After this Sunday, and the thoughts it awoke in his mind, Lord Newmarch
found that he could stay another day, and during that day he sought
Clare’s company with great perseverance. And it was not so difficult as
might have been expected to secure it. Miss Arden, indeed, found her
noble companion tiresome sometimes, but yet she agreed in a good many of
his ways of thinking. His Radicalism did not jar upon her as did the
Radicalism of other people. For Lord Newmarch was clear as to the duty
of the upper classes to head and guide the new movement in which he
devoutly believed. He had no desire to lessen the influence of his own
order, or withdraw a jot of position or power from them. And Clare did
not laugh at the social reformer, as her brother was tempted to do. She
was even angry with Edgar for his amusement, and could not understand
what called it forth. “He is serious, of course; but a man whose mind is
full of such subjects ought to be serious,” she said, with a little
displeasure. “I don’t know what you find to laugh at in him.” And she
did not object to being talked to about the improvement of the country,
and how the people could best be guided for their own good. Clare knew,
no one better, that the people took a great deal of guiding. She had not
the least objection to make their social existence the subject of laws,
to condescend to minute legislation, and ordain how often they were to
wash, and what clothes they were to wear. Why not? It was all for their
own comfort, and not for anybody else’s advantage. Thus Lord Newmarch
and she had a good many topics of mutual interest. They squabbled over
the question of education, but that only increased the interest of their
talk; and it is not to be denied that his position as an actual
legislator, a man not discussing an abstract question, but seeking
information on a matter he would have personally to do with, increased
his importance in her eyes. She battled stoutly against the impression
which sometimes forced itself upon her mind that he was a bore, and did
not decline to talk to him, nor show any desire to avoid him all through
the following Monday. Arthur Arden looking on was dismayed. Even he was
not clever enough in his own case to perceive, what he would have
perceived in any other, that Clare’s avoidance of himself was the
strongest argument in his favour. She did not avoid Lord Newmarch; and
Arthur was in dismay. He took Edgar dolefully to the other end of the
terrace, upon which the drawing-room windows opened, that Monday
evening. Lord Newmarch had engaged Clare upon some of their favourite
subjects, and the other two were thrown out, as people so often are by
one animated dialogue going on in a small society. “That Newmarch has
plenty to say,” Arthur ejaculated, sulkily; and pulled his moustache,
and secretly murmured at Clare, whose presence prevented even the
consolation of a cigar.
“Yes; he will not soon exhaust himself I fear,” said Edgar. “Clare will
be too much accomplished with all this flood of information poured upon
her. It is a triumph of good manners on her part not to look bored.”
“Do you think she is bored?” said Arthur Arden, eagerly. “I fear she is
not. See how interested she looks. Confound him! The fellow’s father was
a cheesemonger, or his grandfather--it comes to the same thing--and to
see him sitting there! If I were you, Arden, I should not stand it.
Being as I am, you know, only a poor cousin, it goes against me.”
“Why would not you stand it?” asked Edgar, calmly.
“Because--why, look at your sister. He is a nobody--a prig, and the son
of a man who has no more right to be an Earl than Wilkins has. But can’t
you see he is making up to Clare? I can’t help saying Clare. Why, she is
my cousin, and I have known her all her life. She is rich, and she is
handsome, and she has the air of a great lady, as she ought to have.
But, mark my words, the fellow is making up to her, and if you don’t
mind something will come of it.”
“I suppose he is what people call a very good match,” said Edgar. “If
Clare is not to be trusted to refuse the honour--though I think she is
quite to be trusted--we shall have nothing to reproach each other with.
He is a bore, but if she should happen to like him, you know----”
“Oh, confound your coolness!” said Arthur, between his teeth; and he
left Edgar standing there astonished, and made the round of the house,
and came back to him. During that round various thoughts and
calculations had passed through his mind. Should he tell Edgar of his
love for Clare? Should he thus commit himself without knowing in the
least whether Clare cared for him or not? It might secure him a powerful
auxiliary, and it might lay him open to a rebuff which he could ill
bear. The pause looked like a start of impatience, but it was in reality
a most useful and important moment of deliberation. He had decided that
boldness was the best policy by the time he came back to his cousin’s
side.
“You think me a strange fellow,” he said, “making off from you like
this, and showing so much temper about a matter which really does not
seem to concern me in the least. But--I may as well make a clean breast
of it, Arden--I am in love with Clare myself. Yes, you may well start--a
penniless wretch like me, that am twice her age! But these things don’t
go by any rule. I don’t ask you to approve of me; but I can’t stand by
calmly, and see other people using opportunities which I fear to use.
That’s enough. I am glad I have told you. I ought perhaps to have done
so before I came into your house; but I thought I had got the better of
it. Forgive me; I have no other excuse.”
Edgar stood and looked at his cousin with unfeigned surprise. He watched
him as he got through his speech with a wonder which was soon mingled
with other emotions. He was not prejudiced either for or against him;
but the more he said the less and less favourable became Edgar’s
countenance. “Does Clare know of this?” he inquired coldly, in a tone
which suffered surprise to be seen under a veil of indifference. Such a
sentiment was the very last which Arthur had imagined possible. He could
conceive his cousin angry, or he could conceive, what in his superficial
eyes seemed equally probable, that Edgar would have embraced his cause
at once with the impulsive readiness with which he had invited him to
his house. But this chilling calm was utterly unexpected.
