ISADORE HAMEL IS ASKED TO LUNCH.
On the following morning, the morning of Monday, 2nd September,
Isadore Hamel started on his journey. He had thought much about the
journey before he made it. No doubt the door had been slammed in his
face in London. He felt quite conscious of that, and conscious also
that a man should not renew his attempt to enter a door when it has
been once slammed in his face. But he understood the circumstances
nearly as they had happened,--except that he was not aware how far
the door had been slammed by Lady Tringle without any concurrence
on the part of Sir Thomas. But the door had, at any rate, not been
slammed by Lucy. The only person he had really wished to see within
that house had been Lucy Dormer; and he had hitherto no reason for
supposing that she would be unwilling to receive him. Her face had
been sweet and gracious when she saw him in the Park. Was he to deny
himself all hope of any future intercourse with her because Lady
Tringle had chosen to despise him? He must make some attempt. It was
more than probable, no doubt, that this attempt would be futile.
The servant at Glenbogie would probably be as well instructed as
the servant in Queen's Gate. But still a man has to go on and do
something, if he means to do anything. There could be no good in
sitting up at Drumcaller, at one side of the lake, and thinking of
Lucy Dormer far away, at the other side. He had not at all made up
his mind that he would ask Lucy to be his wife. His professional
income was still poor, and she, as he was aware, had nothing. But
he felt it to be incumbent upon him to get nearer to her if it were
possible, and to say something to her if the privilege of speech
should be accorded to him.
He walked down to Callerfoot, refusing the loan of the Colonel's pony
carriage, and thence had himself carried across the lake in a hired
boat to a place called Sandy's Quay. That, he was assured, was the
spot on the other side from whence the nearest road would be found
to Glenbogie. But nobody on the Callerfoot side could tell him what
would be the distance. At Sandy's Quay he was assured that it was
twelve miles to Glenbogie House; but he soon found that the man who
told him had a pony for hire. "Ye'll nae get there under twalve
mile,--or maybe saxteen, if ye attampt to walk up the glin." So said
the owner of the pony. But milder information came to him speedily.
A little boy would show him the way up the glen for sixpence, and
engage to bring him to the house in an hour and a half. So he started
with the little boy, and after a hot scramble for about two hours he
found himself within the demesne. Poking their way up through thick
bushes from a ravine, they showed their two heads,--first the boy and
then the sculptor,--close by the side of the private road,--just as
Sir Thomas was passing, mounted on his cob. "It's his ain sell," said
the boy, dropping his head again amongst the bushes.
Hamel, when he had made good his footing, had first to turn round
so that the lad might not lose his wages. A dirty little hand came
up for the sixpence, but the head never appeared again. It was well
known in the neighbourhood,--especially at Sandy's Quay, where boats
were used to land,--that Sir Thomas was not partial to visitors who
made their way into Glenbogie by any but the authorised road. While
Hamel was paying his debt, he stood still on his steed waiting to
see who might be the trespasser. "That's not a high road," said Sir
Thomas, as the young man approached him. As the last quarter of an
hour from the bottom of the ravine had been occupied in very stiff
climbing among the rocks the information conveyed appeared to Hamel
to have been almost unnecessary. "Your way up to the house, if you
are going there, would have been through the lodge down there."
"Perhaps you are Sir Thomas Tringle," said Hamel.
"That is my name."
"Then I have to ask your pardon for my mode of ingress. I am going up
to the house; but having crossed the lake from Callerfoot I did not
know my way on this side, and so I have clambered up the ravine." Sir
Thomas bowed, and then waited for further tidings. "I believe Miss
Dormer is at the house?"
"My niece is there."
"My name is Hamel,--Isadore Hamel. I am a sculptor, and used to be
acquainted with her father. I have had great kindness from the whole
family, and so I was going to call upon her. If you do not object, I
will go on to the house."
