IV

When these two had gone the Duke flung out his hands in a comprehensive

gesture of giving up the entire matter. "Well," said he, "you see how it

is!"

"I do," Lord Brudenel assented. "And if you intend to sit patient under it,

I, at least, wear a sword. Confound it, Jack, do you suppose I am going

to have promiscuous young men dropping out of the skies and embracing my

daughter?" The Earl became forceful in his language.

"Harry,--" the Duke began.

"The fellow hasn't a penny--not a stick or a stiver to his name! He's only

a rascally, impudent younger son--and even Venour has nothing except Agard

Court yonder! That--that crow's nest!" Lord Brudenel spluttered. "They

mooned about together a great deal a year ago, but I thought nothing of

it; then he went away, and she never spoke of him again. Never spoke of

him--oh, the jade!"

The Duke of Ormskirk considered the affair, a mild amusement waking in his

plump face.

"Old friend," said he, at length, "it is my opinion that we are perilously

near to being a couple of fools. We planned this marriage, you and I--dear,

dear, we planned it when Marian was scarcely out of her cradle! But we

failed to take nature into the plot, Harry. It was sensible--Oh, granted!

I obtained a suitable mistress for Ingilby and Bottreaux Towers, a

magnificent ornament for my coach and my opera-box; while you--your pardon,

old friend, if I word it somewhat grossly,--you, in effect, obtained a

wealthy and not uninfluential husband for your daughter. Nay, I think you

are fond of me, but that is beside the mark; it was not Jack Bulmer who was

to marry your daughter, but the Duke of Ormskirk. The thing was as logical

as a sale of bullocks,--value for value. But now nature intervenes,

and"--he snapped his fingers,--"eh, well, since she wants this Humphrey

Degge, of course she must have him."

Lord Brudenel mentioned several penalties which he would voluntarily incur

in case of any such preposterous marriage.

"Your style," the Duke regretfully observed, "is somewhat more original

than your subject. You have a handsome daughter to barter, and you want

your price. The thing is far from uncommon. Yet you shall have your price,

Harry. What estate do you demand of your son-in-law?"

"What the devil are you driving at?" said Lord Brudenel.

Composedly the Duke of Ormskirk spread out his hands. "You have, in effect,

placed Marian in the market," he said, "and I offer to give Lord Humphrey

Degge the money with which to purchase her."

"Tis evident," the Earl considered, "that you are demented!"

"Because I willingly part with money? But then I have a great deal of

money. I have money, and I have power, and the King occasionally pats me

upon the shoulder, and men call me 'your Grace,' instead of 'my Lord,' as

they do you. So I ought to be very happy, ought I not, Harry? Ah, yes,

I ought to be entirely happy, because I have had everything, with the

unimportant exception of the one thing I wanted."

But Lord Brudenel had drawn himself erect, stiffly. "I am to understand,

then, from this farrago, that on account of the--um--a--incident we have

just witnessed you decline to marry my daughter?"

"I would sooner cut off my right hand," said the Duke, "for I am fonder of

Marian than I am of any other living creature."

"Oh, very well!" the Earl conceded, sulkily. "Umfraville wants her. He is

only a marquis, of course, but so far as money is concerned, I believe

he is a thought better off than you. I would have preferred you as a

son-in-law, you understand, but since you withdraw--why, then, let it be

Umfraville."

Now the Duke looked up into his face for some while. "You would do that!

You would sell Marian to Umfraville--[Footnote: "Whose entrance blushing

Satan did deny Lest hell be thought no better than a sty."] to a person who

unites the continence of a partridge with the graces of a Berkshire hog--to

that lean whoremonger, to that disease-rotted goat! Because he has the

money! Why, Harry, what a car you are!"

Lord Brudenel bowed, "My Lord Duke, you are to-day my guest. I apprehend

you will presently be leaving Halvergate, however, and as soon--as that

regrettable event takes place, I shall see to it a friend wait upon you

with the length of my sword. Meanwhile I venture to reserve the privilege

of managing my family affairs at my own discretion."

"I do not fight with hucksters," the Duke flung at him, "and you are one.

Oh, you peddler! Can you not understand that I am trying to buy your

daughter's happiness?"

"I intend that my daughter shall make a suitable match," replied the Earl,

stubbornly, "and she shall. If Marian is a sensible girl--and, barring

to-day, I have always esteemed her such,--she will find happiness in

obeying her father's mandates: otherwise--" He waved the improbable

contingency aside.

"Sensible! Faith, can you not see, even now, that to be sensible is not the

highest wisdom? You and I are sensible as the world goes,--and in God's

name, what good does it do us? Here we sit, two miserable and empty-veined

old men squabbling across a deal-table, breaking up a friendship of

thirty years. And yonder Marian and this Humphrey Degge--who are

within a measurable distance of insanity, if their conversation be the

touchstone,--yet tread the pinnacles of some seventh heaven of happiness.

April has brought them love, Harry. Oh, I concede their love is folly! But

it is all folly, Harry Heleigh. Purses, titles, blue ribbons, and the envy

of our fellows are the toys which we struggle for, we sensible men; and in

the end we find them only toys, and, gaining them, we gain only weariness.

