Containing an Answer to the Love Letter.
Alice had had a week allowed to her to write her answer; but she
sent it off before the full week was past. "Why should I keep him in
suspense?" she said. "If it is to be so, there can be no good in not
saying so at once." Then she thought, also, that if this were to be
her destiny it might be well for Mr. Grey that all his doubts on the
matter should be dispelled. She had treated him badly,--very badly.
She had so injured him that the remembrance of the injury must always
be a source of misery to her; but she owed to him above everything to
let him know what were her intentions as soon as they were settled.
She tried to console herself by thinking that the wound to him would
be easy to cure. "He also is not passionate," she said. But in so
saying she deceived herself. He was a man in whom Love could be very
passionate;--and was, moreover, one in whom Love could hardly be
renewed.
Each morning Kate asked her whether her answer was written; and on
the third day after Christmas, just before dinner, Alice said that
she had written it, and that it was gone.
"But it isn't post-day," said Kate;--for the post illuminated Vavasor
but three days a week.
"I have given a boy sixpence to take it to Shap," said Alice,
blushing.
"And what have you said?" asked Kate, taking hold of the other's arm.
"I have kept my promise," said Alice; "and do you keep yours by
asking no further questions."
"My sister,--my own sister," said Kate. And then, as Alice met her
embrace, there was no longer any doubt as to the nature of the reply.
After this there was of course much close discussion between them as
to what other steps should now be taken. Kate wanted her cousin to
write immediately to Mr. Grey, and was somewhat frightened when Alice
declined to do so till she had received a further letter from George.
"You have not proposed any horrid stipulations to him?" exclaimed
Kate.
"I don't know what you may call horrid stipulations," said Alice,
gravely. "My conditions have not been very hard, and I do not think
you would have disapproved them."
"But he!--He is so impetuous! Will he disapprove them?"
"I have told him-- But, Kate, this is just what I did not mean to
tell you."
"Why should there be secrets between us?" said Kate.
"There shall be none, then. I have told him that I cannot bring
myself to marry him instantly;--that he must allow me twelve
months to wear off, if I can in that time, much of sadness and of
self-reproach which has fallen to my lot."
"Twelve months, Alice?"
"Listen to me. I have said so. But I have told him also that if he
wishes it still, I will at once tell papa and grandpapa that I hold
myself as engaged to him, so that he may know that I bind myself
to him as far as it is possible that I should do so. And I have
added something else, Kate," she continued to say after a slight
pause,--"something else which I can tell you, though I could tell it
to no other person. I can tell you because you would do, and will
do the same. I have told him that any portion of my money is at his
service which may be needed for his purposes before that twelve
months is over."
"Oh, Alice! No;--no. You shall not do that. It is too generous." And
Kate perhaps felt at the moment that her brother was a man to whom
such an offer could hardly be made with safety.
"But I have done it. Mercury, with sixpence in his pocket, is already
posting my generosity at Shap. And, to tell the truth, Kate, it is
no more than fair. He has honestly told me that while the old Squire
lives he will want my money to assist him in a career of which I do
much more than approve. It has been my earnest wish to see him in
Parliament. It will now be the most earnest desire of my heart;--the
one thing as to which I shall feel an intense anxiety. How then can
I have the face to bid him wait twelve months for that which is
specially needed in six months' time? It would be like the workhouses
which are so long in giving bread, that in the mean time the wretches
starve."
"But the wretch shan't starve," said Kate. "My money, small as it is,
will carry him over this bout. I have told him that he shall have it,
and that I expect him to spend it. Moreover, I have no doubt that
Aunt Greenow would lend me what he wants."
"But I should not wish him to borrow from Aunt Greenow. She would
advance him the money, as you say, upon stamped paper, and then talk
of it."
"He shall have mine," said Kate.
"And who are you?" said Alice, laughing. "You are not going to be his
wife?"
"He shall not touch your money till you are his wife," said Kate,
very seriously. "I wish you would consent to change your mind about
this stupid tedious year, and then you might do as you pleased. I
have no doubt such a settlement might be made as to the property
here, when my grandfather hears of it, as would make you ultimately
safe."
"And do you think I care to be ultimately safe, as you call it? Kate,
my dear, you do not understand me."
"I suppose not. And yet I thought that I had known something about
you."
"It is because I do not care for the safety of which you speak that I
am now going to become your brother's wife. Do you suppose that I do
not see that I must run much risk?"
"You prefer the excitement of London to the tranquillity, may I say,
of Cambridgeshire."
"Exactly;--and therefore I have told George that he shall have my
money whenever he wants it."
Kate was very persistent in her objection to this scheme till
George's answer came. His answer to Alice was accompanied by a letter
to his sister, and after that Kate said nothing more about the
money question. She said no more then; but it must not therefore be
supposed that she was less determined than she had been that no part
of Alice's fortune should be sacrificed to her brother's wants;--at
any rate before Alice should become her brother's wife. But her
brother's letter for the moment stopped her mouth. It would be
necessary that she should speak to him before she again spoke to
Alice.
