WHO IS MRS. WINSLADE?
Although the Vicar of St. Michael's, in the exuberance of his good
nature, had allowed Philip Winslade to infer that there was no reason
why Mrs. Sudlow might not be expected to look upon the young man's
suit with eyes as favourable as those with which he himself was
inclined to regard it, he felt far from sure in his own mind that such
would really be the case. He knew that his wife was a woman of strong
prejudices and narrow sympathies, who had a habit of nourishing
petty resentments till they swelled out of all proportion to the
original cause of offence, whether it chanced to be real or merely
supposititious. For his own part, he would have gladly welcomed Phil
for a son-in-law. He--the Rev. Louth--was, comparatively speaking, a
poor man. There seemed little prospect of any further preferment for
him; he had eight younger olive-branches to provide for, who were
growing more expensive year by year; and to be able to get his eldest
daughter off his hands, and married to one who he felt sure would
make her a good husband, seemed to him one of those things devoutly
to be wished. He was not a man of strong will, nor even one of those
who contrive to mask their moral cowardice under the bluster of
self-assertion. Dear to his heart were peace and quietness, more
especially on the domestic hearth. As he rang the vicarage bell this
evening his courage sank a little at the prospect before him. His
conscience was too sensitive to allow him to shirk what he deemed to
be a duty, how disagreeable soever it might be to him; but that did
not render its discharge any the easier.
Dinner came as a brief respite. It was not till later, after the
younger members of the family had retired for the night and husband
and wife were left alone in the drawing-room, that the Vicar braced
himself to the task before him.
Mrs. Sudlow was a small, slight, fair woman, with chilly blue eyes,
pinched features, and a somewhat worn and acid expression; but whether
the latter was due to the fact that she found the cares of a numerous
family weigh heavily upon her, or whether it had its origin in those
fictitious troubles which some women make a point of creating for
themselves, hugging them all the more fondly in that they have no
substantial existence, was a moot point, and one which, happily, no
one was called upon to decide.
The Vicar laid down the _Times_, which he had been making a pretence
of reading, hemmed and gave a tug at the bottom of his waistcoat. His
wife was seated opposite him, busy with some fancy embroidery.
"My dear, I picked up young Winslade this afternoon, or, to speak more
accurately, he picked me up, at Downhills station. He was on his way
from London to spend a few days with his mother."
Not the slightest notice took Mrs. Sudlow. Her husband might have been
addressing himself to the chimney-piece for any heed vouchsafed by
her.
Again the Vicar cleared his voice.
"From what he told me, it appears that he has been over to America on
some special matter for his employer, and, by a rather singular
coincidence, it so happened that he crossed from New York in the same
steamer that brought my sister and Fanny. By the way, I don't think
that Fan, in the letter she wrote us after landing, as much as
mentioned young Winslade's name."
"Why should she? Doubtless to her such a detail seemed too
insignificant to be worth recording."
This was not a very promising beginning, but there could be no drawing
back now; whatever might be the result, he must go through with that
which he had made up his mind to say.
"There may, perhaps, have been another and a totally opposite reason
why Fan made no mention of Philip Winslade in her letter."
"What _do_ you mean? The older you get, Louth, the fonder you become
of beating about the bush when you have anything to say."
"That's your opinion, is it, my love?" he demanded, not without a
shade of irritation. "Well, then, in what I am about to tell you there
shall be no beating about the bush--none whatever. Here, in a few
words, is the long and the short of it. Fan and young Winslade
met on board the _Parthenia_, doubtless as old acquaintances, they
having known each other for years. My sister being prostrated by
sea-sickness, they were naturally thrown much together, and by the
time Liverpool was reached had contrived to fall in love with each
other, and come to some sort of a mutual understanding in the affair.
Had Winslade and I not met in the train, it was his intention to have
sought an interview with me in the course of Monday next."
Mrs. Sudlow's needle came to a halt midway in a stitch, and the line
of her lips hardened till the division between them was scarcely
perceptible.
There was a brief space of silence when the Vicar had brought his
statement to an end. Then Mrs. Sudlow said in her chilliest accents:
"And what, pray, might be Mr. Philip Winslade's purpose in seeking an
interview with you on Monday next?"
"What purpose but one can a young man in such circumstances have? What
he is anxious to obtain is my consent--or rather, I ought to say,
_our_ consent--to his engagement with Fanny. Indeed, he went so far as
to put the question to me this afternoon; but of course I told him
that it was impossible for me to give him an answer on the spur of the
moment, or, in point of fact, till I had consulted with you in the
matter."
"I fail to see why you could not have given him an answer on the spur
of the moment, as you term it."
"Surely, surely, my dear, in a matter which so nearly concerns the
welfare of our child, some little time for consideration is
imperatively demanded."
"None whatever, as it seems to me, where a person like Philip Winslade
is in question. You might have given him his answer there and then,
and thereby have saved him the necessity of seeking a further
interview with you."
"Um! That would certainly have been rather an arbitrary mode of
procedure. But there is another view of the affair which does not seem
to have struck you. As I understand it, Winslade and Fanny have
already come to some sort of an agreement, in which case----"
"There is no need whatever why you should trouble yourself on that
score. Fanny will be home in a week from now. I shall know how to deal
with her."
