When Harry uttered the words “My wife!” his brother looked from one
to the other for a few moments without a word; then, in a low, sullen
voice, he said:
“You have tricked me and deceived me, both of you. It was very
clever--very clever indeed, but hardly wise. I won’t take up your time
any longer now.” Then, turning to Annie, he continued, “I am much
obliged to you for your kind welcome. I must apologize for having
brought down your husband’s anger upon you; but, you see, you left me
rather in the dark.” Then to Harry--“You will hear from me in a day
or two. Our father made me promise to provide for you, and I have a
proposal to make which I don’t think you will find ungenerous. Send me
an answer as quickly as you can.”
He shook his brother’s hand and then Annie’s and left the room. Harry
turned to his wife, looking rather anxious.
“He is going to do something nasty, Annie--I am sure of it. I know
George’s manner when he is spiteful, and our chances look very bad,
darling. No more Paris, no more pretty gowns, for the present, at any
rate!”
But Annie did not answer. With trembling fingers she was pulling to
pieces the flower which had fallen from her throat.
“Why, Annie, what is the matter? You look ill--you are crying!”
“I am not ill,” said she, repulsing him. “I am heart-sick, miserable.”
“But you mustn’t give way like that, my darling. George will have to
come round. He sha’n’t make my wife spoil her pretty eyes.”
“It is not George,” she said, with fire. “Do you think I am such a
coward as to mind not having pretty dresses? What was that he said
about forgery?”
“Oh, nothing to make such a fuss about!” answered the young fellow
sulkily. “I was hard up, I had no money for our wedding trip, and I
couldn’t help it. It wasn’t as if I committed a crime, and copied
somebody else’s name, it was my own father’s. I knew it would be
all right, and so it was. He hushed it up directly, and said hardly
anything about it.”
“You call that nothing!” said Annie, raising her eyes wide with horror
to his face.
“Of course I know it was wrong,” replied he impatiently; “but there was
nothing else to be done. I could not have married you without, or you
would have had to pass your honeymoon in an attic.”
“I would rather have passed it as a tramp on the high-road than as we
did, if I had known.”
“Well, you are an ungrateful little cat. When I thought of nothing but
pleasing you and buying you pretty things from morning till night.”
“Pretty things that were bought with stolen money!”
“How dare you say such thing to me?” he shouted. “Don’t you know I’m
your husband; and do you suppose I am not the best judge of my own
conduct? Do you suppose I should ever do anything a gentleman need be
ashamed of?”
“I think you have done a thing a beggar would be ashamed of.”
“Thank you, thank you! You call me a beggar and you call me a thief. I
shall be a murderer next, I suppose; and, by Jove, it would serve you
right if I were. Haven’t I behaved well to you? Didn’t I come to London
with you just to stop you from crying? And didn’t I marry you when I
knew very well that all my family would disapprove of it?”
“Oh, yes; you made a noble sacrifice. I am deeply grateful to you for
throwing yourself away. It spoils the look of it a little, though,
that your elder brother was willing to do so, too, if you hadn’t been
beforehand with him.”
“You may say what you like; but it is a sacrifice of a man’s liberty to
marry at twenty. As for George, I believe you like him better than me
all the time. Answer me--do you--did you ever care for him?” demanded
he roughly.
“I shall not answer your insulting questions,” said the young wife, in
a very calm voice; and, as quickly as she could, she left the room. For
she felt as if her heart were breaking; this sharp wrangle had made
her almost hysterical, and she did not want to break down before the
husband whom, for the time at least, she despised and all but hated.
Already during the few weeks of their wedded life, it had needed all
the strength of his outbursts of demonstrative affection, all the
bright contentment she felt at her release from schoolroom drudgery,
to cloak the fact that they had not one taste, one sympathy in common;
that their tempers were ill suited to each other, and the moral
standard of the wife as different from that of the husband as light
from darkness. This crime, which Harry had made light of, tore down the
last shred of illusion from before the eyes of the wife of eighteen.
She had made an awful mistake. Carried away by the passionate pleading
of a headstrong boy at a time when she felt herself to be utterly
friendless, and when his impulsive remorse had seemed to her to show a
high and generous nature, she had bound herself by a tie which would
last her life to an ignorant, uncouth, unprincipled lad who did not
even love her. For already the sensitive woman felt that his caresses
were growing careless; and she knew that no husband of a few weeks
could have used the words Harry had used to-day to a woman for whom he
cared deeply.
