MRS. MEREDITH’S CONSULTATION WITH MR. TWISSEL, AND HER RESOLVE.
Mrs. Meredith’s arrival was very opportune, for it broke off the
interview; and Margaret descended to the parlour, where her mother
she knew would repair the moment she had freed herself from her
dress. Margaret was now left alone for a few moments. She felt all
the exultation of success in a strategy, and all the exhilaration of
spirits that such a prospect of wealth and riches floating before her
eyes, and all the natural consequence upon such possessions would give
rise to.
“I shall be rich,” she thought. “Aye, I shall not only be rich, but
very rich—I know I shall. Well, he is old—no matter; better be an old
man’s darling, than a young man’s slave. Yes; I shall know how to use
wealth. I shall be able to spend a little of his countless hoards, and
he will not thwart me, I am sure. He will be too fond—too doting, by
far. I shall be indulged like a spoiled child, I am sure.”
Margaret smiled at the thought of what length the colonel might not be
induced to carry his fondness for her.
“He will not set any value upon what will give me pleasure. I am sure
he will give me all I ask. I have but to ask him for what I want, and
he must comply. I am sure he is too easy—too quiet and generous to make
a moment’s hesitation.”
The colonel, too, was left to his reflections, but as to what they were
we know not. He sat long, silently gazing at the fire.
Mrs. Meredith now entered the apartment, and, looking at her daughter,
she said,—
“Eh? something been said, Margaret? I can see by your eye that the
colonel has said something to you. Am I not right, my dear?”
“Yes, ma’; you are right.”
“Well, my love, and what did he say? I am dying with curiosity.”
“It will be quite impossible to do that; but he has been quite explicit
enough, without any hesitation at all, or any reserve—quite candid and
open.”
“He has offered?”
“Yes; he wishes for your consent; for I told him I could not possibly
decide without your consent and countenance. He did not disapprove of
that, only he wished to propitiate you in his favour, and begged me to
let him have the satisfaction of knowing that he had my good wishes,
and that I could look upon him in a warmer light than a mere friend.”
“Which I hope you did?”
“Yes, ma’. I let him imagine that I was not indifferent to his good
opinion; but, at the same time, I would not commit myself, but left him
to infer a good deal. I think I know, ma’, how to manage such an affair
well—I may say, very well.”
“Exactly, my love. I was sure you would.”
“Yes, ma’; I should think I did. For when I found he had proceeded a
certain distance, I was resolved that he should speak out plump at
once; and when I found he paused, I paused too, and he was compelled to
explain; but he betrayed no unwillingness, or anything like hesitation
at all, but he has fairly proposed himself to me.”
“And you have not committed yourself?”
“Not in the least.”
“Very well. I must be cautious, too not to do so; because I must have
some conversation with Mr. Twissel, so that we may proceed in a safe
manner, and not commit ourselves in any way as we shall repent of
afterwards.”
“How do you mean?”
“Why, child, you would not marry the colonel if he was not a rich man.”
“Not exactly; though I must admit, ma’, he is a very nice man—a very
nice man, and I should be entitled to a widow’s pension, if nothing
more, and that I might not have under some circumstances; even you
yourself have been left worse off, you see.”
“Yes, my child; but circumstances alter cases. I had a better prospect
when I first married, else I would not have done so, you may depend
upon it. However, we can always retrace our steps, and he cannot. But I
will get Mr. Twissel to come and see into matters a bit for us.”
“Well, ma’, you shall do as you think fit—only, take care not to throw
away a good chance because you have greater hopes.”
“Has he said anything about his property?”
“Not a word, except it was to intimate it was large, and he had won it
very hardly, with great danger; but he did not say what it consisted
of. Of course I could not ask.”
“Oh, dear, no.”
“But he intimated he would keep a carriage, and a country house, as
well as a town house, besides several other matters, which makes it
plain enough he has been used to plenty; besides, as he spoke to me in
describing some scenes in India, he appeared so much animated that I am
sure he must be what he appears to be, and what he says he is.”
