L'HOMME PROPOSE.
One morning in the early winter, Colonel Orpington walked into the
Beaufort Club, and taking his letters from the hall-porter as he
passed, entered the coffee-room and took possession of the table which
for many years he had been accustomed to regard as almost his own.
There was no occasion for him to order any breakfast, so well were his
ways known in that establishment, of which he was not merely one of the
oldest, but one of the most conspicuous of the members. The officers of
the household, from Riboulet the _chef_ and Woodman the house-steward
down to the smallest page-boys, all held the Colonel in very wholesome
reverence; and amongst the twelve hundred members on the books, the
behests of none were more speedily obeyed than his.
While the repast was preparing, Colonel Orpington glanced over the
envelopes of the letters which he had taken from the porter and
laid on the table in military order before him. They are many and
various: heavy official-looking letters, thin-papered missives from
the Continent, and two or three delicate little notes. The Colonel
selects one of these last, which is addressed in an obviously foreign
hand, though bearing a London post-mark; the others are put aside; the
dainty double-eyeglasses are brought from their hiding-place inside his
waistcoat and adjusted across his nose, and he falls to the perusal
of the little note. A difficult hand to read apparently, for the
Colonel, though somewhat careful of showing any symptoms of loss of
sight to the more youthful members of the club then present, by whom
he has a certain suspicion he is looked upon as a fogey, has to hold
it in various lights and twist it up and down before he can master
its contents. When he has mastered them they do not appear to be of a
particularly reassuring character; for the Colonel shakes his head,
utters a short low whistle, and is stroking his chin with his hand, as
though deep in thought, when the advanced guard of his breakfast makes
its appearance.
"'Coming back at once,'" says the Colonel to himself; "at least, so
far as I can make out Clarisse's confoundedly cramped handwriting.
'Coming back at once,' and from what she can make out from Fanny's
talk, not in the best of tempers either, and likely to bring matters
to an end; and Clarisse thinks I must declare myself at once. Well, I
don't see why not.
"'Gad, it seems to me an extraordinary thing that I, who have been
under fire so many times in these kind of affairs, should have been
hesitating and hanging back and beating about the bush for so long with
this girl! To be sure, she is quite unlike many of the others; more
like a person in society, or rather, like what used to be society in
my time: what goes by that name now is a very different thing. There's
a sort of air of breeding about her, and a kind of _noli me tangere_
sort of thing mixed up with all her attractiveness, that makes the
whole business a very different thing from the ordinary throwing the
handkerchief and being happy ever after.
"Coming back, eh! My young friend Derinzy--member here, by-the-way;
letters had better go to one of the other clubs in future; it is best
to be on the safe side. Coming back, eh! And now what are--what parents
call--his 'intentions,' I wonder? Scarcely so 'strictly honourable'
as the middle-class father longs to hear professed by enamoured
aristocrats. If he meant marriage, he would certainly have proposed
before he left town, when, if all I learn is true, he was so wildly mad
about the girl he would not have left her to---- And yet, perhaps, that
is the very reason, though she said nothing, she has evidently been
pleased by the attentions which I have shown her; and this perhaps has
caused her to slack off in her correspondence with this young fellow,
or to influence its warmth, or something of that kind, and this may
have had the effect of bringing him to book.
"If he were to declare off, how would that suit me? Impossible to say.
In the fit of rage and disgust with him, she might say yes to anything
I asked her; on the other hand, she might have a fit of remorse, and
think that it was all from having listened to the blandishments of this
serpent she lost a chance of enjoying a perpetual paradise with that
bureaucratic young Adam.
"There is the other fellow, too--the young man 'in her own station of
life'--shopkeeper, mechanic, whatever he is. Clarisse seems to have
some notion that he is coming to the fore, though I don't think there
is any chance for him. The girl's tastes lie obviously in quite a
different line, and I am by no means certain that his being in the race
is a bad thing for me. However, it's plainly time that something must
be done; and now, how to do it?"
He threw down his napkin before him as he spoke and rose from the
table. The young men who had been breakfasting near him, though perhaps
they might have thought him a fogey, yet envied the undeniable position
he held in society; envied him, above all, the perfect freshness and
good health and the evident appetite with which he had just consumed
his meal, while they were listlessly playing with highly-spiced
condiments, or endeavouring to quench the flame excited by the previous
night's dissipation with effervescing drinks. Sir Coke Only, the
great railway contractor and millionaire, whose neighbouring table
was covered with prospectuses and letters on blue paper, propounding
schemes in which thousands were involved, envied the Colonel that
consummate air of good breeding which he, the millionaire, knew he
could never acquire, and that happy idleness which never seemed in
store for him. The perfectly-appointed brougham, with its bit-champing,
foam-tossing gray horse, stood at the club-door, waiting to whirl the
man of business into the City, where he would be unceasingly occupied
till dusk; "while that feller," as Sir Coke remarked to himself, "will
be lunching with marchionesses and dropping into the five o'clock tea
with duchesses, and taking it as easy as though he were as rich as
Rothschild."
