The Third Cheque.
_Good Resolutions._--_Casuistry._--_A Farewell Visit._--_Small
Profit and a Quick Return._
As the reader may imagine, this second experience had an effect
upon Peter that was rather deterrent than encouraging.
It was a painful piece of self-revelation to find that, had he
chosen to avail himself of the extra hours on board the _Boomerang_
as they occurred, he would have so employed them as to place
himself in relations of considerable ambiguity towards two distinct
young ladies. How far he was committed to either, or both, he could
not tell; but he had an uneasy suspicion that neither of them would
have been quite so emotional had he conducted himself with the same
prudence that had marked his behaviour throughout the time which he
_was_ able to account for.
And yet his conscience acquitted him of any actual default; if he
had ever really had any passages at all approaching the sentimental
with either Miss Tyrrell or Miss Davenport, his mind could hardly
be so utterly blank on the subject as it certainly was. No; at
the worst, his failings were only potential peccadillos, the kind
of weaknesses he might have given way to if he had not wisely
postponed the hours in which the occasions were afforded.
He had had a warning, a practical moral lesson which had merely
arrived, as such things often do, rather after date.
But, so far as it was possible to profit by it, he would: at
least, he would abstain from making any further inroads upon the
balance of extra time which still remained to his credit at the
bank; he would draw no further cheques; he would return to that
P. and O. steamer no more. For an engaged man whose wedding-day
was approaching by leaps and bounds, it was, however innocent, too
disturbing and exciting a form of distraction to be quite safely
indulged in.
The resolution cost him something, nevertheless. Peter was not a
man who had hitherto been spoilt by feminine adoration. Sophia was
fond of him, but she never affected to place him upon any sort of
pinnacle; on the contrary, she looked down upon him protectingly
and indulgently from a moral and intellectual pedestal of her own.
He had not objected to this, in fact he rather liked it, but
it was less gratifying and stimulating to his self-esteem than
the romantic and idealising sentiments which he had seemingly
inspired in two exceedingly bewitching young persons with whom
he felt so much in sympathy. It was an agreeable return from
the bread-and-butter of engaged life to the _petits fours_ of
semi-flirtation. After all, Peter was but human, and a man is
seldom esteemed for being otherwise. He could not help a natural
regret at having to abandon experiences which, judging from the
fragmentary samples he had obtained, promised so much and such
varied interest. That the interest was not consecutive, only made
it the more amusing,--it was a living puzzle-picture, the pieces of
which he could fit together as he received them. It was tantalising
to look at his cheque-book and feel that upon its leaves the rest
of the story was written, but that he must never seek to decipher
it: it became so tantalising, that he locked the cheque-book up at
last.
But already some of the edge had worn off his resolution, and he
had begun to see only the more seductive side of interviews which,
at the time, had not been free from difficulty and embarrassment.
Having put himself beyond the reach of temptation, he naturally
began to cast about for some excuse for again exposing himself to
it.
It was the eve of his wedding-day; he was in his chambers for the
last time, and alone, for he would not see Sophia again until he
met her in bridal array at the church door, and he had no bachelor
friends whom he cared to invite to help him to keep up his spirits.
Peter was horribly restless and nervous; he needed a sedative of
some kind, and even trying on his wedding garments failed to soothe
him, as he felt almost certain there was a wrinkle between the
shoulders, and it was too late to have it altered.
The idea of one more visit to the _Boomerang_,--one more interview,
the last, with one or other of his amiable and fascinating
friends--it did not matter very much which,--presented itself in a
more and more attractive light. If it did nothing else, it would
provide him with something to think about for the rest of the
evening.
Was it courteous, was it even right, to drop his friends without
the slightest apology or explanation? Ought he not, as a gentleman
and a man of honour, to go back and bid them "Good-bye"? Peter,
after carefully considering the point, discovered that it was
clearly his duty to perform this trifling act of civility.
As soon as he had settled that, he got out his cheque-book from
the despatch-box, in which he had placed it for his own security,
and, sitting down just as he was, drew another fifteen minutes, and
cashed them, like the first, at the ormolu clock....
This time he found himself sitting on a cushioned bench in the
music-room of the _Boomerang_. It was shortly after sunset, as he
could tell from the bar of dusky crimson against the violet sea,
which, framed in the ports opposite, rose and sank with each roll
of the ship. There was a swell on, and she rolled more than he
could have wished.
