneux," he
continued, hurriedly; "you are mistaken in supposing that I merely said
something too tender to her which could be explained away. I told you
expressly that she was my affianced wife. I was not drunk enough--would
that I had been--to talk nonsense; only enough to act like a madman. I
proposed formally to Miss Molyneux, and she as--no far more--formally
accepted me, and marched me up to 'papa.' As to not liking her, why I
could no more like or dislike her than I could a beautiful piece of
marble, so I may as well marry her as anybody else, since I am not to
have the only one whom I love."
"Still, Edmund, it appears to me that you would do well to think a
little more about this before you go any further."
"It's all very well for you, sir, to talk in this way now after you
have driven me into it. I have twice said that I can't draw back unless
I behave in the same manner to Miss Molyneux as I have done to that
little angel, Marie Arbi. But let there be an end to all discussion.
The die is cast. We must go to old Molyneux this morning, and you may
make any arrangements you like with him, but I leave Paris to-morrow.
I am not going to stay here to be a lasting insult to my poor lost
darling. At what hour will you come with me to my future father-in-law?"
"At twelve, if you like, my dear fellow; but I am really unhappy about
the manner in which you take this up. I wish something could be done to
get you out of it."
"But nothing can be done, sir, and the greatest kindness you can show
me is to say no more about it. We must only make the best of a bad
case. At twelve I will meet you in the coffee-room."
So saying Mr. Barkley returned to his own room and began to dress.
The Molyneuxes left Paris a few days after this and went to London,
whither Lord Barkley and his son had preceded them. The latter urged
his father to get the settlements drawn up as quickly as possible, as
he declared that the shorter time he had to sustain the lover's part
towards his "marble bride" elect, the better it would be for them both,
and he undertook to get Miss Molyneux to name an early day for the
wedding. Accordingly it was fixed for the second week in April.
Towards the end of the month--February--the Barkleys left London for
Ireland, on the plea of seeing that all the preparations for receiving
the bride were being properly executed. Mr. Barkley however was to
return to London in a fortnight or three weeks. In the meantime he, as
well as his father, was delighted to get home to their beautiful place,
and the attractions of a country life; even the old lord was still a
keen sportsman.
A short time after their return there was to be a meet in the
neighbourhood, and some eight or ten gentlemen were invited to dine and
sleep at Barkley Castle the night before. It was a sort of farewell
bachelor party, which Mr. Barkley induced his father to give. There
was a good deal of joking about the approaching marriage, but the only
answer which Mr. Barkley deigned to give to all the questions which
were asked about his "ladye love" was--"When you see her you'll all
acknowledge that I have imported something worth _looking_ at."
Lord Barkley, however, saw by the impatient twitching of his lip how
disagreeable the subject was to him, and although later in the evening
he became boisterously gay, sang comic songs, and related many a good
story, his father felt that his gaiety was forced, and more than
ever did he regret the hastiness with which he had entered into the
engagement with Miss Molyneux; yet he said to himself, "Perhaps it is
better so. Once married he'll be proud of having such a magnificent
looking wife, and they'll get on right well, I daresay. If he does not
marry he would always have a hankering after that little Marie; not
that I am a bit astonished at it, for she is a sweet little creature,
and the other is so stiff and cold; but it would be ruin for him not
to get a large fortune, so it's all as well that he is going to be
settled,--only I wish with all my heart that the poor fellow seemed to
like the idea of it a little better."
After this soliloquy his lordship sought his couch; nevertheless, as
he rose next morning and donned his hunting suit, he could not shake
off an unaccountable feeling of sadness and remorse about "Edmund's"
coming marriage, and the latter happening to go in to him to ask some
question relative to the starting, he said, laying his hand upon his
shoulder--
"Come, boy, you and I must not go out to-day with any ill-will between
us."
"How now, father; surely you are not growing nervous?"
"No, Edmund, that's quite out of my line; but before we go I want to
hear you say that you bear me no grudge for opposing you about Miss
Arbi. You must feel that it was only your own interest that I had at
heart in so doing. I shall be dead and gone in a few years at farthest,
but you would have been a ruined man all your life if I had forwarded a
marriage between her and you."
Mr. Barkley winced at Marie's name and turned away his head, but when
his father ceased speaking he answered gently, although sorrowfully--
"I do not doubt that you acted for the best, father; but was wealth
worth the sacrifice of happiness? I, however, as well as you, helped to
make the sacrifice, therefore I cannot blame you more than I do myself,
or, God knows! half as much; so if it's any satisfaction to you to hear
me say so, I bear you no grudge about it, father. My marriage with
Miss Molyneux is my own work, and I must make the best of it."
"If the thought of it really makes you unhappy, Edmund," exclaimed Lord
Barkley, struck by the despondency of his son's tone, "let us try to
break it off even now."
"Why break it off, father, and at the expense of my honour too, unless
you are willing to try and win back for me the girl whom I love?"
Mr. Barkley's eyes kindled for a moment as he looked half-questioningly
at Lord Barkley, who felt almost tempted to answer, "Yes, I _will_ get
her back for you, and make you happy, my boy, if I can." But Mammon
whispered, "What! for a young man's foolish dream of love will you let
your broad acres pass away from the family?" and he replied, looking
out of the window to avoid meeting his son's earnest gaze--"True,
Edmund, your marriage could not be broken off now, as you say, except
at the expense of your honour; and, after all, Miss Molyneux _is_
gloriously handsome."
It was with difficulty that his son refrained from making an
exclamation of impatience, but he did refrain, and left the room,
merely saying, "I suppose it is nearly time for breakfast?"
Some hours afterwards how glad Mr. Barkley was that he had so
restrained his impatience.