After all this record of thinkings it will be a relief to do something:
which is generally the very best way, if not to settle a problem, at
least to distract the attention from it. Mr. Rowland could not now do
anything to alter the fact, that he had allowed his children to grow up
in a different sphere from that which he intended them to occupy, and
that probably the first meeting with them would contain many
disenchantments and disappointments. No amount of thinking could now
alter this fact, and dwelling upon it was not a way of making himself
happier or adding in any way to the advantages of the moment. Like most
men who have a great deal to do, and who must keep their brains clear
for inevitable work, he had the power of putting disagreeable things
away and declining to look at them. “Sufficient unto the day is the
evil thereof,” is always the maxim of philosophy, whether we take it in
its highest meaning or in a lower sense; and it appeared to Mr. Rowland
that the best thing he could do was to carry out his marriage with all
the speed that was practicable, and to wind up his affairs (already
prepared for that end) so that his return home might be accomplished as
soon, and with as much pleasure to everybody concerned, as possible. As
he was a very direct man, used to acting in the most straightforward
way, his first step was to call on Mrs. Stanhope, who stood in the place
of Evelyn’s relations, in order to settle with her the arrangements he
wished to make.
“I should like, with Miss Ferrars’ consent--which I have not asked till
I should have talked over the matter with you--that the marriage should
take place as soon as possible. I can trust to her excellent sense to
perceive that we can have no possible reason to wait.”
“Oh, Mr. Rowland!” said Mrs. Stanhope. “Of course it is quite reasonable
on your part: but I don’t think that Evelyn would like it to be hurried.
It is not as if you might be ordered off at a moment’s notice, like us
poor military people. There is no reason to wait of course; but you can
afford to take your time.” She said this more from the natural feminine
impulse of holding back in such matters, and not allowing her friend to
be held cheap, than from any other reason.
“If you mean that you want some time to fill Miss Ferrars’ place----”
“Mr. Rowland!” said Mrs. Stanhope again, this time with great
indignation, “what do you mean by Miss Ferrars’ place? I have known
Evelyn all my life, and she is my dearest friend. Do you think I could
fill up her place if I were to try?--and I certainly don’t mean to try.”
“I meant, of course, in respect to your children,” said Mr. Rowland
dryly. “You may do without your dearest friend by making an effort; but
you can’t do without a governess. Excuse me, I am a plain man, and call
a spade, a spade.”
This brutality of expression reduced Mrs. Stanhope to tears. “I have
never treated her like a governess,” she said. “If Evelyn’s good heart
made her help me with the children, it was not my asking, it was her own
idea. She did it because she liked it. I implored her not to take them
out, feeling that you might imagine something of that sort. Men like
you, Mr. Rowland, who have made a great deal of money, always, if you
will excuse me, impute interested motives. I foresaw as much as that.”
“Yes,” he said cheerfully, “we are given to think of the money value of
things. Not of friendship, you know, and all that, but of time and work,
and so forth. We needn’t enter into that question, for I’m sure we
understand each other. And I don’t want to put you to inconvenience. How
much time will it take you to fill Miss Ferrars’ place?”
Mrs. Stanhope was a clever little woman. She thought for a moment, in
natural exasperation, of dismissing him summarily, and refusing to have
anything to say to a man who had treated her so; and then she thought
she would not do that. He was rich--he might be useful some time or
other to the children; it would be foolish to make a breach with a
friend who would remember nothing but the best of her (she did Evelyn
this justice), and who would be kind to the children when they went
home, and invite them for their holidays. So she subdued the natural
anger that was almost on her lips, and gave vent to a harsh little laugh
instead.
“You do always take such a prosaic view, and reduce everything to matter
of fact,” she said. “I can’t afford to have any one in Evelyn’s place,
if you desire to speak of it so. Evelyn has helped me with the children
for love--I must do the best I can for them by myself when you take her
away.”
