Like a lamb to the slaughter, Herbert Pringle was led by the wily
campaigner to his doom matrimonial.
When the veteran perceived that all her operations _in re_ Tom and the
gushing Carry must for a time be postponed, on account of the
prostration of the principal combatant, she determined to prosecute the
other enterprise to the best of her ability, and declared a sort of
_guerre a l'outrance_ against the young incumbent for the sake of her
eldest daughter, the charming Laura.
Of course, she was far too strategic a campaigner to neglect the other
affair altogether. She had written Tom an elegant little _billet-doux_
after the sad contretemps of the pic-nic, telling how sorry she was for
his accident, and how she had punished Mortimer, "that naughty, naughty
boy," and would remember the painful scene "to her grave:" she also
caused Carry to scribble a postscript expressing her condolence, besides
sending every day, like the Pringles, to enquire how he did. But she
could do nothing further there at present, not at all events until Tom
was able to come out again, when she had no doubt she would secure him,
and oust that "odious little minx," in spite of what she had seen at the
pic-nic. She would, indeed, have said more about the matter, only that
she would not for the world offend that "dear Mr Pringle," who was
"such a love of a preacher," and "a perfect gentleman," which she would
persist in telling everyone, as if they disputed the point in the first
place, and in the second, as if it was the most extraordinary thing in
the world to meet with a member of the cloth who was a gentleman! The
surprise on the campaigner's part as to his being a good preacher was,
however, perfectly natural: it is not every gentleman that wears a
cassock who is either a fair orator, has a passable delivery, or
preaches a good sermon.
Men who go into the church appear sadly ignorant of the old Latin
proverb, _Poeta nascitur non fit_! They ascribe unto themselves two
gifts which they believe that they possess, the gift of literary
composition, and the gift of oratory; neither of which one man in a
hundred, perhaps, possesses separately, and not one in ten thousand,
together! And yet the generality of clergymen seem to think that they
can not only write a good sarmon, but preach it also; hence these
dismal, dreary platitudes, and over-and-over-again schoolboy-themes or
truisms which set most of us to sleep every Sunday in the family pew.
The short homily of the early clericals was far better than the prosy
sermon, of unconscionable length, delivered by the moderns; all of whom
seem to think that they were born and brought up, and mercifully
ordained to be popular preachers, and nothing else!
The war waged by the campaigner against the young incumbent of Hartwood
church was not one of guns of precision and bloodshed. It was a very
rosy sort of campaign, all rose-coloured, fought with honied words and
sugar plums, and meant to end in orange blossoms and marriage
settlements; only a lawsuit in which the conflicting parties and ends
were the languid Laura, and an establishment, _versus_ the celibacy of
Herbert Pringle, B.A., Oxon.
Everything favoured the campaigner's manoeuvres. You see, she had the
field clear to herself. The bait she offered was very tempting, and
summer in the country is a most dangerous time for young, unmarried men.
A week in rural retreats will sometimes do more in the Hymeneal line
than weeks of London fashionable life: Coelebs who laughs the hook to
scorn, however so delicately baited in town, may be hooked at once with
a gaudy May-fly down in the country. Besides, the Reverend Herbert was
by no means averse to be caught. He, with all his Oxford experiences,
must have to some extent perceived the motives Lady Inskip had for so
pressingly cultivating his society; but he did not seek cover as the
poor, hunted fox so artfully does. He really found the languid Laura
too bewitching to be resisted; so, with hardly a coy make-believe of
alarm at what he was doing, he eagerly swallowed the bait, hook and all.
Ever since the pic-nic, Herbert Pringle had become the devoted cavalier
of Lady Inskip's eldest daughter.
Morning, noon, and night, the little dapple-grey animal which the young
incumbent bestrode was to be seen tied up to the gateposts of Laburnum
Cottage: substantial proof that Pringle was within. Of course this was
during the intervals of parochial duties which were by no means heavy,
as Hartwood, and Bigton too, for that matter, had no poor to speak of,
the population being agricultural, living well on their weekly wage, and
inhabiting comfortable looking stone houses with pleasant flower gardens
in front, and vegetable compounds in the rear.
Croquet--that pleasantly flirtative game, which demands so little skill
or exertion, and affords such rare opportunities for effective _poses_,
and desultory chit-chat--was all the rage on the little lawn in front of
the Inskip's cottage, during the warm September days: croquet settled
the young incumbent's business.
Laura was afforded such nice little openings here for developing her
conquest in an easy manner so suited to her nature, that she entered
with some spirit in completing what the campaigner's manoeuvres had
begun. She had only to look graceful, and move about imperially, as
tall women can well do, and show her exquisite profile--it looked better
than her full face: by such means the mischief was done.
Pringle, like most little men, had a fancy for graceful Junos, and here
he had one ready-made to his hand. Out of the pulpit he was not much of
an orator; but as the languid Laura hardly ever uttered anything but an
occasional interjection, they suited each other admirably. Nothing was
wanting but the final declaration, and that came quite as soon as the
old campaigner had planned. Two or three weeks completed the conquest,
thanks to country air and scene, statuesque charms and croquet, and the
praiseworthy efforts of the skilful old veteran who had charge of the
campaign.
