A FAIR FIELD AND NO FAVOUR.
When Mrs. Duff-Scott came to hear of all this, she was terribly vexed
with Patty. Indeed, no one dared to tell her the whole truth, and to
this day she does not know that the engagement was made in the young
bachelor's sitting-room, whither Patty had sought him because he would
not seek her. She thinks the pair met at No. 6, under the lax and
injudicious chaperonage of Elizabeth; and, in the first blush of her
disappointment and indignation, she was firmly convinced, though too
well bred to express her conviction, that the son had taken advantage
of the father's privileged position to entrap the young heiress for
the sake of her thirty thousand pounds. Things did not go smoothly
with Patty, as they had done with her sister. Elizabeth herself was a
rock of shelter and a storehouse of consolation from the moment that
the pair came up to the dismantled room where she and her husband were
having a lovers' _tête-à-tête_ of their own, and she saw that the long
misunderstanding was at an end; but no one else except Mrs. M'Intyre
(who, poor woman, was held of no account), took kindly to the alliance
so unexpectedly proposed. Quite the contrary, in fact. Mr. Yelverton,
notwithstanding his late experiences, had no sympathy whatever for
the young fellow who had flattered him by following his example. The
philanthropist, with all his full-blown modern radicalism, was also a
man of long descent and great connections, and some subtle instinct
of race and habit rose up in opposition to the claims of an obscure
press writer to enter his distinguished family. It was one thing for a
Yelverton man to marry a humbly-circumstanced woman, as he had himself
been prepared to do, but quite another thing for a humbly-circumstanced
man to aspire to the hand of a Yelverton woman, and that woman rich and
beautiful, his own ward and sister. He was not aware of this strong
sentiment, but believed his objections arose from a proper solicitude
for Patty's welfare. Paul had been rude and impertinent, wanting in
respect for her and hers; he had an ill-conditioned, sulky temper;
he lived an irregular life, from hand to mouth; he had no money; he
had no reputable friends. Therefore, when Paul (with some defiance of
mien, as one who knew that it was a merely formal courtesy) requested
the consent of the head of the house to his union with the lady of his
choice, the head of the house, though elaborately polite, was very
high and mighty, and--Patty and Elizabeth being out of the way, shut
up together to kiss in comfort in one of the little bedrooms at the
back--made some very plain statements of his views to the ineligible
suitor, which fanned the vital spark in that young man's ardent spirit
to a white heat of wrath. By-and-by Mr. Yelverton modified those views,
like the just and large-hearted student of humanity that he was, and
was brought to see that a man can do no more for a woman than love
her, be he who he may, and that a woman, whether queen or peasant,
millionaire or pauper, can never give more than value for that "value
received." And by-and-by Paul learned to respect his brother-in-law for
a man whose manhood was his own, and to trust his motives absolutely,
even when he did not understand his actions. But just at first things
were unpleasant. Mr. Yelverton touched the young man's sensitive pride,
already morbidly exercised by his consciousness of the disparity
between Patty's social position and fortunes and his own, by some
indirect allusion to that painful circumstance, and brought upon
himself a revengeful reminder that his (Mr. Yelverton's) marriage with
Elizabeth might not be considered by superficial persons to be entirely
above suspicion. Things were, indeed, very unpleasant. Paul, irritated
in the first rapture of happiness, used more bad language (in thought
if not in speech) than he had done since Cup Day, when he went back to
his unfinished article on Political Patronage; Patty drove home with a
burning sense of being of age and her own mistress; and Elizabeth sat
in the carriage beside her, silent and thoughtful, feeling that the
first little cloud (that first one which, however faint and small, is
so incredible and so terrible) had made its appearance on the hitherto
stainless horizon of her married life.
Mrs. Duff-Scott, when they got home, received the blow with a stern
fortitude that was almost worse than Mr. Yelverton's prompt resistance,
and much worse than the mild but equally decided opposition of that
punctilious old gentleman at Seaview Villa, who, by-and-by, used all
his influence to keep the pair apart whom he would have given his
heart's blood to see united, out of a fastidious sense of what he
conceived to be his social and professional duty. Between them all,
they nearly drove the two high-spirited victims into further following
the example of the head of the house--the imminent danger of which
became apparent to Patty's confidante Elizabeth, who gave timely
warning of it to her husband. This latter pair, who had themselves
carried matters with such a very high hand, were far from desiring
that Paul and Patty should make assignations at the Exhibition with a
view to circumventing their adversaries by a clandestine or otherwise
untimely marriage (such divergence of opinion with respect to one's own
affairs and other people's being very common in this world, the gentle
reader may observe, even in the case of the most high-minded people).
