A REVELATION.
'Your Aunt Isabel was here this afternoon, George,' said Mrs. Fordyce to
her son, when he came home from the mill that evening. 'She came over to
tell me Gladys is in town. I said I thought you did not expect her.'
'No, I did not,' George replied. 'What's she up for?--anything new?'
'Oh, one of her fads. Something about one of these girls from the slums.
Your aunt seemed to be rather distressed. She thinks Gladys is going
quite too far, and she really took the opportunity, when the girls had
all gone to a studio tea, to come over to consult me. We both think you
are quite entitled to interfere.'
George shook his head.
'It is all very easy for you to say that, but I tell you Gladys won't
stand that sort of thing.'
'But, my dear, she must be made to stand it. I must say her conduct is
most unwomanly. If she is to be your wife, she must be taught that you
are to be considered in some ways. You must be very firm with her,
George; it will save no end of trouble afterwards.'
Mrs. George Fordyce was a large stout person, of imposing presence, and
she delivered herself of this admirable sentiment most impressively; but
though her son quite agreed with her, and wished with all his heart that
the girl of his choice were a little less erratic and self-willed, he
was wise enough to know that any attempt at coercion would be the very
last thing to make her amenable to reason.
'What girl is it now?' he asked, with affected carelessness, but furtive
anxiety. 'The same one who has been staying at Bourhill?'
'No; something far worse--a dreadful low creature, who has been missing
for some time. If Gladys were not as innocent as a baby she would know
that she is a creature not fit to be spoken to. Really, George, that
Miss Peck is utterly useless as a chaperon. I wish we knew what to do.
It is one of the most exasperating and delicate affairs possible.'
'That girl!' repeated George, so blankly that his mother looked at him
in sharp amazement. 'Heavens! then it's all up, mother.'
'All up? What on earth do you mean?'
'What I say. Is it a girl called Hepburn?' he asked half desperately,
afraid to tell his mother, and yet feeling that she, and she alone,
might help him.
'I believe so. Yes, Hepburn was certainly the name your aunt mentioned.
Well, what then?'
'Simply that if Gladys has got in tow with this girl, and takes her down
to Bourhill, I'm ruined.'
'How?'
There was eager inquiry, anguish even, in the question. Mrs. Fordyce was
a vain and silly woman, but she had a mother's feelings, and suffered,
as every mother must, over her son's dishonour.
'This girl was one of our hands, and--and--well, you understand, she had
a pretty face, and I was foolish about her. I never meant anything
serious; but, you see, if Gladys gets to know about it, she is so
absurdly quixotic, she is quite fit enough not to speak to me again.'
'You were foolish about her?' repeated Mrs. Fordyce slowly, and her
comely face became rather pale, as she keenly eyed her son's troubled
face. 'Does that mean that you were responsible for her disappearance?'
'Well, I suppose I was in the first instance,' he said frankly. 'Of
course I was a fool for myself, but a man isn't always responsible,
but'--
'Oh, hold your tongue, George Fordyce!' said his mother, her voice sharp
with her angry pain. 'Not responsible, indeed! I am quite ashamed of
you. It is a most disgraceful thing, and I don't know what your father
will say.'
'There is no reason why he should say anything; he needn't be told,'
said George a trifle sullenly. 'Of course I regret it, as every man does
who makes such a deuced fool of himself. And the girl can't complain; it
was more her fault, anyhow.'
'Oh, George, don't be a coward as well as a scoundrel,' said his mother,
with more sharpness in her tone than she had ever before used towards
her idolised son. 'Don't tell me it is the woman's fault. That is the
poor excuse all men make when they get themselves into scrapes. I am
very sorry for her, poor thing, and I think I'll go and see her myself.'
George remained silent, standing gloomily at the window, looking on the
approach, with its trimly-cut shrubs and spring flowers, blooming in
conventional lines. His mother had not received his information quite
as he expected, and he felt for the moment utterly 'down on his luck.'
'You have indeed ruined yourself with Gladys, and with any other girl
who has any respect for herself,' she said presently, with increased
coldness, 'and I must say you richly deserve it.'
So saying, she left the room, and as she went up-stairs, two tears
rolled down her cheeks. She was not a woman of very deep feelings,
perhaps, but she had received a blow from which it would take her some
time to recover. She sat down in her own room, and tried to think out
the matter in all its bearings. She felt glad that her husband and
daughter were not to dine at home, for after the first shock was over,
worldly wisdom began to assert itself, and she pondered upon the best
means of avoiding the scandal which appeared inevitable. She was not
very hopeful. Had Gladys been an ordinary girl, entertaining less
exalted ideas of honour and integrity, everything might have been
smoothed over. Women, as a rule, are too lenient towards the follies of
men, especially when the offenders are young and handsome; but Gladys
was an exception to almost every rule. The only chance lay in the
knowledge being kept from her, yet how was that possible, Liz Hepburn
being at that very moment an invited guest at Bourhill? She made some
little alteration in her dress, and went down, perfectly calm, and
outwardly at ease, to a _tête-à-tête_ dinner with her son. When they
were left alone at the table she suddenly changed the subject from the
commonplace to the engrossing theme occupying both their minds, and,
leaning towards him, said quietly,--
'There is only one thing you can do now. It is your only chance, and if
it fails, you can only retire gracefully, and accept your _congé_ as
your deserts.'
