"Then I Am As Proud As a Queen"
During the next day or two the shooting went on without much
interruption from love-making. The love-making was not prosperous all
round. Poor Lady Mary had nothing to comfort her. Could she have been
allowed to see the letter which her lover had written to her father,
the comfort would have been, if not ample, still very great. Mary
told herself again and again that she was quite sure of Tregear;--but
it was hard upon her that she could not be made certain that her
certainty was well grounded. Had she known that Tregear had written,
though she had not seen a word of his letter, it would have comforted
her. But she had heard nothing of the letter. In June last she had
seen him, by chance, for a few minutes, in Lady Mabel's drawing-room.
Since that she had not heard from him or of him. That was now more
than five months since. How could her love serve her,--how could her
very life serve her, if things were to go on like that? How was she
to bear it? Thinking of this she resolved--she almost resolved--that
she would go boldly to her father and desire that she might be given
up to her lover.
Her brother, though more triumphant,--for how could he fail to
triumph after such words as Isabel had spoken to him?--still felt his
difficulties very seriously. She had imbued him with a strong sense
of her own firmness, and she had declared that she would go away and
leave him altogether if the Duke should be unwilling to receive her.
He knew that the Duke would be unwilling. The Duke, who certainly was
not handy in those duties of match-making which seemed to have fallen
upon him at the death of his wife, showed by a hundred little signs
his anxiety that his son and heir should arrange his affairs with
Lady Mabel. These signs were manifest to Mary,--were disagreeably
manifest to Silverbridge,--were unfortunately manifest to Lady Mabel
herself. They were manifest to Mrs. Finn, who was clever enough to
perceive that the inclinations of the young heir were turned in
another direction. And gradually they became manifest to Isabel
Boncassen. The host himself, as host, was courteous to all his
guests. They had been of his own selection, and he did his best
to make himself pleasant to them all. But he selected two for his
peculiar notice,--and those two were Miss Boncassen and Lady Mabel.
While he would himself walk, and talk, and argue after his own
peculiar fashion with the American beauty,--explaining to her matters
political and social, till he persuaded her to promise to read his
pamphlet upon decimal coinage,--he was always making awkward efforts
to throw Silverbridge and Lady Mabel together. The two girls saw it
all and knew well how the matter was,--knew that they were rivals,
and knew each the ground on which she herself and on which the other
stood. But neither was satisfied with her advantage, or nearly
satisfied. Isabel would not take the prize without the Duke's
consent;--and Mabel could not have it without that other consent. "If
you want to marry an English Duke," she once said to Isabel in that
anger which she was unable to restrain, "there is the Duke himself. I
never saw a man more absolutely in love." "But I do not want to marry
an English Duke," said Isabel, "and I pity any girl who has any idea
of marriage except that which comes from a wish to give back love for
love."
Through it all the father never suspected the real state of his son's
mind. He was too simple to think it possible that the purpose which
Silverbridge had declared to him as they walked together from the
Beargarden had already been thrown to the winds. He did not like
to ask why the thing was not settled. Young men, he thought, were
sometimes shy, and young ladies not always ready to give immediate
encouragement. But, when he saw them together, he concluded that
matters were going in the right direction. It was, however, an
opinion which he had all to himself.
During the three or four days which followed the scene in the
billiard-room Isabel kept herself out of her lover's way. She had
explained to him that which she wished him to do, and she left him to
do it. Day by day she watched the circumstances of the life around
her, and knew that it had not been done. She was sure that it could
not have been done while the Duke was explaining to her the beauty of
quints, and expatiating on the horrors of twelve pennies, and twelve
inches, and twelve ounces,--variegated in some matters by sixteen and
fourteen! He could not know that she was ambitious of becoming his
daughter-in-law, while he was opening out to her the mysteries of
the House of Lords, and explaining how it came to pass that while he
was a member of one House of Parliament, his son should be sitting
as a member of another;--how it was that a nobleman could be a
commoner, and how a peer of one part of the Empire could sit as the
representative of a borough in another part. She was an apt scholar.
Had there been a question of any other young man marrying her, he
would probably have thought that no other young man could have done
better.
Silverbridge was discontented with himself. The greatest misfortune
was that Lady Mabel should be there. While she was present to his
father's eyes he did not know how to declare his altered wishes.
Every now and then she would say to him some little word indicating
her feelings of the absurdity of his passion. "I declare I don't know
whether it is you or your father that Miss Boncassen most affects,"
she said. But to this and to other similar speeches he would make no
answer. She had extracted his secret from him at Killancodlem, and
might use it against him if she pleased. In his present frame of mind
he was not disposed to joke with her upon the subject.
On that second Sunday,--the Boncassens were to return to London on
the following Tuesday,--he found himself alone with Isabel's father.
The American had been brought out at his own request to see the
stables, and had been accompanied round the premises by Silverbridge
and by Mr. Warburton, by Isabel and by Lady Mary. As they got out
into the park the party were divided, and Silverbridge found himself
with Mr. Boncassen. Then it occurred to him that the proper thing
for a young man in love was to go, not to his own father, but to the
lady's father. Why should not he do as others always did? Isabel no
doubt had suggested a different course. But that which Isabel had
suggested was at the present moment impossible to him. Now, at this
instant, without a moment's forethought, he determined to tell his
story to Isabel's father,--as any other lover might tell it to any
other father.
