"Well, Charley my boy," said Sir Philip Vining, a few mornings after,
"you must keep the ball rolling. You are going along swimmingly. But
ladies like plenty of attentions. What are you going to do next? Can't
you get up something fresh? Don't spare for money, my boy: I've--that
is, we've plenty, you know; and I like to be lavish as far as the income
allows. It's an old-fashioned idea of mine, Charley, that it is the
duty of a landlord, deriving a handsome revenue from a neighbourhood, to
spend that revenue liberally in his district. It's no waste, you know;
it is all distributed amongst the people, and does some good. By the
way, though, I think you might be a little more attentive to Laura.
She's a fine girl, Charley: perhaps a little too masculine; but it's
surprising how love and matrimony soften down that class of women. I
saw you with her yesterday along with that Miss Bedford or Rutland--
which was her name?"
"Bedford," said Charley quietly.
"To be sure--Bedford," said the old gentleman; "and the children. Seems
a very ladylike young person. I was rather taken with her nice, sad,
gentle face. One can almost read trouble in it. Pity a girl like her
should have to lead such a life as that of a governess!"
Charley was silent; and Sir Philip, seeing him thoughtful, took up the
paper.
And indeed Charley Vining was thoughtful and troubled in mind. He had
encountered Ella twice since the day of the fete, to find her cold and
distant. But then she had been in the company of Laura. All the same,
though, it struck him as strange that the haughty beauty should have
taken it into her head to accompany her in her walks: it looked like
supervising her actions; and again and again Charley reverted to Nelly's
warning, and longed for a few words with her; but so far it was in vain.
He had called twice, to meet Laura and Mrs Bray, Max having returned
to town. His reception had been most flattering, and there was a
gentle, retiring way with Laura that troubled him; for he felt that he
must be giving her pain, and his was too generous a disposition to
suffer in peace the knowledge that he was causing others trouble or
care. But call or walk, save in the society of Laura, neither Nelly nor
Ella could be seen; and leaving Sir Philip immersed in the day's news,
Charley left the room, went round to the stables, and had his mare
saddled.
Still no luck. He did not even see them that day; and time slipped by
without fortune smiling upon him. He called again and again at the
Elms; but Nelly and her governess were always invisible, while Laura was
still more gentle and retiring. Once he asked to see Nelly, and she was
fetched down, evidently longing to take him into her confidence; but
opportunity was not afforded; and at last one morning, with the feeling
strong upon him that Laura was playing a part, and that he was being
debarred from seeing Ella alone, Charley sat listening to the pleasant
banter of Sir Philip over the breakfast-table, till, seeing his son's
moody looks, the old gentleman became serious; for his conversation had
all turned upon Charley's visits to the Elms, and his great love for
woodland and meadow rambles.
"Why, my dear boy," Sir Philip had said, "I'd no idea that I was going
to make such a solemn fellow of you. Certainly matrimony should be
taken _au serieux_; but I'm afraid the lady is hard to win."
A few minutes after Sir Philip rose; for Charley had turned uneasily in
his chair, so that his face was averted.
"My dear Charley," said the old gentleman, going round the table, and
making the young man start as he felt that loving hand laid upon his
shoulder,--"my dear Charley, I have hurt your feelings in some way.
Pray forgive me."
Charley groaned.
"My dear boy," said Sir Philip, "what does this mean? Surely my
old-womanish babbling has not upset you like this! It was only lightly
meant. Or is there something wrong?"
Charley turned his face to his father's for an instant, but only to
avert it again.
"Is it anything to do with money, Charley?" said the old gentleman.
"But pooh--nonsense! It isn't that, I know. Your personal expenses are
ridiculously small. Why, I expected that by this time you would have
half ruined yourself in jewellery presents. What is it, Charley? Can
you not confide in me?"
"No, father," cried Charley, starting angrily to his feet, and
overturning his chair; "I have been showing you for the past month that
I cannot. But I can stand this no longer," he cried, striding up and
down the room; "for it is not in my nature to play the hypocrite!"
"Hypocrite, Charley! My dear boy, what is it?"
"What is it!" exclaimed Charley fiercely. "You think that I am going
day after day to some assignation with that--that--that--with Laura
Bray!"
"Good heavens, Charley! what does this mean?"
"Mean, father! Why, that I am a hypocrite, and deceiving one who has
always been generous and kind. It means, too, that my life has been
turned to gall and bitterness; for I am going about like some puling
boy, seeking in vain for a kind word from the woman who has robbed me of
all that seems bright in life."
"But, Charley, what does this mean? I thought--I felt sure--"
"Yes," cried Charley bitterly; "and I was so mean, so base and
contemptible, as to let you believe that I loved Laura Bray, and ask her
here, as if--Heaven forgive me!--I blushed for my love for a woman who--
There, I can't talk of it--I can't enter into it. Father, why did you
stop the even tenor of my life? But no!" he cried, as he recalled his
first meeting, "it was not your doing. I am half mad with
disappointment, and know not what I say. A few weeks ago, and I could
mock at the word Love, while now it is as though something was robbing
me of sleep by night, rest by day, and my old zest for life. Father, I
tell you I love--and love almost madly--a woman who rejects my suit, who
turns from me, while every effort to see her now seems to be
frustrated."
"But, Charley," cried the old man, his hands trembling with agitation,
as, following his son about the room, he sought to drive away the
suspicion that was beginning to enlighten him, "who is this lady? You
are too timid--too diffident. Surely no one we know would refuse _you_.
Pooh! my dear boy, you have taken the distemper almost too strongly,"
he continued, with a forced laugh. "But who is it?--one of the Miss
Lingons?"
Charley turned angrily upon him, as if suspecting him of banter, but
only to see truth and earnestness in the old man's troubled countenance.
"Father," he said calmly, "I love Ella Bedford."
"Who? Miss Bedford?" cried the old man excitedly. "You are joking with
me, my boy," he said huskily; "and it is ungenerous, Charley. You know
how I have set my mind on this--on your marriage--our pedigree, my son,
our ancient lineage. Think, Charley, of your position."
"I do, father," said Charley sternly.
"But, my boy," exclaimed Sir Philip angrily, "it is madness! You, soon
to be a baronet, with one of the finest rent-rolls in the county, and to
stoop to a governess!"
"To a lady, father!" cried Charley fiercely now, as he stood facing Sir
Philip. "You told me you wished me to marry. Can I govern my own
heart? I told you once that I did not believe so good and pure a woman
as my dear mother lived on this earth. I retract it now, and own,
father, that it was said in the blind ignorance of my foolish conceit;
for I know now that there are women walking this lower earth of ours
whom I cruelly calumniated, for they might be taken as the types of the
angels above. Father, I love one of these women with a strong man's
first fierce love--with the passion long chained, now almost at your
bidding let loose, and before heaven I swear that--"
"For heaven's sake be silent, Charley, my dear child!" cried Sir Philip
almost frantically, as he laid his hand on his son's lips.
Then with a groan he shrank away, staggered to his chair, and buried his
face in his hands, while with face working, brow flushed, and the veins
standing out in his forehead, Charley stood struggling between the two
loves, when he turned; for the door opened, and the servant handed to
him a letter that made his face flush a deeper hue.
Volume 2, Chapter II.