Reason is fatal to romance, and Miss Royston was coming to it. She
had, indeed, a very practical side to her character, which side was
all of the world and eminently fancy-free. “Kiss-in-the-ring” in a
fairy circle is a delightful pastime for the heyday of youth, but the
time must come when the gravity of the problem as to to whom one shall
throw the final handkerchief, must intrude itself through the merriest
helter-skelter of the game. Then, as a matter of necessity, must
follow the inevitable formulæ of the pretty cold-shoulder to
ineligible _partis_; of little sisterly regrets on behalf of swains
who take their dismissal rebelliously; of wee sops to passionate
Cerberuses in the shape of Christmas cards depicting hands clasped
above the motto “For auld lang syne”; of the citing of Job-comforter
maxims felt by the recipient to be totally inapt to the tragedy of the
situation. And so the jade plumes herself on her acquirement of the
reasonable view, and makes an easy virtue of spoiling faith--which is
but a synonym for romance--for the sake of five hundred a year.
No doubt this is as it should be; for that very faith, or romance,
would be a sorry sole equipment for the nether side of youth. But it
is also a matter for regret that reason, when come to, should so
commonly refuse credit to any evidence but that of its senses, and
should contemn in others that same spirit of ideality which coloured
all the early processes of its own evolution.
Now Miss Angela would not condescend to this abrupt change of front;
for, for one thing, she was a zealous student of moral sensation, and,
for another, she was conscious of maturing past her first bloom. She
desired to keep her rose-coloured spectacles, only the rims must be of
gold. In short, she was feeling that, were the picturesqueness of life
her object, she must seek to change her outlook while her charms
remained sufficiently inviting to procure her a new prosperous coign
of vantage. She had played with romance. Now, for the time being, it
must be subordinated to questions of business.
Foremost in this connection presented itself the figure of her
inscrutable neighbour of “Delsrop.” He, for a period, had slept
without a rival in the pupils of her pale eyes. He had satisfied her
most delicate sensibilities--for a period.
Gradually, however, was effected that change in her point of view. She
came to question in herself, not the personality of the interesting
stranger so much as his eligibility. And here she had to acknowledge
herself at sea, and to own that melancholy and mystery were best
applied to matrimony when justified by substantial dividends.
Moreover, there was the matter of position. The case of her
almost-namesake, Mrs. Kauffmann, was not so ancient to men’s memories
as that she could afford to discount its significance as legendary.
Indeed, she had a mental picture of herself as a little prim-set maid
of five or so, walking, her hand in her father’s, through a suite of
magnificent rooms, the walls of which, all gorgeously upholstered,
were hung with canvases in such quantity as to spoil, she thought, the
pretty effect of the hangings; and she remembered how her father--a
lord of Plympton Manor in Devonshire, where was once a school-master
with a famous son--had stopped and presented his hand to a little
dapper gentleman--who wore a plum-coloured coat, and who had a scar on
his lip and very squeezed-up eyes--and a courteous bow to a pale and
melancholy lady who stood by the little gentleman’s side. And the lady
had smiled upon the baby-girl and had asked her name; and when told it
the smile had vanished, and she had said in a queer un-English voice,
“Gott bewahre. Rechristen the mädchen if you wish her happiness.” And
at that the two men had looked flushed and awkward, as men are wont to
look over some suppressed meaning that invites impossible sympathy.
Well, Miss Angela--or Angelica, as you will--was to learn afterwards
that she had had the youthful honour to be present at the inaugural
exhibition of the Royal Academy, whose then acquirement of its fine
new rooms in Somerset House was an earnest of his Majesty the King’s
paternal support and munificence. And she was to learn that the little
spruce gentleman had been no other than that notable President of an
august body whose chief claim to her interest lay in the fact that he
was Plympton-born; but who came to be known to her later experience as
an artist who was said to ask as much as forty pounds for a head, and
a hundred guineas for a full-length portrait--as if the more valuable
virtues of a man were exhibited in his legs. And the lady, she was
informed, had been Mrs. Kauffmann, since become Signora Zucchi, whom
some people thought a greater artist even than the President; for she
gave no preference to either head or legs, but painted both in such a
way that any one or other of them might have done duty for either
sex--which was a very noble and impartial view to take of the unities
of art.
Now, it was not this poor Angelica’s management of pigments that was
the present subject of Miss Royston’s thoughts. It was that melancholy
story of how Sir Joshua’s _protégée_ had, at the outset of her
hopeful career, been drawn into matrimony with a picturesque rogue of
a valet, who had it in him to play the part of Uther to a noble lady.
Assuredly, the mistress of “Chatters” had no desire to repeat history
in such a respect, for all the veneer of romance that overlay it; or
to risk, without astute inquiry, a union with one whose personality
was wrapt in so impenetrable a fog of mystery.
What was it not possible the man might be; or what limits were to put
on the ingenuity of resourceful vagabonds? Count Horn’s fellow had
hoodwinked society no less than the trustful girl it had made a pet
of. And whence had Mr. Tuke issued, and what was his claim to that
haunted estate that had come to be considered in the neighbourhood a
sort of no-man’s-land? On these points he had never condescended to
throw light. Still, if his right-ownership of “Delsrop” must be taken
on trust, no such condition applied to the question of his origin.
