A REBEL AGAINST FATE
Lady Dashwood smiled through her tears. She had eyes of affection for
this tall, handsome, earnest man who paced up and down the room now
with the burning words on his lips. He was moved to the very heart; it
seemed to him that his scheme was the only way. Lady Dashwood felt
that she could hesitate no longer.
"You are very eloquent, Ralph," she said, "and whatever the faults of
your scheme may be, you are terribly in earnest. It is not for me to
stand in the way. God knows the family pride that I did so much to
foster has done harm enough. It drove your father away from home, it
came between me and my son and my husband, and rendered all the best
years of my life a blank and a desolation. Some day, when I have the
courage, I will tell you why your father left home, and the shameful
deceit that I put upon him. And all to save the family dignity! And
now Mary is as hard as I ever was. Still, the good that lies in that
girl of mine----"
"I know it," Ralph cried. "Mary's is, in reality, a beautiful nature.
But the fires will go out one by one if the cinders are not cleared
away, so that by the time Mary comes to middle age she will be a cold
and distant woman with none to love her. This is why I have
practically turned her out of house and home. Her proper pride will
not permit her to be dependent upon anyone; you may offer her a home
here, but she will never accept it. She will elect to go, out into the
world and get her own living."
"Which she is not the least fitted to do, Ralph."
"Of course she isn't," Ralph exclaimed. "With all her courage and
pride and beauty, she has no equipment to battle with the world. And
yet it is the best thing that could happen to her. She will realise
her own helplessness, she will come to acknowledge that the
typewriting girls and the shop assistants have qualities and virtues
that she does not possess. Oh, those lovely blue eyes will come to see
at last, the mind come to learn that there is dignity in labour and
cheerfulness in the struggle that put family pride to shame. And then
Mary will be the bride for me, the noblest and sweetest mistress that
ever yet ruled at Dashwood. You may laugh at me, grandmother, but that
is my dream. Wherever Mary is, I shall not be far off, she will have a
friend in me."
Lady Dashwood's tears were falling fast now. For the first time she
fully understood the breadth and beauty of Ralph's scheme. It seemed
hard that the misfortune should fall upon Mary, and yet it was all for
the best. Still, tradition and training are not to be put lightly
aside, and the idea of Mary taking her place with the working women of
the county was a vision that caused Lady Dashwood a pang.
"Let us hope that everything will turn out right," she murmured. "I
will not betray your secret, Ralph; I am an old woman, and you are a
strong, masterful man. Still, I shall be bound to offer Mary a home
here, and I am afraid that I shall be glad if she accepts it."
"She won't," Ralph said confidently, "she is too proud. Besides, after
what has happened, she could not stay so near to Dashwood Hall.
Remember, she has reigned there, she has looked for homage as
naturally as a queen. She will go away; probably she will try to
obtain some occupation in London. Anyway, I will see that she does not
starve. And when the lesson is learned and the clouds have cleared
away----"
Ralph paused, there was a strange, tender thrill in his voice. Lady
Dashwood seemed to catch some of his enthusiasm, for a smile lighted
her face.
"You are a clever lad, my dear," she said, "you are one of those who
compel Fate to work for them. Well, it shall be as you desire, so far
as I am concerned. And now let us go down and see what the others are
doing."
Mary was nowhere to be seen, but Mr. Dashwood was in the library. He
seemed more calm and resigned now; he was reading a letter which
appeared to give him some satisfaction.
"From--from Sir Vincent," he said, getting the name out with some
difficulty. "I suppose we must call the young fellow by his proper
title now. Still, he will of course, have to satisfy the family
solicitors first."
"I have one or two further proofs that will induce the family
solicitors to maintain a policy of silence," Ralph said. "The best
thing to do is quietly to accept the new situation. People will talk
for a day or two, and then the incident will be forgotten."
"I suppose so," Dashwood muttered. "Anyway, this is from--er--Sir
Vincent. I am bound to confess that it is not at all a bad letter.
Between ourselves, the fellow is by no means a gentleman. Still,
that's not quite his own fault, probably his mother was quite a common
sort of person. I beg your pardon, Lady Dashwood."