As he expected, he was not alone; but, as he had _not_ expected,
his companion was neither Miss Tyrrell nor Miss Davenport, but a
grim and portly matron, who was eyeing him with a look of strong
disfavour, which made Peter wish he had not come. "What," he
wondered, "was he in for now?" His uneasiness was increased as he
glanced down upon his trousers, which, being new and of a delicate
lavender tint, reminded him that in his impatience he had come away
in his wedding garments. He feared that he must present rather an
odd appearance on board ship in this festal attire; but there he
would have to stay for the next quarter of an hour, and he must
make the best of it.
"I repeat, Mr. Tourmalin," said the matron, "you are doubtless
not unprepared for the fact that I have requested a few minutes'
private conversation with you?"
"Pardon me," said Peter, quaking already at this alarming opening,
"but I am--very much unprepared." "Surely," he thought, "this could
not be _another_ dear friend? No, that was too absurd--he must have
drawn the line _somewhere_!"
"Then permit me to enlighten you," she said raspingly. "I sent
for you, at a time when we are least likely to be interrupted, to
demand an explanation from you upon a very delicate and painful
matter which has recently come to my knowledge."
"_Oh!_" said Peter--and nothing more. He guessed her purpose at
once: she was going to ask him his intentions with regard to her
daughter! He could have wished for some indication as to whether
she was Lady Tyrrell or Mrs. Davenport; but, as he had none at
present, "Oh" seemed the safest remark to make.
"Life on board a large passenger-ship, Mr. Tourmalin," she went on
to observe, "though relaxed in some respects, is still not without
decencies which a gentleman is bound to respect."
"Quite so," said Peter, unable to discover the bearings which lay
in the application of this particular observation.
"You _say_ 'Quite so'; but what has your _behaviour_ been, sir?"
"That," said Peter, "is exactly what I should like to know myself!"
"A true gentleman would have considered the responsibility he
incurred by giving currency to idle and malicious gossip!"
His apprehensions were correct then: it _was_ one of the young
ladies' mothers--but _which?_
"I can only assure you, madam," he began, "that if unhappily I
have--er--been the means of furnishing gossip, it has been entirely
unintentional."
She seemed so much mollified by this, that he proceeded with more
confidence:
"As to anything I may have said to your daughter----" when she
almost bounded from her seat with fury.
"My _daughter_, sir! Do you mean to sit there and tell me that you
had the audacity to so much as hint of such a thing to my daughter,
of all people?"
"So--so much depends on who your daughter is!" said Peter,
completely losing his head.
"You dared to strike this cruel and unmanly blow at the
self-respect of a sensitive girl--to poison her defenceless ears
with your false, dastardly insinuations--and you can actually admit
it?"
"I don't know whether I can admit it or not yet," he replied.
"And--and you do put things so very strongly! It is like this: if
you are referring to any conversation I may have had with Miss
Tyrrell----"
"_Miss Tyrrell?_ You have told her _too!_" exclaimed this terrible
old matron, thereby demonstrating that, at least, she was not Lady
Tyrrell.
"I--I _should_ have said Miss Davenport," said Peter, correcting
himself precipitately.
"Miss Davenport as well? Upon my word! And pray, sir, may I ask
how many other ladies on board this ship are in possession of your
amiable confidences?"
He raised his hands in utter despair.
"I can't say," he groaned. "I don't really know what I may have
said, or whom I may have said it to! I--I seem to have done so much
in my spare time, but I never meant anything!"
"It may be so," she said; "indeed, you hardly seem to me
accountable for your actions or you would not appear in such a
ridiculous costume as that, with a sprig of orange-blossom in your
button-hole and a high hat, too!"
"I quite feel," said Peter, blushing, "that such a costume must
strike you as inappropriate; but--but I happened to be trying them
on, and--rather than keep you waiting----"
"Well, well, sir, never mind your costume--the question is, if
you are genuinely anxious to repair the wrong you have done, what
course do you propose to take?"
"I will be perfectly frank with you, madam," said Peter: "I am not
in a position to repair any wrong I have done--if I _have_ done any
wrong (which I don't admit)--by taking any course whatever!"
