Whether in Bob Annesley's case kindness would have proved more
effectual than harshness was a question which the Professor was unable
to bring to the test of experience; for a few days after the interview
just described Mrs. and Miss Cecil left home, and did not return until
late in the autumn.
During their absence, of which Mrs. Annesley was duly apprised, the
Professor had a respite. He received no more importunate letters, he
saw little of the misguided young lancer, and he employed himself
agreeably in writing that brilliant chapter upon Pope Boniface VIII.
and the bull _Ausculta, fili_, which has since been so justly praised
by the critics. Absorbed in these congenial studies, and feeling that,
for the time being, it was vastly more important to arrive at the
truth with regard to the instructions given by Philippe le Bel to
Nogaret than to unravel any contemporary mystery, the good man almost
forgot Mrs. Harrington's existence, and it was not until the month of
October, when Captain Green, whom he chanced to meet one day, informed
him that she had left Lichbury for some destination unknown, that his
interest in her revived, and he began to wonder whether anything could
have caused her to relinquish her prey.
Shortly afterwards he caught sight of Bob Annesley, clanking down the
High Street in full war-paint and feathers, and crossed the road on
purpose to say, "So Mrs. Harrington has gone away, I hear."
"Yes," answered the young man gloomily; "but she is coming back,
again."
The Professor passed on. He foresaw that there was going to be
trouble, but he did not want to meet it halfway. "Time enough for that
when the Cecils come home," thought he as he regained his quiet
dwelling, and dived once more into the dark recesses of the thirteenth
century.
The Cecils came home early in November; but Bob and Violet met no more
in the Precincts, the excuse of lawn-tennis being, indeed, no longer
available at that season. That they met elsewhere the Professor had
ocular proof, for he saw them several times riding together; moreover,
the Dean's wife informed him that everybody said it was to be an
engagement. The Professor held his peace, remembering one person who
had said with some confidence that it would never be anything of the
sort; and when that person reappeared suddenly upon the scene, it
seemed clear that the tug of war was at hand. The first intimation of
coming unpleasantness which reached the Professor took the form of a
visit from Mr. Cecil, who said he wished to have his old friend's
candid opinion about young Annesley.
"He has been a good deal up at my place of late; and though of course
one is very glad to see him, and all that, one would like to know a
little more of him. Mrs. Cecil will have it that he is ambitious of
becoming our son-in-law. Well, that may or may not be so, and I don't
think it necessary to repeat to her all that I hear in the town about
him and Mrs. Harrington; but I may confess to you, Stanwick, that I
feel uneasy on Violet's account. What do you think I ought to do?"
"Ask him his intentions," answered the Professor promptly.
"Oh, my dear fellow, I can't possibly do that. I would as soon bring
an action for breach of promise against a man as ask him his
intentions."
"Yet you want to know them, I suppose?"
"That is quite another thing. One wants to know a great deal that one
can't ask about. I want to know who this Mrs. Harrington is, for
instance, and what _her_ intentions are."
"Well," said the Professor, with a sigh, "I dare say I might be able
to help you there. At all events, I'll try."
He perceived that the time had come when he must have recourse to that
direct appeal to the harpy which he had contemplated some months
before. The necessity was grievous to him; but he faced it like the
courageous old gentleman that he was, and having found out Mrs.
Harrington's address from the stationer in the market-place, set out
to call upon her that same afternoon.
Mrs. Harrington occupied lodgings on the first floor of a small
house near the cavalry barracks. The dreary shabbiness of her
little drawing-room was accentuated by some of those attempts at
decoration with which a woman of scanty means and no taste commonly
surrounds herself. The faded curtains were drawn back through loops of
equally faded ribbon; the walls were adorned with a few staring
chromo-lithographs; the mantelpiece and the rickety table had borders
of blue satin and coffee-colored lace; the back of the piano was
swathed in spotted muslin over blue calico, like a toilet-table, and
upon it stood a leather screen for photographs, from which various
heavily moustached warriors, in and out of uniform, gazed forth
vacantly.