"I am very glad to find ourselves alone, Mr. Boncassen," he said. Mr.
Boncassen bowed and showed himself prepared to listen. Though so many
at Matching had seen the whole play, Mr. Boncassen had seen nothing
of it.
"I don't know whether you are aware of what I have got to say."
"I cannot quite say that I am, my Lord. But whatever it is, I am sure
I shall be delighted to hear it."
"I want to marry your daughter," said Silverbridge. Isabel had told
him that he was downright, and in such a matter he had hardly as
yet learned how to express himself with those paraphrases in which
the world delights. Mr. Boncassen stood stock still, and in the
excitement of the moment pulled off his hat. "The proper thing is to
ask your permission to go on with it."
"You want to marry my daughter!"
"Yes. That is what I have got to say."
"Is she aware of your--intention?"
"Quite aware. I believe I may say that if other things go straight,
she will consent."
"And your father--the Duke?"
"He knows nothing about it,--as yet."
"Really this takes me quite by surprise. I am afraid you have not
given enough thought to the matter."
"I have been thinking about it for the last three months," said Lord
Silverbridge.
"Marriage is a very serious thing."
"Of course it is."
"And men generally like to marry their equals."
"I don't know about that. I don't think that counts for much. People
don't always know who are their equals."
"That is quite true. If I were speaking to you or to your father
theoretically I should perhaps be unwilling to admit superiority on
your side because of your rank and wealth. I could make an argument
in favour of any equality with the best Briton that ever lived,--as
would become a true-born Republican."
"That is just what I mean."
"But when the question becomes one of practising,--a question for our
lives, for our happiness, for our own conduct, then, knowing what
must be the feelings of an aristocracy in such a country as this, I
am prepared to admit that your father would be as well justified in
objecting to a marriage between a child of his and a child of mine,
as I should be in objecting to one between my child and the son of
some mechanic in our native city."
"He wouldn't be a gentleman," said Silverbridge.
"That is a word of which I don't quite know the meaning."
"I do," said Silverbridge confidently.
"But you could not define it. If a man be well educated, and can keep
a good house over his head, perhaps you may call him a gentleman. But
there are many such with whom your father would not wish to be so
closely connected as you propose."
"But I may have your sanction?" Mr. Boncassen again took off his hat
and walked along thoughtfully. "I hope you don't object to me
personally."
"My dear young lord, your father has gone out of his way to be civil
to me. Am I to return his courtesy by bringing a great trouble upon
him?"
"He seems to be very fond of Miss Boncassen."
"Will he continue to be fond of her when he has heard this? What does
Isabel say?"
"She says the same as you, of course."
"Why of course;--except that it is evident to you as it is to me that
she could not with propriety say anything else."
"I think she would,--would like it, you know."
"She would like to be your wife!"
"Well;--yes. If it were all serene, I think she would consent."
"I dare say she would consent,--if it were all serene. Why should she
not? Do not try her too hard, Lord Silverbridge. You say you love
her."
"I do, indeed."
"Then think of the position in which you are placing her. You are
struggling to win her heart." Silverbridge as he heard this assured
himself that there was no need for any further struggling in that
direction. "Perhaps you have won it. Yet she may feel that she cannot
become your wife. She may well say to herself that this which is
offered to her is so great, that she does not know how to refuse it;
and may yet have to say, at the same time, that she cannot accept it
without disgrace. You would not put one that you love into such a
position?"
"As for disgrace,--that is nonsense. I beg your pardon, Mr.
Boncassen."
"Would it be no disgrace that she should be known here, in England,
to be your wife, and that none of those of your rank,--of what would
then be her own rank,--should welcome her into her new world?"
"That would be out of the question."
"If your own father refused to welcome her, would not others follow
suit?"
"You don't know my father."
"You seem to know him well enough to fear that he would object."
"Yes;--that is true."
"What more do I want to know?"
"If she were once my wife he would not reject her. Of all human
beings he is in truth the kindest and most affectionate."
"And therefore you would try him after this fashion? No, my Lord; I
cannot see my way through these difficulties. You can say what you
please to him as to your own wishes. But you must not tell him that
you have any sanction from me."
That evening the story was told to Mrs. Boncassen, and the matter
was discussed among the family. Isabel in talking to them made no
scruple of declaring her own feelings; and though in speaking to
Lord Silverbridge she had spoken very much as her father had done
afterwards, yet in this family conclave she took her lover's part.