Perhaps the Colonel knew of the envy which he excited; he was
certainly not disturbed, and perhaps even pleased, by it. He sauntered
quietly into the waiting-room, walked to the window, and stood gazing
unconsciously at the black little London sparrows hopping about in the
black little bit of ground which was metropolitan for a garden, and
lay between the club and Carlton House Terrace, while he collected his
thoughts. Then he sat down at a table and wrote as follows:
"Beaufort Club, Tuesday.
"DEAR MISS STAFFORD,--The opportunity which I have been so long waiting
for has at length arrived, and I think I see my way to the fulfilment
of the promise made to you in the beginning of our acquaintance.
"If you will be at my lawyer's chambers, No. 5, Seldon Buildings,
Temple, at two o'clock this afternoon, he--Mr. John Wilson is his
name--will enter into further particulars with you. I shall hear from
him how he has progressed, and you will see me very shortly.--Very
sincerely yours,
"JOHN ORPINGTON.
"P.S.--I have no doubt that Madame Clarisse will be able to spare you
on your mentioning that you have business. You need not particularise
its nature."
Then he wrote another letter consisting of one line:
"All right; let her go.--J.O."
He addressed these respectively to Miss Fanny Stafford and Madame
Clarisse, and despatched them to their destination.
It was with no particular excess of pleasure that Daisy received and
perused the first-written of these epistles. To be sure, at the first
glance over the words her face flushed and her eyes brightened; but the
next few minutes her heart sank within her with that undefined sense
of impending evil of which we are all of us so frequently conscious.
The thought of Paul's immediate return had been weighing upon her for
some days; she had been uncertain how to treat him. She could not help
acknowledging to herself that her feelings towards him had undergone
a certain amount of alteration during his absence. She was unwilling
that that alteration should be noticed by him, and yet could not avoid
a lurking suspicion that she must have betrayed it in her letters. She
gathered this from the tone of his replies, more especially from his
last communication, in which he announced his speedy arrival in town.
Of course she had not breathed to him one word of her acquaintance with
Colonel Orpington; there was no occasion why she should have done so,
she argued to herself; the two men would never be brought in contact.
And yet it would be impossible for her to renew the intimacy which had
previously existed with Paul, without his becoming aware that she had
other calls upon her time, and insisted upon being made acquainted with
their nature; and then, when he found it out, the fact of her having
concealed this newly-formed friendship from him would tell very badly
against her. It would have been very much better that she should have
mentioned it, giving some sufficiently satisfactory account of its
origin, and passing over it lightly as though it were of no moment. She
could have done this in regard to the meeting with John Merton and its
subsequent results--not that she had ever said anything of that to her
lover, by-the-way--without, she was sure, exciting Paul's suspicion;
but this was a different matter. In his last letter Paul had proposed
to meet her on what would now be the next afternoon, and by that time
she must have made up her mind fully as to the course she intended to
pursue. The interview to which she was then proceeding might perhaps
have an important effect upon her resolution. And as she thought of
that interview her heart sank again, and her face became very grave
and thoughtful; so grave and thoughtful did she look as she hurried
along one of the dull streets in the neighbourhood of Russell Square,
that a man to whom she was well known, and by whom every expression of
her face was treasured, scarcely knew her, as, coming in the opposite
direction, he encountered and passed by her. She did not notice him;
but he turned, and in the next instant was by her side. She looked up;
it was John Merton.
"You were walking at such a pace and looking so earnest, Miss
Stafford," said he, after the first ordinary salutations, "that I
scarcely recognised you. You are going into the City. May I walk part
of the way with you? I am so glad to see you; I have been longing so
anxiously to hear from you."
This was an awkward _rencontre_. Daisy had quite sufficient mental
excitement with the interview to which she was proceeding. She had
not calculated upon this addition to it, and answered him vaguely and
unsatisfactorily.
"I have been very much occupied of late," said she. "The winter season
is now coming upon us, you see, and I have scarcely any time to myself."
"It would have taken very little time to write yes or no," said poor
John; "and if you knew the importance I attach to the receipt of one of
those two words from you, I think you would have endeavoured to let me
know my fate. Will you let me offer you my arm?"
"No--no, thanks," said Daisy, drawing back.
"You--you don't like to be seen with me, perhaps, in the street?" asked
John, with a bitter tone in his voice.
"No, not that at all; only people don't take arms nowadays, don't you
know?"
