The day after the party at Garnet Lodge Mrs. Dobbs was surprised by the
announcement from her old servant, Martha, that Mr. Bragg was at the
gate, and would be glad to speak with her if she was at liberty.
"Quite at liberty, Martha, and very happy to see Mr. Bragg. Now what can
_he_ want?" said Mrs. Dobbs to the faithful Jo Weatherhead, who was in
his usual place by the hearth.
"Something about the house in Friar's Row?" suggested Jo.
"Ah! I suppose so. Though I don't know what there can be to say.
However, it's no use guessing. It's like staring at the outside of a
letter instead of reading it. He'll speak for himself."
Meanwhile Mr. Bragg had alighted from the plain brougham which had
brought him from his country house; and, walking up the garden path, and
in at the open door, presented himself in the little parlour.
"I hope you'll excuse my calling, Mrs. Dobbs. You and me have met years
ago."
"No excuse needed, Mr. Bragg. I remember you very well. This is my
brother-in-law, Mr. Weatherhead. Please to sit down."
Mr. Bragg sat down; and he and his hostess looked at each other for a
moment attentively.
Mr. Bragg was a large, solidly built man, with an impression on his face
of perplexity and resolution subtly mingled together. It is a look which
may be often seen on the countenance of an intelligent workman, whose
employment brings him into conflict with physical phenomena--at once so
docile and so intractable; so simply and so eternally mysterious. The
expression had long survived the days of Mr. Bragg's personal struggle
with facts of a metallic nature. In his present position, as a man of
large wealth and influence, he had to deal chiefly with the more complex
phenomena of humanity, and very seldom found it so trustworthy in the
manipulation as the iron and lead and tin and steel of his younger days.
Mrs. Dobbs marked the changes wrought by time and circumstances in
Joshua Bragg. She remembered him--he had even been temporarily in her
husband's employment, at one time--in a well-worn suit of working
clothes, and with chronically black finger-nails. She saw him now,
dressed with quiet good taste (for he left that matter to his London
tailor), with irreproachably clean hands--on which, however, toil had
left ineffaceable traces--and a massive watch chain worth half a year's
earnings of his former days.
"You're very little changed in the main, Mr. Bragg. And the years
haven't been hard on you," said Mrs. Dobbs, summing up the result of her
observations.
"No; I believe I don't feel the burthen of years much; not bodily, that
is. In the mind, I think I do. You see, I've come to a time of life when
a man can't keep putting off his own comfort and happiness to the day
after to-morrow. Which," added Mr. Bragg thoughtfully, "is exactly where
young folks have the pull, I think."
"That's queer, too, Mr. Bragg!" remarked Jo Weatherhead. "Putting off
your own comfort and happiness seems a poor way to enjoy yourself, sir."
"Ah, but what you only _mean_ to do, always comes up to your
expectations; and what you _do_ do, doesn't!" rejoined Mr. Bragg, with a
slow, emphatic nod of the head.
"Well, but as to 'feeling the burthen of years,' that's putting it too
strong," said Mrs. Dobbs. "You have no right to feel that burthen yet
awhile. Why, you must be--let me see!--under fifty-three."
"Fifty-three last birthday."
"Ay; I wasn't far out. Lord, that's no age! I might be your mother, Mr.
Bragg."
"I'm glad to hear you say so!--I mean, I'm glad you don't think me too
old--not quite an old fellow, in short."
"No; to be sure not!"
Mr. Bragg was silent for fully a minute. Then he said, "Well, whether
I'm quite an old fellow or not, I'm too old to trust much to the day
after to-morrow. So, if not inconvenient to you, Mrs. Dobbs, I should
like to say a few words to you about a matter that has been on my mind
for some little time."
"Certainly, Mr. Bragg. I'm quite at your service."
Mr. Bragg looked slowly round the little parlour; looked out of the
window at the tiny garden; looked at Mr. Weatherhead; finally looked at
Mrs. Dobbs again, and said, "It's a private matter."
"I had better go, Sarah," said Jo. "I shall look round again at
tea-time;" and he made a show of rising from his chair, very slowly and
reluctantly.
"Oh, perhaps you've no call to go away, Jo. I have no business secrets
from my brother-in-law, Mr. Bragg. He is my oldest and best friend in
the world."
