MONTGOMERY HAWKES
On the 30th day of June, Mr. Montgomery Hawkes glanced at his
appointments for the following day and found the entry: "Mrs.
Chichester, Scarboro--in re Margaret O'Connell."
He accordingly sent a telegram to Mrs. Chichester, acquainting her with
the pleasant news that she might expect that distinguished lawyer on
July 1, to render an account of her stewardship of the Irish agitator's
child.
As he entered a first-class carriage on the Great Northern Railway at
King's Cross station next day, bound for Scarboro, he found himself
wondering how the experiment, dictated by Kingsnorth on his death-bed,
had progressed. It was a most interesting case. He had handled several,
during his career as a solicitor, in which bequests were made to the
younger branches of a family that had been torn by dissension during
the testator's lifetime, and were now remembered for the purpose of
making tardy amends.
But in those cases the families were all practically of the same caste.
It would be merely benefiting them by money or land. Their education
had already been taken care of. Once the bequest was arranged all
responsibility ended.
The O'Connell-Kingsnorth arrangement was an entirely different
condition of things altogether. There were so many provisions each
contingent on something in the character of the beneficiary. He did not
regard the case with the same equanimity he had handled the others. It
opened up so many possibilities of difficulty, and the object of Mr.
Kingsnorth's bequest was such an amazing young lady to endeavour to do
anything with. He had no preconceived methods to employ in the matter.
It was an experiment where his experience was of no use. He had only to
wait developments, and, should any real crisis arise, consult with the
Chief Executor.
By the time he reached Scarboro he had arranged everything in his mind.
It was to be a short and exceedingly satisfactory interview and he
would be able to catch the afternoon express back to London.
He pictured Miss O'Connell as being marvellously improved by her gentle
surroundings and eager to continue in them. He was sure he would have a
most satisfactory report to make to the Chief Executor.
As he walked up the beach-walk he was humming gaily an air from
"Girofle-Girofla." He was entirely free from care and annoyance. He was
thinking what a fortunate young lady Miss O'Connell was to live amid
such delightful surroundings. It would be many a long day before she
would ever think of leaving her aunt.
All of which points to the obvious fact that even gentlemen with
perfectly-balanced legal brains, occasionally mis-read the result of
force of character over circumstances.
He was shown into the music-room and was admiring a genuine Greuze when
Mrs. Chichester came in.
She greeted him tragically and motioned him to a seat beside her.
"Well?" he smiled cheerfully. "And how is our little protegee?"
"Sit down," replied Mrs. Chichester, sombrely.
"Thank you."
He sat beside her, waited a moment, then, with some sense of misgiving,
asked: "Everything going well, I hope?"
"Far from it." And Mrs. Chichester shook her head sadly.
"Indeed?" His misgivings deepened.
"I want you to understand one thing, Mr. Hawkes," and tears welled up
into the old lady's eyes: "I have done my best."
"I am sure of that, Mrs. Chichester," assured the lawyer, growing more
and more apprehensive.
"But she wants to leave us to-day. She has ordered cab. She is packing
now."
"Dear, dear!" ejaculated the bewildered solicitor. "Where is she going?"
"Back to her father."
"How perfectly ridiculous. WHY?"
"I had occasion to speak to her severely--last night. She grew very
angry and indignant--and--now she has ordered a cab."
"Oh!" and Hawkes laughed easily. "A little childish temper. Leave her
to me. I have a method with the young. Now--tell me--what is her
character? How has she behaved?"
"At times ADMIRABLY. At others--" Mrs. Chichester raised her hands and
her eyes in shocked disapproval.
"Not quite--?" suggested Mr. Hawkes.
"Not AT ALL!" concluded Mrs. Chichester.
"How are her studies?"
"Backward."
"Well, we must not expect too much," said the lawyer reassuringly.
"Remember everything is foreign to her."
"Then you are not disappointed, Mr. Hawkes?"
"Not in the least. We can't expect to form a character in a month. Does
she see many people?"
"Very few. We try to keep her entirely amongst ourselves."
"I wouldn't do that. Let her mix with people. The more the better. The
value of contrast. Take her visiting with you. Let her talk to
others--listen to them--exchange opinions with them. Nothing is better
for sharp-minded, intelligent and IGNORANT people than to meet others
cleverer than themselves. The moment they recognise their own
inferiority, they feel the desire for improvement."
Mrs. Chichester listened indignantly to this, somewhat platitudinous,
sermon on how to develop character. And indignation was in her tone
when she replied:
"Surely, she has sufficient example here, sir?"