These and other details were lost upon the Professor, who only wished
to say his say and be gone. He had rehearsed the probable course of
the interview beforehand, and was ready with a remark which should at
once render the object of his errand unmistakable; but he had omitted
to make allowance for the unforeseen, and therefore he was completely
thrown out on discovering two long-legged officers seated beside Mrs.
Harrington's tea-table.
It is safe to conclude that that lady was a good deal astonished when
Canon Stanwick was announced, but she rose to the level of the
occasion and introduced him immediately to her other visitors. "Canon
Stanwick, Captain White--Mr. Brown. And now let me give you all some
tea."
The Professor would have liked to say that he would call again some
other time, but felt that he had not the requisite effrontery; so he
sat down, took a cup of tea, and wished for the end. He was very
awkward and confused, feeling sure that the two officers must be
laughing at him; but in this he was mistaken. Those gentlemen, if not
remarkable for intellect, had perfectly good manners, and would wait
until they reached the barrack square before permitting themselves to
burst into that hilarity which the notion of Polly Harrington closeted
with a parson must naturally provoke. In the meantime, they did not do
much towards lightening the labor of keeping up conversation. This
duty fell chiefly upon Mrs. Harrington, who acquitted herself of it as
creditably as any one could have done, and who established a claim
upon the Professor's gratitude by talking with as much propriety as if
she had been herself a canoness. His preconceived idea was that
propriety of language was about the last thing that could be expected
from such ladies as Mrs. Harrington when, so to speak, in the
regimental circle. Nevertheless, he did not find himself able to
second her efforts towards promoting a general feeling of cordiality
and the next quarter of an hour passed away very slowly. At length it
flashed across Captain White that the old gentleman meant to sit him
out, and as soon as he had made this brilliant discovery he rose with
great deliberation, pulled down his waistcoat, pulled up his collar,
and said he was sorry that he must be going now. Thereupon Mr. Brown
went through precisely the same performance, and intimated a similar
regret. Mrs. Harrington did not offer to detain them. She accompanied
them to the door, talking as she went, kept them for a minute or two
on the threshold while she arranged to ride with them to the meet on
the following day, and then returned smiling, to hear what Canon
Stanwick might have to say for himself.
Now she knew as well as anybody to what she owed the honor of the
Professor's visit; but she did not see why she should make his path
smooth for him. Therefore she smiled and held her tongue, while he,
after some introductory commonplaces, managed to drag Bob Annesley's
name, without much rhyme or reason, into the current of his remarks.
"A promising young fellow," he said; "but, like other young fellows,
he gives his friends some anxiety at times. His mother, poor thing, is
feeling very uneasy about him just now."
"Mothers," observed Mrs. Harrington, "generally do feel uneasy about
their sons. That is because they have such a difficulty in realizing
that their sons may be old enough to take care of themselves."
"But they can't take care of themselves," rejoined the Professor
eagerly. "At least, _he_ can't take care of himself. His position, as
no doubt you are aware, differs in some respects from that of his
brother officers, and I think that if you or I were in his mother's
place, we should wish, as she does, that he should leave the army,
live upon his property, and--and make a suitable marriage."
"Yes," said Mrs. Harrington: "and why is his mother uneasy?--because
he won't leave the army, or because he won't make a suitable
marriage?"
"Well, for both reasons, I believe. I think I mentioned to you some
time ago that there was a talk of his marrying Violet Cecil, and I
have since ascertained that his own feelings incline him towards a
match which would give great satisfaction to all those who are
interested in him; but unfortunately it appears that he is hampered by
some previous entanglement with--with----"
"With an unsuitable person?" suggested Mrs. Harrington, still smiling.
The Professor paused. He wanted to enlist Mrs. Harrington's
sympathies, and to arouse the generosity which he was convinced that
she possessed. Under the circumstances, was it politic to begin by
telling her that she was unsuitable? However, he reflected very
sensibly that there would be no getting on at all unless that much
were either said or implied; and he felt, besides, that he was already
in so uncomfortable a predicament that nothing could very well make it
worse. This gave him courage to reply,--
"I fear we must pronounce her so. All other considerations apart, the
fact that he no longer wishes to make her his wife should be
conclusive. He might feel--and I don't say that he ought not to
feel--bound in honor to her; but it seems to me that she is equally
bound in honor to release him from his engagement."