Harry had gone out; and for three long hours Annie knelt on the floor
by the bed pondering what she should do with her life, and praying for
help to show her where her duty lay. She came to a resolution strangely
wise for so young a woman; and, when her husband returned, she was
as nearly her usual bright self as she could manage to be. Harry, of
course, did not appreciate the struggle she had gone through before she
could do this, but came to the conclusion that she saw how silly she
had been to make such a fuss about a trifle which did not concern her,
and thought it was time for him to show a little just indignation at
finding his brother’s arm round her.
But she stopped him with surprising promptness, as if his remarks were
beneath argument. He began to bluster a little.
“Do you really doubt the propriety of my conduct?” she asked, coldly.
“Well, it is not a usual thing, is it, to find one’s wife--er--er--like
that?”
“Is it a usual thing for a wife to be requested by her husband to
conceal the fact that she is married, especially from his relatives?”
“Why, no, of course not! And it doesn’t matter now, you see, since
I told my father all about it,” said Harry, trying to speak more
good-humoredly, since he saw by the steady look of his wife’s eyes, as
he had seen before in less serious discussions, that, if the argument
went on he would get very much the worst of it.
So the peace was kept between them, though the warmth of their feelings
for each other was getting rapidly less. An incident happened a few
days later, however, which revived it for a time. George’s promised
proposal came, and Harry had scarcely read it before he was at
his wife’s feet, pressing his lips to her very dress with all the
enthusiasm of a few weeks back.
“He wants us to go to the Grange--not for my sake, though; but to get
you there; but he sha’n’t! I’d sweep a crossing rather than let you go
there! My generous brother--hang him!”
“To go to the Grange! To live there?”
“Yes; that is his way of fulfilling his promise to our father. He says
there are too many burdens on the estate for him to make me a suitable
allowance, unless we go and live there. But I wouldn’t let you go there
for the world!”
“But, Harry, I should be quite safe with you. You speak of your brother
as if he were a savage.”
“So he is. We are all a set of savages; and, being a savage myself, you
see, I know how to trust the rest. I tell you you shall not go; and, if
you try to persuade me, I shall think you don’t love me.”
He flung his arm round her, and looked up into her face with an air of
boyish authority which she did not attempt to resist, though it made
her smile. A few months of self-dependence had made her so much older,
so much wiser than this spoiled child who was her lord and master.
She knew he could not live long in defiance of his elder brother; she
knew he had no money of his own, and no capabilities of making any, or
that, if he had any capabilities, he had no intention of using them. He
had indeed most of the qualities necessary in a groom and some of those
wanted by a jockey; but, being a gentleman, though he could copy their
manners and share their tastes, he could follow their occupations only
as an amusement. He had given her money so recklessly at first that
she, though inclined to be extravagant, had, without saying anything to
him about it, put some by in case of an emergency; so that, when his
supplies to her stopped rather suddenly, she was able to go on paying
their weekly bills without running into debt. But this could not last
long; and she began to look out for some music-pupils, still without
saying anything to her husband, whose pride would have cried out at the
idea of his wife working for her living and his.
It was easy enough by this time to leave some hours in the day
unaccounted for. Harry had met some acquaintances in town and picked
up some others, and spent but little of his time with his wife, who,
he complained, did not take as much trouble to amuse him as at first,
and who could always amuse herself with a book--a most unaccountable
taste in his eyes, so that she could publish an advertisement, answer
others, go for the few replies she got to a neighboring stationer’s,
and give a lesson three times a week in Onslow Square without exciting
his suspicions.
She knew that Lady Braithwaite and her daughter were now in town,
staying with a sister of the former’s at Lancaster Gate, but, as she
would have thought nothing less likely than that they should take
any notice of her, she stood for a moment in the doorway in silent
astonishment when, coming into her sitting-room, after having given a
music-lesson, she found Lilian, looking superbly handsome in her deep
mourning, walking about examining the pictures and ornaments.
“I think you must be very comfortable here,” said she, coming forward
and kissing her, as if they had been affectionate friends of long
standing.
Lilian’s manners were charming when she chose, and she was at her best
this afternoon--always queenly, but smiling and willing to be pleased
with anything. She drew her tiny sister-in-law on to the sofa and sat
down beside her. Annie, very glad of this visit, yet hardly daring to
believe that Lilian could have heard of her marriage, scarcely knew
what to say; but the other saved her the trouble of finding a remark.
“I wish we lived like this. These rooms are neither too large nor too
small, while Aunt Constantia’s big rooms are so big that you lose your
way in them, and the small ones are so small that, if the door opens
inside, it scrapes the opposite wall. I am supposed to be still a
child, and therefore of no consequence; so I am put into a nice little
cupboard, so compact that Jennings has to open the door and stand in
the corridor to brush my hair.”