Hawkes was on one of his dearest hobbies--"Characters and
Dispositions." He had once read a lecture on the subject. He smiled
almost pityingly at Mrs. Chichester, as he shook his head and answered
her.
"No, Mrs. Chichester, pardon me--but NO! She has NOT sufficient example
here. Much as I appreciate a HOME atmosphere, it is only when the young
get AWAY from it that they really develop. It is the contact with the
world, and its huge and marvellous interests, that strengthens
character and solidifies disposition. It is only--" he stopped.
Mrs. Chichester was evidently either not listening, or was entirely
unimpressed. She was tapping her left hand with a lorgnette she held in
her right, and was waiting for an opportunity to speak. Consequently,
Mr. Hawkes stopped politely.
"If you can persuade her to remain with us, I will do anything you wish
in regard to her character and its development."
"Don't be uneasy," he replied easily, "she will stay. May I see her?"
Mrs. Chichester, rose crossed over to the bell and rang it. She wanted
to prepare the solicitor for the possibility of a match between her son
and her niece. She would do it NOW and do it tactfully.
"There is one thing you must know, Mr. Hawkes. My son is in love with
her," she said, as though in a burst of confidence.
Hawkes rose, visibly perturbed.
"What? Your son?"
"Yes," she sighed. "Of course she is hardly a suitable match for
Alaric--as YET. But by the time she is of age--"
"Of age?"
"By that time, much may be done."
Jarvis came in noiselessly and was despatched by Mrs. Chichester to
bring her niece to her.
Hawkes was moving restlessly about the room. He stopped in front of
Mrs. Chichester as Jarvis disappeared.
"I am afraid, madam, that such a marriage would be out of the question."
"What do you mean?" demanded the old lady. "As one of the executors of
the late Mr. Kingsnorth's will, in my opinion, it would be defeating
the object of the dead man's legacy."
Mrs. Chichester retorted, heatedly: "He desires her to be TRAINED. What
training is better than MARRIAGE?"
"Almost any," replied Mr. Hawkes. "Marriage should be the union of two
formed characters. Marriage between the young is one of my pet
objections. It is a condition of life essentially for those who have
reached maturity in nature and in character. I am preparing a paper on
it for the Croydon Ethical Society and--"
Whatever else Mr. Hawkes might have said in continuation of another of
his pet subjects was cut abruptly short by the appearance of Peg. She
was still dressed in one of Mrs. Chichester's gifts. She had not had an
opportunity to change into her little travelling suit.
Hawkes looked at her in delighted surprise. She had completely changed.
What a metamorphosis from the forlorn little creature of a month ago!
He took her by the hand and pressed it warmly, at the same time saying
heartily:
"Well, well! WHAT an improvement."
Peg gazed at him with real pleasure. She was genuinely glad to see him.
She returned the pressure of his hand and welcomed him:
"I'm glad you've come, Mr. Hawkes."
"Why, you're a young lady!" cried the astonished solicitor.
"Am I? Ask me aunt about that!" replied Peg, somewhat bitterly.
"Mr. Hawkes wishes to talk to you, dear," broke in Mrs. Chichester, and
there was a melancholy pathos in her voice and, in her eyes.
If neither Alaric nor Mr. Hawkes could deter her, what would become of
them?
"And I want to talk to Mr. Hawkes, too," replied Peg. "But ye must
hurry," she went on. "I've only, a few minutes."
Mrs. Chichester went pathetically to the door, and, telling Mr. Hawkes
she would see him again when he had interviewed her niece, she left
them.
"Now, my dear Miss Margaret O'Connell--" began the lawyer.
"Will ye let me have twenty pounds?" suddenly asked Peg.
"Certainly. NOW?" and he took out his pocket-book.
"This minnit," replied Peg positively.
"With pleasure," said Mr. Hawkes, as he began to count the bank-notes.
"And I want ye to get a passage on the first ship to America. This
afternoon if there's one," cried Peg, earnestly.
"Oh, come, come--" remonstrated the lawyer.
"The twenty pounds I want to buy something for me father--just to
remember England by. If ye think me uncle wouldn't like me to have it
because I'm lavin', why then me father'll pay ye back. It may take him
a long time, but he'll pay it."
"Now listen--" interrupted Mr. Hawkes.
"Mebbe it'll only be a few dollars a week, but father always pays his
debts--in time. That's all he ever needs--TIME."
"What's all this nonsense about going away?"
"It isn't nonsense. I'm goin' to me father," answered Peg resolutely.
"Just when everything is opening out for you?" asked the lawyer.
"Everything has closed up on me," said Peg. "I'm goin' back."
"Why, you've improved out of all knowledge."