Sir Thomas sat upon his horse speechless for a minute. He had to
consider whether he did not object or not. He was well aware that
his wife objected,--aware also that he had declined to coincide with
his wife's objection when it had been pressed upon him. Why should
not his niece have the advantage of a lover, if a proper sort of a
lover came in her way? As to the father's morals or the son's birth,
those matters to Sir Thomas were nothing. The young man, he was
told, was good at making busts. Would any one buy the busts when
they were made? That was the question. His wife would certainly be
prejudiced,--would think it necessary to reject for Lucy any suitor
she would reject for her own girls. And then, as Sir Thomas felt, she
had not shown great judgment in selecting suitors for her own girls.
"Oh, Mr. Hamel, are you?" he said at last.
"Isadore Hamel."
"You called at Queen's Gate once, not long ago?"
"I did," said Hamel; "but saw no one."
"No, you didn't; I heard that. Well, you can go on to the house if
you like, but you had better ask for Lady Tringle. After coming over
from Callerfoot you'll want some lunch. Stop a moment. I don't mind
if I ride back with you." And so the two started towards the house,
and Hamel listened whilst Sir Thomas expatiated on the beauties of
Glenbogie.
They had passed through one gate and were approaching another, when,
away among the trees, there was a young lady seen walking alone.
"There is Miss Dormer," said Hamel; "I suppose I may join her?" Sir
Thomas could not quite make up his mind whether the meeting was to
be allowed or not, but he could not bring himself at the spur of the
moment to refuse his sanction. So Hamel made his way across to Lucy,
while Sir Thomas rode on alone to the house.
Lucy had seen her uncle on the cob, and, being accustomed to see him
on the cob, knew of course who he was. She had also seen another man
with him, but not in the least expecting that Hamel was in those
parts, had never dreamt that he was her uncle's companion. It was
not till Hamel was near to her that she understood that the man was
coming to join herself; and then, when she did recognise the man, she
was lost in amazement. "You hardly expected to see me here?" said he.
"Indeed; no."
"Nor did I expect that I should find you in this way."
"My uncle knows it is you?" asked Lucy.
"Oh, yes. I met him as I came up from the ravine, and he has asked
me to go on to the house to lunch." Then there was silence for a few
moments as they walked on together. "I hope you do not think that I
am persecuting you in making my way over here."
"Oh, no; not persecuting!" Lucy when she heard the sound of what she
herself had said, was angry with herself, feeling that she had almost
declared him guilty of some wrong in having come thither. "Of course
I am glad to see you," she added, "for papa's sake, but I'm afraid--"
"Afraid of what, Miss Dormer?"
She looked him full in the face as she answered him, collecting her
courage to make the declaration which seemed to be necessary. "My
Aunt Emmeline does not want you to come."
"Why should she not want me?"
"That I cannot tell. Perhaps if I did know I should not tell. But
it is so. You called at Queen's Gate, and I know that you were not
admitted, though I was at home. Of course, Aunt Emmeline has a right
to choose who shall come. It is not as though I had a house of my
own."
"But Sir Thomas asked me in."
"Then you had better go in. After what Aunt Emmeline said, I do not
think that you ought to remain with me."
"Your uncle knows I am with you," said Hamel. Then they walked on
towards the house together in silence for a while. "Do you mean to
say," he continued, "that because your aunt objects you are never to
see me again?"
"I hope I shall see you again. You were papa's friend, and I should
be so very sorry not to see you again."
"I suppose," he said, slowly, "I can never be more than your papa's
friend."
"You are mine also."
"I would be more than that." Then he paused as if waiting for a
reply, but she of course had none to make. "I would be so much more
than that, Lucy." Still she had no answer to give him. But there
comes a time when no answer is as excellent eloquence as any words
that can be spoken. Hamel, who had probably not thought much of this,
was nevertheless at once informed by his instincts that it was so.
"Oh, Lucy," he said, "if you can love me say so."
"Mr. Hamel," she whispered.
"Lucy."
"Mr. Hamel, I told you about Aunt Emmeline. She will not allow it. I
ought not to have let you speak to me like this, while I am staying
here."