“Ah well,” said Mr. Rowland, “then it is a real sacrifice, and you will
suffer. I dare say you have a great deal to do. Would not little Molly
Price be a help to you? She is a nice little girl, and she has nobody
belonging to her, and I don’t know what the poor little thing is to do.”
Mrs. Stanhope made a pause before she replied, looking all the time
keenly in the engineer’s face as if she would have read his meaning in
that way. But he was impassible as a wooden image. “Molly Price is a
very nice little girl,” she said slowly, trying all the time to make out
what he meant, “and she would be of use, though far different from
Evelyn. But how could I take up a girl like that, without any means of
providing for her. I had thought of it,” Mrs. Stanhope admitted, “but to
take up her time just when she might be doing better for herself, and
to give her false expectations as to what I could do for her--when it
only can be for a few years, till we send the children home.”
“I see,” said Mr. Rowland; “but the fact is that Molly has a little
income of her own, and all she wants is a home.”
“A little income of her own!”
“Yes,” he said, meeting with the most impenetrable look the lady’s eager
scrutiny. “Did you not know? enough to pay for her board if necessary.
She only wants a home.”
“I don’t know what you can think of me,” said Mrs. Stanhope with a
little haste. “I should never ask her for any board. She would have her
share of whatever was going; and of course if she liked to help me with
the children’s lessons--”
“You would allow her to do it, without any compensation? Don’t explain,
my dear lady--I know the situation perfectly. And in return for that
little arrangement you will help me in getting Evelyn to consent to a
speedy marriage. As soon as we understand each other, everything will be
perfectly straight.”
“You are such a dreadful man of business. I am not accustomed to such
summary ways,” said Mrs. Stanhope, with again a half hysterical laugh.
She was very much afraid of him after this experience. No doubt
everybody in the station had seen through her actions so far as Evelyn
Ferrars was concerned, attributing design and motive where none had
existed, and not making any allowances for the unconscious, or only
half conscious way in which she was led into taking an advantage of her
friend. But nobody had ever ventured to put it into words. She was
overawed by clear sight and the courage, and also a little by the
practical help of this downright man.
“Yes,” he said, “I’m nothing if not a man of business. Well now, there
is another matter. I want it to be a very grand affair.”
She looked at him with eyes more wide open than ever, and with
perceptions more fine than his, and a little gasp of restrained horror
in the thought--what would Evelyn say?--Evelyn who hoped it would be got
over so quietly, that it might not be necessary to let people know: as
if everything was not known from one end to another of the station
almost before it was fully shaped in the brain from which it came!
“Yes,” he said, “I see you’re horrified--and, probably, so would Miss
Ferrars be: so I want you to take the responsibility of everything, and
put it on the ground of your gratitude to her, which must take some
shape. I need not add, Mrs. Stanhope, if you will do this for me, that a
cheque is at once at your disposal--to any amount you may think
necessary.”
Anger, humiliation, injured pride, a quick perception of advantage, a
rapid gleam of pleasure, the thrill of delightful excitement at the
thought of a great deal of money to spend, all darted through Mrs.
Stanhope’s mind, and glittered in her eager eyes. The disagreeable
sentiments finally died away in the others which were more rational. To
have the ordering of a great entertainment regardless of expense, and
everybody at her feet, the providers of the same, and the guests, and
indeed the whole community eager either for commissions or invitations!
This was a temptation more than any woman could resist.
“Mr. Rowland,” she said, “you are a very extraordinary man. But I must
warn you that Evelyn will not like it, and she knows that we cannot
afford it. Oh, I will try, if you have set your heart upon it, and just
say as little to her as possible. I suppose something like what Mrs.
Fawcett had when Bertha was married? And you must give me a list of all
the people you want to invite.”
“The Fawcetts’ was a very humdrum affair,” said Rowland critically,
“quite an ordinary business. We must do a great deal better than that.
And as for the invitations, ask everybody--beginning with the Governor.