'I don't know what you mean,' he retorted a trifle ungraciously, for in
his intense selfishness he had been able to convince himself that his
mother had been rather hard upon him.
'I would advise you to go over to the Crescent to-night and see Gladys,
and tell her what you have heard. Let her understand--as gently and
nicely as you can, but be quite firm over it--that you, as her future
husband, have some right to express an opinion about the people she
makes friends of. You can lay stress on her own youth and ignorance, and
don't be dictatorial. Do you understand me?'
'Yes, but it won't be an easy task,' he said gloomily.
'No, but it's your only chance--a very forlorn hope, I confess, it
appears to me; but you can't afford to neglect it if you want to win
Gladys, and it would be a most desirable marriage.'
These words were the keynote to Mrs. Fordyce's plan of action. To secure
Gladys as a daughter-in-law at any price was her aim, and she had
already stifled her womanly indignation over her son's fall, and even
comforted herself by the cheap reflection that George had never been
half so fast as dozens of other young men who were received into the
best society. She had worshipped at the shrine of wealth and social
position so long that all her views of life were centred upon a solitary
goal, and consequently ran in a narrow and distorted groove.
'If the girl can be prevented going down to Bourhill, all may be well.
Do you think she is one likely to hold her tongue?'
'I don't know anything about her. She'll speak, just as other women
speak, when it comes up her own back, I suppose. The chances are, if
Gladys and she have met, she's told the whole story already.'
'Oh no, she hasn't, because Gladys knew your aunt was coming here this
afternoon, and sent a message that you might come over after dinner. She
wouldn't have done that if she'd known that pretty story. You'd better
go away to the Crescent at once.'
'I'm not very fond of the job,' said George, fortifying himself with a
glass of whisky and water. 'I've a good mind to throw the whole bally
thing up, and go off to the Antipodes. Marrying is an awful bore,
anyhow; women are such a confounded nuisance.'
His mother listened to these lofty sentiments in silence, though she
inwardly felt that it would relieve her feelings considerably to
administer a sound box in the ear.
'I'm trying to help you, George, against my better judgment, but you
don't appear to be very grateful,' she said severely. 'I've a good mind
to let you bear the brunt of your folly, as you deserve; and you know
very well that if your father knew about it, his anger would be
terrific. I'm afraid you'd have to take to the Antipodes then, because
the door would be shut upon you here. I would advise you to do what you
can to redeem yourself, and your utmost to keep Gladys. Tell me
something about the girl. Do you think she would accept a sum of money
to leave Glasgow and hold her tongue?'
'No,' he answered, 'I don't.'
'Why, she must be very different from other girls of her class.'
'I don't know what are the characteristics of her class, but I know
jolly well that if you offer money to her, she'll astonish you.'
Mrs. Fordyce looked with yet keener disfavour into her son's face.
'If she's that kind of girl, you must have promised her marriage.'
'Well, I daresay I did, but she might have known it was only talk,' he
said, trying to speak coolly, though his mother's gaze made him
decidedly uncomfortable. 'But I'm sick of the subject. I'll away over to
Kelvinside, and have it either off or on. If the thing's out, I'll
brazen it out; it's the only way.'
'You don't seem to realise the seriousness of the position, I'm sure I
don't know what has made you go so far astray--not the training or
example in this house. You have grievously disappointed me.'
'Oh, mother, don't preach. I've confessed to you, and it isn't fair to
be so awfully down upon me,' he retorted irritably. 'I don't think you
or the governor have had much to complain of as far as my conduct is
concerned, and I'm not going to stay here to be bullied and snubbed for
making a little slip. I tell you, you don't know what other fellows are.
I've a good mind to open your eyes for you.'
'I don't want them opened, thank you; and if that is the spirit in which
you are going to the Crescent, you deserve to fail, as you are sure to
do. I am not sure whether I shall not tell your father, after all,' she
said icily.
'I don't care if you do,' he retorted, and banged out in ill-humour,
which, however, gradually cooled down as he walked rapidly to the
station.
Finding no train for the city due for ten minutes, he threw himself into
a hansom, and drove all the way, reaching his aunt's house before eight
o'clock. Although he ran up the steps at once, he did not immediately
ring, but even went back into the street, and took a turn up to the end
of the houses, surprised and irritated at his own nervous apprehension.
Glancing up to the house when he again came opposite to it, he saw the
three long windows of the drawing-room lighted, and pictured the scene
within. It was a new and unwelcome sensation for him to feel any
reluctance in entering a drawing-room where there were three charming
girls, and at last, calling himself a fool, he ran up the steps a second
time, and gave the bell a furious pull.
'Is Miss Graham here, Hardy?' he asked the maid, an old servant of his
aunt's, who opened the door.
'Yes, sir.'
'Anybody in the library?'
'No, sir. Mr. Fordyce is sleeping on the dining-room sofa.'
'Oh, all right. Just take my card to Miss Graham, and ask her if she
would be so kind as to come down to the library for a few minutes.'
[Illustration]