A Lover's Perseverance
Ferdinand Lopez learned immediately through Mrs. Roby that the early
departure for Herefordshire had been fixed. "I should go to him and
speak to him very plainly," said Mrs. Roby. "He can't bite you."
"I'm not in the least afraid of his biting me."
"You can talk so well! I should tell him everything, especially about
money,--which I'm sure is all right."
"Yes,--that is all right," said Lopez, smiling.
"And about your people."
"Which I've no doubt you think is all wrong."
"I don't know anything about it," said Mrs. Roby, "and I don't much
care. He has old-world notions. At any rate you should say something,
so that he should not be able to complain to her that you had kept
him in the dark. If there is anything to be known, it's much better
to have it known."
"But there is nothing to be known."
"Then tell him nothing;--but still tell it to him. After that you
must trust to her. I don't suppose she'd go off with you."
"I'm sure she wouldn't."
"But she's as obstinate as a mule. She'll get the better of him
if you really mean it." He assured her that he really did mean
it, and determined that he would take her advice as to seeing, or
endeavouring to see, Mr. Wharton once again. But before doing so he
thought it to be expedient to put his house into order, so that he
might be able to make a statement of his affairs if asked to do so.
Whether they were flourishing or the reverse, it might be necessary
that he should have to speak of them,--with, at any rate, apparent
candour.
The reader may, perhaps, remember that in the month of April
Ferdinand Lopez had managed to extract a certain signature from his
unfortunate city friend, Sexty Parker, which made that gentleman
responsible for the payment of a considerable sum of money before
the end of July. The transaction had been one of an unmixed painful
nature to Mr. Parker. As soon as he came to think of it, after Lopez
had left him, he could not prevail upon himself to forgive himself
for his folly. That he,--he, Sextus Parker,--should have been induced
by a few empty words to give his name for seven hundred and fifty
pounds without any consideration or possibility of benefit! And the
more he thought of it the more sure he was that the money was lost.
The next day he confirmed his own fears, and before a week was
gone he had written down the sum as gone. He told nobody. He did
not like to confess his folly. But he made some inquiry about his
friend,--which was absolutely futile. No one that he knew seemed to
know anything of the man's affairs. But he saw his friend from time
to time in the city, shining as only successful men do shine, and he
heard of him as one whose name was becoming known in the city. Still
he suffered grievously. His money was surely gone. A man does not fly
a kite in that fashion till things with him have reached a bad pass.
So it was with Mr. Parker all through May and to the end of
June,--the load ever growing heavier and heavier as the time became
nearer. Then, while he was still afflicted with a heaviness of
spirits which had never left him since that fatal day, who but
Ferdinand Lopez should walk into his office, wearing the gayest smile
and with a hat splendid as hats are splendid only in the city. And
nothing could be more "jolly" than his friend's manner,--so much
so that Sexty was almost lifted up into temporary jollity himself.
Lopez, seating himself, almost at once began to describe a certain
speculation into which he was going rather deeply, and as to which
he invited his friend Parker's co-operation. He was intending,
evidently, not to ask, but to confer, a favour.
"I rather think that steady business is best," said Parker. "I hope
it's all right about that £750."
"Ah; yes;--I meant to have told you. I didn't want the money, as it
turned out, for much above a fortnight, and as there was no use in
letting the bill run out, I settled it." So saying he took out a
pocket-book, extracted the bill, and showed it to Sexty. Sexty's
heart fluttered in his bosom. There was his name still on the bit of
paper, and it might still be used. Having it shown to him after this
fashion in its mid career, of course he had strong ground for hope.
But he could not bring himself to put out his hand for it. "As to
what you say about steady business, of course that's very well," said
Lopez. "It depends upon whether a man wants to make a small income or
a large fortune." He still held the bill as though he were going to
fold it up again, and the importance of it was so present to Sexty's
mind that he could hardly digest the argument about the steady
business. "I own that I am not satisfied with the former," continued
Lopez, "and that I go in for the fortune." As he spoke he tore the
bill into three or four bits, apparently without thinking of it, and
let the fragments fall upon the floor. It was as though a mountain
had been taken off Sexty's bosom. He felt almost inclined to send out
for a bottle of champagne on the moment, and the arguments of his
friend rang in his ears with quite a different sound. The allurements
of a steady income paled before his eyes, and he too began to tell
himself, as he had often told himself before, that if he would only
keep his eyes open and his heart high there was no reason why he too
should not become a city millionaire. But on that occasion Lopez left
him soon, without saying very much about his favourite speculation.
