The unlikely pair retraced their steps rapidly, turning towards the
house of the Bates’; but the effect of Durant’s revelation soon died off
from the mind of Sarah Jane. She had done what duty required in taking
him at once to her mother. Once told to that supreme authority, Sarah
Jane felt that her mind was clear of all responsibility, and, indeed, as
a matter of fact, she dismissed the burden of this new revelation long
before her companion ceased his efforts to impress it upon her. She
tried what she could to beguile him into lighter talk; she broke in upon
him with lively observations, and little essays of friendly
familiarity. The momentary agitation of sympathy which had almost
interested Durant in her died away. She began to pout as he went on.
“Oh, please don’t talk for ever about Arthur; I ain’t in love with
Arthur, though Nancy is. I think you might find another subject,” she
said. “They make a deal too much of him at home; I think, and so does
Matilda, that there are nicer-looking and as gentlemanlike-looking in
Underhayes as he is. What do you think of Underhayes, Mr. Durant? Is not
it a pretty little place? If I had my choice I would live in London, and
every night of my life I’d go to a dance or to the play. I don’t pretend
to be good, as some girls are. I shouldn’t go about among the poor, or
sing in church. What I’d like, would be to go to a party every night, or
else to the play.”
“I should think you would soon be tired of that,” said Durant;
“fashionable people get quite worn out. They get pale and colourless,
not fresh and blooming, like you.”
“Oh,” cried Sarah Jane, feeling that this was the kind of talk in which
she shone, “tell me about fashionable people, Mr. Durant! Are they a
great deal prettier than we are? I suppose they look so with all their
grand dresses; but I should not care to catch people by dress, and make
them think me good-looking when I wasn’t; I would much rather look what
I am, and then nobody would be deceived.”
“You could have no inducement to look anything but what you are,” said
Durant amused, giving this young savage, since she asked for it so
plainly, the gewgaw of compliment which she wanted. Sarah Jane
brightened, and coloured, and bridled with pleasure. Let Nancy fare as
she might, here was an immediate advantage her sister could have,
without any evil effect on Nancy’s future.
“Oh, you are just like all the gentlemen,” she said, “always paying
compliments; if the girls were not a deal more sensible than you think,
you would turn our heads. But if there is one thing I despise, it is the
silly girls that believe everything that is said to them. A little
experience teaches you better than that,” said Sarah Jane.
“And what does experience teach Miss Bates,” said Durant, suppressing
his laugh.
“I told you before I was not Miss Bates; I am Miss Sarah Jane. Some
people don’t think it very pretty, but I will never be ashamed of my
name. Is it true that they go to five or six parties in a night, one
after the other? I should not like that; where I am enjoying myself I
like to stay. If it was dull, perhaps it would be a good thing to try
another, but fancy a ball being dull! it is, I suppose, for the old
wallflowers that don’t dance, but I think a ball heavenly. Don’t you
think so, Mr. Durant? I have been at three--the volunteers’ ball, and
the--two others that you wouldn’t know about; and I nearly danced my
shoes to pieces at all the three.”
“It was natural then that you should enjoy them,” said Durant.
“Yes, wasn’t it? I never would miss one if I could help it. Now Nancy
was so foolish she never went at all, but started out for a long walk
with Arthur, just as we were going. Wasn’t it silly? I think she was
sorry though next day, when she heard us talking of it and counting our
partners, Matilda and me. A girl may be going to be married, without
giving up all her pleasures. But Nancy is a deal too good; I believe she
would not mind giving up a ball even, if Arthur was not there, to let me
go.”
“I am glad to hear she is so kind.”
“Oh yes, she is very kind. But she wanted me to wear an old dress of
aunt’s, and that I would not put up with. She does not mind looking a
guy herself. I danced seven waltzes straight off, without ever sitting
down, but I was not tired--not a bit tired. Oh, what fun it was! I wish
there was one to-night--I wish there was one every night. I could dance
till six o’clock in the morning, and never tire.”
“I hope then for your sake,” said Durant, “that there are a great many
balls at Underhayes.”
