MADAM'S ADVICE.
A dinner-party at Dallory Hall. Arthur Bohun was in his chamber,
lazily dressing for it. Not a large party, this: half-a-dozen people
or so, besides themselves; and the hour six o'clock. Two gentlemen,
bidden to it, would have to leave by train afterwards: on such
occasions dinner of necessity must be early.
Mr. North and Richard did not approve of madam's dinners at the most
favourable times: now, with all the care of the strike upon them and
the trouble looming in the distance if that strike lasted: the
breaking up of their business, the failure of their means: they
looked on these oft-recurring banquets as especially reprehensible.
They were without power to stop them; remonstrance availed not with
madam. Sometimes the dinners were impromptu, or nearly so, madam
inviting afternoon callers at the Hall to stay, or bringing home a
carriage-full of guests with her. As was partly the case on this day.
Captain Arthur Bohun, who liked to take most things easily, dressing
included, stood hair-brush in hand. He had moved away from the glass,
and was looking from the open window. His thoughts were busy. They ran
on that little episode of the morning, when madam, passing in her
carriage, had seen him with Ellen Adair, and had chosen to display her
sentiments on the subject in the manner described. That it would not
end there, Arthur felt sure; madam would inevitably treat him to a
little more of her mind. It was rather a singular thing--as if Fate
had been intervening with its usual cross purposes--for circumstances
so to have ordered it that madam should still be in ignorance of their
intimacy. Almost always when Mrs. Cumberland was at home, it chanced
that madam was away; and, when madam was at the Hall, Mrs. Cumberland
was elsewhere. Thus, during Mrs. Cumberland's prolonged stay at Niton,
madam's presence blessed her household; the very week that that lady
returned to Dallory Ham, madam took her departure, and had only
recently returned. She had spent the interval in Germany. Sidney
North, her well-beloved son, giving trouble as usual to all who were
connected with him, had found England rather warm for him in early
spring, and had betaken himself to Germany. His chief point of sojourn
was Homburg, and madam, with her daughter Matilda, had been making it
hers since the spring. Mr. North, in the relief her absence brought
him, had used every exertion to supply her with the money she so
rapaciously sent home for. It would appear that the accommodation had
not been sufficient, for--as was soon to be discovered by Richard--the
cheques shown to him by his father had been drawn by her at Homburg.
And so, as Fate or Fortune had willed it, Mrs. North had been out of
the way of watching the progress of the intimacy between her son and
Ellen Adair.
A quick knock at the chamber-door, and madam swept in, a large crimson
rose, just brought from the greenhouse, adorning her jet-black hair,
her white silk gown rustling and trailing after her. As well as though
she had already spoken, Arthur knew what she had come for. He thought
that she was losing no time and must have hurried over her toilette
purposely. The carriage had not long returned home, for she and
Matilda had been to a distance, and remained out to luncheon. Arthur,
not moving from where he was, began brushing his hair haphazard.
"I suppose I am late, madam?"
"Was it _you_ that I passed this afternoon in Dallory Ham, talking to
some girl?" began madam, taking no notice of his remark.
"It was me, safe enough; I had been calling on Mrs. Cumberland,"
replied Arthur, carelessly. "Dick also. By the way you stared, madam,
I fancied you scarcely knew me."
A little banter. Madam might take it seriously, or not, as she chose.
She went round to the other side of the dressing-table, and stood
opposite him at the window.
"What girl were you talking to?"
"Girl! I was with Miss Adair."
"Who _is_ she, Arthur?"
"She is Mrs. Cumberland's ward."
"What do you know of her?"
"I know her as being at Mrs. Cumberland's. I see her when I go there."
Was he really indifferent? Standing there brushing away at his hair
lazily, his apparently supreme indifference could not be exceeded.
Madam scanned his face in momentary silence; _he_ was closely intent
upon two sparrows, fighting over a reddening cherry on the branch of a
tree.
"Fight away, young gentlemen; battle it out; you'll have all the
better appetite for supper."