People speak a great deal, in the press and elsewhere, of the
insufficiency of public rewards and honours for distinguished services
with a good deal of truth; but in all these discussions a large and
praiseworthy portion of the community is entirely neglected, and its
claims to honour and reward absolutely ignored. I allude to the mothers
of families; how do they get their services recognised? We bind the
hero's brows with laurels; we raise the brilliant party orator to the
peerage; we give the eminent professor of the law a seat on the
woolsack; the soldier a medal and a bit of ribbon for his wounds in the
country's service; and we dub the worshipful alderman a knight, should
he happen to be at the royal kitchen steps when a prince is born, or
have invited the Grand Elector of Sauer Kraut to partake of a ham
sandwich on his landing at Dover _en route_ to visit the Palace; but the
talented and skilful diplomatist--the mother of a family, who marries
off her marriageable daughters all to the most eligible of _partis_,
passes by unnoticed. She, who fights courageously a losing game,
against fearful odds, who braves reproach, continually--nay, even
disgrace, sometimes in furthering a praiseworthy object, and who
deserves our esteem and recognition, gets no reward. Peerages in plenty
for parliamentarians, titles for sycophants, knighthoods for toad
eaters--but the campaigners go by without ne'er so much as a ribbon of
decoration.
This should not be. In the time honoured cause of woman's rights, this
neglect must be protested against. Let us reward our royal plate
cleaners and caustic partisans as much as the nation pleases, but think
also of the noble women of England, and their fortune and
husband-hunting claims!
Lady Inskip was one of the most skilled and to be honoured of her class.
Not only did she lead Pringle up to the point--but, knowing his
nervousness, she also saved him the trouble of coming to a declaration.
She did it for him herself, and this is how it happened.
She could be very confidential, you know, and was well fitted to assume
the maternal _role_, and "talk as a mother myself," whenever it was
required of her. She had once before done so to Pringle on Lizzie's
account, as was mentioned in a former chapter; so nothing was more easy
and graceful than to assume the same _role_ now in his own interests
while talking to himself. She determined to make the proposal for him,
as he was too shy to make it himself; although in so doing, she spoilt
considerable hopes of fun at the "fast" Carry's part, who had declared
over and over again in the family circle that she "would give worlds to
see the mild parson pop," provoking a mild "how can you be so absurd,
Carry!" from Laura, who yet could not prevent a feeble smile at the
possibility of such a _tableau_, and "you ought to be ashamed of
yourself, miss!" from her mother; while the young imp, Sir Mortimer,
gave vent to a triumphant war whoop, and declared that it would be
"awful larks! to see Pringle on his knees!" The darling, naughty boy,
to be sure! When the campaigner perceived from sundry unmistakable
symptoms that things had been brought to a crisis, she prepared to act.
One day, after Pringle had been more bashful and nervous than ever,
although still very attentive to Laura, when there had been some weeks
of intercourse between the pair since the first descent on Bigton, Lady
Inskip "button-holed" him as he was on his way out, and instead of
letting him mount his pony at the gate, entreated him to walk a bit down
the road with her, as she had something important to say. Pringle, more
bashfully still, assented, and passing the bridle of the dapple-grey
through his arm, he and the campaigner sauntered off in close confab,
watched from the windows of Laburnum Cottage by the young ladies and
Mortimer, who seriously wondered what was "up"--one must use slang
sometimes; it is so expressive in these very slangy days.
"My dear Mr Pringle," began the wily campaigner, "I take a great
interest in you, in quite a motherly way, indeed; and you will excuse me
speaking on a very delicate matter to you?"
"Oh! certainly, Lady Inskip, certainly--anything you know," he
stammered, in reply, blushing a rosy red, even beneath his budding
whiskers of auburn hue.
"Well, then, my dear Mr Pringle, I have to speak to you about Laura. I
am her mother, and it seems strange in me to speak to you; but I look
upon you as a son, and I wish I could see things arranged between you.
The darling girl is getting quite thin and pale, and this prolonged
suspense is more than she can bear. And I must ask you in the most--
that is--my dear Mr Pringle, I think your feelings are interested,
and--"
"Precisely so, Lady Inskip; just what I wanted to say, only I could not
say it. Would Laura, eh?--your daughter, do you think, eh?" and he
looked nervously into the campaigner's face.
"I think she will consent. I am so glad, my dear young friend; I will
speak to her for you, and it will be all arranged, if you will come in
again this evening. I have long wished to see my angel Laura married to
a Christian gentleman, and since I have known you, you have fulfilled
everything which I could have hoped for her to find in a husband"--that
he had, with regard to position and competency, besides being easily
managed--"and, my dear Mr Pringle, I will tell Laura at once; and this
is the happiest moment in my life!"
"Certainly, Lady Inskip, certainly!" stammered the young incumbent, as
he shook hands joyfully with his future mother-in-law; and in the
evening he came round again to Laburnum Cottage. Laura received him
with a faint blush and a timid pressure of his hand, so it was an
understood thing that they were regularly engaged.
After it was all settled, Pringle lost a good deal of his prior
bashfulness; and both Carry and young Sir Mortimer regarded him as a
very jolly sort of brother-in-law to have. The wedding was fixed for an
early date in the following year, after a probationary engagement of
some three months.
_Eureka_! The campaigner had carried the fortress after a series of
admirable military tactics.
Volume 2, Chapter VIII.