When Mr. Robert Aubrey-Blythe finally entered the library, it was with
the pleasant glow of a good dinner, good wine, and good company
enveloping his portly form like a visible halo. He actually bowed before
Jane, as though she were a great lady of his acquaintance, instead of
his niece, left on his hands to bring up with scarce a penny to her
name.
"Ah, Jane," he began, swelling out the shining expanse of his shirt
front like a pouter pigeon, "I see--er--that you are here, as I bade
you."
"Yes, Uncle Robert," murmured Jane, with a beating heart; "you wished to
speak with me, sir?"
"I did, Jane; I did indeed. Ah--er--you may be seated, if you please,
Jane."
Jane obeyed.
"Why--er--did you not come down to dinner to-night, Jane?" Mr.
Aubrey-Blythe wanted to know next, his remark being prefaced by a long
and speculative stare at Jane's small person. He appeared indeed to be
looking at his niece for the first time.
"Because I wasn't asked, sir."
"Hum--ah; it was an oversight, Jane. You should have dined with us
to-night."
Jane was puzzled. She stole a glance at her uncle's eminently
respectable British visage, with just a fleeting wonder as to the amount
of wine he had drunk at dinner. But no; he was undeniably sober, not to
say serious; his eyes were still fixed upon herself with that singularly
speculative gaze.
"You have--er--made your home with us for many years--that is to say,
since your infancy, Jane, and I--er--trust that these have been not
unhappy years--eh, Jane?"
Jane folded one cold little hand over the other; it was as she thought,
she told herself angrily, Aunt Agatha had blabbed. "Since you have
asked me, Uncle Robert," she said distinctly, "I will tell you that they
have been very unhappy years. I simply hate my life in this house." She
leaned back in her chair and fixed her clear eyes upon her uncle.
Manifestly he was astounded by her reply.
"Why, why, why--upon my word!" he stammered at length. "I
am--er--shocked to hear you speak in that manner. What--er--what, in
short, do you mean?"
"I should rather go away and earn my living," said Jane desperately. "I
suppose Aunt Agatha has told you what I said to her in the schoolroom
to-night; but I meant it; I shouldn't mind being a nursery governess in
the least, and"--forlornly--"it is all I am good for."
"Tut, tut!" remonstrated Mr. Aubrey-Blythe with some sternness. "You
quite misunderstand me, I see. Now, I beg that you will have the
goodness to attend me while I explain more fully why I have sent for
you."
But he made no haste to enter upon the promised explanation, again
fixing his eyes upon his niece in a long, contemplative gaze. What he
saw must have clarified his ideas somewhat, for he presently went on
more briskly.
"Whether you have been happy or not during your years of residence under
my roof matters little with regard to--er--what I am about to say, Jane.
I have, in short, a proposal for your hand."
"A what?" gasped Jane.
"A proposal of marriage was what I said," repeated Mr. Aubrey-Blythe
rebukingly. "A most honorable and--er--highly flattering proposal, in
short. I own that I was surprised, and so--er--was my wife, Lady
Agatha."
Jane's own emotions were clearly depicted upon her young face. She was
leaning forward in her chair, her large eyes fixed upon her uncle.
"Who--" she began; then stopped short.
"You have, of course, met the gentleman who has paid you this great
compliment--the highest compliment--er--that man can pay to woman,"
proceeded Mr. Aubrey-Blythe grandly. "The proposal reached me by letter
last week, and the author of that letter was"--he paused
dramatically--"the Hon. Wipplinger Towle."
The girl burst into a hysterical laugh.
"Jane, I beg-- Will you not control yourself, madam? Ah--er--I see I
shall be forced to call Lady Agatha."
Jane instantly became calm. "Don't--please don't call Aunt Agatha," she
begged. "It was only--I couldn't help thinking----"
"I trust you will reflect carefully as to what this proposal means for
you, Jane. I confess that I should have been--er--not displeased had the
proposal embraced a different--that is to say--er--had the recipient of
it been my own daughter, I should have been disposed to consider it not
unfavorably. Lady Agatha was at first convinced that the gentleman had,
in short, committed a most egregious blunder; but I am assured by word
of mouth that this is not the case. It is you, Jane, he wishes to make
his wife; you and no other. And I congratulate you sincerely upon the
auspicious event. I will not deny that your future has been an
occasional source of keen anxiety to me, and also, I believe, to my
wife, Lady Agatha; portionless brides are not commonly sought by
men--er--whose position in life is that of the Hon. Wipplinger Towle."
"But--Uncle Robert; you can't mean that I-- You know I--couldn't _marry_
that man, Uncle Robert."
