Again at Killancodlem
Silverbridge remained at Crummie-Toddie under the dominion of
Reginald Dobbes till the second week in September. Popplecourt,
Nidderdale, and Gerald Palliser were there also, very obedient, and
upon the whole efficient. Tregear was intractable, occasional, and
untrustworthy. He was the cause of much trouble to Mr. Dobbes. He
would entertain a most heterodox and injurious idea that, as he had
come to Crummie-Toddie for amusement, he was not bound to do anything
that did not amuse him. He would not understand that in sport as in
other matters there was an ambition, driving a man on to excel always
and be ahead of others. In spite of this Mr. Dobbes had cause for
much triumph. It was going to be the greatest thing ever done by six
guns in Scotland. As for Gerald, whom he had regarded as a boy, and
who had offended him by saying that Crummie-Toddie was ugly,--he was
ready to go round the world for him. He had indoctrinated Gerald with
all his ideas of a sportsman,--even to a contempt for champagne and a
conviction that tobacco should be moderated. The three lords too had
proved themselves efficient, and the thing was going to be a success.
But just when a day was of vital importance, when it was essential
that there should be a strong party for a drive, Silverbridge found
it absolutely necessary that he should go over to Killancodlem.
"She has gone," said Nidderdale.
"Who the ---- is she?" asked Silverbridge, almost angrily.
"Everybody knows who she is," said Popplecourt.
"It will be a good thing when some She has got hold of you, my boy,
so as to keep you in your proper place."
"If you cannot withstand that sort of attraction you ought not to go
in for shooting at all," said Dobbes.
"I shouldn't wonder at his going," continued Nidderdale, "if we
didn't all know that the American is no longer there. She has gone
to--Bath I think they say."
"I suppose it's Mrs. Jones herself," said Popplecourt.
"My dear boys," said Silverbridge, "you may be quite sure that when
I say that I am going to Killancodlem I mean to go to Killancodlem,
and that no chaff about young ladies,--which I think very
disgusting,--will stop me. I shall be sorry if Dobbes's roll of
the killed should be lessened by a single hand, seeing that his
ambition sets that way. Considering the amount of slaughter we have
perpetrated, I really think that we need not be over anxious." After
this nothing further was said. Tregear, who knew that Mabel Grex was
still at Killancodlem, had not spoken.
In truth Mabel had sent for Lord Silverbridge, and this had been her
letter:
DEAR LORD SILVERBRIDGE,
Mrs. Montacute Jones is cut to the heart because you have
not been over to see her again, and she says that it is
lamentable to think that such a man as Reginald Dobbes
should have so much power over you. "Only twelve miles,"
she says, "and he knows that we are here!" I told her that
you knew Miss Boncassen was gone.
But though Miss Boncassen has left us we are a very
pleasant party, and surely you must be tired of such a
place as Crummie-Toddie. If only for the sake of getting a
good dinner once in a way do come over again. I shall be
here yet for ten days. As they will not let me go back to
Grex I don't know where I could be more happy. I have been
asked to go to Custins, and suppose I shall turn up there
some time in the autumn.
And now shall I tell you what I expect? I do expect
that you will come over to--see me. "I did see her the
other day," you will say, "and she did not make herself
pleasant." I know that. How was I to make myself pleasant
when I found myself so completely snuffed out by your
American beauty? Now she is away, and Richard will be
himself. Do come, because in truth I want to see you.
Yours always sincerely,
MABEL GREX.
On receiving this he at once made up his mind to go to Killancodlem,
but he could not make up his mind why it was that she had asked him.
He was sure of two things; sure in the first place that she had
intended to let him know that she did not care about him; and then
sure that she was aware of his intention in regard to Miss Boncassen.
Everybody at Killancodlem had seen it,--to his disgust; but still
that it was so had been manifest. And he had consoled himself,
feeling that it would matter nothing should he be accepted. She had
made an attempt to talk him out of his purpose. Could it be that she
thought it possible a second attempt might be successful? If so, she
did not know him.
She had in truth thought not only that this, but that something
further than this, might be possible. Of course the prize loomed
larger before her eyes as the prospects of obtaining it became less.
