By the drive Swinton believed himself to have achieved a grand success;
and he determined to lose no time in following it up.
The ground seemed now well under him--enough to support him in making
the proposal so long deferred.
And in less than three days from that time, he called at the Clarendon,
and made it.
Favoured by an opportunity in which he found her alone, it was done
direct to the young lady herself.
But the answer was not direct--nor definite in any way. It was neither
a "yes" nor a "no." He was simply referred to her mother.
The equivocation was not exactly to his taste. It certainly seemed
strange enough. Still, though a little chagrined, he was not altogether
discomforted by it; for how could he anticipate refusal in the quarter
to which he had been referred?
Obedient to the permission given him, he waited upon Girdwood _mere_;
and to her repeated the proposal with all the eloquent advocacy he could
command.
If the daughter's answer had not been definite, that of the mother was;
and to a degree that placed Mr Swinton in a dilemma.
"Sir!" said she, "we feel very much honoured--both myself and daughter.
But your lordship will excuse me for pointing out to you, that, in
making this proposal, you appear to have forgotten something."
"Pway what, madam, may I ask?"
"Your lordship has not made it in your own name; nor have you yet told
us your title. Until that is done, your lordship will see, how absurd
it would be for either my daughter, or myself, to give you a decisive
answer. We cannot!"
Mrs Girdwood did not speak either harshly, or satirically. On the
contrary, she unburdened herself in the most conciliatory tone--in fear
of offending his lordship, and causing him to declare "off."
She was but too anxious to secure him--that is, supposing him to be a
lord. Had she known that he was not, her answer would have been
delivered in very different terms; and the acquaintance between her and
Mr Swinton would have ended, with as little ceremony as it had begun.
It seemed on the edge of such termination, as the pseudo-lord,
stammering in his speech, endeavoured to make rejoinder.
And not much farther off, when this was made, and the old excuse still
pleaded for preserving that inexplicable _incognito_!
Swinton was in truth taken by surprise; and scarce knew what to say.
But the American mother did; and in plain terms told him, that, until
the title was declared, she must decline the proffered honour of having
him for a son-in-law!
When _it_ was made known, he might expect a more categorical answer.
Her tone was not such as to make him despair. On the contrary, it
clearly indicated that the answer would be favourable, provided the
conditions were fulfilled.
But then, this was sufficient for despair. How was he to make her
believe in his having a title?
"By possessing it?" he said to himself, as, after the fruitless
interview, he strode off from the Clarendon Hotel. "By possessing it,"
he repeated. "And, by heavens! I shall possess it, as sure as my
name's Swinton!"
Farther on he reflected:
"Yes! that's the way. I've got the old _rout_ in my power! Only needs
one step more to secure him. And he shall give me whatever I ask--even
to a title!"
"I know he can't make me a lord; but he can a knight or a baronet. It
would be all the same to her; and with `Sir' to my name, she will no
longer deny me. With that, I shall get Julia Girdwood and her two
hundred thousand pounds!"
"By heaven! I care more for her, than her money. The girl has got into
my heart. I shall go mad, if I fail to get her into my arms?"
Thus wildly reflecting, he continued to traverse the streets: down Bond
Street, along Piccadilly, into the neighbourhood of Leicester Square.
As if the devil had turned up to aid him in his evil designs, an episode
occurred in exact consonance with them. It seemed an accident--though
who could tell that it was one; since it might have been prearranged?
He was standing by the lamp-post, in the centre of the Piccadilly
Circus, when a cab drove past, containing two fares--a lady and
gentleman.
Both were keeping their faces well back from the window; the lady's
under a thick veil; while that of the gentleman was screened by a copy
of the _Times_ newspaper held cunningly in hand, as if he was intensely
interested in the perusal of some thundering leader!
In spite of this, Swinton recognised the occupants of the cab--both of
them. The lady was his own wife; the gentleman his noble patron of Park
Lane!
The cab passed him, without any attempt on his part to stay it. He only
followed, silently, and at a quick pace.
It turned down the Haymarket, and drew up by the door of one of those
quiet hotels, known only to those light travellers who journey without
being encumbered with luggage.
The gentleman got out; the lady after; and both glided in through a
door, that stood hospitably open to receive them.
The cabman, whose fare had been paid in advance, drove immediately away.
"Enough!" muttered Swinton, with a diabolical grin upon his countenance.
"That will do. And now for a witness to make good my word in a court
of--Ha! ha! ha! It will never come to that."
Lest it should, he hastened to procure the witness. He was just in the
neighbourhood to make such a thing easy. He knew Leicester Square, its
every place and purlieu; and among others one where he could pitch upon
a "pal."
In less than fifteen minutes' time, he found one; and in fifteen more,
the two might have been seen standing at the corner of--Street,
apparently discussing of some celestial phenomenon that absorbed the
whole of their attention!
They had enough left to give to a lady and gentleman, who shortly after
came out of the "quiet hotel"--the lady first, the gentleman at an
interval behind her.
They did not discover themselves to the lady, who seemed to pass on
without observing them.
But as the gentleman went skulking by, both turned their faces towards
him.
He, too, looked as if he did not see them; but the start given, and the
increased speed at which he hurried on out of sight, told that he had
recognised at least one of them, with a distinctness that caused him to
totter in his steps!
The abused husband made no movement to follow him. So far he was safe;
and in the belief that he--or she at least--had escaped recognition, he
walked leisurely along Piccadilly, congratulating himself on his _bonne
fortune_!
He would have been less jubilant, could he have heard the muttered words
of his _protege_, after the latter had parted from his "pal."
"I've got it right now," said he. "Knighthood for Richard Swinton, or a
divorce from his wife, with no end of damages! God bless the dear Fan,
for playing so handsomely into my hand! God bless her?"
And with this infamy on his lips, the _ci-devant_ guardsman flung
himself into a hansom cab, and hastened home to Saint John's Wood.