"You could not marry the Hon. Wipplinger Towle? Surely, I do not
understand you correctly, Jane. I perceive that you have been greatly
surprised by the nature of my disclosure, totally unprepared for it as
you were. And this much I regret, my dear child. You should have been
apprised of the facts, you should indeed."
Jane's heart was touched by the faint cadence of affection in the man's
voice. "O Uncle Robert!" she cried, "do you look at all like my father?
Do tell me that you do; I should so love to think so!"
Mr. Aubrey-Blythe shook his head. "I do not resemble my deceased brother
Oliver in the smallest particular," he said dryly. "And I have never
felt that this was a cause of regret. Oliver was a most injudicious and
hasty tempered person; his early death and many misfortunes were
undoubtedly brought about by his own deplorable imprudence. I have often
thought"--deliberately--"that you resemble him, Jane."
"I'm glad I do!" retorted Jane. "And I may as well say once for all,
Uncle Robert, that I will _not_ marry the Hon. Wipplinger Towle. You may
tell him so."
Mr. Robert Aubrey-Blythe regarded his niece with a portentous gathering
of his bushy eyebrows. "I beg, Jane," he said, "that you will not decide
this matter hastily. There are, in short, many reasons why you should
marry, and I will not deny that I regard the present proposal as most
opportune. I have, in short, given the Hon. Wipplinger Towle my full
permission to pay his addresses to you. He dined with us this evening,
and--er--expects, I believe, the opportunity of pleading his own cause."
"Do you want me to go away, Uncle Robert?" faltered Jane, quite
overcome. "Do you hate me, too?"
"Certainly not--decidedly not, Jane. You--er--put the matter in most
unwarranted terms. But I believe that you would be far happier in an
establishment of your own. In fact, you have already intimated something
of the sort in the course of our conversation. Am I not right?"
"I said I should rather be a nursery governess," said Jane doggedly. "I
can do that; I have taught Percy and Cecil ever since Miss Craddock went
away, and----"
Mr. Robert Aubrey-Blythe rose abruptly. "No, Jane--I beg-- Keep your
seat, if you please. I will send Mr. Towle to you at once. You are, of
course, at liberty to do as you wish in the matter. But as your eldest
surviving male relative I most strongly advise that you listen to his
suit patiently and give him the answer that he wishes and--er--expects."
Jane stretched out her hands imploringly. "Dear Uncle Robert," she
whispered; "please, Uncle Robert--just a minute!"
But he was gone, and Jane sank back in her chair with a sob. "Oh, if he
would only love me a little!" she thought. Then she sat up very straight
and calm; somebody was approaching.
The Hon. Wipplinger Towle was a tall man, even taller than Mr. Robert
Aubrey-Blythe. He was also exceedingly lean, and bald--quite bald. Jane
mechanically noted the dull pale glisten of his scalp as he crossed the
wide expanse of Turkey carpet which intervened between herself and the
curtained doorway.
"Good evening, Mr. Towle," she said calmly, offering the tips of her
chilly little fingers with extreme nonchalance.
The Honorable Wipplinger was evidently somewhat agitated in a
perfunctory, elderly way. That he was likewise perfectly confident as to
the outcome of the interview Jane thought she perceived, with an
involuntary deepening of the dimple at the corner of her mouth.
"Hum--ah," he began, fixing his glass firmly in place. "You were not
dining at home this evening, Miss Blythe? I was--er--frightfully
disappointed, upon my word; I had been--ah--led to expect--ah--that is,
I hoped that I should see you earlier in the evening."
"I never come down when Aunt Agatha has guests," said Jane, putting her
pretty head on one side and gazing at her elderly suitor
contemplatively. He was quite as old as Uncle Robert, she decided, and
sufficiently ugly to look at, with his bald head and his tall,
square-shouldered figure. For the rest, the Hon. Wipplinger Towle was
possessed of a stubborn-looking chin, deep-set gray eyes, and a well-cut
mouth, amply furnished with strong white teeth.
Jane gently shrugged her shoulders as she dropped her bright eyes to her
lap. "I fancy I should have starved if it hadn't been for Susan," she
finished.
Mr. Towle glanced at her quickly. "Hum--ah, Susan?" he hesitated; "and
who, if I may ask, is Susan?"
"Susan is the under housemaid," replied Jane sweetly. "She brought me
up some supper on a tray. Wasn't it nice of her?"
Mr. Towle made several small uncertain sounds in his throat, which
resembled--Jane reflected--the noises made by an ancient clock on the
point of striking. Then he stared hard at Jane, again adjusting his
monocle. "Hum--ah, Miss Blythe," he began, "I--er--in point of fact, I
have the very great honor to be permitted to pay you my addresses, and
so----"
Jane turned pale. "Please don't mention it," she interrupted.