Mr. Bragg rubbed his chin slowly with his hand, and answered with a
certain embarrassment, but quite straightforwardly, "It's a matter
private to _me_."
After this Jo Weatherhead had nothing for it but to take his departure,
and to endeavour to calm the fever of his curiosity with tobacco.
Mrs. Dobbs remained alone with her visitor, wondering more and more what
could be the subject of his proposed communication. Her thoughts, in
connection with Mr. Bragg, persistently hovered about the house in
Friar's Row. But his first words scattered them in widespread confusion.
"Your grand-daughter, Miss Cheffington, tells me that she is not going
to Glengowrie Castle this autumn, Mrs. Dobbs."
"Why--no--I believe not," answered Mrs. Dobbs, looking at him curiously.
"In that case I don't think I shall go there myself. I'm no sportsman. I
always feel lonely in a house full of strangers. And, besides--I was
invited partic'larly to meet Miss Cheffington."
Mrs. Dobbs preserved her outward composure; but something seemed to
whirl and spin in her brain; and, although she kept her eyes fixed on
Mr. Bragg, she saw neither him nor anything else in the room for several
seconds.
"I was asked through Mrs. Griffin. You may have heard speak of her?"
Mrs. Dobbs made an affirmative movement of the head. She could not have
articulated a word at that moment to save her life.
"Mrs. Griffin is a well-meaning lady. But she's a lady who now and then
gets out of her depth, along of not--what you might call minding her own
business. But she always means to be kind. And the best of us make
mistakes."
"Ah, that we do!" assented Mrs. Dobbs huskily.
"Well, Mrs. Griffin is always telling me that my money--'a princely
fortune' she calls it: but it's a good deal more than _that_, by what I
can hear about princes--lays me under an obligation to marry again."
At the words "princely fortune" Mrs. Dobbs winced, and a deep red flush
came into her face; but she answered quietly, "Wealth has its
responsibilities, of course, Mr. Bragg."
"Yes, it has; and its troubles. But when all's said and done, it's
pleasanter to be rich than poor. I've tried both."
"No doubt. Only--one may pay too dear even for being rich."
"Well, I should be sorry for any lady I married to consider that she
paid too dear for being rich."
"Oh, I meant no offence, Mr. Bragg."
"There's nothing you may not pay too dear for, I suppose; except a quiet
conscience. You may pay too dear for a wife. And there's two sides to
every"--he was about to say "bargain," but he substituted the word
"arrangement."
Mrs. Dobbs had taken up her knitting, and was twisting and pulling it
with her fingers in a restless, nervous way. When Mr. Bragg made a
pause, and looked at her, she said, "Of course, that's quite true."
He went on, "I make bold to hope, Mrs. Dobbs, that you'll give me credit
in what I'm going to say, for having some serious reason, and not
talking idly, out of pride and vanity; in short, for not being what you
might call a fool."
"Yes, I will, Mr. Bragg."
"Thank ye. On that understanding I may say, between ourselves, that Mrs.
Griffin has mentioned to me several quarters where I shouldn't meet with
a refusal in case I went to look for a wife. I couldn't have supposed it
myself--at least, not to the extent it really does run to. But the fact
has been brought to my knowledge, so that there's no possibility of
making any mistake about it. More than one young lady--some of 'em
titled, too," said Mr. Bragg, with an odd glimmer of complacency
flitting for a moment like a will-o'-the-wisp above the solid _terra
firma_ of his native good sense. "More than one, and more than two, have
been what you might call trotted out for me."
Mrs. Dobbs's fingers twitched and pulled at the wool on her
knitting-needles, and the muscles round her mouth seemed to tighten. But
she said not a word.
Mr. Bragg continued, "Now, perhaps you think I have no business to take
up your time with all this, when it's no concern of yours?"
Still Mrs. Dobbs did not speak; so he added--
"But it does concern you in a way."
She made a visible effort to say, quietly, "Ah, indeed! How's that?"
But this time she was perfectly sure beforehand of what he was going to
say.