"But your uncle knows I am with you."
"My aunt does not know. We must go to the house. She expressly
desired that I would not speak to you."
"And you will obey her--always?"
"No; not always. I did not say that I should obey her always. Some
day, perhaps, I shall do as I think fit myself."
"And then you will speak to me?"
"Then I will speak to you," she said.
"And love me?"
"And love you," she answered, again looking him full in the face.
"But now pray, pray let us go on." For he had stopped her awhile
amidst the trees, and had put out his hand as though to take hers,
and had opened his arms as though he would embrace her. But she
passed on quickly, and hardly answered his further questions till
they found themselves together in the hall of the house.
Then they met Lady Tringle, who was just passing into the room where
the lunch was laid, and following her were Augusta, Gertrude, and the
Honourable Septimus Traffick. For, though Frank Houston had found
himself compelled to go at the day named, the Honourable Septimus
had contrived to squeeze out another week. Augusta was indeed still
not without hope that the paternal hospitality of Glenbogie might be
prolonged till dear Merle Park should once again open her portals.
Sir Thomas had already passed into the dining-room, having in gruff
voice informed his wife that he had invited Mr. Hamel to come in to
lunch. "Mr. Hamel!" she had exclaimed. "Yes, Mr. Hamel. I could not
see the man starving when he had come all this way. I don't know
anything against him." Then he had turned away, and had gone into
the dining-room, and was now standing with his back to the empty
fire-place, determined to take Mr. Hamel's part if any want of
courtesy were shown to him.
It certainly was hard upon Lady Tringle. She frowned and was going to
walk on without any acknowledgment, when Lucy timidly went through
a form of introduction. "Aunt Emmeline, this is Mr. Hamel. Uncle
Tom met him somewhere in the grounds and has asked him to come to
luncheon." Then Lady Tringle curtseyed and made a bow. The curtsey
and the bow together were sufficient to have crushed the heart of any
young man who had not been comforted and exalted by such words as
Isadore had heard from Lucy's lips not five minutes since. "And love
you," she had said. After that Lady Tringle might curtsey and bow
as she would, and he could still live uncrushed. After the curtsey
and the bow Lady Tringle passed on. Lucy fell into the rank behind
Gertrude; and then Hamel afterwards took his place behind the
Honourable Septimus. "If you will sit there, Mr. Hamel," said Lady
Tringle, pointing to a chair, across the table, obliquely, at the
greatest possible distance from that occupied by Lucy. There he
was stationed between Mr. Traffick and Sir Thomas. But now, in his
present frame of mind, his position at the table made very little
difference to him.
The lunch was eaten in grim silence. Sir Thomas was not a man profuse
with conversation at his meals, and at this moment was ill-inclined
for any words except what he might use in scolding his wife for being
uncivil to his guest. Lady Tringle sat with her head erect, hardly
opening her mouth sufficiently to allow the food to enter it. It was
her purpose to show her displeasure at Mr. Hamel, and she showed it.
Augusta took her mother's part, thoroughly despising the two Dormer
girls and any lover that they might have. Poor Gertrude had on that
morning been violently persecuted by a lecture as to Frank Houston's
impecuniosity. Lucy of course would not speak. The Honourable
Septimus was anxious chiefly about his lunch,--somewhat anxious also
to offend neither the master nor the mistress of Merle Park. Hamel
made one or two little efforts to extract answers from Sir Thomas,
but soon found that Sir Thomas would prefer to be left in silence.
What did it signify to him? He had done all that he wanted, and much
more than he had expected.
The rising and getting away from luncheon is always a difficulty,--so
great a difficulty when there are guests that lunch should never be
much a company festival. There is no provision for leaving the table
as there is at dinner. But on this occasion Lady Tringle extemporised
provision the first moment in which they had all ceased to eat. "Mr.
Hamel," she said very loudly, "would you like some cheese?" Mr.