"Will you attend to me for a short time, Captain Bohun?" spoke madam,
irritably.
"Certainly; I am attending," was the captain's ready answer.
Just for an instant madam paused. This was not one of the daily petty
grievances that she made people miserable over, but a trouble to her
of awful meaning, almost as of life or death. In this, her own grave
interests, she could control her temper, and she thought it might be
the better policy to do so whilst she dealt with it.
"Arthur, you know that you are becoming more valuable to me," she
said, with calmness; and Arthur Bohun opened his surprised ears at the
words and tone. "Since Sidney took up his abode away from England, and
cannot come back to it, poor fellow, for the present you are all I
have here. If I speak, it is for your welfare."
"Very good of you, I am sure," returned Arthur, seeing she waited for
him to say something, and feeling how two-faced the words were, mother
of his though she was. "What is it you wish to say?"
"It's about that girl, Miss--what do you call her?--Adair. Young men
will be young men; soldiers especially; I know that; but wrong is
wrong, and it cannot by the most ingenious sophistry be converted into
right. It is quite wrong to play with these village girls, as you seem
to be doing with Miss Adair."
Arthur threw back his head as though his pride were hurt. Madam had
seen just the same movement in his father.
"I have no intention of _playing_ with Miss Adair."
A gleam shot from her eyes--half fear, half defiance. She bit her lip,
and went on in a still softer tone.
"You cannot mean anything _worse_, Arthur."
"I do not understand you, madam. Worse? Worse than what?"
"Anything serious. To play with village girls is reprehensible;
but----"
"I beg your pardon, mother; this is quite unnecessary. The playing
with village girls--whatever that may mean--is not a habit of mine,
and never has been. The caution might be more appropriate if applied
to your men-servants than it is to me."
"Allow me to finish, Arthur. To play with village girls is
reprehensible; but to intend anything serious with one would be far
more so in your case. Will you profit by the caution?"
"If you wish me to comprehend the word 'serious,' you must speak out.
What does it mean?"
"It means _marriage_," she answered, with an outburst of temper--as
far as tone might convey it. "I allude to this absurd intimacy of
yours with Miss Adair. You must be intimate with the girl; your look
and attitude, as I passed to-day, proved it."
"And if I did mean marriage, what then?"
He asked the question jokingly, laughing a little; but he was not
prepared for the effect it had on his mother. Her eyes flashed fire,
her lips trembled, her face turned white as death.
"Marriage! With _her?_ You must be dreaming, Arthur Bohun."
"Not dreaming; joking," he said, lightly. "You may be at ease, madam;
I have no intention of marrying any one at present."
"You must never marry Miss Adair."
"No?"
"Arthur Bohun, you are treating all this with mockery," she exclaimed,
beginning to believe that he really was so; and the relief was great,
though the tacit disrespect angered her. "How dare you imply that you
could think seriously of these village girls?--only to annoy and
frighten me."
"You must be easily frightened to-day, madam. I don't think I did
imply it. As to Miss Adair----"
"Yes, as to Miss Adair," fiercely interrupted madam. "Go on."
"I was about to say that, in speaking of Miss Adair, we might as well
recognize her true position. It is not quite respectful to be alluding
to her as a 'village girl.' She is a lady, born and bred."
"Perhaps you will next say that she is equal to the Bohuns?"
"I do not wish to say it. Don't you think this conversation may as
well cease, madam?" added Arthur, after a short pause. "Why should it
have been raised? One might suppose I had asked your consent to my
marriage, whereas you know perfectly well that I am a poor man, with
not the slightest chance of taking a wife."
"Poor men get engaged sometimes, Arthur, thinking they will wait--and
wait. Seeing you with that girl--the world calls her good-looking, I
believe--I grew into an awful fright for your sake. It would be most
disastrous for you to marry beneath your rank--a Bohun never holds up
his head afterwards, if he does that; and I thought I ought to speak a
word of warning to you. You must take a suitable wife when you do
marry--one fitted to mate with the future Sir Arthur Bohun."