Annie laughed at the picture of self-willed, spoiled Miss Braithwaite
as a victim to neglect, and then asked after Lady Braithwaite.
“Oh, she is quite well, thank you, though of course she hasn’t got over
poor papa’s death yet! You heard all about it from Harry, of course?”
“Yes,” said Annie, wondering at the easy way in which her proud
sister-in-law thus alluded to their new relationship. She was still
more surprised when the other continued:
“It seems so strange to think of Harry as a married man! I suppose he
will think I ought not to box his ears any longer now; but you will
let me, won’t you? I can’t keep him in order in any other way; but I
suppose you can.”
Annie laughed--not very heartily.
“I haven’t tried that plan, certainly. It wouldn’t do for such a little
woman as I am; I think I am too small for him,” she added, as if this
really had struck her suddenly as a grave objection.
Lilian burst out laughing.
“What an odd little creature you are! I have always heard that a
little woman can make a big man as submissive as a dog, and rule him
with a rod of iron, while he thinks all the time that he is the master.
I am sure you would not condescend to obey Harry.”
“Yes, I do,” said the young wife, seriously--“at least; I do the things
he tells me to do; but he doesn’t tell me to do many things.” And the
thought flashed through her mind, “He doesn’t take enough interest in
me to mind what I do.”
“And you don’t ever want to do anything he doesn’t wish you to do?”
“When I do, I do it without telling him about it.”
Lilian was delighted with this speech, which Annie rather regretted
having made.
“I am glad you are not so superhumanly good as I was beginning to fear.
Don’t you find him very dull company? He can hardly write his own name,
he can’t spell a bit, and he can talk about nothing but horses and
guns.”
Annie would not own that she had not enough of her husband’s company to
mind it.
“I don’t want him to read when he is with me, and I haven’t asked him
to spell much. And I like horses myself, though I don’t know much about
them.”
“Well, your life is not so dull as mine, at any rate,” declared Lilian.
“You are a married woman, and can go where you like and with whom you
like; I wish I could,” she added, petulantly.
“But I have nowhere to go and no one to go with except, of course,
Harry,” Annie added, hastily.
“You have got over the silly stage of newly-married life very soon,”
said Lilian, amused, but rather surprised. “Now I want to go to a
hundred places I can’t go to. Aunt Constantia looks down at my black
gown and says, ‘Too soon, my dear, too soon!’ And she and mamma both
disapprove of all the persons I like. I never was so wretched in my
life--just when I am in mourning too, and want cheering dreadfully!”
“Well, you will soon be able to go out more, and then you will
certainly leave off envying my quiet life.”
“Oh, but there will be far worse trials for me then! Now that we are in
mourning, at least no one can find fault with my dress; but, when we
begin to go out again--and I am to be presented next season--I shall
want money; and George is so mean--he says he is so poor, but that is
nonsense!--that I know he will open his eyes and say that a hundred a
year ought to buy me everything I want, and the same day he will send a
groom up to Tattersall’s to buy him a couple of hunters, and wonder at
the selfish extravagance of women! It is so silly, too; for the very
best thing he can do is to get me well married as soon as possible;
and who will see me if I never go out, and who will look at me if I am
dressed ‘with tasteful economy?’ As if economy was ever tasteful--as if
I did not do my dressmaker credit, too! I assure you I look quite nice
when I am well-dressed.”
She threw back her graceful head and smiled at Annie with playful
insolence, which was charming in such a beautiful girl; and, having
got, for a time, to the end of her grievances, she gave a plaintive
sigh, and then laughed at herself.
“I have been taking the privileges of a relative in boring you to
death; but really my wrongs were getting too heavy to be borne in
silence. It is very good of you to listen without yawning.”
“Oh, you don’t know how glad I am to see you and listen to you! I was
afraid you would be so angry about Harry’s marrying me.”
“I won’t pretend we were glad to hear of it; but everything else was
swallowed up in papa’s death. I don’t think mamma has quite forgiven
either of you yet; but she will come round in time. And, you see, as I
told her, if Harry hadn’t married you, George would have done so.”
Annie started, and the color rushed to her face.
“Oh, you need not look surprised! I am sure of it. He was much more in
love with you than Harry was; and, to tell you the truth, when you had
left Garstone, and nobody could tell what had become of you, I thought
George was more likely than Harry to know where you were.”
She rattled on without taking much notice of Annie’s continued
agitation. After a minute’s pause for breath, she added:
“And I did credit to your being a good little thing and a clever little
thing, for George has far fewer scruples and far less sense of honor
than even Harry, I can tell you. Harry is not a bad fellow at heart,
though he is such a lout; there is no other word for him. Will you
forgive my frankness? I am a pretty good judge of my brothers, and my
knowledge may be useful to you.”