"Kingscote," said Elizabeth, when one night she sat brushing her hair
before the looking-glass, and he, still in his evening dress, lounged
in an arm-chair by the dressing-table, talking to her, "Kingscote, I
am afraid you are too hard on Patty--you and the Duff-Scotts--keeping
her from Paul still, though she has but three days left, and I don't
believe she will stand it."
"My dear, we are not hard upon her, are we? It is for her sake. If we
can tide over these few days and get her away all right, a year or two
of absence, and all the new interests that she will find in Europe and
in her changed position, will probably cure her of her fancy for a
fellow who is not good enough for her."
"That shows how little you know her," said Elizabeth, with a melancholy
smile. "She is not a girl to take 'fancies' in that direction, and
having given her heart--and she has not given it so easily as you
imagine--she will be as faithful to him--as faithful"--casting about
for an adequate illustration--"as I should have been to you, Kingscote."
"Perhaps so, dear. I myself think it very likely. And in such a case
no harm is done. They will test each other, and if they both stand the
test it will be better and happier for them to have borne it, and we
shall feel then that we are justified in letting them marry. But at
present they know so little of each other--she has had no fair choice
of a husband--and she is too good to be thrown away. I feel responsible
for her, don't you see? And I only want her to have all her chances. I
will be the last to hinder the course of true love when once it proves
itself to _be_ true love."
"_We_ did not think it necessary to prove _our_ love--and I don't think
we should have allowed anybody else to prove it--by a long probation,
Kingscote."
"My darling, we were different," he said, promptly.
She did not ask him to explain wherein they were different, he and she,
who had met for the first time less than four months ago; she shared
the usual unconscious prejudice that we all have in favour of our own
sincerity and trustworthiness, and wisdom and foresight, and assumed as
a matter of course that their case was an exceptional one. Still she
had faith in others as well as in herself and her second self.
"I know Patty," she said, laying her hair brush on her knee and
looking with solemn earnestness into her husband's rough-hewn but
impressive face--a face that seemed to her to contain every element
of noble manhood, and that would have been weakened and spoiled by
mere superficial beauty--"I know Patty, Kingscote, better than anyone
knows her except herself. She is like a little briar rose--sweet and
tender if you are gentle and sympathetic with her, but certain to
prick if you handle her roughly. And so strong in the stem--so tough
and strong--that you cannot root her out or twist her any way that she
doesn't feel naturally inclined to grow--not if you use all your power
to make her."
"Poor little Patty!" he said, smiling. "That is a very pathetic image
of her. But I don't like to figure in your parable as the blind
genius of brute force--a horny-handed hedger and ditcher with a smock
frock and a bill-hook. I am quite capable of feeling the beauty, and
understanding the moral qualities of a wild rose--at least, I thought I
was. Perhaps I am mistaken. Tell me what you would do, if you were in
my place?"
Elizabeth slipped from her chair and down upon her knees beside him,
with her long hair and her long dressing-gown flowing about her, and
laid her head where it was glad of any excuse to be laid--a locality
at this moment indicated by the polished and unyielding surface of
his starched shirt front. "You know I never likened you to a hedger
and ditcher," she said, fondly. "No one is so wise and thoughtful
and far-sighted as you. It is only that you don't know Patty quite
yet--you will do soon--and what might be the perfect management of
such a crisis in another girl's affairs is likely not to succeed with
her--just simply and only for the reason that she is a little peculiar,
and you have not yet had time to learn that."
"It is time that I should learn," he said, lifting her into a restful
position and settling himself for a comfortable talk. "Tell me what you
think and know yourself, and what, in your judgment, it would be best
to do."
"In my judgment, then, it would be best," said Elizabeth, brief
interval given up to the enjoyment of a wordless _tête-à-tête_, "to
let Patty and Paul be together a little before they part. For this
reason--that they _will_ be together, whether they are let or not.
