"He was worthy to be loved a Lifetime."
Conrad Winstanley had come to the New Forest with his mind resolved
upon one of two things. He meant to marry Violet Tempest or her mother.
If the case was quite hopeless with the daughter, he would content
himself with winning the lesser prize; and though Vanity whispered that
there was no woman living he might not win for himself if he chose to
be sufficiently patient and persevering, instinct told him that Violet
frankly detested him.
"After all," argued Worldly Wisdom, "the alternative is not to be
despised. The widow is somewhat rococo; an old-fashioned jewel kept in
cotton-wool, and brought out on occasions to shine with a factitious
brilliancy, like old Dutch garnets backed with tinfoil; but she is
still pretty. She is ductile, amiable, and weak to a degree that
promises a husband the sovereign dominion. Why break your heart for
this fair devil of a daughter, who looks capable, if offended, of
anything in the way of revenge, from a horsewhip to slow poison? Are a
pair of brown eyes and a coronal of red gold hair worth all this wasted
passion?"
"But the daughter is the greater catch," urged Ambition. "The dowager's
jointure is well enough, and she has the Abbey House and gardens for
her life, but Violet will be sole mistress of the estate when she comes
of age. As Violet's husband, your position would be infinitely better
than it could be as her stepfather. Unhappily, the cantankerous minx
has taken it into her head to dislike you."
"Stay," interjected the bland voice of Vanity; "may not this dislike be
only an assumption, a mask for some deeper feeling? There are girls who
show their love in that way. Do not be in a hurry to commit yourself to
the mother until you have made yourself quite sure about the daughter."
Mrs. Tempest's dinner-party was a success. It introduced Captain
Winstanley to all that was best in the surrounding society; for
although in Switzerland he had seemed very familiar with the best
people in the Forest, in Hampshire he appeared almost a stranger to
them. It was generally admitted, however, that the Captain was an
acquisition, and a person to be cultivated. He sang a French comic song
almost as well as Monsieur de Roseau, recited a short Yankee poem,
which none of his audience had ever heard before, with telling force.
He was at home upon every subject, from orchids to steam-ploughs, from
ordnance to light literature. A man who sang so well, talked so well,
looked so well, and behaved so well, could not be otherwise than
welcome in county society. Before the evening was over, Captain
Winstanley had been offered three hunters for the next day's run, and
had been asked to write in four birthday-books.
Violet did not honour him with so much as a look, after her one cold
recognition of his first appearance in the drawing-room. It was a party
of more than twenty people, and she was able to keep out of his way
without obvious avoidance of him. He was stung, but had no right to be
offended.
He took Mrs. Scobel in to dinner, and Mrs. Scobel played the
accompaniment of his song, being a clever little woman, able to turn
her hand to any thing. He would have preferred to be told off to some
more important matron, but was not sorry to be taken under Mrs.
Scobel's wing. She could give him the carte du pays, and would be
useful to him, no doubt, in the future; a social Iris, to fetch and
carry for him between Beechdale and the Abbey House.
"Do you know that I am quite in love with your Forest?" he said to Mrs.
Tempest, standing in front of the ottoman where that lady sat with two
of her particular friends; "so much so, that I am actually in treaty
for Captain Hawbuck's cottage, and mean to stay here till the end of
the hunting."
Everybody knew Captain Hawbuck's cottage, a verandahed box of a house,
on the slope of the hill above Beechdale.
"I'm afraid you'll find the drawing-room chimney smokes," said a
matter-of-fact lady in sea-green; "poor Mrs. Hawbuck was a martyr to
that chimney."
"What does a bachelor want with a drawing-room? If there is one
sitting-room in which I can burn a good fire, I shall be satisfied. The
stable is in very fair order."
"The Hawbucks kept a pony-carriage," assented the sea-green lady.
"If Mrs. Hawbuck accepts my offer, I shall send for my horses next
week," said the Captain.
Mrs. Tempest blushed. Her life had flowed in so gentle and placid a
current, that the freshness of her soul had not worn off, and at
nine-and-thirty she was able to blush. There was something so
significant in Captain Winstanley's desire to establish himself at
Beechdale, that she could not help feeling fluttered by the fact. It
might be on Violet's account, of course, that he came; yet Violet and
he had never got on very well together.
"Poor fellow!" she thought blandly, "if he for a moment supposes that
anything would tempt me to marry again, he is egregiously mistaken."
And then she looked round the lovely old room, brightened by a crowd of
well-dressed people, and thought that next to being Edward Tempest's
wife, the best thing in life was to be Edward Tempest's widow.
"Dear Edward!" she mused, "how strange that we should miss him so
little to-night."
It had been with everyone as if the squire had never lived. Politeness
exacted this ignoring of the past, no doubt; but the thing had been so
easily done. The noble presence, the jovial laugh, the friendly smile
were gone, and no one seemed conscious of the void--no one but Violet,
who looked round the room once when conversation was liveliest, with a
pale indignant face, resenting this forgetfulness.
"I wish papa's ghost would come in at that door and scare his
hollow-hearted friends," she said to herself; and she felt as if it
would hardly have been a surprise to her to see the door open slowly
and that familiar figure appear.
"Well, Violet," Mrs. Temple said sweetly, when the guests were gone,
"how do you think it all went off?"
"It," of course, meant the dinner-party.
