Throckmorton, who was modesty and respectfulness itself in the presence
of the woman he loved, was far from being nervous or diffident with her
family. Next morning, having devoted all his smoking hours, which
comprised the meditative part of his life, to Jacqueline, it occurred to
him that he would have to tackle Mrs. Temple. That quite exhilarated and
amused him. He knew well enough the Temple tradition, by which the
master of the house was the nominal ruler, while the mistress was the
actual ruler, and he also knew it would not be repeated at Millenbeck.
He was indulgent toward women to the last degree--indulgent of their
whims, their foibles, their faults and follies; but it was an
indulgence, not a right. Jacqueline would find she had as much liberty
as ever her mother had, but it would not be by virtue of a strong will
over a weak one, but the free gift of affection. The major was not a
person subject to petticoat government. In fact, he did not exactly know
what it meant, and the woman did not live who could make him understand
it. He rather looked forward to a brush with Mrs. Temple. He knew that
Millenbeck and all the worldly advantages of the match would not
influence her one iota. The conviction of this, of her entire
disinterestedness and integrity, gave him pleasure. He knew that it was
he--George Throckmorton--who would be weighed by Mrs. Temple, if not by
Jacqueline; this last an afterthought that came to him unpleasantly.
At breakfast, Throckmorton could not but feel a sense of triumph over
Jack, who, unconscious of an impending step-mother, sat opposite his
father, and talked in the free, frank way to him that Throckmorton had
always encouraged. The young rascal would see, thought Throckmorton,
with much satisfaction, that it was possible for a man of forty-four,
with more gray hairs than black in his head, to hold his own even
against a fellow as fascinating as Jack fancied himself to be. As luck
would have it, Jack began to talk about the Temples.
"Major, don't you think Mrs. Beverley a very captivating woman? By
George! she looks so pretty in that little black bonnet she wears, if it
wasn't for interfering with you, sir, I would be tempted to go in and
win myself."
The boy's impudence tickled Throckmorton. He could not but laugh in
spite of himself at the idea--Jack, whom Judith treated very much as she
did Beverley! But Jack evidently thought his father had designs in that
quarter, which misapprehension still further amused the major.
"Mrs. Beverley is indeed a charming woman," he answered.
Jack, however, became serious. In his heart he sincerely admired and
revered Judith, and his blessing was ready whenever the major informed
him that she would be the future mistress of Millenbeck.
"Mrs. Beverley has more sense and sprightliness than any other woman I
know. If she could be persuaded to take off those black things she wraps
herself up in, and be _herself_--which she isn't--I should think she
would be--great fun."
Jack knew Throckmorton well enough to see that the shot had not hit the
bull's-eye. Throckmorton was too ready to praise, discuss, and admire
Judith. "What does the old fellow want, anyway?" thought Jack to
himself, "if Mrs. Beverley doesn't suit him?" So then and there he
entered into a disquisition on women in general and Judith Temple in
particular, which caused Throckmorton to ask sarcastically:
"May I ask where you acquired your knowledge of the sex?"
"It would be impossible to associate with you, major, without learning
much about them," answered Jack, "you are such a favorite with the
ladies. You are a very handsome man, you know, sir--"
Here Throckmorton smiled.
"For your age, that is--"
The major frowned slightly.
"They all like you--even little Jacqueline."
To save his life, Throckmorton could not prevent a flush from rising to
his face, which he hated; for the emotions of forty-four are infinitely
ridiculous to twenty-two. But it was just as well to have things settled
then. A queer glitter, too, showing understanding, had come into Jack's
eyes.
"I may say to you," said Throckmorton, after a little pause, "that you
would do well to be guarded in your references to Miss Temple. She has
promised to marry me."
They had finished breakfast by that time, and were about to separate for
the morning. Jack got up, and Throckmorton noticed his handsome young
face paled a little. He had not escaped Jacqueline's spell any more than
Throckmorton and Freke; but it was not an overmastering spell, and in
his heart he loved his father with a manly affection that he never
thought of putting into words, but which was stronger than any other
emotion. He walked up to Throckmorton and shook hands with him,
laughing, but with a nervousness in his laugh, an abashed look on his
face, that told the whole story to Throckmorton's keen eye.
"I congratulate you, sir. She is a--a--beautiful girl--and--and--I hope
you will be very happy."