And love, too, is a toy; but, gaining love, we gain, at least, a temporary

happiness. There is the difference, Harry Heleigh."

"Oh, have done with your, balderdash!" said Lord Brudenel. He spoke

irritably, for he knew his position to be guaranteed by common-sense, and

his slow wrath was kindling at opposition.

His Grace of Ormskirk rose to his feet, all tension. In the act his hand

struck against the open despatch-box; afterward, with a swift alteration

of countenance, he overturned this box and scattered the contents about

the table. For a moment he seemed to forget Lord Brudenel; quite without

warning Ormskirk flared into rage.

"Harry Heleigh, Harry Heleigh!" he cried, as he strode across the terrace,

and caught Lord Brudenel roughly by the shoulder, "are you not content to

go to your grave without killing another woman? Oh, you dotard miser!--you

haberdasher!--haven't I offered you money, an isn't money the only thing

you are now capable of caring for? Give the girl to Degge, you huckster!"

Lord Brudenel broke from the Duke's grasp. Brudenel was asplutter with

anger. "I will see you damned first. You offer money,--I fling the money

in your fat face. Look you, you have just insulted, me, and now you

offer--money! Another insult. John Bulmer, I would not accept an affront

like this from an archangel. You are my guest, but I am only flesh and

blood. I swear to you this is the most deliberate act of my life." Lord

Brudenel struck him full upon the cheek.

"Pardon," said the Duke of Ormskirk. He stood rigid, his arms held stiff at

his sides, his hands clenched; the red mark showed plain against an ashy

countenance. "Pardon me for a moment." Once or twice he opened and shut his

eyes like an automaton. "And stop behaving so ridiculously. I cannot fight

you. I have other matters to attend to. We are wise, Harry,--you and I.

We know that love sometimes does not endure; sometimes it flares up

at a girl's glance, quite suddenly, and afterward smoulders out into

indifference or even into hatred. So, say we, let all sensible people marry

for money, for then in any event you get what you marry for,--a material

benefit, a tangible good, which does no vanish when the first squabble, or

perhaps the first gray hair, arrives. That is sensible; but women, Harry,

are not always sensible--"

"Draw, you coward!" Lord Brudenel snarled at him. The Earl had already

lugged out his ineffectual dress sword, and would have been, as he stood on

guard, a ludicrous figure had he not been rather terrible. His rage shook

him visibly, and his obstinate mouth twitched and snapped like that of a

beast cornered. All gray he was, and the sun glistened on his gray tye-wig

as he waited. His eyes were coals.

But Ormskirk had regained composure. "You know that I am not a coward," the

Duke said, equably. "I have proven it many times. Besides, you overlook two

details. One is that I have no sword with me, I am quite unarmed. The other

detail is that only gentlemen fight duels, and just now we are hucksters,

you and I, chaffering over Marian's happiness. So I return to my

bargaining. You will not sell Marian's happiness to me for money? Why,

then--remember, we are only hucksters, you and I,--I will purchase it by a

dishonorable action. I will show you a woman's letters,--some letters I was

going to burn romantically before I married--Instead, I wish you to read

them."

He pushed the papers lying upon the table toward Lord Brudenel. Afterward

Ormskirk turned away and stood looking over the ivy-covered balustrade into

the gardens below. All white and green and blue the vista was, and of a

monastic tranquillity, save for the plashing of the fountain behind the

yew-hedge. From the gardens at his feet irresolute gusts brought tepid

woodland odors. He heard the rustling of papers, heard Lord Brudenel's

sword fall jangling to the ground. The Duke turned.

"And for twenty years I have been eating my heart out with longing for

her," the Earl said. "And--and I thought you were my friend, Jack."

"She was not your wife when I first knew her. But John Bulmer was a

penniless nobody,--so they gave her to you, an earl's heir, those sensible

parents of hers. I never saw her again, though--as you see,--she wrote to

me sometimes. And her parents did the sensible thing; but I think they

killed her, Harry."

"Killed her?" Lord Brudenel echoed, stupidly. Then on a sudden it was

singular to see the glare in his eyes puffed out like a candle. "I killed

her," he whispered; "why, I killed Alison,--I!" He began to laugh. "Now

that is amusing, because she was the one thing in the world I ever loved.

I remember that she used to shudder when I kissed her. I thought it was

because she was only a brown and thin and timid child, who would be wiser

in love's tricks by and by. Now I comprehend 'twas because every kiss was

torment to her, because every time I touched her 'twas torment. So she

died very slowly, did Alison,--and always I was at hand with my kisses, my

pet names, and my paddlings,--killing her, you observe, always urging her

graveward. Yes, and yet there is nothing in these letters to show how much

she must have loathed me!" he said, in a mild sort of wonder. He appeared

senile now, the shrunken and calamitous shell of the man he had been within

the moment.

The Duke of Ormskirk put an arm about him. "Old friend, old friend!" said

he.

"Why did you not tell me?" the Earl said. "I loved you, Jack. I worshipped

her. I would never willingly have seen you two unhappy."