He’ll be at Cumsalla about that time, and it will be a fine opportunity
for him to visit the station in a semi-official way: and the General
commanding, and the Head of the district, and----”
“The Governor and the General!” Mrs. Stanhope gasped. She lay back in
her chair in a half-fainting condition, yet with a keen conviction
running through her mind like the flash of a gold thread, that to
receive all these people in his own house, at a magnificent
entertainment, would be such a chance as never could have been
anticipated for Fred!
“_Carte blanche_,” said Mr. Rowland, pressing in his enthusiasm her limp
and hesitating hand.
Evelyn Ferrars came in a moment after with the children. She gave a
smile to her future husband, and a glance of surprise at her friend,
who had not yet recovered that shock of emotion. “What are you
plotting?” she said: but did not mean it, though it was so near their
real occupation. As for Mr. Rowland he was equal to the occasion, his
faculties being so stirred up and quickened by the emergency that he was
as clear about it as if it had been a railway or a canal.
“We are plotting against you,” he said, “and I think I have got Mrs.
Stanhope to enter into my cause.”
She looked from one to another with a little rising colour, divining
what the subject would be. For once in her life Mrs. Stanhope was the
dull one, not understanding her ally’s change of front. She thought he
was about to betray the conspiracy into which he had just seduced her,
and that Evelyn’s dislike and opposition would put an end to the
delightful commotions of the marriage feast. “Oh,” she cried, “don’t
tell her. She will never consent.”
“She is so very reasonable that I hope she will consent,” said Rowland.
“My dear, it is just this, that there is no reason in the world why we
should wait. I would like to be married as soon as the arrangements can
be made. I think you won’t refuse to see all the arguments in favour of
this: and that there are very few against it.”
Evelyn grew red and then grew pale, and finally with a little catch in
her breath asked how long that would be?
“About three weeks,” said Rowland, holding her hand and patting it as if
to soothe a child.
Her limbs trembled a little under her, and she sat down in the nearest
chair. “It is a little sudden,” she said.
“My dear----let’s get it over,” said Rowland, his excitement showing
through his usual sobriety like a face through a veil. “It’s a great
change, but it is the first that is the worst. You and I, as soon as
we’re together, will settle down into each other’s ways, and be very
happy. I know _I_ shall, and some of it’ll rub off upon you. There’s
nothing in the world you can wish for that I shan’t be ready to do. It
is only the first step that will be a trouble. Let’s get it over,” he
cried, with a quiver in his voice.
This is not the usual way in which a man speaks to his bride of their
marriage, but it is a very true way if people would be more sincere. And
especially in the circumstances in which he and she stood, not young
either of them, and taking fully into consideration all the mingled
motives that go to make a satisfactory union of two lives. Mrs.
Stanhope, to whom the conventional was everything, listened in horror,
wondering how Evelyn would take this; but Evelyn took it very well,
agreeing in it, and seeing the good sense of what her betrothed said. It
was the first step that would be the worst. After that habit would come
in and make them natural to each other. And to get over that first step,
and to settle down quietly to the mutual companionship in which she too
felt there was every prospect of satisfaction and content, would no
doubt be a good thing. It was somewhat overwhelming to look forward to
such a tremendous change so soon. But she agreed silently that there
was no reason for delay, and that all he said was perfectly reasonable.
“I cannot say anything against it,” she said quietly. “I have no doubt
you are right. It seems a little sudden. I could have wished a little
more time.”
“To think of it?” he said quietly. “Yes, my dear, if you had not made up
your mind, that would be quite reasonable. But you have quite made up
your mind.”
“Yes,” she said, “I have made up my mind.”
“Then thinking of it is no longer of any use--because it is in reality
done, and there’s no way out of it. So the best thing is to carry the
plan into execution, and think no more. Come,” said Rowland with an air
of great complaisance, “I’ll yield a little I’ll say a month--that will
leave quite time enough for everything,” he said, with a glance at Mrs.