Notwithstanding all his self-command, he stammered and faltered as he
replied--
“No, I don’t suppose she does. She looks on me as an uncle, I have no
doubt. Arden, you young fellows are lucky fellows, I can tell you, who
know what you are born to. And you don’t know what injury you did me by
not coming into the world ten years sooner. The foundations of my
education were laid on the principle that I was the heir.”
“I beg your pardon, I am sure, for being born at all,” said Edgar, with
a laugh in which there was not much mirth; “I could not help it, you
know. But I cannot see how that can have done you much harm at ten years
old. However, this is a very useless discussion. I don’t quite know what
you expect me to say to you. Am I to make any decision? Is this a
confidence that you make to me privately, or am I to consider that my
consent is asked?”
“Confound it!” said Arthur Arden, “you look at me as cool as a judge,
without a bit of sympathy in you. I did not look for this, at least.
Flare up, if you please--treat it any way you like. I was driven to it
by my feelings; if yours are so calm----”
“Were you?” said Edgar, gravely. “Perhaps I am wrong. I have no right to
make light of any man’s feelings; but naturally it is my sister I must
think of, not you. You talk of Newmarch as something not to be
supported; but do you really think, Arden, that you yourself would be a
better match for Clare?”
“I am a gentleman, at least, though I am not the son of a pasteboard
Earl,” said Arthur, angrily. To tell the truth, it was hard upon him. Up
to this moment it was he who had held the superior position, as the man
of most age, and experience and knowledge of the world. But now he felt
that he stood at the bar before this boy, and the change galled him. And
then his resentment impaired at once his dignity and judgment, as may be
supposed.
“He is a gentleman also, whatever his father may be,” said Edgar; “and
though he is a bore he has a great many advantages to offer. He is rich
and he has a good position, and some reputation, such as it is. I should
not like to marry him myself, if the question were put to me; but Clare
has her own ambitions, and might choose to influence the world as the
wife of a statesman. Why shouldn’t she? These are all substantial
advantages, whereas----”
“Whereas I am a miserable beggar, twice her age, with not even much to
brag of in the way of reputation,” said Arthur Arden. “Say no more about
it; I perceive the contrast sufficiently as it is.”
Edgar did not say any more; but looked so serious and unmoved by his
cousin’s impatience, that he occasioned Arthur a new sensation. To be
set down by this boy, whom he had believed to be a simpleton and
enthusiast! To meet the gravity of a look which became penetrating and
keen the moment it was roused with such an interest--all this was
utterly unexpected. He had feared Clare, but he had said to himself,
with the contempt of a man of the world for Edgar’s open temper and
liberal heart, that he could twine her brother round his finger. Indeed,
there had not seemed any particular credit in so doing. Anybody could do
it, even a novice. The young man could be persuaded out of or into
anything, and was not in reality worth considering at all. But now
Arthur Arden paused, and changed his mind. The tables were turned--the
simpleton had seen through the whole question at once, and had calmly
snubbed him, Arthur Arden, and put him back in his proper place. By
Jove!--a fellow who had taken his inheritance from him, and who probably
had no more real right to it than----. What a drivelling fool old Arden
was to put up with it, and how hard a case for himself! All this
fermented so strongly in Arthur’s mind that he flung off the restraints
which had hitherto confined him. He had been, by way of being very civil
to Edgar since he came to the house, deferring to his wishes and
consulting all his tastes; but if this was all that was to come of it!
Accordingly, he left Edgar abruptly, and went and joined himself to
Clare and her supposed admirer. “Here is Frivolity come to the rescue,
in case my young cousin should become too wise,” he said. “We don’t want
to have her made too wise. She is cleverer than all the rest of us by
nature; and, Newmarch, I can’t have her made more dangerous still by
your art.”
“Miss Arden instructs instead of needing to be instructed,” said Lord
Newmarch. “What astonishes me is the breadth of her views. She does not
go into detail, as women generally do, but takes a broad grasp. I assure
you, her feeling about the education of the people and the knowledge of
their wants is marvellous. She knows the poorer classes as well as I
flatter myself I know them, and her knowledge can only come by
intuition, whereas mine is the result of careful study and----”
“You ought to know them better, certainly,” said Arthur, with suppressed
insolence. “As a race advances in the world it forgets the sentiments of
the common stock it sprang from--and we Ardens are a long way off the
original root.”
“Yes, very true,” said Lord Newmarch, with a little bow, “very much what
I was saying. I am going to persuade your brother to make a run up to
town with me,” he added, turning to Clare, and rising from his
seat--into which Arthur threw himself without loss of time.
“Mr. Arden, how could you speak to him so? You were _rude_ to him,” said
Clare, the moment they were left alone.
“I meant to be,” said Arthur Arden, carelessly. “What right had he, I
should like to know, to monopolise you? What right had he to cross his
legs, and sit here talking to you all the evening? Besides, it is
perfectly true; and why should I be expected to eat humble pie, and
loiter at a distance, and see you appropriated? You might have a little
pity on your kinsman, Lady Clare.”
“My kinsman ought not to be rude,” said Clare. But that was all the
punishment she inflicted. Something warped her judgment and blinded her
clear eyes. She was not even angry at this piece of incivility, much as
she prided herself upon the stateliness of the Arden manners, which
Edgar could not acquire. And she sat on the terrace for ever so long
after, and let him talk to her, compensating herself for the severity of
the morning. And her brother looked on with a grave countenance,
wondering much what he could or ought to do.
END OF VOL. I.
End of Project Gutenberg's Squire Arden; volume 1 of 3, by Margaret Oliphant