TOM TRINGLE COMES TO THE CRESCENT.
During the next three months, up to the end of the winter and through
the early spring, things went on without any change either in Queen's
Gate or Kingsbury Crescent. The sisters saw each other occasionally,
but not as frequently as either of them had intended. Lucy was not
encouraged in the use of cabs, nor was the carriage lent to her often
for the purpose of going to the Crescent. The reader may remember
that she had been in the habit of walking alone in Kensington
Gardens, and a walk across Kensington Gardens would carry her the
greater part of the distance to Kingsbury Crescent. But Lucy, in
her new circumstances, was not advised,--perhaps, I may say, was
not allowed,--to walk alone. Lady Tringle, being a lady of rank and
wealth, was afraid, or pretended to be afraid, of the lions. Poor
Ayala was really afraid of the lions. Thus it came to pass that the
intercourse was not frequent. In her daily life Lucy was quiet and
obedient. She did not run counter to Augusta, whose approaching
nuptials gave her that predominance in the house which is always
accorded to young ladies in her recognised position. Gertrude was at
this time a subject of trouble at Queen's Gate. Sir Thomas had not
been got to approve of Mr. Frank Houston, and Gertrude had positively
refused to give him up. Sir Thomas was, indeed, considerably troubled
by his children. There had been a period of disagreeable obstinacy
even with Augusta before Mr. Traffick had been taken into the bosom
of the family. Now Gertrude had her own ideas, and so also had
Tom. Tom had become quite a trouble. Sir Thomas and Lady Tringle,
together, had determined that Tom must be weaned; by which they meant
that he must be cured of his love. But Tom had altogether refused to
be weaned. Mr. Dosett had been requested to deny him admittance to
the house in Kingsbury Crescent, and as this request had been fully
endorsed by Ayala herself orders had been given to the effect to the
parlour-maid. Tom had called more than once, and had been unable to
obtain access to his beloved. But yet he resolutely refused to be
weaned. He told his father to his face that he intended to marry
Ayala, and abused his mother roundly when she attempted to interfere.
The whole family was astounded by his perseverance, so that there had
already sprung up an idea in the minds of some among the Tringles
that he would be successful at last. Augusta was very firm, declaring
that Ayala was a viper. But Sir Thomas, himself, began to inquire,
within his own bosom, whether Tom should not be allowed to settle
down in the manner desired by himself. In no consultation held at
Queen's Gate on the subject was there the slightest expression of an
opinion that Tom might be denied the opportunity of settling down as
he wished through any unwillingness on the part of Ayala.
When things were in this position, Tom sought an interview one
morning with his father in Lombard Street. They rarely saw each other
at the office, each having his own peculiar branch of business. Sir
Thomas manipulated his millions in a little back room of his own,
while Tom, dealing probably with limited thousands, made himself
useful in an outer room. They never went to, or left, the office
together, but Sir Thomas always took care to know that his son
was or was not on the premises. "I want to say a word or two, Sir,
about--about the little affair of mine," said Tom.
"What affair?" said Sir Thomas, looking up from his millions.
"I think I should like to--marry."
"The best thing you can do, my boy; only it depends upon who the
young lady may be."
"My mind is made up about that, Sir; I mean to marry my cousin. I
don't see why a young man isn't to choose for himself." Then Sir
Thomas preached his sermon, but preached it in the manner which men
are wont to use when they know that they are preaching in vain. There
is a tone of refusal, which, though the words used may be manifestly
enough words of denial, is in itself indicative of assent. Sir Thomas
ended the conference by taking a week to think over the matter, and
when the week was over gave way. He was still inclined to think that
marriages with cousins had better be avoided; but he gave way, and at
last promised that if Tom and Ayala were of one mind an income should
be forthcoming.
For the carrying out of this purpose it was necessary that the door
of Uncle Dosett's house should be unlocked, and with the object of
turning the key Sir Thomas himself called at the Admiralty. "I find
my boy is quite in earnest about this," he said to the Admiralty
clerk.
"Oh; indeed."
"I can't say I quite like it myself." Mr. Dosett could only shake his
head. "Cousins had better be cousins, and nothing more."
"And then you would probably expect him to get money?"
"Not at all," said Sir Thomas, proudly. "I have got money enough for
them both. It isn't an affair of money. To make a long story short,
I have given my consent; and, therefore, if you do not mind, I shall
be glad if you will allow Tom to call at the Crescent. Of course,
you may have your own views; but I don't suppose you can hope to do
better for the girl. Cousins do marry, you know, very often." Mr.
Dosett could only say that he could not expect to do anything for the
girl nearly so good, and that, as far as he was concerned, his nephew
Tom should be made quite welcome at Kingsbury Crescent. It was not,
he added, in his power to answer for Ayala. As to this, Sir Thomas
did not seem to have any doubts. The good things of the world, which
it was in his power to offer, were so good, that it was hardly
probable that a young lady in Ayala's position should refuse them.