"Her parents would have done as you planned to do,--they would have given

their daughter to the next richest suitor. I was nobody then. So the wisdom

of the aged slew us, Harry,--slew Alison utterly, and left me with a living

body, indeed, but with little more. I do not say that body has not amused

itself. Yet I too, loved her, Harry Heleigh. And when I saw this new

Alison--for Marian is her mother, face, heart, and soul,--why, some wraith

of emotion stirred in me, some thrill, some not quite forgotten pulse. It

seemed Alison come back from the grave. Love did not reawaken, for youth's

fervor was gone out of me, yet presently I fell a-dreaming over my Madeira

on long winter evenings,--sedate and tranquil dreams of this new Alison

flitting about Ingilby, making the splendid, desolate place into a home. Am

old man's fancies, Harry,--fancies bred of my loneliness, for I am lonely

nowadays. But my dreams, I find, were not sufficiently comprehensive; for

they did not anticipate April,--and nature,--and Lord Humphrey Degge. We

must yield to that triumvirate, we sensible old men. Nay, we are wise as

the world goes, but we have learned, you and I, that to be sensible is not

the highest wisdom. Marian is her mother in soul, heart, and feature. Don't

let the old tragedy be repeated, Harry. Let her have this Degge! Let Marian

have her chance of being happy, for a year or two...."

But Lord Brudenel had paid very little attention. "I suppose so," he said,

when the Duke had ended. "Oh, I suppose so. Jack, she was always kind and

patient and gentle, you understand, but she used to shudder when I kissed

her," he repeated, dully,--"shudder, Jack." He sat staring at his sword

lying there on the ground, as though it fascinated him.

"Ah, but,--old friend," the Duke cried, with his hand upon Lord Brudenel's

shoulder, "forgive me! It was the only way."

Lord Brudenel rose to his feet. "Oh, yes! why, yes, I forgive you, if that

is any particular comfort to you. It scarcely seems of any importance,

though. The one thing which really matters is that I loved her, and I

killed her. Oh, beyond doubt, I forgive you. But now that you have made my

whole past a hideous stench to me, and have proven the love I was so proud

of--the one quite clean, quite unselfish thing in my life, I thought it,

Jack,--to have been only my lust vented on a defenceless woman,--why, just

now, I have not time to think of forgiveness. Yes, Marian may marry Degge

if she cares to. And I am sorry I took her mother away from you. I would

not have done it if I had known."

Brudenel started away drearily, but when he had gone a little distance

turned back.

"And the point of it is," he said, with a smile, "that I shall go on living

just as if nothing had happened, and shall probably live for a long, long

time. My body is so confoundedly healthy. How the deuce did you have the

courage to go on living?" he demanded, enviously. "You loved her and you

lost her. I'd have thought you would have killed yourself long ago."

The Duke shrugged. "Yes, people do that in books. In books they have such

strong emotions--"

Then Ormskirk paused for a heart-beat, looking down into the gardens.

Wonderfully virginal it all seemed to Ormskirk, that small portion of

a world upon the brink of renaissance: a tessellation of clean colors,

where the gravelled walkways were snow beneath the sun, and were in shadow

transmuted to dim violet tints; and for the rest, green ranging from the

sober foliage of yew and box and ilex to the pale glow of young grass

In the full sunlight; all green, save where the lake shone, a sapphire

green-girdled. Spring triumphed with a vaunting pageant. And in the

forest, in the air, even in the unplumbed sea-depths, woke the mating

impulse,--irresistible, borne as it might seem on the slow-rising tide

of grass that now rippled about the world. Everywhere they were mating;

everywhere glances allured and mouth met mouth, while John Bulmer went

alone without any mate or intimacy with anyone.

Everywhere people were having emotions which Ormskirk envied. He had so few

emotions nowadays. Even all this posturing and talk about Alison Heleigh in

which he had just indulged began to savor somehow of play-acting. He had

loved Alison, of course, and that which he had said was true enough--in

a way,--but, after all, he had over-colored it. There had been in his

life so many interesting matters, and so many other women too, that the

loss of Alison could not be said to have blighted his existence quite

satisfactorily. No, John Bulmer had again been playing at the big emotions

which he heard about and coveted, just as at this very moment John Bulmer

was playing at being sophisticated and _blasé_... with only poor old Harry

for audience....

"A great deal of me did die," the Duke heard this John Bulmer

saying,--"all, I suppose, except my carcass, Harry. And it seemed hardly

worth the trouble to butcher that also."

"No," Lord Brudenel conceded, "I suppose not. I wonder, d'ye know, will

anything ever again seem really worth the trouble of doing it?"

The Duke of Ormskirk took his arm. "Fy, Harry, bid the daws seek their food

elsewhere, for a gentleman may not wear his heart upon his sleeve. Empires

crumble, and hearts break, and we are blessed or damned, as Fate elects;

but through it all we find comfort in the reflection that dinner is good,

and sleep, too, is excellent. As for the future--eh, well, if it mean

little to us, it means a deal to Alison's daughter. Let us go to them,

Harry."