"Don't think that. Me clothes have changed--that's all. When I put me
thravellin' suit back on agen, ye won't notice any IMPROVEMENT."
"But think what you're giving up."
"I'll have me father. I'm only sorry I gave HIM up--for a month."
"The upbringing of a young lady!"
"I don't want it. I want me father."
"The advantages of gentle surroundings."
"New York is good enough for me--with me father."
"Education!"
"I can get that in America--with me father."
"Position!"
"I don't want it. I want me father."
"Why this rebellion? This sudden craving for your father?"
"It isn't sudden," she turned on him fiercely. "I've wanted him all the
time I've been here. I only promised to stay a month anyway. Well, I've
stayed a month. Now, I've disgraced them all here an' I'm goin' back
home."
"DISGRACED them?"
"Yes, disgraced them. Give me that twenty pounds, please," and she held
out her hand for the notes.
"How have you disgraced them?" demanded the astonished lawyer.
"Ask me aunt. She knows. Give me the money, please."
Hawkes hunted through his mind for the cause of this upheaval in the
Chichester home. He remembered Mrs. Chichester's statement about
Alaric's affection for his young cousin. Could the trouble have arisen
from THAT? It gave him a clue to work on. He grasped it.
"Answer me one question truthfully, Miss O'Connell."
"What is it? Hurry. I've a lot to do before I go."
"Is there an affair of the heart?"
"D'ye mean LOVE?"
"Yes."
"Why d'ye ask me that?"
"Answer me," insisted Mr. Hawkes.
Peg looked down on the ground mournfully and replied:
"Me heart is in New York--with me father."
"Has anyone made love to you since you have been here?"
Peg looked up at him sadly and shook her head. A moment later, a
mischievous look came into her eyes, and she said, with a roguish laugh:
"Sure one man wanted to kiss me an' I boxed his ears. And
another--ALMOST man--asked me to marry him."
"Oh!" ejaculated the lawyer.
"Me cousin Alaric."
"And what did you say?" questioned Hawkes.
"I towld him I'd rather have 'Michael.'"
He looked at her in open bewilderment and repeated:
"Michael?"
"Me dog," explained Peg, and her eyes danced with merriment.
Hawkes laughed heartily and relievedly.
"Then you refused him?"
"Of course I refused him. ME marry HIM! What for, I'd like to know?"
"Is he too young?"
"He's too selfish, an' too silly too, an' too everything I don't like
in a man!" replied Peg.
"And what DO you like in a man?"
"Precious little from what I've seen of them in England."
As Hawkes looked at her, radiant in her spring-like beauty, her clear,
healthy complexion, her dazzling teeth, her red-gold hair, he felt a
sudden thrill go through him. His life had been so full, so
concentrated on the development of his career, that he had never
permitted the feminine note to obtrude itself on his life. His effort
had been rewarded by an unusually large circle of influential clients
who yielded him an exceedingly handsome revenue. He had heard whispers
of a magistracy. His PUBLIC future was assured.
But his PRIVATE life was arid. The handsome villa in Pelham Crescent
had no one to grace the head of the table, save on the occasional
visits of his aged mother, or the still rarer ones of a married sister.
And here was he in the full prime of life.
It is remarkable how, at times, in one's passage through life, the
throb in a voice, the breath of a perfume, the chord of an old song,
will arouse some hidden note that had so far lain dormant in one's
nature, and which, when awakened into life, has influences that reach
through generations.
It was even so with Hawkes, as he looked at the little Irish girl, born
of an aristocratic English mother, looking up at him, hand
outstretched, expectant, in all her girlish pudicity.
Yielding to some uncontrollable impulse, he took the little hand in
both of his own. He smiled nervously, and there was a suspicious tremor
in his voice:
"You would like a man of position in life to give you what you most
need. Of years to bring you dignity, and strength to protect you."
"I've got HIM," stated Peg unexpectedly, withdrawing her hand and
eyeing the bank-notes that seemed as far from her as when she first
asked for them.
"You've got him?" ejaculated the man-of-law, aghast.
"I have. Me father. Let ME count that money. The cab will be here an' I
won't be ready--" Hawkes was not to be denied now. He went on in his
softest and most persuasive accents:
"I know one who would give you all these--a man who has reached the
years of discretion! one in whom the follies of youth have merged into
the knowledge and reserve of early middle-age. A man of position and of
means. A man who can protect you, care for you, admire you--and be
proud to marry you."
He felt a real glow of eloquent pleasure, as he paused for her reply to
so dignified and ardent an appeal.