"My dear," said Aunt Margaret, the next morning, speaking in her most
suasive tone, "your Cousin Tom is to be allowed to call here."
"Tom Tringle?"
"Yes, my dear. Sir Thomas has consented."
"Then he had better not," said Ayala, bristling up in hot anger.
"Uncle Tom has got nothing to do with it, either in refusing or
consenting. I won't see him."
"I think you must see him if he calls."
"But I don't want. Oh, Aunt Margaret, pray make him not come. I
don't like him a bit. We are doing so very well. Are we not, Aunt
Margaret?"
"Certainly, my dear, we are doing very well;--at least, I hope so.
But you are old enough now to understand that this is a very serious
matter."
"Of course it is serious," said Ayala, who certainly was not guilty
of the fault of making light of her future life. Those dreams of
hers, in which were contained all her hopes and all her aspirations,
were very serious to her. This was so much the case that she had
by no means thought of her Cousin Tom in a light spirit, as though
he were a matter of no moment to her. He was to her just what the
Beast must have been to the Beauty, when the Beast first began to
be in love. But her safety had consisted in the fact that no one
had approved of the Beast being in love with her. Now she could
understand that all the horrors of oppression might fall upon her. Of
course it was serious; but not the less was she resolved that nothing
should induce her to marry the Beast.
"I think you ought to see him when he comes, and to remember how
different it will be when he comes with the approval of his father.
It is, of course, saying that they are ready to welcome you as their
daughter."
"I don't want to be anybody's daughter."
"But, Ayala, there are so many things to be thought of. Here is a
young man who is able to give you not only every comfort but great
opulence."
"I don't want to be opulent."
"And he will be a baronet."
"I don't care about baronets, Aunt Margaret."
"And you will have a house of your own in which you may be of service
to your sister."
"I had rather she should have a house."
"But Tom is not in love with Lucy."
"He is such a lout! Aunt Margaret, I won't have anything to say to
him. I would a great deal sooner die. Uncle Tom has no right to send
him here. They have got rid of me, and I am very glad of it; but
it isn't fair that he should come after me now that I'm gone away.
Couldn't Uncle Reginald tell him to stay away?"
A great deal more was said, but nothing that was said had the
slightest effect on Ayala. When she was told of her dependent
position, and of the splendour of the prospects offered, she declared
that she would rather go into the poor-house than marry her cousin.
When she was told that Tom was good-natured, honest, and true, she
declared that good-nature, honesty, and truth had nothing to do with
it. When she was asked what it was that she looked forward to in the
world she could merely sob and say that there was nothing. She could
not tell even her sister Lucy of those dreams and castles. How, then,
could she explain them to her Aunt Margaret? How could she make her
aunt understand that there could be no place in her heart for Tom
Tringle seeing that it was to be kept in reserve for some angel of
light who would surely make his appearance in due season,--but who
must still be there, present to her as her angel of light, even
should he never show himself in the flesh. How vain it was to talk
of Tom Tringle to her, when she had so visible before her eyes that
angel of light with whom she was compelled to compare him!
But, though she could not be brought to say that she would listen
patiently to his story, she was nevertheless made to understand that
she must see him when he came to her. Aunt Margaret was very full on
that subject. A young man who was approved of by the young lady's
friends, and who had means at command, was, in Mrs. Dosett's opinion,
entitled to a hearing. How otherwise were properly authorised
marriages to be made up and arranged? When this was going on there
was in some slight degree a diminished sympathy between Ayala and her
aunt. Ayala still continued her household duties,--over which, in the
privacy of her own room, she groaned sadly; but she continued them
in silence. Her aunt, upon whom she had counted, was, she thought,
turning against her. Mrs. Dosett, on the other hand, declared to
herself that the girl was romantic and silly. Husbands with every
immediate comfort, and a prospect of almost unlimited wealth, are not
to be found under every hedge. What right could a girl so dependent
as Ayala have to refuse an eligible match? She therefore in this way
became an advocate on behalf of Tom,--as did also Uncle Reginald,
more mildly. Uncle Reginald merely remarked that Tom was attending
to his business, which was a great thing in a young man. It was not
much, but it showed Ayala that in this matter her uncle was her
enemy. In this, her terrible crisis, she had not a friend, unless it
might be Lucy.
Then a day was fixed on which Tom was to come, which made the matter
more terrible by anticipation. "What can be the good?" Ayala said to
her aunt when the hour named for the interview was told her, "as I
can tell him everything just as well without his coming at all." But
all that had been settled. Aunt Margaret had repeated over and over
again that such an excellent young man as Tom, with such admirable
intentions, was entitled to a hearing from any young lady. In reply
to this Ayala simply made a grimace, which was intended to signify
the utter contempt in which she held her cousin Tom with all his
wealth.