Stanhope to which she replied with a slight, scarcely perceptible nod of
the head. And then it was all arranged, without difficulty and without
any knowledge on Miss Ferrars’ part of the negotiations that had gone on
before. Evelyn was much overwhelmed by the present her friend insisted
upon making her, of her wedding dress, which turned out to be of the
richest satin, and trimmed with the most beautiful lace, to the
consternation of the bride, who remonstrated strongly. “How could you
think of spending so much money? it is robbing the children--and it is
far too grand for me.” “My dear,” said Mrs. Stanhope, the little
hypocrite, “if you think how much you have done for the children, and
saved me loads of money! I can afford that and more too out of what I
have saved through you.” Evelyn was confounded by this generosity, both
of gift and speech; but as the dress did not arrive until the day before
the ceremony, there was not much time to think about it, and her mind
was naturally full of many subjects more important. The same cause kept
her even from remarking the extraordinary fuss in the station on the
wedding day--the flags flying, the carpets that were put down for the
bride’s procession, the decorations of the chapel. She scarcely saw them
indeed, her mind being otherwise taken up. And when the Governor was
brought up to her to be introduced, and the General followed him, both
with an air of being royal princes at the least, amid the obsequious
court of officers, Evelyn was easily persuaded that it was because they
had chosen this day to make their inspection, and that their presence at
the station was quite natural. “How fortunate for you that they are both
here together,” she said to Mrs. Stanhope. “Now surely Fred will get
what you want so much for him.” “Oh, he will get it, he will get it!”
Mrs. Stanhope cried, hysterically. “Thanks to you, you darling, thanks
to you!” “What have I to do with it?” said Evelyn. She was now Mrs.
Rowland, and her mind was full of many things. It was a nuisance to have
so many people about, all drawn, she supposed, in the train of the great
men. As for the great men themselves, they were, of course, like any
other gentlemen to Evelyn: they did not excite her by their greatness.
She was a little surprised by all the splendour, the sumptuous table,
the crowd of people; but took it for granted that one half at least was
accidental, and that though it was quite unappropriate to an occasion so
serious as a middle-aged marriage, it might be good for Fred Stanhope,
who had so long been after an appointment, which always eluded his
grasp.
Thus the bride accepted, without knowing it, the extraordinary honours
that were done her, while all the station stood amazed by the number and
greatness of the guests. The Lieutenant-Governor came without a murmur
to compliment the great engineer. He would not have done it for Fred
Stanhope, who was Brevet-Major, and thought himself a much greater man
than Rowland. Neither would the General commanding have come to Fred
unless he had known him in private, or had some special interest in him.
But they all collected to the wedding of the man who had made the
railroads and ditches--a proof, the military people thought, how
abominably they were neglected by Government, though it could not
sustain itself without them, not for a day! They were, however, all of
them deeply impressed by the greatness that had come upon Miss Ferrars,
whom they had pitied and patronised, or even snubbed during her
humiliation--by the splendour of her dress, and of the breakfast, and of
the bridegroom’s presents to her--and still more, by the manner in which
she received the congratulations of the big wigs without the least
excitement, as if she had been all her life in the habit of entertaining
the great ones of the earth. “Give you my word,” said the little
subaltern Bremner, who was an ugly little fellow, and had not much to
recommend him, “she was not a bit more civil to the best of them than
she was to me.” “Looked as if she had been used to nothing but swells
all her life,” said another. “And as if she thought one just as good as
another.” On the whole, it was this that struck the company, especially
the gentlemen, most--that she was just as civil to a little lieutenant
as she was to the General commanding. The ladies had other things to
distract their minds, the jewels, the bridal dress, the table. Such a
commotion had never been made in the Station before by any marriage: the
Colonel’s daughter’s wedding feast was nothing in comparison: and that
this should all be for the poor lady who had been nothing more than
nursery governess to the Stanhopes, was quite bewildering. When the pair
went away, the whole Station turned out. It was, of course, quite late
when they started, as they were only going as far as Cumsalla. The
Station was lit with coloured lamps, which blazed softly in the evening
dusk, turning that oasis in the sand into a magical place. And the big
moon got up with a bound into the sky, as she sometimes does when at the
full, thrusting her large round lustrous face into the centre of all, as
if to see what it meant. “By Jove, she’s come out to look at you too,”
said the bridegroom to his bride. He was considerably excited, as was
but natural--enchanted with the success of all his plans, and the
_éclat_ of the whole performance. It was altogether a trying moment--for
perhaps something of a vulgar fibre in the man was betrayed by his
eagerness that it should be “a grand affair,” and his delight in its
success.
