OFF AND ON
But even a woman cannot calculate with certainty on what another woman
will or will not do under given circumstances. The greatest generals
have been defeated by unforeseen obstacles. A night's rain or a sandy
road may foil the wisest strategy, destroy the nicest combinations.
Miss Douglas never came to dinner after all, and Daisy, too, was
absent. Mrs. Lushington, outwardly deploring the want of a "young
man" for the "Gordon girls," inwardly puzzled her brains to account
for the joint desertion of her principal performers, a frightful
suspicion crossing her mind that she might have been too vigorous in
her measures, and so frightened Satanella into carrying Daisy off with
her, _nolens volens_, once for all. She had short notes of excuse,
indeed, from both; but with these she was by no means satisfied: the
lady pleading headache, the gentleman a pre-engagement, since called to
mind--this might mean anything. But if they _had_ gone away together,
she thought, never would she meddle in such matters again!
Not till dinner was over, and Bessie Gordon had sat down to sing
plaintive ballads in the drawing-room, did she feel reassured; but the
last post brought a few lines from the General in fulfilment of his
pledge to let her know how his wooing had sped.
"Congratulate me," he wrote, "my dear Mrs. Lushington, on having
taken your advice. You were right about procrastination" (the General
loved a long word, and was indeed somewhat pompous when he put pen to
paper). "I am convinced that but for your kind counsels I should hardly
have done justice to myself or the lady for whom I entertain so deep
and lasting a regard. I feel I may now venture to hope time will do
much--constant devotion more. At some future period, not far distant,
it may be my pride to present to you your beautiful young charge in a
new character, as the wife of your obliged and sincere friend--V. St.
Josephs."
"V. St. Josephs?" repeated Mrs. Lushington. "I wonder what V. stands
for. Valentine, if I remember right. And I wonder what on earth he
means _me_ to gather from his letter! I cannot make head or tail of it.
If she has accepted him, what makes him talk about time and devotion?
If she has refused him, surely he never can intend to persevere!
Blanche, Blanche! if you're playing a double game, it will be the worse
for you, and I'll never trust a woman with dark eyes again!"
The Gordon girls, going home in their hired brougham, voted that "dear
Mrs. Lushington had one of her headaches; that Mr. L. was delightful;
that after all, it seemed very selfish of Clara not to have secured
them a couple of men; finally, that they had spent a stupid evening,
and would be too glad to go to bed!"
All details of love-making are probably much alike, nor is there great
room for variety in the putting of that direct question, to which the
path of courtship necessarily conducts its dupe. General St. Josephs
kept no copy of the letter in which he solicited Miss Douglas to
become his wife. That lady tore it immediately into shreds, that went
fluttering up the chimney. Doubtless it was sincere and dignified, even
if diffuse; worthy, too, of a more elaborate answer than the single
line she scribbled in reply:--
"Come and talk it over. I am at home till seven."
His courage rose, however, now he had got fairly into action, and never
had he felt less nervous while dismounting at the well-known door,
than on this supreme occasion, when he was to learn his fate, as he
believed, once for all, from the lips of the woman he loved.
Like most men trained in the school of danger, strong excitement strung
his nerves and cleared his vision, he no longer averted his eyes from
the face that heretofore so dazzled them; on the contrary, entering the
presence of Miss Douglas, he took in her form and features at a glance,
as a man scans the figure of an adversary, while he prepares for attack.
It did not escape him that she looked flurried and depressed, that her
hand trembled, and her colour went and came. Arguing favourably from
these symptoms, he was somewhat disappointed with the first sentence
she addressed to him.
"You wrote me a letter, General," said she, forcing a nervous little
laugh. "Such a funny letter! I didn't quite know what to make of it!"
A funny letter! And his heart had beat, his eyes had filled, his
highest, noblest feelings had been stirred with every line!
He was conscious that his bow seemed stern, even pompous, while he
answered with exceeding gravity--
"Surely I made my meaning clear enough. Surely, Miss Douglas--Blanche;
may I not call you _Blanche_?"
"Yes; if you like," said she impatiently. "It's a hateful name, I
think. That's not my fault. Well, General, what were you going to say?"
He looked and indeed felt perplexed. "I was going to observe," said
he, "that as my question was very straightforward, and very much in
earnest, so all my future happiness depends on your reply."
"I wonder what there is you can see in me to like!" she retorted, with
an impatient movement of her whole body, as if she was in fetters,
and felt the restraint. "I'm not good enough for anybody to care for,
that's the truth, General. There's hardly a girl in London who wouldn't
suit you better than me."
He was looking in her face with sincere admiration.
"That is not the question," he replied. "Surely I am old enough to know
my own mind. Besides, you do not seem conscious of your power. You
could make a bishop fall in love with you in ten minutes, if you chose!"
There came a depth of tenderness in her eyes, a smile, half sad, half
sweet, about her lips, which he interpreted in his own way.