"And yet Fan is a girl of spirit," remarked the Vicar drily, "and when
once she has made up her mind, sticks to her point like a limpet to
its rock. I rather doubt, my dear, whether you will find her as easy
to manage in this affair as you seem to anticipate."
"I have not the least doubt in the world that, to serve his own ends,
Philip Winslade has exaggerated a mere passing flirtation, such as is
so often indulged in on board ship, into something far more formidable
than it really is. In any case, as I said before, you may leave me to
deal with Fanny, and, if needful, to--to bring her to her senses."
"With all my heart. But why this display of animosity as regards young
Winslade? More than once I have heard you hint that it would be a good
thing if Fan were to make an early marriage."
"I am not aware that I have imported any animosity into the
conversation. I have merely brought to bear a modicum of that wordly
prudence and common sense which it behoves all parents to exercise
where the future of their children is in question, but in which, I am
sorry to say, you are lamentably deficient."
She paused to re-thread her needle.
"After all," she resumed, "if one may ask, who and what is this Mr.
Philip Winslade with whom you seem to be so taken up?"
"Come, come, Kitty, you can't pretend that you are altogether ignorant
of his antecedents. He is a clear-headed, energetic, clever young man,
and, as it seems to me, sure to make his way in the world. He is a
good son----"
"_Cela va sans dire_. It would be more to the purpose if you
were to ascertain the amount of his income and the nature of his
prospects--provided he has any."
"Those were points, my dear, which there was no opportunity of
entering upon in the train. But had he not conceived himself to be in
a position to marry, if not just yet, in the not distant future, I do
not suppose he would have spoken to me as he did."
"Would you not be nearer the mark if you were to say that such
'mercenary considerations,' as I have no doubt you term them to
yourself, never entered your mind?"
The Vicar coughed and proceeded to polish his spectacles with his
handkerchief.
"You seem to forget," resumed Mrs. Sudlow, a little inconsequentially
it might have been thought, "or, rather, you never care to remember,
that Fanny is second cousin once removed to the Earl of Beaumaris. But
there! I have known for years, to my sorrow, that you have not a
morsel of proper pride in your composition."
The Vicar's shoulders went up deprecatingly. "My dear," he said, "if
the noble Earl, your second cousin, had ever done anything for us, or
had interested himself in our fortunes in any way, it might have been
politic to bear the family connection in mind. But, seeing that
neither he nor his daughters, the Lady Mary and the Lady Anne, care a
stiver about us, it may be as well to leave the 'claims of long
descent' out of the discussion."
Again Mrs. Sudlow's lips compressed themselves into a thin straight
line. She felt that it had become necessary for her to shift her basis
of attack. She had reserved one barbed arrow till the last. "After
all, you have contrived to shuffle out of the question I put to you,
which was, Who is Philip Winslade?"
"My dear, you know as well as I do that he is the only son of Mrs.
Winslade, who has been a neighbour of ours for the last dozen years,
and who, in addition, is a lady for whom I have the highest possible
regard."
"Oh, I am quite aware that you always had a sneaking _penchant_ for
Mrs. W. She is what is vulgarly called a 'fine woman,' and I have not
forgotten that your tastes always did run in that direction."
The Vicar held up his hands. "My love, you are forgetting yourself!"
"Not at all. If I may push my question further--Who is Mrs. Winslade?"
"You know precisely as much about her as I do."
"Which is equivalent to saying I know nothing about her."
"Her life for the past twelve years is before you to bear witness for
her."
"As much of it as she has allowed to be seen, and that, as you must
admit, is very little. In the first place, Who was she before she made
her appearance at Iselford? She planted herself among us without a
single introduction. To this day nobody knows where she sprang from.
She passes herself off as a widow--who can say with certainty whether
she ever had a husband?"
This was too much for the Vicar. He got up abruptly, his face very
red, and an unwonted sparkle in his eyes. "For shame, Kitty; for
shame!" he exclaimed. "I never thought to hear such words from the
lips of my wife. I will leave you to your uncharitable thoughts and
retire to my study."
It was not often in their little skirmishes that the worthy Vicar
ventured to offer such a bold front of opposition to his wife as he
had this evening, and through all the irritation and annoyance into
which she had stung him he could not help pluming himself somewhat on
his unwonted display of pugnacity. Still, nothing had been settled, no
course decided upon as between husband and wife, and it was quite
evident that the question would have to be reopened by one or the
other of them. And reopened it was next morning as soon as breakfast
was over, with the result that the following note, addressed to
Philip, was delivered by Quince, the sexton, at Whiteash Cottage early
on Sunday afternoon:
"My dear young Friend,--With reference to what passed between us
yesterday afternoon, Mrs. Sudlow and I have come to the decision that,
pending my daughter's arrival at home about a week hence, when an
opportunity will be afforded us of ascertaining her views and wishes,
the question at issue had better remain precisely where it is at
present. Such being the case, it seems to me advisable that our
interview, as arranged for to-morrow, should be postponed till a
future date. You may, however, rely upon it that as soon as I have any
communication to make you shall hear further from me.
"Pray present my remembrances to Mrs. Winslade, and believe me,
"Sincerely yours,
"Louth Sudlow."