"I suppose, according to the nature of such things, it was all right
and proper," Vixen answered coldly; "but I should think it must have
been intensely painful to you, mamma."
Mrs. Tempest sighed. She had always a large selection of sighs in
stock, suitable to every occasion.
"I should have felt it much worse if I had sat in my old place at
dinner," she said; "but sitting at the middle of the table instead of
at the end made it less painful. And I really think it's better style.
How did you like the new arrangement of the glasses?"
"I didn't notice anything new."
"My dear Violet, you are frightfully unobservant."
"No, I am not," answered Vixen quickly. "My eyes are keen enough,
believe me."
Mrs. Tempest felt uncomfortable. She began to think that, after all, it
might be a comfortable thing to have a companion--as a fender between
herself and Violet. A perpetually present Miss Jones or Smith would
ward off these unpleasantnesses.
There are occasions, however, on which a position must be faced
boldly--in proverbial phrase, the bull must be taken by the horns. And
here, Mrs. Tempest felt, was a bull which must be so encountered. She
knew that her poor little hands were too feeble for the office; but she
told herself that she must make the heroic attempt.
"Violet, why have you such a rooted dislike to Captain Winstanley?"
"Why is my hair the colour it is, mamma, or why are my eyes brown
instead of blue? If you could answer my question, I might be able to
answer yours. Nature made me what I am, and nature has implanted a
hatred of Captain Winstanley in my mind."
"Do you not think it wrong to hate anyone--the very word hate was
considered unladylike when I was a girl--without cause?"
"I have cause to hate him, good cause, sufficient cause. I hate all
self-seekers and adventurers."
"You have no right to call him one or the other."
"Have I not? What brings him here, but the pursuit of his own interest?
Why does he plant himself at our door as if he were come to besiege a
town? Do you mean to say, mamma, that you can be so blind as not to see
what he wants?"
"He has come for the hunting."
"Yes, but not to hunt our foxes or our stags. He wants a rich wife,
mamma. And he thinks that you or I will be foolish enough to marry him."
"There would be nothing unnatural in his entertaining some idea of that
kind about you," replied Mrs. Tempest, with a sudden assertion of
matronly dignity. "But for him to think of me in that light would be
too absurd. I must be some years, perhaps four or five years, his
senior, to begin with."
"Oh, he would forgive you that; he would not mind that."
"And he ought to know that I should never dream of marrying again."
"He ought, if he had any idea of what is right and noble in a woman,"
answered Vixen. "But he has not. He has no ideas that do not begin and
end in himself and his own advantage. He sees you here with a handsome
house, a good income, and he thinks that he can persuade you to marry
him."
"Violet, you must know that I shall never marry."
"I hope I do know it. But the world ought to know it too. People ought
not to be allowed to whisper, and smile, and look significant; as I saw
some of them do to-night when Captain Winstanley was hanging over your
chair. You ought not to encourage him, mamma. It is a treason against
my father to have that man here."
Here was a bull that required prompt and severe handling, but Mrs.
Tempest felt her powers inadequate to the effort.
"I am surprised at you, Violet!" she exclaimed; "as if I did not know,
as well as you, what is due to my poor Edward; as if I should do
anything to compromise my own dignity. Is it to encourage a man to ask
him to a dinner-party, when he happens to be visiting in the
neighbourhood? Can I forbid Captain Winstanley to take the Hawbucks'
cottage?"
"No, you have gone too far already. You gave him too much encouragement
in Switzerland, and at Brighton. He has attached himself to us, like a
limpet to a rock. You will not easily get rid of him; unless you let
him see that you understand and despise him."
"I see nothing despicable in him, and I am not going to insult him at
your bidding," answered the widow, tremulous with anger. "I do not
believe him to be a schemer or an adventurer. He is a gentleman by
birth, education, profession. It is a supreme insolence on your part to
speak of him as you do. What can you know of the world? How can you
judge and measure a man like Captain Winstanley? A girl like you,
hardly out of the nursery! It is too absurd. And understand at once and
for ever, Violet, that I will not be hectored or lectured in this
manner, that I will not be dictated to, or taught what is good taste,
in my own house. This is to be my own house, you know, as long as I
live."
"Yes; unless you give it a new master," said Violet gravely. "Forgive
me if I have been too vehement, mamma. It is my love that is bold. Whom
have I in this world to love now, except you? And when I see you in
danger--when I see the softness of your nature---- Dear mother, there
are some instincts that are stronger than reason. There are some
antipathies which are implanted in us for warnings. Remember what a
happy life you led with my dear father--his goodness, his overflowing
generosity, his noble heart. There is no man worthy to succeed him, to
live in his house. Dear mother, for pity's sake----"
She was kneeling at her mother's feet, clinging to her hands, her voice
half-choked with sobs. Mrs. Tempest began to cry too.
"My dearest Violet, how can you be so foolish? My love, don't cry. I
tell you that I shall never marry again--never. Not if I were asked to
become a countess. My heart is true to your dear father; it always will
be. I am almost sorry that I consented to these scarlet bows on my
dress, but the feather trimming looked so heavy without them, and
Theodore's eye for colour is perfect. My dear child, be assured I shall
carry his image with me to my grave."
"Dear mother, that is all I ask. Be as happy as you can; but be true to
him. He was worthy to be loved for a lifetime; not to be put off with
half a life, half a heart."