"I'm coming to that in one moment." Here Mr. Bragg paused, took out his
handkerchief, and passed it over his face before proceeding. "I
mentioned that Mrs. Griffin sometimes gets out of her depth (with the
best of intentions) when minding other people's business. She got a
little out of her depth when attending to mine. She somehow took it for
granted that I should be quite content to marry any lady of high family,
who would look handsome in my diamonds and spend my money in the
fashionablest style. She was consequently a good deal taken aback when I
offered some objections to one or two parties of her recommendation. But
I managed to make her understand at last. Said I, 'Mrs. Griffin, I don't
undervalue the honour; but I'm too old to wear a tight shoe for the sake
of appearances.' The fact was, I did not feel myself what you might call
_drawn_ towards any of these young ladies. I couldn't fancy them sitting
opposite to me at my own fireside with a kind look on their faces. Now,
the reason I say all this to you," continued Mr. Bragg, laying his
massive hand on the elbow of Mrs. Dobbs's chair, "is because there is a
young lady that I _do_ feel drawn towards--a young lady I've had
opportunities of observing at home and abroad. And it was talking of
this young lady that I said one day to Mrs. Griffin, 'Now, if you could
find some one like Miss May Cheffington who'd condescend to have me, I
should think myself a very fortunate man.' She quite jumped at the
idea."
"Jumped, indeed!" burst out Mrs. Dobbs, indignantly. "Then she took a
most unwarrantable liberty. She could know nothing about Miss May
Cheffington's feeling in the matter. What business had _she_ to jump?"
"Nay, nay, my good lady! My good lady! You don't understand. She jumped
at the idea on _my_ account. Why, Lord bless me, you couldn't
suppose----! She told me at once that May Cheffington was the
purest-minded and most unworldly girl she ever knew. I remember her very
words; for I couldn't help thinking at the time how queer it was that
Mrs. Griffin should admire unworldliness so much."
There was a long pause. Mrs. Dobbs was greatly moved from her usual
self-possession. She could not trust herself to speak, while Mr. Bragg
was surprised, and somewhat offended, by her reception of what he had to
say.
He had really, all things considered, very little purse pride. But he
had been accustomed for many years to be dumbly conscious of the power
of his wealth, as an elephant is dumbly conscious of the power of his
weight; and for a few moments he felt as the elephant might feel if he
were subjected to the mysterious process which we hear of as
"levitation," and suddenly found himself brushed aside like a fly. Mr.
Bragg did not wish to bear down his fellow-creatures unduly by force of
wealth. But wealth had come to be a large factor in his social specific
gravity.
After a while, Mrs. Dobbs said tremulously, and by no means graciously,
"Well, I don't see what I can do for you in the matter."
"I am not asking you to do anything for me, Mrs. Dobbs. I was not aware
till last night that you were any relation to Miss Cheffington, or,
leastways, I had forgotten it, for I believe I did hear of your
daughter's marriage years ago. When I became aware of it, I thought you
would take it as a mark of respect and goodwill if I came and spoke to
you confidentially. But you don't appear to see it in that light."
Mrs. Dobbs turned round and offered him her hand, saying, "I ask your
pardon if I have said anything to offend you. You don't deserve it; you
are very far from deserving it. But I'm shaken; my nerve isn't what it
was. I haven't been so upset since my poor dear daughter Susy ran away
and got married." She was trembling, and her restless fingers were
making sad work with the knitting.
"Well, well, there's no occasion for you to put yourself about, you
know. I should like you to tell me just this--under the circumstances I
think there's no objection to my putting the question--is there anybody
else in the field before me?"
"N-no; I think not. I can't say."
"If the young lady has no other attachment," said Mr. Bragg, in his
slow, pondering way, "I don't see why I should not be able to make her
happy. What do _you_ think?"
"You're a deal older than the child: there's a great disparity, Joshua!"
answered Mrs. Dobbs, reverting, in her agitation, to the familiar form
in which she had addressed him thirty years back.
"So there is, but that can't be helped; we must just reckon with it as
so much alloy. There wouldn't be much romance--couldn't be; but a vast
number of people get on very well without romance, and are useful and
happy. I have some reason to believe," added Mr. Bragg, looking at her a
little askance--for there was no knowing whether this fiery old woman
might not take offence again--"that certain members of Miss C.'s family
would approve."