In a few days, however, the same matter was brought before Sexty's
eyes from another direction. He learned from a side wind that the
house of Hunky and Sons was concerned largely in this business,--or
at any rate he thought that he had so learned. The ease with which
Lopez had destroyed that bill six weeks before it was due had had
great effect upon him. Those arguments about a large fortune or a
small income still clung to him. Lopez had come to him about the
business in the first instance, but it was now necessary that he
should go to Lopez. He was, however, very cautious. He managed to
happen to meet Lopez in the street, and introduced the subject in his
own slap-dash, aery manner,--the result of which was, that he had
gone rather deep into two or three American mines before the end of
July. But he had already made some money out of them, and, though he
would find himself sometimes trembling before he had taken his daily
allowance of port wine and brandy-and-water, still he was buoyant,
and hopeful of living in a park, with a palace at the West End,
and a seat in Parliament. Knowing also, as he did, that his friend
Lopez was intimate with the Duchess of Omnium, he had much immediate
satisfaction in the intimacy which these relations created. He was
getting in the thin edge of the wedge, and would calculate as he went
home to Ponder's End how long it must be before he could ask his
friend to propose him at some West End club. On one halcyon summer
evening Lopez had dined with him at Ponder's End, had smiled on Mrs.
Parker, and played with the hopeful little Parkers. On that occasion
Sexty had assured his wife that he regarded his friendship with
Ferdinand Lopez as the most fortunate circumstance of his life. "Do
be careful, Sexty," the poor woman had said. But Parker had simply
told her that she understood nothing about business. On that evening
Lopez had thoroughly imbued him with the conviction that if you will
only set your mind that way, it is quite as easy to amass a large
fortune as to earn a small income.
About a week before the departure of the Whartons for Herefordshire,
Lopez, in compliance with Mrs. Roby's counsels, called at the
chambers in Stone Buildings. It is difficult to say that you will
not see a man, when the man is standing just on the other side of an
open door;--nor, in this case, was Mr. Wharton quite clear that he
had better decline to see the man. But while he was doubting,--at
any rate before he had resolved upon denying his presence,--the
man was there, inside his room. Mr. Wharton got up from his chair,
hesitated a moment, and then gave his hand to the intruder in
that half-unwilling, unsatisfactory manner which most of us have
experienced when shaking hands with some cold-blooded, ungenial
acquaintance. "Well, Mr. Lopez,--what can I do for you?" he said, as
he reseated himself. He looked as though he were at his ease and
master of the situation. He had control over himself sufficient for
assuming such a manner. But his heart was not high within his bosom.
The more he looked at the man the less he liked him.
"There is one thing, and one thing only, you can do for me," said
Lopez. His voice was peculiarly sweet, and when he spoke his words
seemed to mean more than when they came from other mouths. But Mr.
Wharton did not like sweet voices and mellow, soft words,--at least
not from men's mouths.
"I do not think that I can do anything for you, Mr. Lopez," he said.
There was a slight pause, during which the visitor put down his hat
and seemed to hesitate. "I think your coming here can be of no avail.
Did I not explain myself when I saw you before?"
"But, I fear, I did not explain myself. I hardly told my story."
"You can tell it, of course,--if you think the telling will do you
any good."
"I was not able to say then, as I can say now, that your daughter has
accepted my love."
"You ought not to have spoken to my daughter on the subject after
what passed between us. I told you my mind frankly."
"Ah, Mr. Wharton, how was obedience in such a matter possible? What
would you yourself think of a man who in such a position would be
obedient? I did not seek her secretly. I did nothing underhand.
Before I had once directly asked her for her love, I came to you."
"What's the use of that, if you go to her immediately afterwards in
manifest opposition to my wishes? You found yourself bound, as would
any gentleman, to ask a father's leave, and when it was refused, you
went on just as though it had been granted! Don't you call that a
mockery?"
"I can say now, sir, what I could not say then. We love each other.
And I am as sure of her as I am of myself when I assert that we shall
be true to each other. You must know her well enough to be sure of
that also."
"I am sure of nothing but of this;--that I will not give her my
consent to become your wife."
"What is your objection, Mr. Wharton?"
"I explained it before as far as I found myself called upon to
explain it."
"Are we both to be sacrificed for some reason that we neither of us
understand?"
"How dare you take upon yourself to say that she doesn't understand!