"I beg your pardon," observed Mr. Towle interrogatively, "you were
saying----"
"I said, please don't talk about it. I--I couldn't, you know; though I'm
sure it's very kind--at least, Uncle Robert said it was-- A compliment,
I believe he called it."
"One I am--er--delighted to pay to so lovely a creature as yourself,"
murmured Mr. Towle laboriously.
"How _dare_ you say such a silly thing to me!" snapped Jane, her hazel
eyes blazing. "I'm not a lovely creature, and I won't be called so."
"Why--er--I beg your pardon, I'm sure," stuttered the abashed suitor.
"But I have the full permission of Lady Agatha and Mr. Aubrey-Blythe,
and I thought-- But surely you cannot have understood that I"--welling
visibly with a sense of his own importance, Jane was resentfully
sure--"desire to make you my wife. I wish you, in short, to make me the
happiest man in London by--er--becoming Mrs. Towle. And may I, my dear
Miss Aubrey-Blythe, beg you to name an early day--a very early day for
the celebration of our nuptials. The matter of settlements and all that
can be quickly arranged; and I beg to assure you that they shall be
satisfactory--quite satisfactory, as I have already taken the pains to
assure your uncle, Mr. Aubrey-Blythe. I can, in short, afford to be
generous, and--er--I desire to be so."
Mr. Towle paused in his halting discourse to draw a small box from his
waistcoat pocket. Jane watched him in fascinated silence as he opened
it and drew from its satin nest a hoop of diamonds.
"I hope you will allow me," murmured the Honorable Wipplinger, bending
forward.
"No!" cried Jane. "I say _no_!" She stood up, very pale and
unapproachable. "I ought not to have allowed you to say all this to me,"
she said. "I do thank you for wanting me to marry you; but, of course,
it is impossible."
"Why do you say 'of course'?" asked Mr. Towle, in a surprisingly human
voice. "Do you enjoy your life here so much?"
"No," said Jane, "I do not; but I'll not marry to escape from it."
The Honorable Wipplinger deliberately returned the hoop of diamonds to
its nest, snapped the lid of the box shut, and slipped it back into his
waistcoat pocket. "I didn't go at it right," he observed meditatively.
"Robert should have warned me." He turned to Jane once more. "Do
you--er--mind telling me just why you have turned me down so squarely?"
"I'd much rather not," said Jane, blushing. "You wouldn't like it."
"Oh, yes, I should. For one thing, you think I'm horribly old; don't
you?"
"Well, you are; aren't you?"
"Not so very. I lost my hair in a beastly fever I had in India ten years
ago, and it would never grow on top after that. As a matter of fact I'm
only forty."
"Forty!" repeated Jane, in an indescribable voice. "Why that--" She
stopped short. "I'd much better say good night at once," she said
contritely, "and--and truly I do thank you. I didn't suppose anyone in
the world would ever care about me. And you----"
"I certainly do," said Mr. Towle resignedly. "But I went about saying it
like a jackass. To tell you the honest truth I was in a regular blue
funk. I never proposed marriage to a woman before, and I never shall
again. Of course, you don't know me very well, Miss Blythe; but I'm a
whole lot nicer than I look. If you only could----"
Jane shook her head decidedly. "I'd like you awfully well for--for an
uncle," she said regretfully, "or a--grandfather-- There! I oughtn't to
have said that. You're really not old enough for a grandfather. But mine
are both dead, and I've always thought it would be lovely to have one."
Mr. Towle swallowed hard. "Go on," he said encouragingly, "you'd like me
well enough for a--a grandfather, but not for a husband. Is that what
you meant to say?"
"It wasn't a bit nice of me to say it; but then I'm always saying
dreadful things. That is why"--dejectedly--"nobody likes me."
The Hon. Wipplinger Towle gazed down at the little figure with a very
kind look indeed in his deep-set gray eyes. "Oh, well," he said, "I
might have known better. I did know better, in fact. But from something
Lady Agatha said to me I fancied that perhaps I--that perhaps you----"
Jane held out her hand. "Good night," she said.
Mr. Towle took the offered hand in his very gently. It was cold, and
the small fingers trembled a little in his own big, warm palm. "Good
night," he said; "I can't--by force of cruel circumstances--be
your--er--grandfather; but I'd like to be your friend, Jane; may I?"
"Why, yes," said Jane, smiling up into the keen gray eyes, "you may.
And--and I thank you a whole lot for being so--game."