"I think I shall," gravely responded Throckmorton. "I can not explain
things to you that you can only learn by experience. I have not
forgotten--I never can forget--your mother, who made my happiness during
our short married life. I have been twenty years recovering from the
pain of losing her enough to think of replacing her."
Jack had recovered himself a little while Throckmorton was speaking. The
wound was only skin-deep with him.
"And is it to be immediately?" he asked.
"As soon as I can bring it about," replied Throckmorton; "but I have got
to bring my dear, obstinate old friend Mrs. Temple round first"--here
both of them laughed--"so you will see the necessity of keeping the
affair absolutely quiet."
"You had better join the church, sir," said Jack, who was himself again.
"That will be your best card to play."
"Very likely," responded Throckmorton, good-humoredly, "but I think I
can win the game even without that."
In the bright morning sunshine out-of-doors Throckmorton began to take
heart of grace about Jacqueline. Jack did not seem to think it such an
unequal match. With love and patience what might not be done with any
woman? Throckmorton began to whistle jovially. He went out to the stable
lot to take a look at the horses, as he did every morning. Old Tartar,
that had carried him during four years' warfare, and was now honorably
retired and turned out to grass, came toward him whinnying and ready for
his morning pat--all horses, dogs, and children loved Throckmorton.
Tartar, who had lost an eye in the service of his country, turned his
one remaining orb around so as to see Throckmorton, and rubbed his noble
old head against his master's knee. Throckmorton noticed him more than
usual--his heart was more tender and pitiful to all creatures that
morning.
Toward noon he went over to Barn Elms. The morning was intensely cold,
though clear, and the fields and fences and hedges were still white with
snow. For the first time Throckmorton noticed the extreme shabbiness of
Barn Elms.
"Dear little girl," he said, "she shall have a different home from
this."
When he reached the house he was ushered straight into the plain,
old-fashioned drawing-room, and in a moment Mrs. Temple appeared,
perfectly unsuspicious of what had happened or what was going to happen.
"Good-morning," cried Throckmorton--something in his tone showing
triumph and happiness, and in his dark face was a fine red color. "Mrs.
Temple, I came over to make a clean breast to you this morning!"
"About what?" asked Mrs. Temple, sedately.
They were both standing up, facing each other.
"About--Jacqueline." Throckmorton spoke her name almost reverently.
A sudden light broke in upon Mrs. Temple. She grew perfectly rigid.
"Jacqueline!" she said, in an undescribable tone.
"Yes, Jacqueline," answered Throckmorton, coolly. "I love her--I think
she loves me--and she has promised to marry me. You may depend upon it,
I shall make her keep her promise."
Mrs. Temple remained perfectly silent for two or three minutes before
recovering her self-possession.
"You are forty-four years old, George Throckmorton."
"I know it. I never lied about my age to anybody."
"You are in the Yankee army!"
"Yes, I am," responded Throckmorton, boldly, "and I shall stay in it."
"And my daughter--"
"For God's sake, Mrs. Temple, let us talk reasonably together! I am not
going to take your daughter campaigning."
"It isn't that I mean, George Throckmorton. I mean the uniform you
wear--"
"Is the best in the world! Now, my dear old friend--the best friend I
ever had--I want your consent and General Temple's--I want it very much,
but it isn't absolutely necessary. Jacqueline and I are to be married.
We settled that last night."
Mrs. Temple, with whom nobody had ever taken a bold stand before, looked
perfectly aghast. Throckmorton saw his advantage, and pressed it hard.
"Have you any objection to me personally? Am I a drunkard, or a gambler,
or a cad?"
"You are not," responded Mrs. Temple, after a pause. "I think you are,
on the whole, except my husband and my dead son, as much of a man--"
Throckmorton took her hand and pressed it.
"Thank you! thank you!" His gratitude spoke more in his tone than his
words. "And now," he cheerfully remarked, "that you have given your
consent--"
Mrs. Temple had given no such thing. Nevertheless, within half an hour
she had yielded to the inevitable. She had met a stronger will than her
own, and was completely vanquished.
Jacqueline came down, and Throckmorton had a half-hour of rapture not
unmixed with pain. If only his reason could be silenced, how happy he
would have been! He did not see Judith; he had quite forgotten her for
the time.