Isn't it preferable to make concessions before they are ignominiously
extorted from you? And if Patty has much longer to bear seeing her
lover, as she thinks, humiliated and insulted, by being ignored as her
lover in this house, she will go to the other extreme--she will go away
from us to him--by way of making up to him for it. It is like what you
say of the smouldering, poverty-bred anarchy in your European national
life--that if you don't find a vent for the accumulating electricity
generating in the human sewer--how do you put it?--it is no use to try
to draw it off after the storm has burst."
"Elizabeth," said her husband, reproachfully, "that is worse than being
called a hedger and ditcher."
"Well, you know what I mean."
"Tell me what you mean in the vulgar tongue, my dear. Do you want me to
go and call on Mr. Paul Brion and tell him that we have thought better
of it?"
"Not exactly that. But if you would persuade Mrs. Duff-Scott to be
nice about it--no one can be more enchantingly nice than she, when she
likes, but when she doesn't like she is enough to drive a man--a proud
man like Paul Brion--simply frantic. And Patty will never stand it--she
will not hold out--she will not go away leaving things as they are now.
We could not expect it of her."
"Well? And how should Mrs. Duff-Scott show herself nice to Mr. Brion?"
"She might treat him as--as she did you, Kingscote, when you were
wanting me."
"But she approved of me, you see. She doesn't approve of him."
"You are both gentlemen, anyhow--though he is poor. _I_ would have
been the more tender and considerate to him, because he is poor. He is
not too poor for Patty--nor would he have been if she had no fortune
herself. As it is, there is abundance. And, Kingscote, though I don't
mean for a moment to disparage you--"
"I should hope not, Elizabeth."
"Still I can't help thinking that to have brains as he has is to be
essentially a rich and distinguished man. And to be a writer for a
high-class newspaper, which you say yourself is the greatest and best
educator in the world--to spend himself in making other men see what is
right and useful--in spreading light and knowledge that no money could
pay for, and all the time effacing himself, and taking no reward of
honour or credit for it--surely that must be the noblest profession,
and one that should make a man anybody's equal--even yours, my love!"
She lifted herself up to make this eloquent appeal, and dropped back on
his shoulder again, and wound her arm about his neck and his bent head
with tender deprecation. He was deeply touched and stirred, and did not
speak for a moment. Then he said gruffly, "I shall go and see him in
the morning, Elizabeth. Tell me what I shall say to him, my dear."
"Say," said Elizabeth, "that you would rather not have a fixed
engagement at first, in order that Patty may be unhampered during
the time she is away--in order that she may be free to make other
matrimonial arrangements when she gets into the great world, if she
_likes_--but that you will leave that to him. Tell him that if love is
not to be kept faithful without vows and promises, it is not love nor
worth keeping--but I daresay he knows that. Tell him that, except for
being obliged to go to England just now on the family affairs, Patty is
free to do exactly as she likes--which she is by law, you know, for she
is over three-and-twenty--and that we will be happy to see her happy,
whatever way she chooses. And then let him come here and see her. Ask
Mrs. Duff-Scott to be nice and kind, and to give him an invitation--she
will do anything for you--and then treat them both as if they were
engaged for just this little time until we leave. It will comfort them
so much, poor things! It will put them on their honour. It will draw
off the electricity, you know, and prevent catastrophes. And it will
make not the slightest difference in the final issue. But, oh," she
added impulsively, "you don't want me to tell you what to do, you are
so much wiser than I am."
"I told you we should give and take," he responded; "I told you we
should teach and lead each other--sometimes I and sometimes you. That
is what we are doing already--it is as it should be. I shall go and see
Paul Brion in the morning. Confound him!" he added, as he got up out of
his chair to go to his dressing-room.
And so it came to pass that the young press writer, newly risen from
his bed, and meditating desperate things over his coffee and cutlet,
received a friendly embassy from the great powers that had taken up
arms against him. Mr. Yelverton was the bearer of despatches from
his sovereign, Mrs. Duff-Scott, in the shape of a gracious note of
invitation to dinner, which--after a long discussion of the situation
with her envoy--Mr. Paul Brion permitted himself to accept politely.
The interview between the two men was productive of a strong sense
of relief and satisfaction on both sides, and it brought about the
cessation of all open hostilities.