But fortunately Evelyn was not in possession of her usual
clear-sightedness, and she was still of opinion that the presence of the
great people had been accidental, and the extraordinary sumptuousness of
all the preparations a piece of loving extravagance on the part of the
Stanhopes, which should not, if she could help it, go without its
reward. “I hope,” she said, “the moon is loyal, and means it as a
demonstration for the Lieutenant-Governor, as all these rejoicings have
been already to-day.”
“Not a bit of it,” said Rowland; “all the demonstrations have been for
you. The Governor and the General were only my--I mean, Fred Stanhope’s
guests.”
Evelyn thought her husband must have had too much champagne: but she
would not let this vex her or disturb her, seeing that it was so great
an occasion. She calmed him with her soothing voice, and did not show
the faint movement of fright and alarm that was in her breast.
“I am very glad they were there, anyhow,” she said, “for Fred’s sake. I
hope he will get that appointment now. It was a fortunate chance for
him.”
“It was no chance at all,” said Rowland, half piqued at her obtuseness.
“I dare say it will be good for him as well: but it was all to do honour
to you, my dear. I was determined that you should have all the honour
and glory a bride could have. These swells came for you, and all that is
for you, the illuminations, and everything. But when I saw you among
them, Evelyn, I just said--how superior you were to everything of the
sort. Talk about women’s heads being turned! You went from one place to
another, and looked down upon it all like a queen.”
“Hush! hush!” she said; “indeed I did not look down upon anything. I did
not think of it. I am very different from a queen. I am setting out upon
a great voyage, and my mind is too full of that to think of swells, as
you call them. You are the swell that occupies me most.”
“You are _my_ queen,” said Rowland in his pride and delight, “and I am
not good enough to tie your shoe: for I’ve been thinking of a great
flash to dazzle them all, while you were thinking of--look back, there’s
the bouquet going off! nobody in this presidency has seen such fireworks
as they’ve got there to-night. I wanted every black baby of them all to
remember the day of Miss Ferrars’ wedding. And now when I look at you,
I’m ashamed of it all, to think such folly as that should be any honour
to you!”
These devoted sentiments, however, were not the prevalent feeling at the
Station, where there was a ball after the fireworks with everything of
the most costly and splendid description, and where the health of the
bride and bridegroom was drank with acclamations in far too excellent
champagne. The ladies who had daughters looked out contemptuously over
the heads of the subalterns to see if there was not another railway man
in the background who would give a similar triumph to one of their
girls. But young railway men are not any more satisfactory than young
soldiers, and there was not another James Rowland far or near. When it
was all over, Helen Stanhope rushed into her husband’s arms with tears
of joy, “You have got it, Fred,” she said, “you have got it! and it’s
all on account of that kind thought you had (for it was your thought)
when you went and fetched Evelyn Ferrars home out of her misery. It’s
brought a blessing as I knew it would.”
Fred pulled his long moustache, and was not very ready in his reply. “I
wish we hadn’t got so tired of it, Nelly. It might be a kind thought at
the first, but neither you nor I kept up to the start. God Almighty
didn’t owe us much for that.”
“Oh, don’t be profane,” cried his wife, “taking God’s name in vain! She
didn’t think so. What would she have done without us? And it’s all
thanks to her that we have got it at last.”