“Ah, well, I think myself it is all quite right, and that we shall have
nothing to repent there; but we will let all go on but the naming of
the day—that must not be named, for, if we do, we shall not be able to
retract.”
“Oh, no, we shall not have any occasion to do that, I think; but I
dare say he will speak to you to-night, as there is time at supper
especially.”
“No doubt. You may as well retire early, so that you may be absent, and
that will give us greater liberty to talk than if you were present, my
dear. I wish Mr. Twissel were here; but it can’t be helped; and when he
does come, I must have some conversation with him, and I must, in the
meantime, learn what I can for him to inquire about afterwards.”
Thus resolved, Margaret went to bed early, leaving her mother to attend
upon the colonel, who sat looking at the fire without any change of
posture since the last time he was seen by the girl; but Mrs. Meredith
caused him to break the steady gaze and deep thought he was indulging
in.
“I hope you have been quite well, colonel, since I left?”
“Yes, quite well, Mrs. Meredith.”
“What would you choose for supper?”
“Margaret——”
“Eh?” said Mrs. Meredith, amazed.
“I beg your pardon; I did not know you were near—at least, I did not
know I spoke at the moment; but, pray, what did you desire to know?”
“What you would have for supper, sir?”
“Oh, whatever you have at hand; some of what we had for dinner—I
think I should like it as soon as you feel disposed to have it. I am
ready—quite ready.”
“Then it shall be had at once, sir,” said Mrs. Meredith; “I will order
it up immediately, for it is later than I intended to have stopped
out; but the hours so soon ran away, and there were so many motives to
forget the time that was flying so fast.”
The supper was soon laid, and the colonel and Mrs. Meredith alone sat
down to it, at his earnest request. Indeed, they used to have meals
much in common; for the colonel professed to be very fond of female
company, and was desirous of their company, which they translated into
a desire for the presence of Margaret herself.
The supper was laid and over before the colonel said anything; but
appeared to be absorbed in deep thought, from which it was difficult to
arouse himself. But at length, after looking around once or twice, and
not seeing Margaret at table, he said to Mrs. Meredith,—
“I hope I have not driven your daughter away.”
“Oh, no, sir; she complains of headache, and has gone to bed somewhat
earlier than usual.”
“I fear I must lay the blame on myself.”
“She did not say you were the cause,” replied Mrs. Meredith, “of her
ailment; and, therefore, I think you must be free from blame; for she
would have said so, if it had so happened. She generally speaks the
truth in such matters, at least, and, I believe, in every other.”
“No doubt; but I have been speaking upon a subject that concerns my
own happiness to her, and perhaps the excitement may have caused her
some evil of that sort. She would not, perhaps, name it to you, Mrs.
Meredith; but I will. You have been a wife yourself, and know that
a few candid words are better, and more to the purpose, than a long
desultory courtship.”
“Yes, sir; it certainly is so.”
“There is some difference, too, in our ages,” said the colonel. “I have
not overlooked that matter, at all events; but I hope that will be no
cause of impediment or objection.”
“It cannot be, sir, in such a case as your own, for instance.”
“Well, then, I have proposed for her husband. I wish to make her my
wife. I am yet hale and hearty, and have some few years yet which I
could wish to pass in happiness, and which I will use to make her
happy. And if I die early, I have ample means of providing for her—of
leaving her a most handsome and ample fortune. Not more than she
deserves; but possibly more than she might have thought of seeking.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Then I wish for your consent to our future happiness.”
“You may have my good wishes,” said Mrs. Meredith.
“You are very good,” said the colonel; “and I trust your daughter will
live long to make you happy by making her own apparent to you.”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Meredith, “this is rather a sudden affair; you
will not think of hurrying it to a conclusion, but permit her to become
acquainted with you, and to know her own mind.”