She could not doubt that he had intended to offer her his hand when
he had spoken to her of his love in London. Then she had stopped
him;--had "spared him," as she had told her friend. Certainly she had
then been swayed by some feeling that it would be ungenerous in her
to seize greedily the first opportunity he had given her. But he had
again made an effort. He surely would not have sent her the ring had
he not intended her to regard him as her lover. When she received
the ring her heart had beat very high. Then she had sent that little
note, saying that she would keep it till she could give it to his
wife. When she wrote that she had intended the ring should be her
own. And other things pressed upon her mind. Why had she been asked
to the dinner at Richmond? Why was she invited to Custins? Little
hints had reached her of the Duke's goodwill towards her. If on that
side the marriage were approved, why should she destroy her own
hopes?
Then she had seen him with Miss Boncassen, and in her pique had
forced the ring back upon him. During that long game on the lawn her
feelings had been very bitter. Of course the girl was the lovelier
of the two. All the world was raving of her beauty. And there was
no doubt as to the charm of her wit and manner. And then she had
no touch of that blasé used-up way of life of which Lady Mabel was
conscious herself. It was natural that it should be so. And was she,
Mabel Grex, the girl to stand in his way and to force herself upon
him, if he loved another? Certainly not,--though there might be a
triple ducal coronet to be had.
But were there not other considerations? Could it be well that the
heir of the house of Omnium should marry an American girl, as to
whose humble birth whispers were already afloat? As his friend, would
it not be right that she should tell him what the world would say? As
his friend, therefore, she had given him her counsel.
When he was gone the whole thing weighed heavily upon her mind. Why
should she lose the prize if it might still be her own? To be Duchess
of Omnium! She had read of many of the other sex, and of one or two
of her own, who by settled resolution had achieved greatness in
opposition to all obstacles. Was this thing beyond her reach? To hunt
him, and catch him, and marry him to his own injury,--that would be
impossible to her. She was sure of herself there. But how infinitely
better would this be for him! Would she not have all his family with
her,--and all the world of England? In how short a time would he not
repent his marriage with Miss Boncassen! Whereas, were she his wife,
she would so stir herself for his joys, for his good, for his honour,
that there should be no possibility of repentance. And he certainly
had loved her. Why else had he followed her, and spoken such words to
her? Of course he had loved her! But then there had come this blaze
of beauty and had carried off,--not his heart but his imagination.
Because he had yielded to such fascination, was she to desert him,
and also to desert herself? From day to day she thought of it, and
then she wrote that letter. She hardly knew what she would do, what
she might say; but she would trust to the opportunity to do and say
something.
"If you have no room for me," he said to Mrs. Jones, "you must scold
Lady Mab. She has told me that you told her to invite me."
"Of course I did. Do you think I would not sleep in the stables, and
give you up my own bed if there were no other? It is so good of you
to come!"
"So good of you, Mrs. Jones, to ask me."
"So very kind to come when all the attraction has gone!" Then he
blushed and stammered, and was just able to say that his only object
in life was to pour out his adoration at the feet of Mrs. Montacute
Jones herself.
There was a certain Lady Fawn,--a pretty mincing married woman
of about twenty-five, with a husband much older, who liked mild
flirtations with mild young men. "I am afraid we've lost your great
attraction," she whispered to him.
"Certainly not as long as Lady Fawn is here," he said, seating
himself close to her on a garden bench, and seizing suddenly hold
of her hand. She gave a little scream and a jerk, and so relieved
herself from him. "You see," said he, "people do make such mistakes
about a man's feelings."
"Lord Silverbridge!"
"It's quite true, but I'll tell you all about it another time," and
so he left her. All these little troubles, his experience in the
"House," the necessity of snubbing Tifto, the choice of a wife, and
his battle with Reginald Dobbes, were giving him by degrees age and
flavour.
Lady Mabel had fluttered about him on his first coming, and had been
very gracious, doing the part of an old friend. "There is to be a big
shooting to-morrow," she said, in the presence of Mrs. Jones.
"If it is to come to that," he said, "I might as well go back to
Dobbydom."
"You may shoot if you like," said Lady Mabel.
"I haven't even brought a gun with me."
"Then we'll have a walk,--a whole lot of us," she said.