"Don't they?" said John, still bitterly. "I beg your pardon; you must
excuse my want of breeding. I don't mix except among people in my own
station. I--I didn't mean that," he added hurriedly, as he saw her face
flush; "I didn't mean anything to offend you; but I have scarcely been
myself, I think, for the last few days."
"You have done no harm," said Daisy, gently, pitying the look of misery
on his face.
"Have I done any good?" he asked; "you cannot fail to understand me. If
you knew how I suffer, you would keep me no longer in suspense."
"I did not pretend to misunderstand you," said the girl. "You are
waiting for my answer to the proposition you made to me when you called
at my lodging the other day."
"I am."
"You have placed me--unwillingly, I know--in a very painful position,"
said Daisy; "for it is really painful to me to have to say or do
anything which I feel would give you pain."
"Don't say any more," he said in a hoarse voice; "I can guess your
meaning perfectly. Don't say any more."
"But, Mr. Merton, you must hear me--you must understand----"
"I do understand that you say 'no' to what I asked you; that you reject
my suit--I believe that is the proper society phrase! I don't want to
know," continued he, with a sudden outburst of passion, "of the esteem
in which you hold me, and the recollection which you will always have
of the delicacy of my behaviour towards you. I know the rubbish with
which it is always thought necessary to gild the pill in similar cases;
but I'd rather be without it."
"You are becoming incoherent, and I can scarcely follow you," said
Daisy, setting her lips and looking very stony. "I don't think I was
going to say anything of the kind that you seem to have anticipated.
I don't see that I have laid myself open to rudeness because I have
been compelled to tell you it didn't suit me to marry you; and as to
our being friends hereafter, I really don't think that there is the
remotest chance of such a thing."
"I must again beg your pardon, Miss Stafford," said John, taking off
his hat--he was quite calm now--"and I will take care that I don't
commit myself in any similar ridiculous manner. I am perfectly aware
that our lines in life lie very wide apart, and after the decision
which you have arrived at and just communicated to me, I can only be
glad that it is so; and though we are not to be friends, you say, I
shall always have the deepest regard for you. You cannot prevent that,
even if you would; and I only trust that some day I may have the chance
of proving the continuance of that regard by being able to serve you."
He stopped, bowed, and was striding rapidly away back on the way they
had traversed, before Daisy could speak to him.
"More quickly over than I had anticipated," she thought to herself,
"and less painful too. I expected at one time there would have been a
scene. His face lights up wonderfully when he is in earnest, and if his
figure and manner were only as good, he might do. I wonder whether I
could put up with him if neither of those two other men had been upon
the cards; perhaps so, in a foreign place, such as he talked of going
to, where one could have made one's own world and one's own society,
and broken with all the old associations. How dreadful his boots were,
by-the-way! I don't think it would have been possible to have passed
one's life recognised as belonging to such feet and boots."
By this time she had reached Middle Temple Lane, down which she was
proceeding, to the great admiration of the barristers' and attorneys'
clerks who were flitting about that sombre neighbourhood. After a
little difficulty and a great deal of inquiry she found the Seldon
Buildings; and arriving at the second floor, and knocking at the portal
inscribed Mr. John Wilson, she rather started when the door was opened
to her by Colonel Orpington.
"Pray step in, my dear Miss Stafford," said the Colonel. "You are
surprised, I see, to see me here instead of my legal adviser; but the
fact is, that gentleman has been called out of town, and as I find he
is not likely to return, I thought it best to take his place and make
the proposition in my own person."
Daisy was not, nor did she feign to be, astonished. She entered the
room and seated herself in an arm-chair, towards which the Colonel
motioned her. He sat down opposite to her, and without any preliminary
observations, at once dashed into his subject.
"I don't think there is any occasion for me to inform you, my dear Miss
Stafford," he commenced, "that I have the very greatest admiration for
you. All women known intuitively when they are admired without having
the sentiment duly expressed to them in set phrases; and though I have
carefully avoided saying or doing any of those ridiculous things which
are said and done in novels and plays, but never in real life, except
by people who bring actions of breach of promise against each other,
you can have had very little doubt of the high appreciation of you
which I entertain."
Daisy bowed. The trembling of her lip showed that she was a little
nervous--no other sign.