“No, indeed. It requires to be some public thing, like the Volunteers. I
have seen dances in the houses on the Green; but then we were not asked,
and it was dreadful to stand and look in at the windows, and hear the
music. I am sure there were plenty of people there that were not a bit
better than we were. That girl that teaches the little Smithards--a bit
of a governess. Mamma said it was ridiculous having her, and not us--a
little bit of a governess! Now _we_ have never been required to do
anything for our living. We have always been kept at home, and have had
everything we wanted. That makes a deal of difference; don’t you think
it does, Mr. Durant?”
“I am not very clever in such subjects. I have to work very hard for my
living, Miss Sarah Jane.”
“Have you now? I should not have thought it, you look so like a
gentleman. I suppose it is the clothes,” said Sarah Jane thoughtfully.
“But even then,” she added with magnanimous indulgence, “that is quite
different; men may work without losing caste, mamma says, but not women.
And we have always been kept at home. I would not be a governess for the
world.”
“I do not suppose it can be a pleasant occupation,” said Durant.
“No, indeed. What are you, Mr. Durant? You don’t teach, do you? I wish
you had been in the army; I do so like officers, their manners are so
nice. Here we are at home already, I declare. What a pity, we have had
such a nice walk. Mamma, here’s Mr. Durant,” she said, rushing into the
little parlour; “and oh! look here, he is come to say that Arthur ain’t
at all rich--and that Nancy won’t be my lady--and that it’s all a
mistake.”
“What are you saying, Sarah Jane? Shut the door, can’t you, and not
shriek like that in the passage; should you like the girl to hear? I
wonder at you, child. Good evening, Mr. Durant,” said the mother,
stiffly. She did not hold out her hand to him, or ask him to sit down,
with the effusive hospitality of last night, but her daughters were more
kind; Matilda lifted the paper with all her materials off the sofa to
make room for him, and Sarah Jane dragged forth the most comfortable
chair.
“This is the coolest place, Mr. Durant,” she said. “Oh, isn’t it warm
here, with such a big fire? and it is quite a lovely morning, though
there is a breeze; and Mr. Durant and I have had the most delightful
walk!”
The former speech made the mother cold and Matilda kind; this had the
reverse effect--Matilda froze and Mrs. Bates began to thaw. The
gentleman who had taken a delightful walk with her youngest daughter,
was not a man to be frowned upon. Who could tell what might come out of
such a beginning? Mrs. Bates was governed by a different code of laws
from those which move the careful mothers of other spheres. She was not
afraid of delightful walks, or those meetings which are not always
accidental; besides, was not the stranger Arthur’s friend, and
consequently no stranger at all?
“I am sure it is very good of Mr. Durant to take the trouble of talking
to a little scatterbrain like you,” she said; “but girls will be girls;
we can’t put old heads on young shoulders; and indeed, poor things, why
shouldn’t they be light-hearted? We haven’t got much more than good
spirits and good constitutions to give them, Mr. Durant.”
“La, mamma! a great deal Mr. Durant must care for our spirits and our
constitutions!” cried Matilda; “I daresay he has come about business, as
Sarah Jane says. Was it something about Arthur, Sir? But you can’t tell
us anything that will hurt Arthur. We are so fond of him. We would not
believe any harm of him, whatever you might say.”
“I have no wish to say any harm of him,” said Durant; “I may claim,
indeed, to have more affection for him than a stranger can have. He has
been like a brother to me.”
“And I am sure he is very fond of you,” said Mrs. Bates, “a gentleman
couldn’t be fonder of another gentleman than he is of you. But, of
course, you know, Mr. Durant, when people are in love, they think of
nothing else.”
“Poor Curtis!” said Durant unawares. It was true enough that he “was
fond of” his friend; and yet, for the sake of this girl, Arthur had
quarrelled even with his old companion. He felt a profound pity for him
in his heart. What was he doing here, the foolish fellow--in this place,
so unlike everything he had ever known?
“Well!” said Mrs. Bates, “I wouldn’t say poor Curtis. So far as I have
seen, ’tis a happy time. After, when the cares of the world come on, and
there’s not means enough, or so forth, I might call ’em poor; but not
just now when everything is colour de rose. And, thank Heaven! there
cannot be any trouble about means with dear Arthur. Sarah Jane says, you
say he isn’t rich? that may be, Mr. Durant. I don’t look for wealth when
young folks are happy together, and fond of each other. Money ain’t
everything, as I always tell my girls.”