Here conjecture must needs incline to suspicion, seeing that his
immediate predecessor had been, by his own showing, a common thief and
coach-robber.
Therefore was she resolved to temper fascination with prudence; to
whip her captive to the end of his tether, and, pending discoveries,
to no more than lightly hold him in hand.
In furtherance of this policy it was that she drove her unproclaimed
suitor to the nether side of reason, and, by some over-accent of
coquetry, almost lost herself the indulgence of a very pretty pastime.
She was pondering, one morning, with some rueful apprehensiveness,
this possibility of her having gone too far, when her heart was
reassured by the sound of a footstep that was familiar to her, coming
up the gravel outside.
Then she smiled to herself, with a little composed preening of
neck-ribbons; for, after all, the incense of courtship was grateful to
her nostrils--and her brother was not at home.
He--that same suitor--came in like a man set on a serious purpose; and
secretly her heart moved with admiration of, but no submission to, his
masterfulness.
He walked straight up to her, to where she had risen from her seat by
the fire, and answered her graceful greeting with little more than a
bow.
“Madam,” he said, “I must crave your permission to speak, though I may
imperil my prospects through precipitancy.”
She smiled, her pulses drumming thickly.
“A formidable overture,” she said--and for the life of her could get
no further.
“I do not wish it to be,” said the gentleman. “If any misconception of
my position makes me appear to assume a manner of truculency, I do
myself an injustice, believe me.”
Her lips moved, but no word came from them.
“I am aware,” he went on, “that the apparent invidiousness of my
position amongst you here may stand, and rightly, as an insuperable
barrier to any addresses I may presume to submit to your
consideration.”
Her lips opened again; but she only inclined her head.
“It is so, then?” he answered to the gesture; “and it only remains for
me to express my most earnest regret at having failed hitherto to
realize the true conditions of a suit, which I now need not hesitate
to affirm I once dared to hope a prosperous termination to; and to
gratefully thank you for permitting me to justify my dismissal in your
eyes, without putting you to the awkwardness of an explanation. Madam,
I am your humble, obedient servant.”
He bowed low. Positively, the man seemed on the point of
withdrawing--and with a doubtful air of relief, too. Miss Royston
found her voice suddenly.
“Stay, Mr. Tuke!--Oh, sir! your hurried assumption seems to put me in
the worst light of churlishness.”
“Surely, surely,” said he, reluctantly, “I never suggested such a
thing?”
“Indirectly, indeed, you do. You hastily cancel an--an invitation,
while I am yet making up my mind as to the form of answer.”
“Ah, madam! I see. You would claim the privilege of rejection.”
“That is unkind.”
“No, no. You are entitled to it. I was wrong to overlook the fact that
the point of view of the world must be considered.”
She flushed up angrily.
“I thank you, sir. You mean, of course, that I wish to secure myself
from the imputation that I angled for what was cunning to elude me? I
stand high in your opinion, indeed. But you force me to the avowal
that I am under no necessity to deprecate the criticisms of my
neighbours.”
“You could choose of the noblest in the land, and bring to any more
honour than you received. If you have elected to misconstrue me of
late, and to indirectly enlighten me as to your sense of my
presumption, it was quite within your province, as a lady of high
position, to do so.”
“Ah! I feel the sting behind your words of honey. Mr. Tuke”--her voice
fell caressing as that of a remonstrant sister--“I will not pretend to
misinterpret your attitude towards me. May I be simply frank with you?
There is a proverb about flogging a willing horse. I own I have done
that of late--that I have certified myself a consistent member of my
sex. Is not that candour itself? Well, would you know what hath
inspired me? ’Twas recalling the fate of that unhappy Mrs. Kauffmann.”
He laughed slightly.
“It understand the inference. My tongue is tied; but I can assure you
I have never engaged in any service but my own.”
She did not answer; but her expression had gathered some coldness of
reserve. His was enigmatical, as he continued:
“Am I justified in assuming that, satisfied on this point, you would
at least offer no obstacle to my most respectful suit?”
“That is taking me at a disadvantage,” she said, with a winning smile.
“No woman lends herself to a bargain where she hath to give credit.”
He bowed again. He could not but be conscious that this atmosphere of
rigid politeness seemed ludicrously out of place in an avowal of so
particular a kind; and that his declaration and its reception sounded
rather in the nature of a passage of arms. He knew he had come, of set
purpose, to seek in legitimate attachment a foil to passion. He was
not so sure his heart joined in the quest, or that he had not
privately courted the dismissal he professed to deprecate.
Perhaps Miss Royston entertained a like doubt. Though it would not
have affected her attitude, she would have preferred, and had indeed
looked to, more ardent means to a similar end. For what, otherwise,
had she practised those late arts of coquetry? She had pictured her
suitor, according to her judgment of him, storming the bastions of her
pride; warm, palpitating, entreating--a demi-god revealing himself in
a cloud of passion. And here he was addressing her with no more
emotion than he might have shown in asking her interest to get an old
woman into a hospital.
She was disappointed in him, and immediately inclined to suspicions.
Had she--perish the humiliating thought!--a rival? And then supposing,
after she had successfully weaned his regard for her, he should turn
out to be a lord of Burleigh?
Well, she must fight to be consistent--though her breast was hot with
indignation. But she could have boxed his ears, as he said, in the
tone of a man condemned by his doctor to arrowroot and
barley-water--“I must live on hope.”