"Well," continued the Colonel, "this admiration and appreciation
naturally induced me to think what I could do to better your position,
and at the same time to see more of you myself. Your life is not a
particularly lively one--in fact, there is no doubt it is deuced hard
work, and very little relaxation. You are not meant for this kind
of thing. You like books, and flowers, and birds, and all sorts of
elegant surroundings. You are so handsome--pardon the reference, but I
am talking in a most perfectly business manner--that it is a thorough
shame to see you lacking all those et ceteras which are such a help
and set-off to beauty; and you are wearing away the very flower of
your youth in what is nothing more nor less than sordid drudgery. At
one time I thought--as I believe I mentioned to you--of purchasing
some business, such as that in which you are now engaged, and putting
you at the head--making yourself, in point of fact, and placing you
in the position occupied by Madame Clarisse. But after a good deal of
reflection I have come to the conclusion, and I think you will agree,
that there would not be much good in such a project. You see, though
you would be your own mistress, and would not be obliged to get up so
early or to work so late, you would still be engaged in exactly the
same kind of employment; you would be at the mercy of the caprices of
horrible old women and insolent young girls, and would have to fetch
and carry, and kotoo, and eat humble-pie, and all the rest of it,
very much as you do at present. And I am perfectly certain, my dear
Fanny,"--she gave a little start, which had not passed unnoticed;
it was the first time he had called her so--"I am perfectly certain
that this is not your _métier_. You are a lady in looks--there is
no higher-bred-looking woman goes to Court, by Jove!--in education,
in manner, and in taste; you are not meant for contact with the
shopocracy, and it wouldn't suit you; and to tell you the truth, I
am sufficiently selfish to have thought how it would suit me, and I
confess I don't see it at all."
He looked hard at her as he said this, and she returned his glance. Her
colour rose, and her lips trembled visibly.
"I am perfectly candid with you, my dear child," said the Colonel,
drawing his chair a little closer to her, and leaning with his elbow on
the table so as to bring his face nearer to her--"I am perfectly candid
in avowing a certain amount of selfishness in this matter. I admire you
very much indeed, and the natural result is, a desire to see as much of
you as is consistent with my duties to society; and this shopkeeping
project wouldn't help me at all. I want you to have all your time to
yourself--a perpetual leisure, to be employed according to your own
devices. I wish you to have the prettiest home that can be found, with
pictures, and books, and flowers, and such-like. I wish you to have
your carriage, and a riding-horse, if you would like one, and a maid to
attend to you, and a proper allowance for dress and all that kind of
thing. You look incredulous, Fanny, and as though I were inventing a
romance. It is perfectly practicable and possible, my dear child, and
it shall all be done for you if you will only like me just a little."
He bent forward and took her hand, and looked up eagerly into her face.
She suffered her hand to remain in his grasp, and gazed at him quite
steadily as she said in hard tones:
"It sounds like a fairy-tale; but it is in fact a mere businesslike
proposition skilfully veiled. You wish me to be your mistress."
Colonel Orpington was not staggered either by the tone or the words,
but smiled quietly, still holding her hand as he said:
"I told you I admired your appreciation and quickness, though I wish
to Heaven you had not used that horrible word. I never had a mistress
in my life. I always associate the term with a dreadful person with
painted cheeks and blackened eyelids, and a very low-necked dress. I
can't conceive any object more utterly revolting."
"I am sorry you dislike the term," said Daisy, "but I conclude I
expressed your meaning."
"It would be better put thus," said the Colonel: "I wish you to let
me be your lover, and show my regard by attending to your comfort and
happiness. That seems to me rather neatly put."
Daisy could not help smiling as she said:
"It is certainly less startling in that shape."
"My dear child," said the Colonel, releasing her hand, and standing
upright on the hearth-rug before her, "it conveys exactly what I meant
to say. A young man would rave and stamp, and swear he had never loved
anyone before, and would never love anyone again. I can't say the
first, by Jove!" said the Colonel with a grin; "and I could not take
upon myself to swear to the last, we are such creatures of chance and
circumstances. But it wouldn't matter to you, for by that time you
would probably be tired of me, and I should take care to have secured
your independence; but at all events I should be very kind to you, and
you would have pretty well your own way."
There was a pause, after which the Colonel said:
"You are silent, Fanny; what do you say?"
"You cannot expect me," said Fanny, rising from her chair, "to give a
decided 'Yes' or 'No' to this proposition of yours, however delicately
you may have veiled it. You see I am as candid with you as you were
with me. You have had no shrieks of horror, no exclamations of startled
propriety, and I conclude you did not expect them; but it is a matter
which I must think over, and let you know the result."
"Exactly what I expected from your common sense, my dear child. My
appreciation of you is higher than ever. When shall I hear?"
"If I don't write to you before, I will be here this day week at this
time."
"So be it," said the Colonel, and he led her to the door. As she
passed, he touched her forehead with his lips, and so they parted.
"I suppose I ought to be in a whirl of terror, fright, and shame," said
Daisy to herself, as she walked towards the West; "but I feel none of
these sensations. It is a matter which will require a great deal of
thinking about, and must have very careful attention."