Mrs. Dobbs answered with unexpected meekness. "There's no need to tell
me _that_. And you mustn't suppose, Mr. Bragg, that I don't
appreciate--that I don't know how the world in general would look upon
your offer."
"Why, you see, it doesn't amount exactly to an offer. I thought I would
talk matters over with you, and, what you might call, put the case. You
see," said Mr. Bragg, placing the forefinger of his right hand upon the
thumb of his left, "for my part I could undertake that any lady who did
me the honour to marry me should have steady kindness and respect. I
wouldn't marry a woman I didn't respect, not if she was the handsomest
one in the world and a duke's daughter. Then," placing his two
forefingers together, "I ain't a bad temper, nor a jealous temper.
Lastly," here he shifted the forefinger of his right hand to the middle
finger of his left, "though I don't want to lay too much stress upon
money, yet it's a fact that my wife, and, in the course of nature, my
widow, would be a very rich woman."
"I suppose you know," said Mrs. Dobbs, leaning her forehead on her hand,
and letting the knitting slide from her knees to the floor, "that May's
father is alive?"
"Yes; I do know it. And I've got something to say to you on that score.
And I'm sure you will agree with me that it is very desirable for Miss
C. to have protection and guidance. I'm not speaking for myself now, you
understand. Her aunt, Mrs. Dormer-Smith, is a very genteel lady, with
very high connections. But--quite between ourselves, you know--I
wouldn't give much for her headpiece."
Mrs. Dobbs was looking at him eagerly, and scarcely allowed him to
finish his sentence before she said, "But you have something to say
about Captain Cheffington?"
"Well, perhaps you know it. If you don't, you ought to. He has been
travelling about for years with an Italian opera-singer. She is with him
now in Brussels. And people say he has married her."
Mrs. Dobbs clasped her hands together, and ejaculated, almost in a
whisper, "Oh, my poor child!"
Mr. Bragg could not tell whether she were thinking of her daughter, or
her grand-daughter. Perhaps the images of both were in her mind.
"You had not heard of it, then? Ah! It's a bad prospect for Miss C."
"But is it true? So many stories get about. It seems incredible to me
that Augustus, so selfish as he is, should have bound himself in that
way."
"I hear it confirmed on all hands. It's an old story now, and pretty
widely known. But, look at it which way you will, it's an ugly,
disreputable kind of business, Mrs. Dobbs."
She was silent for a while, sitting with her head sunk on her breast,
and her hands clasped before her. Then she said, almost as if speaking
to herself, "God knows! The woman _may_ not be bad or wicked. How are we
to judge?"
Mr. Bragg drew his hand away from the elbow of Mrs. Dobbs's chair, where
it had been resting, and said, in a tone of solemn disapprobation, "I
don't think there can be much doubt as to the character of the--person,
Mrs. Dobbs. I understand she became so notorious in Brussels through
keeping a gaming-house, or something of that kind, as to call for the
interference of the police."
"May I ask how this information reached you?" said Mrs. Dobbs, turning
round and looking full at him.
Mr. Bragg hesitated for a few moments before answering. "It has come to
me from various quarters; but the latest is an Italian singer, who has
been chattering a good deal. He was at Miss Piper's. There's always a
certain amount of risk in having public performers in your house. I
don't encourage 'em myself--never did from a boy; and I think it a pity
that Miss Piper does. Her sister and me are quite agreed on that point."
Mr. Bragg here pushed back his chair and stood up. "I should wish you to
understand," he said, "that I should have thought it my duty to tell you
this, feeling the interest I do in Miss C., quite independent of our
previous conversation."
"I understand. Thank you."
"With regard to that conversation, you can, if you think it advisable,
what you might call _sound_ your grand-daughter. I think that might
avoid disagreeables for both parties. It can't be pleasant for a
sensitive young lady to refuse an offer. And I don't mind saying that it
would be extremely unpleasant to me to _be_ refused. A man of my age
and--well, I may say my position, don't like to look ridic'lous. Of
course you don't care much for _my_ feelings: can't be expected to; but
I think, on reflection, you'll see that by coming to you first in this
way, I've also done the best I could to spare the feelings of Miss C."
With that Mr. Bragg shook hands with his hostess, and, quietly letting
himself out of the house, walked to his brougham, and was driven away to
the office in Friar's Row.