A GENTLEMAN IN DISTRESS
Kent-Lauriston was prompt to his appointment, and it took but a few
moments to establish the Secretary and himself in a private room with a
plentiful supply of cigarettes, and two whiskeys and sodas.
Stanley was nervous and showed it. Kent-Lauriston adjusted his monocle,
tugged at his long sandy moustache, and surveyed his companion from head
to foot.
"Not feeling fit?" he queried. "Suffering from political ennui?"
"Oh, my health is all right, as far as that goes----"
"Yes, I see," this last remark meditatively. Then he added. "Some deuced
little scrape?"
Stanley nodded.
"Woman?"
"It concerns a lady--perhaps two."
Kent-Lauriston frowned, and tugged his moustache a trifle harder, to
imply that he now understood the affair to be of a more complex order,
requiring the aid of skilful diplomacy, in place of the simple
directness of five-pound notes.
"Want my advice, I suppose?"
"Yes," admitted Stanley, "and so I'd better make a clean breast of the
matter."
"Decidedly."
"The fact is, I want to marry--or rather, don't want to marry--no,
that's not it either-- I want to marry the girl bad enough, but I think
I'd better not. It would be what the world--what you might call, a
foolish match."
"Deucedly hard hit, I suppose?"
"You see," continued the Secretary, ignoring his friend's question, "I
know I oughtn't to marry her, but left to myself, I'd do it, and I need
a jolly good rowing--only you mustn't be disrespectful to the lady--I--I
couldn't stand that."
"I think I know her name."
"Miss Fitzgerald. You dined with her at the Hyde Park Club last
evening."
"Daughter of old Fitzgerald of the --th Hussars----"
"I--I believe that was her father's regiment, but now she lives----"
"Lives!" interjected Kent-Lauriston. "No, she doesn't live--visits round
with her relatives--old Irish ancestry--ruined castles and no
rents--washy blue eyes and hair, at present, golden."
"She is one of the most beautiful Irish girls I've ever seen," cried
Stanley. "In repose her face is spirituelle. She is a cousin of Lord
Westmoorland."
"Fourteenth cousin--twice removed."
"I don't know her degree of relationship."
"I do."
"She's splendid vitality and courage," said the Secretary, desirous of
turning the conversation, which threatened to drift into dangerous
channels. "She's dashing, thoroughly dashing."
"Gad, I'm with you there! I've seldom seen a better horse-woman. I've
watched her more than once in the hunting field put her gee at hedges
and ditches that many a Master of Hounds would have fought shy of,--and
clear 'em, too."
Stanley smiled, delighted to hear a word of commendation from a quarter
where he least expected it, but Kent-Lauriston's next remark was less
gratifying.
"Little rapid, isn't she? Trifle fond of fizz-water and cigarettes?"
"She's the spirits of youth," said the Secretary, a trifle coldly.
"Let me see," mused his adviser. "How about that Hunt Ball at
Leamington?"
"I wasn't there, and I must ask you to remember that you're talking of a
lady."
"Um, pity!" said his friend ambiguously, and added, "How far have you
put your foot in it?"
"Well, I haven't asked her to marry me."
"Ah. Order me another whiskey and soda, please," and Kent-Lauriston sat
puffing a cigarette, and tugging at his moustache till the beverage
came. Then he drank it thoughtfully, not saying a word; a silence that
was full of meaning to Stanley, who flushed and began to fidget uneasily
about the room.
Having finished the last drop, and disposed of his cigarette, his
adviser looked up and said shortly:--
"How did this begin?"
"I met her some months ago--but only got to know her intimately at the
races."
"Derby?"
"No, Ascot."
"Royal Enclosure, of course."
"Royal Enclosure, of course. She was visiting her aunt."
"I know. That type of girl has dozens of aunts."
"Her uncle brought her down and introduced us. He left her a moment to
go to the Paddock and never came back."
"Um, left you to do the honours."
"Exactly so, and I did them. Saw the crowd, saw the gees, had lunch--you
know the programme."
"Only too well. Do any betting?"
"A little."
"Thought it was against your principles. You told me so once."
"I--I didn't bet--that is----"
"Oh, I see. She did."
"Rather--a good round sum."
"You knew the amount?"
"Well, the fact is--she'd given her uncle her pocket-book, and he got
lost."
"Clever uncle; so you paid the reckoning."
"She said she knew the winning horse."
"We always do know the winners."