“No,” said Durant, taken aback. “I only thought, from what Miss Bates
said, that you might be deceived in respect to Curtis’s true position,
that was all. Of course, he has excellent prospects; but his father,
Sir John, is comparatively a young man. He will flourish for the next
twenty years, I hope. And as for the title, that of course--”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Bates with dignity. “And I do hope Sir John will
long be spared to his family. You must not take all that a silly girl
says for Gospel. I think we are quite aware of Mr. Curtis’s position,
Mr. Bates and me. Naturally, we made inquiries. He is not rich, but he
will have enough, I hope, to make a start--and my daughter has a little
of her own.”
“Oh, mamma! what’s two hundred and fifty pounds?” said Matilda, “that’s
Nancy’s fortune. It won’t last long, will it, Mr. Durant? And Arthur
hasn’t got a business, or anything to help him to a living. I think it’s
very kind of Mr. Durant to come and tell us all this about Sir John.”
“And”--said Durant pursuing his advantage, “I must speak plainly,
though it may not be pleasant. Sir John is not a man to take a lenient
view of anything that appears like disobedience. I do not think it
likely, pardon me for saying so, that the family will like the marriage.
They do not know, for one thing, the excellence of Miss Nancy.”
“Oh, Nancy!” said Matilda, under her breath, with a little toss of her
head, and Sarah Jane laughed. Nancy was only Nancy after all, and as for
excellence! Mrs. Bates took the matter differently, as may be supposed.
“I am not going to hear anyone talk disrespectful of my girl,” she said.
“She is as good a girl as ever breathed. I wish Sir John, or the Queen
herself, may have as good, and that ain’t a bad wish, Mr. Durant. She is
one that would do credit to any family, though I say it that shouldn’t.
She’s pretty and she’s good, and knows her duty a deal better than most.
Them that find fault with my Nancy, it’s because they don’t know what
she is. Me and her father could tell them a different story. She never
was one to go after pleasure like the other two.”
“Mamma!” said Matilda and Sarah Jane in a breath.
“Oh yes! I know what I am saying. You are good girls enough, but you’re
not like your sister. You were always the troublesome ones. You’d talk
and laugh with anybody. You have got no proper pride. But Nancy has
always kept herself to herself. However she got to be so fond of Arthur,
I never could make out, for she was not one to take up with strangers;
and never had any affair of the sort, nor so much as kept company with a
gentleman in all her days, till she met with Arthur. Oh! my Nancy is a
very uncommon girl, Mr. Durant. There are very few like her.”
“I am quite ready to believe it,” said Durant, proceeding on his
remorseless career, though compunctions pricked him for what he was
doing. “But Sir John does not know Miss Nancy. And there is Lady Curtis
to be taken into consideration.”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Bates, subdued for the moment, “I don’t deny a lady may
have prejudices. I know by myself--that time when Charley was supposed
to be paying attention to--you remember, girls?--oh yes! a mother is to
be considered. But still--we have no reason to think Lady Curtis is
disagreeable, Mr. Durant, or will not hear reason. The time I am talking
of, about Charley--I took my measures. I got a friend of mine to speak
to the girl; and I met her myself--by accident like; and, I am glad to
say, it all came to nothing,” Mrs. Bates added with a sigh of relief.
“Then you perceive,” said Durant, “that you felt exactly as Lady Curtis
may be expected to feel.”
“Yes--mothers is the same everywhere, I suppose,” said Mrs. Bates, not
without complacence. “A little more money don’t make much difference,
Mr. Durant. If it was the Queen, a mother can’t be more than a mother.
And we’re all alike, never out of anxiety one way or other--thinking of
our children--a deal more than our children ever think of us,” she
added, shaking her head at her daughters with a sigh. “But I suppose
that’s the way of the world.”
“Let us return to Lady Curtis,” said the Devil’s advocate. “She, you
acknowledge, is likely to be prejudiced. You understand that, judging
from the feelings with which you heard of Mr. Charley’s entanglement--”
“It never went so far as an entanglement. Dear, no! you must not think
it was so serious.”
“But this is very serious, Mrs. Bates. Curtis has settled everything to
marry your daughter--so he tells me--and what will Lady Curtis think?