Hamel, with a little start, declared that he wanted no cheese. "Then,
my dears, I think we will go into my room. Lucy, will you come with
me?" Upon this the four ladies all went out in procession, but her
ladyship was careful that Lucy should go first so that there might
be no possibility of escape. Augusta and Gertrude followed her. The
minds of all the four were somewhat perturbed; but among the four
Lucy's heart was by far the lightest.
"Are you staying over with Stubbs at that cottage?" asked the
Honourable Septimus. "A very queer fellow is Stubbs."
"A very good fellow," said Hamel.
"I dare say. He hasn't got any shooting?"
"I think not."
"Not a head. Glentower wouldn't let an acre of shooting over there
for any money." This was the Earl of Glentower, to whom belonged an
enormous tract of country on the other side of the lake. "What on
earth does he do with himself stuck up on the top of those rocks?"
"He does shoot sometimes, I believe, when Lord Glentower is there."
"That's a poor kind of fun, waiting to be asked for a day," said
the Honourable Septimus, who rarely waited for anything till he was
asked. "Does he get any fishing?"
"He catches a few trout sometimes in the tarns above. But I fancy
that Stubbs isn't much devoted to shooting and fishing."
"Then what the d---- does he do with himself in such a country as
this?" Hamel shrugged his shoulders, not caring to say that what with
walking, what with reading and writing, his friend could be as happy
as the day was long in such a place as Drumcaller.
"Is he a Liberal?"
"A what?" asked Hamel. "Oh, a Liberal? Upon my word I don't know what
he is. He is chiefly given to poetry, tobacco, and military matters."
Then the Honourable Septimus turned up his nose in disgust, and
ceased his cross-examination as to the character and pursuits of
Colonel Jonathan Stubbs.
"Sir Thomas, I am very much obliged to you for your kindness," said
Hamel, getting up suddenly. "As it is a long way over to Drumcaller I
think I will make a start. I know my way down the Glen and should be
sure to miss it by any other route. Perhaps you'll let me go back as
I came." Sir Thomas offered him the loan of a horse, but this was
refused, and Hamel started on his return journey across the lake.
When he had gone a few steps from the portal he turned to look at
the house which contained one whom he now regarded as belonging
exclusively to himself; perhaps he thought that he might catch some
final view of Lucy; or, not quite thinking it, fancied that some
such chance might at least be possible; but he saw nothing but the
uninteresting facade of the grand mansion. Lucy was employed quite
otherwise. She was listening to a lecture in which her aunt was
describing to her how very badly Mr. Hamel had behaved in obtruding
himself on the shades of Glenbogie. The lecture was somewhat long, as
Aunt Emmeline found it necessary to repeat all the arguments which
she had before used as to the miscreant's birth, as to his want of
adequate means, and as to the general iniquities of the miscreant's
father. All this she repeated more than once with an energy that was
quite unusual to her. The flood of her eloquence was so great that
Lucy found no moment for an interposing word till all these evils
had been denunciated twice and thrice. But then she spoke. "Aunt
Emmeline," she said, "I am engaged to Mr. Hamel now."
"What!"
"He has asked me to be his wife and I have promised."
"And that after all that I had said to you!"
"Aunt Emmeline, I told you that I should not drop him. I did not bid
him come here. Uncle Tom brought him. When I saw him I would have
avoided him if I could. I told him he ought not to be here because
you did not wish it; and then he answered that my uncle knew that he
was with me. Of course when he told me that he--loved me, I could
not make him any other answer." Then Aunt Emmeline expressed the
magnitude of her indignation simply by silence, and Lucy was left to
think of her lover in solitude.
* * * * * *
"And how have you fared on your day's journey?" said the Colonel,
when Hamel found him still seated on the platform with a book in his
hand.
"Much better than I thought. Sir Thomas gave me luncheon."
"And the young lady?"
"The young lady was gracious also; but I am afraid that I cannot
carry my praises of the family at Glenbogie any further. The three
Tringle ladies looked at me as I was sitting at table as though I
certainly had no business in their august society."