"To mate with plain Arthur Bohun. To call me the future Sir Arthur is
stretching possibility very wide indeed, madam," he added, laughing.
"Not at all. You will as surely succeed as that I am telling you so.
Look at that puny James Bohun! A few years at most will see the last
of him."
"I hope not, for his father's sake. Any way, he may live long enough
to marry and leave children behind him. Is your lecture at an end,
madam?" he jestingly concluded. "If so, perhaps you may as well leave
me to get my coat on, or I shall have to keep dinner waiting."
"I have another word," said madam; "your coat can wait. Miss Dallory
dines here."
"Miss Dallory! I thought she was in Switzerland. Did she come over in
a balloon to dine with us?"
"She is staying with her brother Frank. I and Matilda called at Ham
Court just now and brought her with us."
"Did you bring him also?"
"I did not see him; they said he was not in the way. But now why do I
mention this?"
"As a bit of gossip for me, I suppose. It's very good of you. My coat
and dinner can certainly wait."
"I have brought Miss Dallory here for your sake, Arthur Bohun," was
the rejoinder, spoken with emphatic meaning. "_She_ is the young lady
you will do well to think of as your future wife."
Madam went out of the room with much stately rustle, and swept
downstairs. Another minute, and the door opened again to admit Richard
North. Captain Bohun had not progressed further in dressing, or
stirred from his place, but was leaning against the window-frame,
whistling softly.
"Madam's in a way, is she not?" began Richard, in low tones. "My
window was open, Arthur, and I was obliged to catch a word here and
there. I made all kinds of noises, but you did not take the hint."
"_She_ didn't; and I would as soon you heard as not," was Captain
Bohun's answer. "You are ready, I see, Dick."
"The course of true love never did run smooth, you know," said
Richard, laughing.
"And never will. Whenever I read of the old patriarchal days, in which
a man had only to fix on a wife and bring her home to his tent; and
look on all that has to be considered in these--money, suitability of
family, settlements--I wonder whether it can be the same world. Madam
need not fear that I have any chance of marrying."
"Or you wouldn't long be a bachelor?"
"I don't know about that."
"You don't know! Why, you do know, and so do I. I've seen how it is
for some weeks now, Arthur."
"Seen what?"
Richard smiled.
"Seen what?"
"How it is between you and Ellen Adair."
"You think you have?"
"Think! You love her, don't you?"
Arthur Bohun put down the hair-brush gently, and moved to take up his
coat.
"Dick, old fellow, whether it will come to anything between us or not,
I cannot tell," he said, his voice strangely deep, his brow flushing
with emotion, "but I shall never care for any one else as I care for
her."
"Then secure her," answered Dick.
"I might be tempted to do it, in spite of my mother, had I the
wherewithal to set up a home; but I haven't."
"You have more than double what Rane and Bessy have."
"Rane and Bessy! But Bessy is one in a thousand. I couldn't ask a wife
to come home to me on that."
"Just as you think well, of course. Take care, though, you don't get
her snapped up. I should fear it, if it were my case. Ellen Adair is
the loveliest girl I ever saw, and I think her the sweetest, I could
only look at her as we sat in Mrs. Cumberland's room this morning.
Other men will be finding it out, Arthur, if they have not already
done so."
Arthur never answered. He had gone back to his former post, and was
leaning against the window-frame, looking out dreamily.
"Madam objects, I presume?"
"I presume she would, if I put it to her," assented Arthur, as if the
proposition admitted of no dispute.
"I don't see why she should do so, or you, either."
"I'm afraid, Dick, we Bohuns have our full share of family pride."
"But Mr. Adair is, no doubt, a gentleman?"
"Oh yes. That is, not in trade," added Arthur, carelessly.
"Well, a gentleman is a gentleman," said Richard.
