I am not going to describe Miriam's garden. I will only say that of all
the gardens I have ever seen, large or small, it remains in my memory as
the quietest, the most retired and the most beautiful. It was not long
before I asked for a key, and Miriam gave me one; and I was free of that
enchanted spot, and of all the sweet intercourse it brought me.
When, on that evening, we hurried away from the comparative solitude of
the park, to enfence ourselves in the complete solitude of Miriam's
garden, and left Mrs. Perry and Mollie to come home by themselves, the
only excuse that we could offer was the true one. Before the evening was
out it was known to all the occupants of Magnolia Hall that Miriam had
asked me into her garden.
Dear Mrs. Perry smiled on us and kissed us both. She was an unworldly
woman, and only desired her daughter's happiness. Mollie showed a
gratifying excitement at the unexpected news; Tom eyed me rather
suspiciously, and, while not witholding his congratulations, said
enigmatically that it was my white flannel suit, but he supposed he
should get used to it in time. Edward expressed some doubts. I had to
have it out with Edward. But that was later. When he came home that
night I had already interviewed Mr. Perry.
Mr. Perry was as kind as possible, but, as was only natural, wanted to
know something about my circumstances.
"You are aware," he said, "of the great work in which my life is spent.
I am not able to do as much for my daughters as I should look to doing,
if I lived as my neighbours do. But I will do what I can. You shall
allow me three hundred pounds a year, and I will get rid of it as best I
can. At five per cent interest, that would be tantamount to a settlement
of six thousand pounds; and I should charge my estate with it, so that
you would not suffer in the event of my death."
I thanked him suitably, and, gathering my wits about me, offered to
settle upon Miriam Mr. Brummer's U. O. Me for two hundred and
thirty-four pounds, and my account with the Universal Stores of a
hundred pounds odd.
"I am sorry to say that those are the only debts I have in the world," I
said, "but on the other hand I do not earn much money."
"Excuse my asking the question," said Mr. Perry diffidently, "but what
is your occupation?"
"I will make a clean breast of it to you," I said. "I am a University
Extension lecturer, and am also employed in editing educational works."
"A very honourable occupation," said Mr. Perry. "A scholar is always a
respectable person, and his calling is not a lucrative one."
"I hope," I said, "that there will never be any doubt about my being
able to support Miriam in the poor way in which a daughter of yours
ought to live."
Mr. Perry sighed pensively. "I will not deny," he said, "that I should
have liked a larger settlement. I have already sacrificed one daughter
to my passion for the amelioration of mankind, and although Herman
Eppstein's character is irreproachable I suffer somewhat from the
remarks of my friends as to that marriage. I should have liked Miriam to
make what the world calls a good match, and to be placed beyond all risk
of wealth. Still, with what I can do for you, you will start your
married life in embarrassed circumstances, and we must hope that no
unforeseen accidents will occur. If you keep to your comparatively
ill-paid work, and avoid the temptation that so many young men fall
into, of trying to get poor quick, all will go well. It is something, at
any rate, to have a daughter marrying into a Highland family, and my
friends can hardly reproach me with another misalliance in that
respect."
He said this with an agreeable smile, and I left him, feeling that I had
got through the interview more easily than I could have hoped for.
I had the congratulations of Lord Arthur. He himself was in the stage of
walking out, or rather of walking in her garden, with a house-maid from
a neighbouring establishment--one of the prettiest of the debutantes of
the season--and was inclined towards sympathy with my state of mind. He
said that the earlier a fellow settled down in life the better it was
for him, and directly he and his fiancee could find a situation as
butler and housekeeper to an amenable married couple without
encumbrances, their wedding would take place. He talked more about his
own love affair than about mine, and made it plain--although I am sure
that he did not intend to--that my engagement was but a moderate affair
beside his. His father was a Marquis, and would largely decrease his
younger son's allowance upon his marriage; and his prospective
father-in-law was a Dean of aristocratic lineage, who was prepared to
settle on his daughter the whole debt for repairing the West front of
his cathedral.
Edward's attitude was a mixture of pleasure and anxiety. He said he
liked me personally, and there was no one to whom he would rather see
his sister married if he saw no difficulties in the way. "You won't tell
us where you come from," he said rather peevishly. "No one can call me
curious about my neighbours' affairs--I have far too many and important
ones of my own to occupy me--but if you are going to marry my sister I
_should_ like to know something more about you. How _did_ you come here?
If you walked from the Highlands, you couldn't have come into Culbut on
the side on which my father first saw you."
"I have already told you how I came," I said. "I walked over the moors,
and came through an underground passage into the wood where your father
found me. I don't profess to understand it; but that is exactly how it
happened."
He looked at me suspiciously. "My dear fellow," he said, "you are
playing with me. My father found you asleep in a little copse that you
have to pass through to get to the Female Penitentiary, which he was
visiting that afternoon. Beyond that there is at least a mile of suburb;
it is on the high-road to the town of Somersault, and the country is
well populated all the way."
"I am not surprised to hear it," I said. "I told you that I did not
understand what had happened. But I have given you the facts as I
remember them."
"Then it is very plain," said Edward, "that you must have suffered in
your brain, and have escaped from some lunatic asylum. Your behaviour
when we first met would seem to point to that; and the wildness of the
ideas which you disclosed to me was more like what one would expect to
exist in the brain of a maniac than anything else. I think it is very
likely that you do come from the Highlands; or why should you have
mentioned that region at all? Your appearance is good, and it is evident
that you have come from some place where you have filled a position of
dignity."
"I am glad that it strikes you like that," I said. "But I don't feel in
the least like a lunatic. In fact, I am quite sure that I am as sane as
you are."
"I think you are, _now_," said Edward; "and I don't see any reason why
you shouldn't remain so. If that is really the solution of your
eccentricities, then all my difficulties are done away with, and I can
welcome you, my dear fellow, cordially as a brother-in-law."
"Oh!" I said, somewhat taken aback. "You don't think that I might break
out again?"
"I should think it is unlikely; but if you did, we could easily have you
put away for a time. The great advantage would be that Miriam could
always get a divorce on the ground of insanity of partner, whenever she
wished it."
"Is that a ground for divorce in Upsidonia?"
"Yes; the passing of that law has been a great boon. People under
suspicion of weak intellect have become much more marriageable than they
were before."
"I shouldn't like to begin married life with the idea of a divorce
hanging over me."
"I don't say that Miriam would allow herself to count on a divorce at
present; and if I were you I should not tell her that you have suffered
from brain trouble."
"I won't," I said.
"No; and I won't, either. But one never knows what may happen in married
life, and it would be a comfort to know that Miriam would not be tied to
you for life if you turned out badly."
"Well, supposing we leave it at that," I said. "I think you're wrong
about my brain trouble, but if your idea comforts you at all, keep it by
all means; but keep it to yourself."