"This was an exception to prove the rule."
"So you put down--and she never paid up."
"Youth is forgetful, and of course--you can't dun a lady."
"No--you can't dun a _lady_!"
"Look here!" cried Stanley. "I won't stand that sort of thing!"
"Beg your pardon, I was thinking aloud, beastly bad habit, purely
reminiscent, I assure you. Go on."
"Well, of course I saw something of her after that. Aunt invited me to
call, also to dine."
"What about that trip down the Thames?"
"Why, I'd arranged my party for that before I met Belle--I mean Miss
Fitzgerald."
"Oh, call her Belle, I know you do."
"And she happened to mention, quite accidentally, that one of her
unaccomplished ideals was a trip down the Thames. I fear she's
shockingly cramped for money you know, so as I happened to have a vacant
place----"
"You naturally invited her-- I wonder how she found out there was a
vacant place," mused Kent-Lauriston.
"My dear fellow," reiterated Stanley. "I tell you she didn't even know I
was getting it up. Of course if she had, she'd never have spoken of it.
Miss Fitzgerald is far above touting for an invitation."
"Of course. Well you must have advanced considerably in your
acquaintance during the trip. Had her quite to yourself, as it were,
since I suppose she knew none of the party."
"Oh, but she did. She knew Lieutenant Kingsland."
"To be sure. He was the man who wagered her a dozen dozen pairs of
gloves that she wouldn't swim her horse across the Serpentine in Hyde
Park."
"And she won, by Jove! I can tell you she has pluck."
"And they were both arrested in consequence. I think the Lieutenant owed
her some reparation, and I must say a trip down the Thames was most _a
propos_."
"Look here, Kent-Lauriston, if you're insinuating that Kingsland put her
up to----"
"Far from it, my boy, how could I insinuate anything so unlikely? Well,
what other unattainable luxuries did you bestow?"
"Nothing more to speak of--why, yes. Do you know the poor little thing
had never seen Irving, or been inside the Lyceum?"
"So you gave the 'poor little thing' a box party, and a champagne supper
at the Savoy afterwards, I'll be bound, and yet surely it was at the
Lyceum that----"
"What?"
"Oh, nothing, I was becoming reminiscent once more; it's a bad habit.
Let's have the rest of it."
"There isn't much more to tell. I've ridden with her sometimes in the
Park. Given her a dinner at the Wellington, a few teas at the Hyde Park
Club. I think that's all--flowers perhaps, nothing in the least
compromising."
"Compromising! Why, it's enough to have married you to three English
girls."
"She's Irish."
"I beg her pardon," and Kent-Lauriston bowed in mock humility.
"What do you think of my case, honestly?"
"Honestly, I think she means to have you, and if I was a betting man,
I'd lay the odds on her chances of winning."
"Confound you!" broke in Stanley. "You've such a beastly way of taking
the words out of a man's mouth and twisting them round to mean something
else. Here I started in to tell you of my acquaintance with Miss
Fitzgerald, and by the time I've finished you've made it appear as if
her actions had been those of an adventuress, a keen, unprincipled,
up-to-date Becky Sharp. Why, you've hardly left her a shred of
character. I swear you wrong her, she's not what you've made me make her
out,--not at all like that."
"What is she like then?"
"She is a poor girl without resources or near relations, thrown on the
world in that most anomalous of positions, shabby gentility; who has to
endure no end of petty insults; insults, covert, if not open, from men
like you, who ought to know better. I tell you she's good and straight,
straight as a die; brave, fearless, plucky--isn't the word for it. A
little headstrong, perhaps, and careless of what the world may say, but
whom has she had to teach her better? There's no harm in her though. Of
that I'm sure. And underneath an exterior of what may seem flippancy,
her heart rings true; but you're so prejudiced you'll never admit it."
"On the contrary," replied his friend, lighting another cigarette, "I'm
perfectly willing to agree to nearly all that you have just said in her
favour--all that is of vital importance, at least. I know something of
this young lady's career, and I'm prepared to say I don't believe there
is anything bad in her. She has to live by her wits, and they must be
sharp in consequence; and having to carve out her own destiny instead of
having a mother to do so for her, she has become self-reliant, and to
some extent careless of the impression she makes, which has given her a
reputation for indiscretion which she really does not deserve. She's
certainly charming, and undeniably dashing, though whether it arises
from bravery or foolhardiness, I'm not prepared to say; but one thing I
can state most emphatically--you're not the man to marry her."