"Of course. But I take it for granted that he holds no position in the
world. And we Bohuns, you know----"
Arthur stopped. Richard North laughed. "You Bohuns would like to mate
only with position. A daughter, for example, of the Lord-Lieutenant of
the county."
"Exactly," assented Arthur, echoing the laugh, but very much in
earnest for all that. "Madam has been recommending Miss Dallory to my
notice."
"Who?" cried Richard, rather sharply.
"Miss Dallory."
"You might do worse," observed Richard, after a pause.
"No doubt of that. She is downstairs."
"Who is downstairs?"
"She. So madam has just informed me."
"There's the gong."
"And be hanged to it!" returned Arthur, getting into his coat. "I wish
to goodness madam did not give us the trouble of putting on dinner
dress every other day! Neither are entertainments seemly in your house
during these troubled times."
"What's more, I don't see how they will be paid for, if the trouble
continues," candidly spoke Richard. "Madam must be uncommonly sanguine
to expect it."
"Or careless," returned Arthur Bohun. "Dick, my friend, it's a bad
sign when a man has no good word to give his mother."
That every grain of filial affection had long gone out of his breast
and been replaced by a feeling akin to shame and contempt, Arthur
Bohun was only too conscious of. He strove to be dutiful; but it was
at times a hard task. Living under the same roof as his mother, her
sins against manners and good feeling were brought under his notice
perpetually; he was more sensitively alive to them than even others
could be.
Since Arthur Bohun had quitted the army and recovered from the long
sickness that followed on his wound, Dallory Hall had been his
ostensible home. Latterly he had made it really so; for Dallory Ham
contained an attraction from which he could not tear himself. Ellen
Adair had his heart's best love: and, far from her he could not
wander. A pure, ardent love, honourable as every true passion must be
in an honourable man, but swaying his every action with its power. Sir
Nash Bohun invited him in vain. His aunt, Miss Bohun, with whom he was
a great favourite, wondered why he went so rarely to see her; or, when
he did go, made his visit a flying one. Arthur Bohun possessed a few
hundreds a-year: about four: just enough to keep him as a gentleman:
and he had none of the bad habits that run away with young men's
money. Miss Bohun would leave him fairly well off when she died: so he
was at ease as to the future. One day, after he had been at Dallory
Hall for a few months, he put a hundred-pound banknote into Richard
North's hands.
"What is this for?" questioned Richard.
Arthur told him. The embarrassments in the Hall's financial
department, caused by madam, were lightly touched on: this was
Arthur's contribution towards his own share of the housekeeping. In
the surprise of the moment, Richard North's spirit rose, and fought
against it. Arthur quietly persisted.
"As long as I pitch my tent amongst you here, I shall hand over this
sum every six months. To you, Dick; there's no one else to be trusted
with it. If I gave it to Bessy, she would be safe to speak about it,
and it might be wiled out of her."
"I never heard such nonsense in my life," cried Richard. "You will not
get me to take it. I wouldn't countenance anything of the sort."
"Yes you will, Dick, Yon wouldn't like me to take up my abode at the
Dallory Arms. I declare on my honour I shall do so, if I am forced to
be as a guest at the Hall."
"But, Arthur----"
"Dick, my friend, there's no need of argument. I mean what I say.
Don't drive me away. The Dallory Arms would not be a very comfortable
home; and I should drift away, goodness knows where."
"As if one inmate, more or less, made any difference in our home
expenses."
"As if it did not. I have no right or claim whatever to be living on
your father. Don't make me small in my own eyes, frère Richard. You
know that you'd feel the same in my place, and do the same. No one
need know of this but our two selves, Dick."
Richard gave in: he saw that Arthur was resolute: and after all, it
was just. So he took the banknote into account, and told his father
about it; and Arthur Bohun stayed on, his conscience at peace. Once,
in one of madam's furious onslaughts, when she spared no one, she
abused her son for staying at the Hall, and living upon her. Upon
_her!_ Arthur parried the attack with careless good-humour, merely
saying he was Dick's guest. When Dick turned him out of the Hall, he
should go.