* * * * *
On the following day--or was it the second day?--Gunderson Kuyper
came to see me. Deaths in my family and in his, and other matters,
chiefly--at least so I had imagined--my unwillingness to have Helen
go away for a wedding trip, had delayed the marriage of my daughter
and his son. Then, too, there had been some attempt on the part of
his lawyer to find out my intentions in the matter of an allowance for
Helen. But, feeling that this was a true love match which ought not to
be spoiled by any intrusion of the material and the business-like, I
had waved the lawyer off with some vague politeness.
I was completely taken by surprise when, with an exceedingly small
amount of hemming and hawing for so aristocratic a despiser of
commercialism as Gunderson Kuyper, he flatly demanded a joint
settlement of five millions on his son and Helen!
It was particularly important that I should not be excited. The doctors
had warned me that rage would probably be fatal. But in spite of this
I could not wholly conceal my agitation. “You will have to excuse me,
Mr. Kuyper,” said I. “You see what a nervous state I am in. Discussion
about business would be highly dangerous. I can only assure you that,
as Helen is my favourite child, she and, of course, her husband will be
amply provided for. I must beg you not to continue the subject.”
“I understand. I am sincerely sorry.” The oily scoundrel spoke in tones
of the most delicate sympathy. “We will postpone the marriage until
your health is such that you are able to discuss it.” He rose and came
toward me to take leave.
“Instead of quieting my agitation, you have aggravated it,” I said.
“These young people have their hearts set on each other--at least I
have been led to believe that your son----”
“And you are right, my dear Galloway,” he said--he patronises me, drops
the “Mr.” in addressing me, and makes me feel too distant with him to
drop it in return. “But as my son has less than fifteen thousand a
year, he could not think of marriage with a woman brought up as your
daughter has been--unless there were assurance of some further income.
I am not in a position to make him an adequate allowance--I can only
double his present income. He will, of course, inherit a considerable
fortune at my death. But I feel it is only just that you should do your
share toward properly establishing the new family.”
“I shall, I shall,” I said, feebly, trying to make him see how unfit
I was for such a discussion. “Let them marry. Everything shall be
looked after. Only leave me in peace. Do not disturb me with these
mercenary----”
That word must have angered him, for his face whitened, and he said,
with suppressed fury: “It is perfectly well known, Mr. Galloway, that
you made no provision whatever for your other children, and that you
keep your son on a beggarly allowance, considering your fortune and
the social station which you are struggling to maintain. You have
given your elder daughter nothing. I speak plainly, sir, because
your dealings with your children and with Mr. Bradish’s daughter are
matters of common gossip. I will permit no evasion, no screening behind
illness. I must speak the only language you understand. It is a matter
of indifference to us----”
“I had no idea the Kuypers were so--so thrifty,” said I, myself in a
fury at this vulgar and insulting tirade.
“As I was saying,” he went on, “it is a matter of indifference to us
whether my son marries your daughter or not. His mother and I consented
only after he had made it plain to us that his happiness was involved.
My consent was conditioned on your acting the part of an honourable
and considerate father.”
“Our conceptions of a parent are evidently as wide apart as our
conceptions of the feeling a young man should entertain toward a young
woman he purposes to marry,” said I. “Your demand for five millions
is preposterous. The honour of marrying my daughter should be--shall
be--sufficient for your son--if I permit the marriage to go on.”
“Very well, sir. You may keep your daughter and your ill-got millions.”
“Strange that ill-got wealth should have such a fascination for you!”
“Everything is purified by passing to innocent hands,” he replied.
“But--enough! I am ashamed that my temper should have degraded me to
such a controversy with such a man. The longer we have had this matter
under advisement the more nauseating it has become. I might have known
that nothing but humiliation would result from even considering an
alliance with a family whose head is notorious throughout the length
and breadth of this land for chicanery, for impudent dishonesty, for
theft----”
I heard no more. I was now dimly conscious that his purpose throughout
had been, after a perfunctory attempt to arrange a settlement, to
provoke a quarrel that would make the marriage impossible. At his last
words I felt a pain shoot from my brain throughout my body--a pain so
frightful that I straightway lost consciousness.
At last my stealthy, shuffling, creeping enemy had stolen up behind me
and had struck me down.
When I came to myself on the third day, Helen was there. “Poor child!”
I said, “your dream is over, but----”
“No! No!” she protested.
“Yes--I know your heart was set on that young fellow.”
“Everything is all right now that you are getting well,” she replied,
and would not let me say anything more.
In two weeks I was well enough to go about again as before. I found
that Delamotte had defied his father and was only waiting for me to
consent. For Helen’s sake, I yielded. Why blame the boy? Why make my
child wretched? Let them have the chance I never had. Or, did I have
it and throw it away? No matter. To sacrifice them to revenge would be
petty.
Petty! What is not petty to me, seated in front of The Great Fact?