"And why not, pray?"
"Because you're too good for her."
"That's a matter of opinion."
"No--matter of fact."
Stanley flushed angrily--but Kent-Lauriston continued:
"No need to fly into a passion; what I say is perfectly true. The only
way for Belle Fitzgerald to marry, be happy, and develop the best that
is in her, is to have a husband whose methods--forceful or
otherwise--she can understand and appreciate. You are too good for her.
Her struggle with life has been a hard one, she has seen the seamy side
of human nature, and it has taught her to estimate all men at their
worst. She'd consider your virtue, weakness. You could never take her to
South America and the ancestral plantation; it would bore her to
extinction. She'd require to live in London or keep open house in the
country, and she'd gather about her the set she goes with now. Her
companions, her manner of life, you think unworthy of her; already they
grate on your finer sensibilities, blinded as you are; believe me,
they'd grate much more when she bore your name. No, the only man who
could marry her, be happy, make her happy, and keep his good name
untarnished in the future, would be one who knows her world better than
she does herself; who has a past that even she would shudder at; who has
no ideals, no aspirations, just manly vigour and brute force; who could
guide her with a hand of steel in a glove of velvet, and pull her up
short at the danger line, because he knows what lies beyond, and she
knows that he knows. She'd tire of you in six months; she would not dare
to tire of the other man."
"I think you wrong her," said Stanley wearily. "Indeed, your own
criticism of her might be applied to yourself. Your knowledge of the
world has caused you unconsciously to misjudge a nature you cannot
understand. Yet I know that my friends would all voice your
sentiments--that they'd all be disappointed in the match."
"Exactly so--and they'd be in the right--excuse me for being blunt, but
with your wealth and social position you would be simply throwing
yourself away."
"I know all that--but--I'm so sorry for her."
"You could serve her better as her friend than as her husband. She must
live your life or you must live hers--in either case, one of you would
be unhappy."
"I half believe you're right. Confound it! I know you're right, and
yet--how am I to get out of it with honour?"
"Don't have any false sentimentality about that, my boy. Believe me, she
understands the situation much better than you do. So far you have been
chums; if you stop there, she is too much a woman of the world to lay it
up against you. You've given her much pleasure during the past season
and she appreciates it; but she's quite enough of a philosopher to
accept cheerfully the half-loaf."
"But I can't be just a friend."
"Not now, perhaps, but you can a few months later, when other things
have supervened."
"If I see her again--it's all over."
"Don't see her then."
"That is just the point. She's going to stay with an aunt in Sussex."
"Another aunt?"
"Yes, Mrs. Roberts, and I am invited to go down to the house-party
to-morrow, and have accepted, and shall come back engaged."
"Send your excuses, by all means, write to-day."
"Yes, I suppose it's for the best, but you know I hate to do it. Somehow
I can't think all you imply of her."
"My dear boy," said Kent-Lauriston, "I may be doing the lady gross
injustice and keeping you out of a very good thing, but even in that
case you must not go to Sussex. For heaven's sake, man, take time to
consider! It's too important a matter to be decided in a hurry. If she
cares for you and is worthy of you, she'll give you every fair
opportunity of asking her the fateful question and a reasonable amount
of time to think it over. Take a fortnight for calm reflection; it's
very little to allow for what may be a life's happiness or misery.
Meanwhile try and keep your mind off it. Run over to Paris with me. If
at the end of our trip you still feel the same towards her, I won't
stand in your way, I promise you. Come, is that a fair offer?"
"Most kind," said Stanley, "and to show you my appreciation of all the
trouble you've taken, I'll send my regrets to Mrs. Roberts by the first
post."
"Good boy!" said his mentor, sententiously.
"I don't know about Paris, as to whether I can get leave, I mean."
"Nonsense, you have already arranged your leave for the house-party,
I'll be bound. Dine with me here to-morrow night at eight, and we'll
talk it over."
"Thanks, I will. I must be going now, I have to look in at a tea or
two."
"Not to meet our charming enchantress?"
"No, no, trust me, I'll play fair," and he was gone.
Kent-Lauriston puffed meditatively at his cigarette, now that he was
alone, and tugged hard at his moustache.
"The little Fitzgerald a pattern of all the virtues, eh?" he said, half
to himself, and half to the departing Secretary, and added, under his
breath:
"Gad! How she would rook him! Never been to the Lyceum or down the
Thames! May she be forgiven!"