A POOR YOUNG MAN, AND A RICH YOUNG GIRL.
In the drawing-room sat a gentleman turning over the leaves of a book.
The apartment was decorated after the usual fashion of the olden time.
On the floor was a rich carpet from Antwerp, in the corner a japanned
cabinet; everywhere crooked-legged tables and carved chairs obstructed
the floor, and on the threshold a lap-dog snapped at the flies in his
dreams. Besides, there were portraits of powdered dames, and hideous
china ornaments on the tall narrow mantlepiece; and an embroidered
screen in the recess next the fireplace described with silent
eloquence the life of Arcady.
Mowbray was a young man of twenty-five or six, with a high pale
forehead, dark eyes full of thoughtful intelligence; and his dress was
rather that of a student than a man of the world. It was plain and
simple, and all the colors were subdued. He was a man for a woman to
listen to, rather than laugh with. His manner was calm, perfectly
self-possessed, and his mind seemed to be dwelling upon one dominant
idea.
"Good morning, sir," said Philippa, inclining her head indifferently;
"we have a very pleasant day."
Mowbray rose and bowed calmly.
"Yes, madam," he said; "my ride was quite agreeable."
"Any news, sir?"
"None, except a confirmation of those designs of the ministry which
are now causing so much discussion."
"What designs?"
A faint smile passed over Mowbray's calm face.
"Are you quite sure that politics will amuse you?" he said.
"Amuse? no, sir. But you seem to have fallen into the fashionable
error, that ladies only require amusement."
He shook his head.
"You do me injustice," he said; "no man has so high an opinion of your
sex, madam, as I have."
"I doubt it--you deceive yourself."
"Excuse me, but I do not."
"You are one of the lords of creation," said Philippa satirically.
"A very poor lord," he replied calmly.
"Are you poor?" asked Philippa as coolly.
"Yes, madam."
"But you design being rich some day?"
"Yes, madam, if my brain serves me."
"You aspire perhaps to his Majesty's council?"
"No, madam," he replied, with perfect coolness; "were I in public
life, I should most probably be in the opposition."
"A better opening."
"No; but better for one who holds my opinions--better for the
conscience."
"And for the purse?"
"I know not. If you mean that public life holds out pecuniary rewards,
I think you are mistaken."
"Then you will not become rich by politics?"
"I think, madam, that there is little chance of that."
"Still you would wish to be wealthy?"
"Yes, madam."
"You are fond of luxury?"
"Yes, madam."
"Horses, wines, carriages?"
"Excuse me--no."
"What then?"
"The luxury of seeing my orphan sister surrounded with every comfort."
A flush passed over Philippa's face, and she turned away; but she was
not satisfied.
"There is a very plain and easy way to arrive at wealth, sir," she
said; "law is so slow."
"Please indicate it."
"Marry an heiress."
There was a silence after these words; and Philippa could scarcely
sustain the clear fixed look which he bent upon her face.
"Is that your advice, madam?" he said coldly. "I thank you for it."
His tone piqued her.
"Then follow it," she said.
"Excuse me again."
"Is it not friendly?"
"Possibly, but not to my taste."
"Why, sir?"
"First, because the course you suggest is not very honorable;
secondly, and in another aspect, it is very disgraceful; again, it is
too expensive, if I may be permitted to utter what seems to be, but is
not, a very rude and cynical speech."
"Not honorable--disgraceful--too expensive! Indeed! Why, sir, you at
once exclude heiresses from matrimony."
"Not so, madam."
"Not honorable!"
"I think it is not honorable to acquire wealth, for the best purpose
in the world, by giving the hand and not the heart."
"The hand and the heart!--who speaks of heart in these days? But you
say it is even disgraceful to marry an heiress."
"Not at all; but if a man does not love a woman, is it not disgraceful
in the full sense of that word, madam, to unite himself to her, or
rather to her money bags, only that he may procure the means of living
in luxury, and gratifying his expensive tastes and vices?"
"If he does not _love_ her, you say. _Love!_ that is a very pretty
word, and rhymes, I believe, to _dove_! Well, sir, you have endeavored
to establish your point by the aid of two delightful phrases, 'the
hand and not the _heart_'--'the man who does not _love_ a
woman'--beautiful words, only I don't believe in them. Now be good
enough to explain your third point:--how is it too 'expensive' to
marry a wealthy woman? I know you gentlemen at the college are
inveterate logicians, and find little difficulty in proving that twice
two's five, and that black is irreproachable white--that fire is
cold--ice, hot--smoke, heavy--and lead light as thistle-down. Still I
imagine you will find it difficult to show that 'tis _expensive_ to
marry, let us say, fifty thousand pounds a year!"
Mowbray looked at her face a moment, and sighed; a great hope seemed
to be leaving him; when he spoke, it was with manifest repugnance.
"Let us dismiss this singular subject, madam," he said calmly; "I
spoke too thoughtlessly. See that lovely humming-bird around the
honeysuckle, searching in vain for honey."
"As I do for your reasons, sir," said Philippa curtly.
"My reasons?"
"You refuse to explain----"
"Well, well--I see you will compel me to speak. Well, madam, my
meaning is very simple. When I say that it is too 'expensive' to unite
oneself to a woman solely because that woman has for her portion a
great fortune, a large income, every luxury and elegance to endow her
husband with--I mean simply that if this woman be uncongenial, if her
husband care nothing for her, only her fortune, then that he will
necessarily be unhappy, and that unhappiness is cheaply bought with
millions. Money only goes a certain way--tell me when it bought a
heart! Mine, madam, it will never buy at least--if you will permit me
to utter a sentence in such bad taste. And now let us abandon this
discussion, which leads us into such serious moods."
She turned away, and looked through the window.
Two birds were playfully contending in the air, and filling the groves
with their joyous carolling.
"How free they are!" she murmured.
"The birds? Yes, madam, they live in delightful liberty, as we of
America will, I trust, some day."
"I wonder if they're married," said Philippa laughing, and refusing to
enter upon the wrongs of England toward the colonies; "they are
fighting, I believe, and thus I presume they are united in
marriage--by some parson Crow!"
Mowbray only smiled slightly, and looked at his watch.
"What! not going!" cried Philippa.
"Pardon," he said; "I just rode out for an hour. We have a lecture in
half an hour."
"And you prefer the excellent Dr. Small or some other reverend
gentleman to myself--the collegiate to the sylvan, the male to the
female lecturer?"
He smiled wearily.
"Our duties are becoming more exacting," he said; "the examination is
approaching."
"I should suppose so--you have not been to see me for a whole week."
A flush passed over Mowbray's brow; then it became as pale as before.
"Our acquaintance has not been an extended one," he said; "I could not
intrude upon your society."
"Intrude!"
And abandoning completely her laughing cynical manner, Philippa gave
him a look which made him tremble. Why was that excitement? Because he
thought he had fathomed her; because he had convinced himself that she
was a coquette, amusing herself at his expense; because he saw all his
dreams, his illusions, his hopes pass away with the fleeting minutes.
He replied simply:
"Yes, madam--even now I fear I am trespassing upon your time; you
probably await my departure to betake yourself to your morning's
amusement. I was foolish enough to imagine that I had not completely
lost my powers of conversation, buried as I have been in books. I
was mistaken--I no longer jest--I am a poor companion. Then," he
added, "we are so uncongenial--at least this morning. I will come some
day when I am gay, and you sad--then we shall probably approximate in
_mood_, and until then farewell."
She would have detained him; "Don't go!" was on her lips; but at the
moment when Mowbray bowed low, a shout of laughter was heard in the
passage, and three persons entered--Jacques, Belle-bouche, and Sir
Asinus.