“Certainly, I do wish it pushed on to a conclusion; but not so much so
as to cause any dissatisfaction. I am anxious to call her wife. My
feelings are those of an ardent lover.”
“I do not dispute it.”
“Still you and she must be the best judges of all this. You will not,
I hope, punish me by compelling me to a longer probation than you are
compelled to put me to. I am not like a young man who has a fortune, or
rather a living to earn; but I have one ready, a handsome one, and my
wife will be a lady of fortune when I die.”
“Do not think of dying at such a moment, sir.”
“Why, it is not desirable,” said the colonel, who did not deem it
necessary to carry the conversation on any further that night;
thinking, possibly, enough had been said for the first occasion of
revealing his passion, and he, no doubt, considered his success signal.
The supper then passed off in the usual style, and Mrs. Meredith left
the colonel, and wished him good night, with feelings somewhat akin to
triumph, and returned to her own daughter’s room, there to cogitate and
sleep upon what had that evening taken place.
• • • • •
The next day she determined to send to Mr. Twissel, and arrange the
meeting she desired; and, at the same time, she resolved that she would
not push matters to the extremity, of making a point of knowing what
his property were, for she might lose all; she was convinced that the
colonel must be a man of large property; how could such a man live if
he were not.
That was a speculation she could not help indulging in. She knew that
a man in Colonel Deverill’s line of life was quite able to support
himself; besides, the jewels he had about him were worth a large sum
of money; putting all things together, she considered it was not worth
while to lose so good, so excellent an opportunity as the present for
making a brilliant, at least, an excellent settlement for her daughter,
and a home for herself.
“There can be no fear,” she muttered; “there can be no fear; her
widow’s pension will be a better support to her than the livelihood of
some.”
Mr. Twissel was sent for; and, the papers she desired to find for
him, she was fortunate enough to discover, and laid them by at once.
The attorney came willingly enough, and was well pleased when he was
informed of the success of the search after the papers, and produced
the bond, by which she agreed to give him one hundred pounds for his
assistance in the marriage affair.
However, he did not seem to agree with her, that she should not be over
particular about the colonel’s property; he thought that there must be
some inquiries made respecting it, to ascertain if there were any or
none.
“But,” suggested Mrs. Meredith, “the colonel is a kind, but a proud
man, and he would, probably, take great and deep offence at any inquiry
being made into his pecuniary affairs.”
“Hardly, my dear madam; don’t you see, love would be strong enough to
counterbalance that; he would make some allowance for paternal anxiety
and love.”
“There is much reason in all that; yet I have heard so much of these
nabobs, that one is afraid to lose a good chance by inadvertently
touching their weak points; for, the kind of society and company they
have, theirs is so different to what they find here.”
“Yes, that is very true; but we should like to know that it is true.
What service has he been in—I think, though, you said in the East India
Service?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, I will make some inquiries at the house; they will answer
my inquiries, and no one will even be the wiser for it; they will, at
least, tell me if there is such a person in the service, and, perhaps,
I can learn something more.”
“Very well, that may be done. Will you come round with me to tea this
evening, as I will contrive to bring you in the presence of Colonel
Deverill, whom you will then see and converse with? I am not sure of
it, but I will try to do so.”
“I will be here,” said the attorney; “and, in the mean time, I will
make the necessary inquiries.”
They parted upon this mutual good understanding; and the attorney,
in high spirits, for the papers were of great value to him, and the
promised reward was a stimulus to a greater exertion on behalf of
Mrs. Meredith and her daughter, for he thought he could do business
for the Colonel, after this affair was settled—such an opportunity of
increasing his connection did not offer every day.
Mrs. Meredith redoubled her assiduity about the person of Colonel
Deverill; and, at the same time, lost no opportunity of putting her
daughter forward; nor was that daughter a bit disinclined to take such
opportunity as was offered her, of making the most of herself on this
occasion, to appear amiable, and in some new and languishing position,
or to perform some new service for the colonel.