"We need not go into that," Ralph said hastily. "Sir Vincent has
written to you----"
"Really quite a nice letter. He has a suggestion to make. It appears
that he is by no means disposed to stay quietly here and live the life
of a country landlord. He does not care for sport to begin with, in
fact, he dislikes a rural life. And he seems to think that marriage
is--is not good enough. He therefore proposes that Mary and myself
should look upon Dashwood as our present home, that Mary should take
her place as mistress there. Really, this gets us out of a great
difficulty. I have no money beyond a pittance of a hundred or so a
year, and Mary has nothing whatever. As a sensible girl, she will
accept this offer."
Ralph said nothing. It was not for him to persuade George Dashwood one
way or another. He rather despised the weak creature who had posed as
the head of the family. But Ralph could give a shrewd guess at Mary's
answer.
Mary came back presently a little before tea-time. She had been over
at the Hall, she said, looking after certain belongings of her own.
The trace of tears was still on her face, but her small mouth had a
steely purpose. She lay back in her chair in the great hall, sipping
her tea, and looking out into the garden beyond. Ever and again there
came a yearning look in her eyes. She said nothing, and vouchsafed no
information, when a footman brought her a telegram presently. With a
guilty air her father placed Vincent Dashwood's letter in her hand.
"I want you to read that, my dear," he said blandly. "To my mind, it
is an admirable letter and the sentiments in it are beyond question;
in fact, I may admit that I was quite touched by it. The fellow is
evidently a gentleman at heart. I want you to read the letter
carefully and send a reply on behalf of both of us."
Dashwood spoke glibly enough, but he was obviously ill at ease. He
seemed to have lost all his dignity, his haggard face looked almost
mean as he glanced furtively at Mary as she read the letter through,
very slowly. Her face grew hard and bitter, though something like a
contemptuous smile flickered over her lips.
"This is generosity indeed," she said. "So the beggars are to be
offered a home, with board and lodging and perhaps wages. I am to be
mistress of the house where for two years I have had my own way, in a
house where you have been master. We are to humble our pride and take
the place of the housekeeper and steward, to be polite to a man whom,
from the bottom of my heart, I loathe and despise. Oh, the situation
would be farcical but for the note of bitter tragedy in it. So you
want me to answer this letter. So far as I am concerned I answer
thus."
With fierce energy Mary tore the letter across and then across again,
and flung the fragments amongst the flowers on the great hearthstone.
"My dear," Dashwood protested, "really, Mary. Have you considered what
you are going to do, that you are practically penniless?"
"There is always a home for Mary and her father here," Lady Dashwood
murmured.
"That--that is very good of you," Dashwood stammered, "but I could not
think of putting you to so much inconvenience. Mary may do what she
pleases, but for my part I am going to accept the offer so kindly made
by the new--er--head of the family. I presume that Mary means to stay
here for the present, at any rate, and----"
"No," Mary cried. She had risen to her feet, and was glaring from one
to the other of the little group with eyes filled with resolution. She
was very pale, her lips were trembling, but she contrived to keep her
voice steady. "No, I will not remain here, I will not stay anywhere to
eat the bread of charity. Dear Lady Dashwood, you will forgive me if I
seem to be harsh or ungrateful after all your loving kindness to me.
But I have been troubled and humiliated enough, and I could not stand
any more of it. My father can do as he chooses: if he likes to humble
himself in this way it is no business of mine. But I am going away to
London; everything has been arranged. The telegram I had just now
confirms it. And I have got my belongings together. My plans are made,
and it only remains for me to say goodbye."
Lady Dashwood rose hastily to her feet. She felt vaguely alarmed and
agitated, now that matters had come to this pass. She gripped Mary by
the hand.
"Going," she faltered, "going, and when and where? Oh, do nothing
hastily."
"There has been nothing hasty about it," Mary said as she kissed the
speaker. "Believe me, I am not doing anything that is rash. And as to
the rest, I am going very soon indeed. In fact I expect to sleep in
London tonight."