"Oh, you think she is bound to release him?"
"I do," answered the Professor firmly. "Yes; I may say without any
hesitation that that is what I think."
"I am not quite sure that I agree with you," said Mrs. Harrington. "I
can't, of course, form any guess as to who the person to whom you
allude may be; but let us put an entirely imaginary case, and see how
it looks from the lady's point of view. Because, you know, even
unsuitable women have their point of view, and some of them might be
disposed to think their happiness almost as important as Mrs.
Annesley's. Let us take the case of a woman with whom life has
gone very hardly--a woman who was married young to a husband who
ill-treated her, deserted her, and left her at his death with a mere
pittance to live upon. Well, this imaginary woman is not very wise,
let us say, although she has no great harm in her. She is fond of
amusement, she likes riding, she likes dancing, and we won't disguise
that she likes flirting too. She has no near relations; so, instead of
taking lodgings in a suburb of London, or hiring a cottage in the
depths of the country, as no doubt she ought to do, she attaches
herself to a cavalry regiment in which she has friends, and she rides
her friends' horses and dances at their balls, and has great fun for a
time. Perhaps it serves her right that this way of going on causes her
to be cut by all the ladies, wherever she betakes herself; perhaps she
doesn't care a straw for that at first, and perhaps she cares a great
deal as she grows older. Perhaps she sees no way of escape from a kind
of existence which she has learnt to hate, and perhaps that serves her
right again. What do you think, Canon Stanwick?"
The Professor's honesty compelled him to reply, "I should not blame
her for seizing any opportunity of escape from it that offered."
"Yet most people would blame her; she would have to make up her mind
to that. We are supposing, you know, that Mr. Annesley is the way of
escape that offers itself, and when this forlorn woman seizes him
ecstatically she must expect his friends and relations to tear their
hair and call her bad names. I dare say that would trouble her very
little. After knocking about the world for so many years, she wouldn't
be over and above sensitive, and she would know perfectly well that,
when once she was married and had plenty of money, everybody,
including her husband's relations, would be civil enough to her. But
now, just as she is exulting in the prospect of peace and plenty, lo
and behold! the miserable young man goes and falls in love with
somebody else. What is she to do? You, in an off-hand sort of way,
answer, 'Oh, let him go free, of course;' but I, on the side of the
poor disappointed woman, venture to say that she should be guided by
circumstances. Suppose she knew this good-natured Bob Annesley to be a
man who couldn't break his heart about anything or anybody if he tried
ever so hard? Suppose she knew that she was quite as well able to make
him happy as Miss Cecil? Mightn't she in that case be justified in
thinking a little bit about her own interests, and holding him to his
promise?"
"I can't answer positively," said the Professor, sighing.
"Justification must depend entirely upon the standard by which we
judge. All I know is, that if such a woman as you describe resolved to
sacrifice her worldly prospects she would err upon the safe side."
"Such a woman as I describe would probably differ from you there,"
observed Mrs. Harrington.
"No!" exclaimed the Professor suddenly, bringing his stick down upon
the floor with an emphatic thump. "You may say that, but I don't
believe it. I believe her to be a good-hearted and high-minded woman,
in spite of all that she may have gone through. I believe that she has
a conscience, and I believe that she will end by obeying it, no matter
at what cost."
"You must know a great deal about her," said Mrs. Harrington, raising
her eyebrows. "Are you not forgetting that she is a purely imaginary
person?"
The Professor was about to reply, but what he was going to say will
never be known, for at this inopportune juncture the door opened, and
who should walk in but Bob Annesley himself! The three persons thus
unexpectedly confronted with one another all lost their presence of
mind a little, and the Professor could not afterwards have given any
coherent account of what happened next, or of how long an interval
elapsed before he found himself in the street again; but as he wended
his way homewards, he astonished more than one passer-by by calling
out in a loud, distinct voice, "She'll let him go! mark my words, sir,
she'll let him go!" And when he had reached the privacy of his own
study, he added confidentially, "And between ourselves, I'm not by any
means sure that she isn't worth a dozen of the other."