"That is all very well, father," she said; "I told him the same thing
myself. But if he is man enough to be firm I shall not throw him
over,--not for all the dukes in Europe. I shall not stay here to be
pointed at. I will go back home. If he follows me then I shall choose
to forget all about his rank. If he loves me well enough to show that
he is in earnest, I shall not disappoint him for the sake of pleasing
his father." To this neither Mr. nor Mrs. Boncassen was able to make
any efficient answer. Mrs. Boncassen, dear good woman, could see
no reason why two young people who loved each other should not be
married at once. Dukes and duchesses were nothing to her. If they
couldn't be happy in England, then let them come and live in New
York. She didn't understand that anybody could be too good for her
daughter. Was there not an idea that Mr. Boncassen would be the next
President? And was not the President of the United States as good as
the Queen of England?
Lord Silverbridge, when he left Mr. Boncassen, wandered about the
park by himself. King Cophetua married the beggar's daughter. He
was sure of that. King Cophetua probably had not a father; and the
beggar, probably, was not high-minded. But the discrepancy in that
case was much greater. He intended to persevere, trusting much to a
belief that when once he was married his father would "come round."
His father always did come round. But the more he thought of it, the
more impossible it seemed to him that he should ask his father's
consent at the present moment. Lady Mabel's presence in the house
was an insuperable obstacle. He thought that he could do it if he
and his father were alone together, or comparatively alone. He must
be prepared for an opposition, at any rate of some days, which
opposition would make his father quite unable to entertain his guests
while it lasted.
But as he could not declare his wishes to his father, and was thus
disobeying Isabel's behests, he must explain the difficulty to her.
He felt already that she would despise him for his cowardice,--that
she would not perceive the difficulties in his way, or understand
that he might injure his cause by precipitation. Then he considered
whether he might not possibly make some bargain with his father. How
would it be if he should consent to go back to the Liberal party on
being allowed to marry the girl he loved? As far as his political
feelings were concerned he did not think that he would much object
to make the change. There was only one thing certain,--that he must
explain his condition to Miss Boncassen before she went.
He found no difficulty now in getting the opportunity. She was
equally anxious, and as well disposed to acknowledge her anxiety.
After what had passed between them she was not desirous of pretending
that the matter was one of small moment to herself. She had told him
that it was all the world to her, and had begged him to let her know
her fate as quickly as possible. On that last Monday morning they
were in the grounds together, and Lady Mabel, who was walking with
Mrs. Finn, saw them pass through a little gate which led from the
gardens into the Priory ruins. "It all means nothing," Mabel said
with a little laugh to her companion.
"If so, I am sorry for the young lady," said Mrs. Finn.
"Don't you think that one always has to be sorry for the young
ladies? Young ladies generally have a bad time of it. Did you ever
hear of a gentleman who had always to roll a stone to the top of a
hill, but it would always come back upon him?"
"That gentleman I believe never succeeded," said Mrs. Finn. "The
young ladies I suppose do sometimes."
In the meantime Isabel and Silverbridge were among the ruins
together. "This is where the old Pallisers used to be buried," he
said.
"Oh, indeed. And married, I suppose."
"I dare say. They had a priest of their own, no doubt, which must
have been convenient. This block of a fellow without any legs left
is supposed to represent Sir Guy. He ran away with half-a-dozen
heiresses, they say. I wish things were as easily done now."
"Nobody should have run away with me. I have no idea of going on such
a journey except on terms of equality,--just step and step alike."
Then she took hold of his arm and put out one foot. "Are you ready?"
"I am very willing."
"But are you ready,--for a straightforward walk off to church before
all the world? None of your private chaplains, such as Sir Guy had at
his command. Just the registrar, if there is nothing better,--so that
it be public, before all the world."
"I wish we could start this instant."
"But we can't,--can we?"
"No, dear. So many things have to be settled."
"And what have you settled on since you last spoke to me?"
"I have told your father everything."
"Yes;--I know that. What good does that do? Father is not a Duke of
Omnium. No one supposed that he would object."
"But he did," said Silverbridge.
"Yes;--as I do,--for the same reason; because he would not have his
daughter creep in at a hole. But to your own father you have not
ventured to speak." Then he told his story, as best he knew how. It
was not that he feared his father, but that he felt that the present
moment was not fit. "He wishes you to marry that Lady Mabel Grex,"
she said. He nodded his head. "And you will marry her?"
"Never! I might have done so, had I not seen you. I should have done
so, if she had been willing. But now I never can,--never, never."
Her hand had dropped from his arm, but now she put it up again for a
moment, so that he might feel the pressure of her fingers. "Say that
you believe me."
"I think I do."
"You know I love you."
"I think you do. I am sure I hope you do. If you don't, then I am--a
miserable wretch."
"With all my heart I do."
"Then I am as proud as a queen. You will tell him soon?"
"As soon as you are gone. As soon as we are alone together. I
will;--and then I will follow you to London. Now shall we not say,
Good-bye?"
"Good-bye, my own," she whispered.
"You will let me have one kiss?"
Her hand was in his, and she looked about as though to see that no
eyes were watching them. But then, as the thoughts came rushing to
her mind, she changed her purpose. "No," she said. "What is it but a
trifle! It is nothing in itself. But I have bound myself to myself by
certain promises, and you must not ask me to break them. You are as
sweet to me as I can be to you, but there shall be no kissing till I
know that I shall be your wife. Now take me back."