If Peg had been listening, she certainly could not have understood the
meaning of his fervid words, since she answered him by asking a
question:
"Are ye goin' to let me have the money?"
"Do not speak of MONEY at a moment like this!" cried the mortified
lawyer.
"But ye said ye would let me have it!" persisted Peg.
"Don't you wish to know who the man is, whom I have just described, my
dear Miss O'Connell?"
"No, I don't. Why should I? With me father waitin' in New York for
me--an' I'm waitin' for that--" and again she pointed to his
pocket-book.
"Miss O'Connell--may I say--Margaret, I was your uncle's adviser--his
warm personal friend. We spoke freely of you for many weeks before he
died. It was his desire to do something for you that would change your
whole life and make it full and happy and contented. Were your uncle
alive, I know of nothing that would give him greater pleasure than for
his old friend to take you, your young life--into his care. Miss
O'Connell--I am the man!"
It was the first time this dignified gentleman had ever invited a lady
to share his busy existence, and he felt the warm flush of youthful
nervousness rush to his cheeks, as it might have done had he made just
such a proposal, as a boy. It really seemed to him that he WAS a boy as
he stood before Peg waiting for her reply.
Again she did not say exactly what he had thought and hoped she would
have said.
"Stop it!" she cried. "What's the matther with you men this morning?
Ye'd think I was some great lady, the way ye're all offerin' me yer
hands an' yer names an' yer influences an' yer dignities. Stop it! Give
me that money and let me go."
Hawkes did not despair. He paused.
"Don't give your answer too hastily. I know it must seem abrupt--one
might almost say BRUTAL. But _I_ am alone in the world--YOU are alone.
Neither of us have contracted a regard for anyone else. And in addition
to that--there would be no occasion to marry until you are twenty-one.
There!"
And he gazed at her with what he fondly hoped were eyes of sincere
adoration.
"Not until I'm twenty-one! Look at that now!" replied Peg--it seemed to
Mr. Hawkes, somewhat flippantly.
"Well! What do you say?" he asked vibrantly.
"What do I say, to WHAT?"
"Will you consent to an engagement?"
"With YOU?"
"Yes, Miss O'Connell, with me."
Peg suddenly burst into a paroxysm of laughter.
Hawkes' face clouded and hardened.
The gloomier he looked, the more hearty were Peg's ebullitions of
merriment.
Finally, when the hysterical outburst had somewhat abated, he asked
coldly:
"Am I to consider that a refusal?"
"Ye may. What would _I_ be doin', marryin' the likes of you? Answer me
that?"
His passion began to dwindle, his ardour to lessen.
"That is final?" he queried.
"Absolutely, completely and entirely final."
Not only did all HOPE die in Mr. Hawkes, but seemingly all REGARD as
well.
Ridicule is the certain death-blow to a great and disinterested
affection.
Peg's laugh still rang in his ears and as he looked at her now, with a
new intelligence, unblinded by illusion, he realised what a mistake it
would have been for a man, of his temperament, leanings and
achievements to have linked his life with hers. Even his first feeling
of resentment passed. He felt now a warm tinge of gratitude. Her
refusal--bitter though its method had been--was a sane and wise
decision. It was better for both of them.
He looked at her gratefully and said:
"Very well. I think your determination to return to your father, a very
wise one. I shall advise the Chief Executor to that effect. And I shall
also see that a cabin is reserved for you on the first out-going
steamer, and I'll personally take you on board."
"Thank ye very much, sir. An' may I have the twenty pounds?"
"Certainly. Here it is," and he handed her the money.
"I'm much obliged to ye. An' I'm sorry if I hurt ye by laughin' just
now. But I thought ye were jokin', I did."
"Please never refer to it again."
"I won't--indade I won't. I am sure it was very nice of ye to want to
marry me--"
"I beg you--" he interrupted, stopping her with a gesture.
"Are you goin' back to London to-day?"
"By the afternoon express."
"May I go with you?"
"Certainly."
"Thank ye," cried Peg. "I won't kape ye long. I've not much to take
with me. Just what I brought here--that's all."
She hurried across the room to the staircase. When, she was halfway up
the stairs, Jarvis entered and was immediately followed by Jerry.
Peg stopped when she saw him come into the room.
As Jarvis went out, Jerry turned and saw Peg looking down at him. The
expression on her face was at once stern and wistful and angry and
yearning.
He went forward eagerly.
"Peg!" he said gently, looking up at her.
"I'm goin' back to me father in half an hour!" and she went on up the
stairs.
"In half an hour?" he called after her.
"In thirty minutes!" she replied and disappeared.
As Jerry moved slowly away from the staircase, he met Montgomery Hawkes.