She rose from the sofa and took Annie’s trembling hand.
“I have frightened you, worried you. You won’t let me come again. But
you will, won’t you?” she added, in a coaxing tone--“for I am so dull.
May I come on Thursday, the day after to-morrow, and we will go to the
Academy together? It will soon close now, so it will be full of country
bumpkins; but I will brave them, if you will. Mamma and Aunt Constantia
find it too tiring for them. May I come?”
She asked quite restlessly and anxiously; and Annie, surprised, begged
her to come, and promised to be ready at whatever time she pleased.
When Harry returned home, and his wife told him of his sister’s visit,
he was even more surprised than she had been.
“Well, she is a queer girl; but I think this beats any freak she has
had yet,” he said. “You should just have heard her go on at me--and
at you--at Garstone, when she first heard about it--just after our
father’s death too. I told her if she didn’t hold her tongue, I would
turn her out of the room.” And presently he broke out again, “I wonder
what she is up to now?”
Without suspecting any deep-laid plot under Lilian’s friendliness,
as her husband seemed to do, Annie was more surprised than ever
when Thursday came and Miss Braithwaite drove up in a hansom very
punctually, to see how excited she seemed to be over such a simple
diversion as a visit to the Academy with her sister-in-law. She was
looking radiantly lovely. The mourning, which did not at all set off
Annie’s brunette beauty, was the most perfect setting possible for
Lilian’s bright, fair complexion and chestnut-brown hair. She was in
good spirits too, and so anxious to start that she gave Annie doubtful
help in dressing with her own hands. Then they got into the hansom
which was waiting outside, and were at Burlington House in five minutes.
Lilian did not care a straw about pictures, and gave most of her
attention to the curious crowd which may be seen at the Academy every
year during the last week of the season. They had been through two
rooms, and were entering a third, when a gentleman came up to them, and
the color deepened on Lilian’s face. He was a tall, strikingly handsome
man, of slighter build than the Braithwaites, and much better carriage.
Lilian introduced him to her companion as “Colonel Richardson.”
Then they all went on together. Miss Braithwaite, being in a brilliant
mood, did all the talking; and, as her talk was chiefly addressed to
the new-comer, Annie gradually fell behind them and gave her attention
entirely to the pictures. As she noticed how happy Lilian looked,
how evidently she was taking pains to please, and how attentive
Colonel Richardson was to her, it occurred to the quiet little woman
behind that this meeting was not accidental; she was not surprised
at their pleasure in each other’s society, and thought to herself
what a handsome pair they would make. When they had nearly finished
their inspection of the pictures, which had become a very transparent
pretext to Annie’s eyes, they turned to her, and Lilian dropped
out of the conversation to allow Colonel Richardson to talk to her
companion. He could talk about the pictures very well, she found,
though he had ignored them a good deal that day; and, when he presently
asked permission to call upon her and lend her a book with valuable
engravings which he had brought from Italy, she could not easily refuse.
So, two days later, he called and brought the book; and while he was
there Lilian came in, and they both stayed to tea. Annie, who was
always rather overpowered by the brilliant and rather exacting Miss
Braithwaite, was a sweet and gracious little hostess, but listened
more than she talked. And Colonel Richardson called after that very
frequently. It generally happened that Lilian was there; but that did
not seem surprising, for she had got into the habit of spending a good
deal of time with the gentle little sister-in-law who made such an
amused and therefore amusing listener to her chatter. Sometimes Harry
was there; and the influence of the elder man--Colonel Richardson
was between thirty-five and forty--upon the younger soon became very
strong. The latter worshiped his new friend, and would follow him about
like his shadow when he could, so that the colonel had to get him a
mount or a seat on a drag to get rid of him.
One evening Harry came home from visiting his aunt and his mother with
“a good joke” to tell his wife.
“Aunt Constantia and my mother have found a mare’s nest,” said he, with
his usual elegance of speech. “They have discovered that the colonel is
a most dangerous man, that he comes here not to see me, who can talk
about horses and shooting and all the things he likes, but to make love
to you and Lilian! Why, he never speaks to either of you if I’m here!
He has too much sense to go dangling after any woman. I told my aunt I
could look after my wife, and Lilian could look after herself. She is
not the girl to throw herself at any man’s head.”
“But there is no reason why she should not accept his attentions.”
“No reason! What--is his wife no reason?” asked Harry, sharply.
“His wife! Is he married?” cried Annie, in a low, frightened voice.
“Of course he is. Been married for the last ten years!”