In the evening, about an hour before dinner, Silverbridge and Lady
Mabel were seated together on the bank of a little stream which ran
on the other side of the road, but on a spot not more than a furlong
from the hall-door. She had brought him there, but she had done so
without any definite scheme. She had made no plan of campaign for the
evening, having felt relieved when she found herself able to postpone
the project of her attack till the morrow. Of course there must be
an attack, but how it should be made she had never had the courage
to tell herself. The great women of the world, the Semiramises, the
Pocahontas, the Ida Pfeiffers, and the Charlotte Cordays, had never
been wanting to themselves when the moment for action came. Now she
was pleased to have this opportunity added to her; this pleasant
minute in which some soft preparatory word might be spoken; but the
great effort should be made on the morrow.
"Is not this nicer than shooting with Mr. Dobbes?" she asked.
"A great deal nicer. Of course I am bound to say so."
"But in truth, I want to find out what you really like. Men are so
different. You need not pay me any compliment; you know that well
enough."
"I like you better than Dobbes,--if you mean that."
"Even so much is something."
"But I am fond of shooting."
"Only a man may have enough of it."
"Too much, if he is subject to Dobbes, as Dobbes likes them to be.
Gerald likes it."
"Did you think it odd," she said after a pause, "that I should ask
you to come over again?"
"Was it odd?" he replied.
"That is as you may take it. There is certainly no other man in the
world to whom I would have done it."
"Not to Tregear?"
"Yes," she said; "yes,--to Tregear, could I have been as sure of a
welcome for him as I am for you. Frank is in all respects the same as
a brother to me. That would not have seemed odd;--I mean to myself."
"And has this been--odd,--to yourself?"
"Yes. Not that anybody else has felt it so. Only I,--and perhaps you.
You felt it so?"
"Not especially. I thought you were a very good fellow. I have always
thought that;--except when you made me take back the ring."
"Does that still fret you?"
"No man likes to take back a thing. It makes him seem to have been
awkward and stupid in giving it."
"It was the value--"
"You should have left me to judge of that."
"If I have offended you I will beg your pardon. Give me anything
else, anything but that, and I will take it."
"But why not that?" said he.
"Now that you have fitted it for a lady's finger it should go to your
wife. No one else should have it."
Upon this he brought the ring once more out of his pocket and again
offered it to her. "No; anything but that. That your wife must have."
Then he put the ring back again. "It would have been nicer for you
had Miss Boncassen been here." In saying this she followed no plan.
It came rather from pique. It was almost as though she had asked him
whether Miss Boncassen was to have the ring.
"What makes you say that?"
"But it would."
"Yes, it would," he replied stoutly, turning round as he lay on the
ground and facing her.
"Has it come to that?"
"Come to what? You ask me a question and I answer you truly."
"You cannot be happy without her?"
"I did not say so. You ask me whether I should like to have her
here,--and I say Yes. What would you think of me if I said No?"
"My being here is not enough?" This should not have been said, of
course, but the little speech came from the exquisite pain of the
moment. She had meant to have said hardly anything. She had intended
to be happy with him, just touching lightly on things which might
lead to that attack which must be made on the morrow. But words
will often lead whither the speaker has not intended. So it was now,
and in the soreness of her heart she spoke. "My being here is not
enough?"
"It would be enough," he said, jumping on his feet, "if you
understood all, and would be kind to me."
"I will at any rate be kind to you," she replied, as she sat upon the
bank looking at the running water.
"I have asked Miss Boncassen to be my wife."
"And she has accepted?"
"No; not as yet. She is to take three months to think of it. Of
course I love her best of all. If you will sympathise with me in
that, then I will be as happy with you as the day is long."
"No," said she, "I cannot. I will not."
"Very well."
"There should be no such marriage. If you have told me in
confidence--"
"Of course I have told you in confidence."
"It will go no farther; but there can be no sympathy between us.
It--it--it is not,--is not--" Then she burst into tears.
"Mabel!"
"No, sir, no; no! What did you mean? But never mind. I have no
questions to ask, not a word to say. Why should I? Only this,--that
such a marriage will disgrace your family. To me it is no more than
to anybody else. But it will disgrace your family."
How she got back to the house she hardly knew; nor did he. That
evening they did not again speak to each other, and on the following
morning there was no walk to the mountains. Before dinner he drove
himself back to Crummie-Toddie, and when he was taking his leave she
shook hands with him with her usual pleasant smile.