Tom Tringle, in spite of his rings and a certain dash of vulgarity,
which was, perhaps, not altogether his own fault, was not a bad
fellow. Having taken it into his heart that he was very much in love
he was very much in love. He pictured to himself a happiness of a
wholesome cleanly kind. To have the girl as his own, to caress her
and foster her, and expend himself in making her happy; to exalt her,
so as to have it acknowledged that she was, at any rate, as important
as Augusta; to learn something from her, so that he, too, might
become romantic, and in some degree poetical;--all this had come
home to him in a not ignoble manner. But it had not come home to him
that Ayala might probably refuse him. Hitherto Ayala had been very
persistent in her refusals; but then hitherto there had existed the
opposition of all the family. Now he had overcome that, and he felt
therefore that he was entitled to ask and to receive.
On the day fixed, and at the hour fixed, he came in the plenitude of
all his rings. Poor Tom! It was a pity that he should have had no
one to advise him as to his apparel. Ayala hated his jewelry. She
was not quite distinct in her mind as to the raiment which would be
worn by the angel of light when he should come, but she was sure
that he would not be chiefly conspicuous for heavy gilding; and Tom,
moreover, had a waistcoat which would of itself have been suicidal.
Such as he was, however, he was shown up into the drawing-room, where
he found Ayala alone. It was certainly a misfortune to him that no
preliminary conversation was possible. Ayala had been instructed
to be there with the express object of listening to an offer of
marriage. The work had to be done,--and should be done; but it would
not admit of other ordinary courtesies. She was very angry with
him, and she looked her anger. Why should she be subjected to this
terrible annoyance? He had sense enough to perceive that there was no
place for preliminary courtesy, and therefore rushed away at once to
the matter in hand. "Ayala!" he exclaimed, coming and standing before
her as she sat upon the sofa.
"Tom!" she said, looking boldly up into his face.
"Ayala, I love you better than anything else in the world."
"But what's the good of it?"
"Of course it was different when I told you so before. I meant to
stick to it, and I was determined that the governor should give way.
But you couldn't know that. Mother and the girls were all against
us."
"They weren't against me," said Ayala.
"They were against our being married, and so they squeezed you out
as it were. That is why you have been sent to this place. But they
understand me now, and know what I am about. They have all given
their consent, and the governor has promised to be liberal. When he
says a thing he'll do it. There will be lots of money."
"I don't care a bit about money," said Ayala, fiercely.
"No more do I,--except only that it is comfortable. It wouldn't do to
marry without money,--would it?"
"It would do very well if anybody cared for anybody." The angel of
light generally appeared "in formâ pauperis," though there was always
about him a tinge of bright azure which was hardly compatible with
the draggle-tailed hue of everyday poverty.
"But an income is a good thing, and the governor will come down like
a brick."
"The governor has nothing to do with it. I told you before that it
is all nonsense. If you will only go away and say nothing about it I
shall always think you very good-natured."
"But I won't go away," said Tom speaking out boldly, "I mean to stick
to it. Ayala, I don't believe you understand that I am thoroughly in
earnest."
"Why shouldn't I be in earnest, too?"
"But I love you, Ayala. I have set my heart upon it. You don't know
how well I love you. I have quite made up my mind about it."
"And I have made up my mind."
"But Ayala--" Now the tenor of his face changed, and something of the
look of a despairing lover took the place of that offensive triumph
which had at first sat upon his brow. "I don't suppose you care for
any other fellow yet."
There was the angel of light. But even though she might be most
anxious to explain to him that his suit was altogether impracticable
she could say nothing to him about the angel. Though she was sure
that the angel would come, she was not certain that she would ever
give herself altogether even to the angel. The celestial castle
which was ever being built in her imagination was as yet very much
complicated. But had it been ever so clear it would have been quite
impossible to explain anything of this to her cousin Tom. "That has
nothing to do with it," she said.
"If you knew how I love you!" This came from him with a sob, and as
he sobbed he went down before her on his knees.
"Don't be a fool, Tom,--pray don't. If you won't get up I shall go
away. I must go away. I have heard all that there is to hear. I told
them that there is no use in your coming."
"Ayala!" with this there were veritable sobs.
"Then why don't you give it up and let us be good friends."
"I can't give it up. I won't give it up. When a fellow means it as I
do he never gives it up. Nothing on earth shall make me give it up.
Ayala, you've got to do it, and so I tell you."
"Nobody can make me," said Ayala, nodding her head, but somewhat
tamed by the unexpected passion of the young man.
"Then you won't say one kind word to me?"
"I can't say anything kinder."
"Very well. Then I shall go away and come again constantly till you
do. I mean to have you. When you come to know how very much I love
you I do think you will give way at last." With that he picked
himself up from the ground and hurried out of the house without
saying another word.