She does not know Miss Nancy, nor you. She will think these are some
designing people who have caught my son--”
At this there was a universal outcry, through which, however, Durant
threaded his way with composure, notwithstanding the threatening and
angry glances which surrounded him on every side.
“Designing people,” he repeated, “who have caught my son. You don’t
suppose I think so, who know you? But Lady Curtis does not know you--and
there is a certain difference between your rank and theirs. It is,
vulgarly speaking, a good match for Miss Nancy. I am speaking from their
point of view--this is how they _must_ think of it, you know. In their
rank of life, people generally meet and consult over a marriage. One
man’s son does not marry another man’s daughter on the same level of
society, without a great many consultations over it, and advances from
one to the other. The young lady has to be introduced to her future
husband’s family, and all the steps towards the marriage are taken
jointly. But there has been nothing of the kind in this case. The
Curtises have not even been informed of it. They found it out by chance.
Fancy then, Mrs. Bates, what their feelings must be? They find
themselves deceived and defied by their son; and they find that you are
quite willing to allow him to marry your daughter without the slightest
communication with his family--”
“Mr. Durant,” said Mrs. Bates, whimpering, “who gave you any right to
come like this and insult us? What have we done to you that you dare to
speak so? Oh! it is well seen that my husband is out, and we have no one
to protect us, girls. But I say it is mean to come here in the morning,
when there’s no one to stand up for us, and trample upon women. I say
it’s a poor sort of thing to do. You daren’t do it--no, he daren’t do
it--if your papa was here.”
“Oh, don’t talk nonsense, mother,” said Matilda, “what could father do?
Is he the one to take care of anybody? Mr. Durant, look here, I don’t
think you’re any way against us, are you? It’s in kindness that you’re
talking, ain’t it? I can’t think that a gentleman would come into a
house, if it was the house of poor folks, like this might be, and put on
a show of being friendly--and mean different. Folks learn a deal in this
world,” said the young woman, pushing away her bonnet-making, and
looking at him more and more keenly with rising suspicion; “but without
you owned to it, I wouldn’t believe that.”
“Miss Bates!” faltered Durant, rising to his feet. He grew crimson under
her honest straightforward look. It was honest and straightforward,
notwithstanding that there must, he felt, have been a certain
double-dealing, more or less, about Arthur; but he was in no position
now to find fault with the double-dealing of others--had he not acted
equivocally himself?
“I did not mean to deceive you,” he said, faltering. “I did not mean to
conceal from you that I was the friend of the Curtis family. I have
never said I approved of the marriage. I have naturally looked upon it
from their point of view.”
“He never said anything different,” said Sarah Jane, crying in sympathy
with her mother. “He never said he was our friend. This is what he has
been saying to me since ever I met him. As if nobody was ladies but
those that are rich! and as if the rest of the world was dirt--as if we
cared for his Curtises and his fine folks!”
“If it is on account of the family you care, Mr. Durant,” said Matilda,
more moderate, “it would be better if you said it straight out.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said, recovering himself, “it was not necessary.
I am not the agent of that family--nor am I the enemy of this family.
But the marriage is very unsuitable, as any man may see; it ought to be
opposed. What happiness can come of it? Judge for yourselves. Curtis
can’t do anything for his living, as Miss Bates says; and your
daughter’s little money, what is it? And if they marry, they will be
altogether dependent on Sir John, who does not like it--who goes further
than that--hates it, and is furious with his son. He would cut him off
with a shilling, if he could. But anyhow, he can stop his allowance; he
would throw them on their own resources--and then what would they do?
You have always kept her at home your daughter tells me; so that she
could do nothing to help. And he could do nothing--what could he do? He
has always been used to live expensively. Mrs. Bates, if you let it go
on, I am very sorry for you. The most likely thing that can happen is,
that they will be dependent on you.”
“Dependent on us!” this was such a dreadful suggestion, that all lesser
impulses of offence were forgotten. They gathered round him in tremulous
anxiety. “You don’t mean to say, Mr. Durant, that they would leave him
without a penny? I am speaking to you like a friend,” said Mrs. Bates,
“I am not particular to ask if you meant it or not. Would they leave him
without a penny?--a young man with all his extravagant ways.”
“Would not you do it yourself, if you thought it would stop such a
marriage?” said Durant.