"You are _not_!" she cried. "And you tell me so to my face?"
After all, reflected Peter, why should he be afraid of this old
lady? In a few more minutes he would be many hundreds of miles
away, and he would take very good care not to come back again. He
felt master of the situation, and determined to brazen it out.
"I do, madam!" he said, crossing his legs in an easy fashion, "Look
at it from a reasonable point of view. There is safety in numbers;
and if I have been so unfortunate as to give several young ladies
here an entirely erroneous impression, I must leave it to you to
undeceive them as considerately but distinctly as you can. For
me to make any selection would only create ill-feeling among the
rest; and their own good sense will show them that I am forbidden
by the laws of my country, which I am the last person to set at
defiance,--that I am forbidden (even if I were free in other
respects, which I am not) to marry them all!"
"The only possible explanation of your conduct is, that you are not
in your right mind!" she said. "Who in the world spoke or dreamed
of your marrying any one of them? Certainly not _I_!"
"Oh!" said Peter, hopelessly fogged once more. "I thought I might
unintentionally have given them grounds for some such expectation.
I'm very glad I was mistaken. You see, you must really make
allowances for my utter ignorance----"
"If this idiotic behaviour is not a mere feint, sir, I can make
allowances for much; but, surely, you are at least sufficiently in
your proper senses to see how abominably you have behaved?"
"Have I?" said Peter, submissively. "I don't wish to contradict
you, if you say so, I'm sure. And, as I have some reason to believe
that my stay on board this ship will not last very much longer, I
should like before I go to express my very sincere regret."
"There is an easy way of proving your sincerity, sir, if you choose
to avail yourself of it," she said. "I find it very difficult
to believe, from the evident feebleness of your intellect, that
you can be the person chiefly responsible for this scandal. Am I
correct in my supposition?"
"You are, madam," said Peter. "I should never have got myself
into such a tangle as this, if I had not been talked over by Mr.
Perkins. I don't know if I can succeed in making myself clear, for
the whole business is rather complicated; but I can try to explain
it, if you will only have a little patience."
"You have said quite enough," she said. "I know all I wish to
know now. So it was Mr. Perkins, who has been using you as his
instrument, was it?"
"Certainly," said Peter; "but for him, nothing of this would have
happened."
"You will have no objection to repeating that statement, should I
call upon you to do so?"
"No," said Peter, who observed with pleasure that her wrath against
himself was almost entirely moderated; "but you will have to call
_soon_, or I shall have gone. I--I don't know if I shall have
another opportunity of meeting Mr. Perkins; but if I did, I should
certainly tell him that I do _not_ consider he has treated me quite
fairly. He has put me in what I may call a false position, in
_several_ false positions; and if I had had the knowledge I have
now, I should have had nothing to do with him from the first. He
entirely misled me over this business!"
"Very well, sir," she said; "you have shown a more gentlemanly
spirit, on the whole, than I expected. I am glad to find that
your evil has been wrought more by want of thought than heart. It
will be for you to complete your reparation when the proper time
arrives. In the meantime, let this be a warning to you, sir, never
to----" ...
But here Peter made the sudden discovery that he was no longer
in the music-room of the _Boomerang_, but at home in his old
easy-chair by his bachelor fireside.
"Phew!" he muttered to himself, "that was a bad quarter of an hour
while it lasted! What an old she-dragon it was! But she's right--it
_is_ a warning to me. I mustn't--I really must _not_ draw any more
of these confounded time cheques. I've made that ship too hot to
hold me already! I'd better remain for ever in contented ignorance
of how I spent that extra time, than go on getting into one mess
after another like this! It was a wonder I got out of this one as
well as I did; but evidently that old woman knew what Perkins is,
and saw _I_ wasn't to blame. Now she'll explain the whole affair to
all those girls (whoever they may be), and pitch into Perkins--and
serve him right! _I'm_ out of it, at any rate; and now, thank
goodness, after to-morrow I shall have nothing to do but live
contentedly and happily with dearest Sophia! I'd better burn this
beastly cheque-book--I shall never want it again!"
It would have been well for Peter if he had burnt that
cheque-book; but when it came to the point, he could not bring
himself to destroy it. After all, it was an interesting _souvenir_
of some very curious, if not unique, experiences; and, as such, he
decided to preserve it.