Because I refuse to be more explicit to you, a stranger, do you
suppose that I am equally silent to my own child?"
"In regard to money and social rank I am able to place your daughter
as my wife in a position as good as she now holds as Miss Wharton."
"I care nothing about money, Mr. Lopez, and our ideas of social rank
are perhaps different. I have nothing further to say to you, and I do
not think that you can have anything further to say to me that can be
of any avail." Then, having finished his speech, he got up from his
chair and stood upright, thereby demanding of his visitor that he
should depart.
"I think it no more than honest, Mr. Wharton, to declare this one
thing. I regard myself as irrevocably engaged to your daughter; and
she, although she has refused to bind herself to me by that special
word, is, I am certain, as firmly fixed in her choice as I am in
mine. My happiness, as a matter of course, can be nothing to you."
"Not much," said the lawyer, with angry impatience.
Lopez smiled, but he put down the word in his memory and determined
that he would treasure it there. "Not much, at any rate as yet," he
said. "But her happiness must be much to you."
"It is everything. But in thinking of her happiness I must look
beyond what might be the satisfaction of the present day. You must
excuse me, Mr. Lopez, if I say that I would rather not discuss the
matter with you any further." Then he rang the bell and passed
quickly into an inner room. When the clerk came Lopez of course
marched out of the chambers and went his way.
Mr. Wharton had been very firm, and yet he was shaken. It was by
degrees becoming a fixed idea in his mind that the man's material
prosperity was assured. He was afraid even to allude to the subject
when talking to the man himself, lest he should be overwhelmed by
evidence on that subject. Then the man's manner, though it was
distasteful to Wharton himself, would, he well knew, recommend him
to others. He was good-looking, he lived with people who were highly
regarded, he could speak up for himself, and he was a favoured guest
at Carlton House Terrace. So great had been the fame of the Duchess
and her hospitality during the last two months, that the fact of the
man's success in this respect had come home even to Mr. Wharton. He
feared that the world would be against him, and he already began to
dread the joint opposition of the world and his own child. The world
of this day did not, he thought, care whether its daughters' husbands
had or had not any fathers or mothers. The world as it was now didn't
care whether its sons-in-law were Christian or Jewish;--whether they
had the fair skin and bold eyes and uncertain words of an English
gentleman, or the swarthy colour and false grimace and glib tongue of
some inferior Latin race. But he cared for these things;--and it was
dreadful to him to think that his daughter should not care for them.
"I suppose I had better die and leave them to look after themselves,"
he said, as he returned to his arm-chair.
Lopez himself was not altogether ill-satisfied with the interview,
not having expected that Mr. Wharton would have given way at once,
and bestowed upon him then and there the kind father-in-law's "bless
you,--bless you!" Something yet had to be done before the blessing
would come, or the girl,--or the money. He had to-day asserted his
own material success, speaking of himself as of a moneyed man,--and
the statement had been received with no contradiction,--even without
the suggestion of a doubt. He did not therefore suppose that the
difficulty was over; but he was clever enough to perceive that the
aversion to him on another score might help to tide him over that
difficulty. And if once he could call the girl his wife, he did not
doubt but that he could build himself up with the old barrister's
money. After leaving Lincoln's Inn he went at once to Berkeley
Street, and was soon closeted with Mrs. Roby. "You can get her here
before they go?" he said.
"She wouldn't come;--and if we arranged it without letting her know
that you were to be here, she would tell her father. She hasn't a
particle of female intrigue in her."
"So much the better," said the lover.
"That's all very well for you to say, but when a man makes such a
tyrant of himself as Mr. Wharton is doing, a girl is bound to look
after herself. If it was me I'd go off with my young man before I'd
stand such treatment."
"You could give her a letter."
"She'd only show it her father. She is so perverse that I sometimes
feel inclined to say that I'll have nothing further to do with her."
"You'll give her a message at any rate?"
"Yes,--I can do that;--because I can do it in a way that won't seem
to make it important."
"But I want my message to be very important. Tell her that I've seen
her father, and have offered to explain all my affairs to him,--so
that he may know that there is nothing to fear on her behalf."
"It isn't any thought of money that is troubling him."
"But tell her what I say. He, however, would listen to nothing. Then
I assured him that no consideration on earth would induce me to
surrender her, and that I was as sure of her as I am of myself. Tell
her that;--and tell her that I think she owes it to me to say one
word to me before she goes into the country."