"Do you think so?" said she. "I wish I could believe you. I've not had
a happy youth, and I've not been brought up in a very good school. I
often tell myself I could, and ought to have been better, but somehow
one's whole life seems to be a mistake!"
"A mistake I could rectify, if you would give me the right," answered
St. Josephs, disheartened, but not despairing. "I only ask you to judge
me fairly, to trust me honestly, and to love me some day, if you _can_!"
She gave him her hand. He drew her towards him, and pressed his lips
to her cold, smooth brow. No more, and yet he fancied she was his own
at last. Already half pledged, already half an affianced wife. She
released herself quickly, and sat down on the farther side of her
work-table.
"You are very generous," she said, "and very good. I still maintain you
deserve somebody far superior to me. How odd these sort of things are,
and why do they never turn out as one--expects?"
She was going to say "wishes," but stopped herself in time.
He would _not_ understand.
"Life is made up of hopes and disappointments," he observed. "You do
not seem to hope much, Blanche. I trust, therefore, you will have
less cause for disappointment. I will do all in _my_ power. And now,
dearest, do not call me impatient, fidgetty; but, when do you think
I may look forward to--to making arrangements in which we are to be
equally interested?"
"Oh! I don't know!" she exclaimed, with considerable emphasis. "Not
yet, of course: there's plenty of time. And I'm so hurried and worried,
I can hardly speak! Besides, it's very late. I promised to dine with
Mrs. Lushington, and it's nearly eight o'clock now."
Even from a future help-meet, so broad a hint could not be disregarded.
The General was forced to put on his gloves and prepare for departure.
"But I shall see you again soon," he pleaded. "Shall you be at the
opera--at Mrs. Cramwell's--at Belgrave House?"
"Certainly not at Belgrave House!" she answered impatiently. "I hate a
crush; and that woman asks all the casuals in London. It's a regular
refuge for the destitute. I'm not going there _yet_. I may, perhaps,
when I'm destitute!"
There was a hard ring in her voice that distressed him, and she
perceived it.
"Don't look so wretched," she added kindly. "There are places in the
world besides Belgrave Square and Covent Garden. What do you say to
Punchestown? It's next week, and I'm sure to be _there_!"
He turned pale, seeming no whit reassured. "Punchestown," he repeated.
"What on earth takes you to Punchestown?"
"Don't you know I've got a horse to run?" she said lightly. "I should
like to see it win, and I do _not_ believe they have anything in
Ireland half as good as my beautiful Satanella!"
"Is that all?" he asked in a disturbed voice. "It seems such an odd
reason for a lady; and it's a long journey, you know, with a horrible
crossing at this time of year! Blanche, Miss Douglas, can you not stay
away, as--as a favour to _me_?"
There was an angry flush on her cheek, an angry glitter in her eyes,
but she kept her temper bravely, and only said in mocking accents--
"Already, General! No; if you mean to be a tyrant you must wait till
you come to the throne. I intend to show at Punchestown the first day
of the races. I have made an assignation with _you_. If you like to
keep it, well and good; if you like to let it alone, do! I shall not
break my heart!"
He felt at a disadvantage. She seemed so cool, so unimpressionable,
so devoid of the sentiment and sensibility he longed to kindle in her
nature. For a moment, he could almost have wished to draw back, to
resume his freedom, while there was yet time; but no, she looked so
handsome, so queenly--he had rather be wretched with _her_ than happy
with any other woman in the world!
"Of course, I will not fail," he answered. "I would go a deal further
than Punchestown, only to be within hearing of your voice. When do you
start? If Mrs. Lushington, or anybody you knew well, would accompany
you, why should we not cross over together?"
"Now, you're too exacting," she replied. "Haven't I told you we
shall meet on the course, when the saddling-bell rings for the first
race. Not a moment sooner, and my wish is the law of the Medes and
Persians--as yet!"
The two last words carried a powerful charm. Had he been mature in
wisdom as in years, he ought never to have thought of marrying a woman
who could influence him so easily.
"I shall count the days till then," he replied gallantly. "They will
pass very slowly, but, as the turnspit says in the Spanish proverb,
'the largest leg of mutton must get done in time!' Good-bye, Miss
Douglas. Good luck to you; and I hope Satanella will win!"
He bowed over the hand she gave him, but did not attempt to kiss it,
taking his leave with a mingled deference and interest she could not
but appreciate and admire.
"_Why_ can't I care for him?" she murmured passionately, as the
street-door closed with a bang. "He's good, he's generous, he's a
_gentleman_! Poor fellow, he loves me devotedly; he's by no means ugly,
and he's not so _very_ old! Yet I can't, I can't! And I've promised
him, _almost_ promised him! Well, come what may, I've got a clear week
of freedom still. But what a fool I've been, and oh! what a fool I
_am_!"
Then she sent her excuse to Mrs. Lushington, declined dinner at home,
ordered tea, didn't drink any, and so crept sorrowful and supperless to
bed.