In what words Alice had written her assent it will be necessary that
the reader should know, in order that something may be understood
of the struggle which she made upon the occasion; but they shall be
given presently, when I come to speak of George Vavasor's position as
he received them. George's reply was very short and apparently very
frank. He deprecated the delay of twelve months, and still hoped to
be able to induce her to be more lenient to him. He advised her to
write to Mr. Grey at once,--and as regarded the Squire he gave her
_carte blanche_ to act as she pleased. If the Squire required any
kind of apology, expression of sorrow,--and asking for pardon, or
such like, he, George, would, under the circumstances as they now
existed, comply with the requisition most willingly. He would regard
it as a simple form, made necessary by his coming marriage. As to
Alice's money, he thanked her heartily for her confidence. If the
nature of his coming contest at Chelsea should make it necessary,
he would use her offer as frankly as it had been made. Such was his
letter to Alice. What was contained in his letter to Kate, Alice
never knew.
Then came the business of telling this new love tale,--the
third which poor Alice had been forced to tell her father and
grandfather;--and a grievous task it was. In this matter she feared
her father much more than her grandfather, and therefore she resolved
to tell her grandfather first;--or, rather, she determined that she
would tell the Squire, and that in the mean time Kate should talk to
her father.
"Grandpapa," she said to him the morning after she had received her
cousin's second letter.--The old man was in the habit of breakfasting
alone in a closet of his own, which was called his dressing-room,
but in which he kept no appurtenances for dressing, but in lieu of
them a large collection of old spuds and sticks and horse's-bits.
There was a broken spade here, and a hoe or two; and a small table
in the corner was covered with the debris of tradesmen's bills
from Penrith, and dirty scraps which he was wont to call his farm
accounts.--"Grandpapa," said Alice, rushing away at once into the
middle of her subject, "you told me the other day that you thought
I ought to be--married."
"Did I, my dear? Well, yes; so I did. And so you ought;--I mean to
that Mr. Grey."
"That is impossible, sir."
"Then what's the use of your coming and talking to me about it?"
This made Alice's task not very easy; but, nevertheless, she
persevered. "I am come, grandpapa, to tell you of another
engagement."
"Another!" said he. And by the tone of his voice he accused his
granddaughter of having a larger number of favoured suitors than
ought to fall to the lot of any young lady. It was very hard upon
her, but still she went on.
"You know," said she, "that some years ago I was to have been married
to my cousin George;"--and then she paused.
"Well," said the old man.
"And I remember you told me then that you were much pleased."
"So I was. George was doing well then; or,--which is more
likely,--had made us believe that he was doing well. Have you made it
up with him again?"
"Yes, sir."
"And that's the meaning of your jilting Mr. Grey, is it?"
Poor Alice! It is hard to explain how heavy a blow fell upon
her from the open utterance of that word! Of all words in the
language it was the one which she now most dreaded. She had called
herself a jilt, with that inaudible voice which one uses in making
self-accusations;--but hitherto no lips had pronounced the odious
word to her ears. Poor Alice! She was a jilt; and perhaps it may have
been well that the old man should tell her so.
"Grandpapa!" she said; and there was that in the tone of her voice
which somewhat softened the Squire's heart.
"Well, my dear, I don't want to be ill-natured. So you are going at
last to marry George, are you? I hope he'll treat you well; that's
all. Does your father approve of it?"
"I have told you first, sir;--because I wish to obtain your consent
to seeing George again here as your grandson."
"Never," said the old man, snarling;--"never!"
"If he has been wrong, he will beg your pardon."
"If he has been wrong! Didn't he want to squander every shilling of
the property,--property which has never belonged to him;--property
which I could give to Tom, Dick, or Harry to-morrow, if I liked?--If
he has been wrong!"
"I am not defending him, sir;--but I thought that, perhaps, on such
an occasion as this--"
"A Tom Fool's occasion! You've got money of your own. He'll spend all
that now."
"He will be less likely to do so if you will recognise him as your
heir. Pray believe, sir, that he is not the sort of man that he was."
"He must be a very clever sort of man, I think, when he has talked
you out of such a husband as John Grey. It's astounding to me,--with
that ugly mug of his! Well, my dear, if your father approves of it,
and if George will ask my pardon,--but I don't think he ever will--"
"He will, sir. I am his messenger for as much as that."
"Oh, you are, are you? Then you may also be my messenger to him, and
tell him that, for your sake, I will let him come back here. I know
he'll insult me the first day; but I'll try and put up with it,--for
your sake, my dear. Of course I must know what your father thinks
about it."
It may be imagined that Kate's success was even less than that which
Alice achieved. "I knew it would be so," said John Vavasor, when his
niece first told him;--and as he spoke he struck his hand upon the
table. "I knew all along how it would be."
"And why should it not be so, Uncle John?"
"He is your brother, and I will not tell you why."
"You think that he is a spendthrift?"
"I think that he is as unsafe a man as ever I knew to be intrusted
with the happiness of any young woman. That is all."
"You are hard upon him, uncle."
"Perhaps so. Tell Alice this from me,--that as I have never yet been
able to get her to think anything of my opinion, I do not at all
expect that I shall be able to induce her to do so now. I will not
even make the attempt. As my son-in-law I will not receive George
Vavasor. Tell Alice that."
Alice was told her father's message; but Kate in telling it felt no
deep regret. She well knew that Alice would not be turned back from
her present intention by her father's wishes. Nor would it have
been very reasonable that she should. Her father had for many years
relieved himself from the burden of a father's cares, and now had
hardly the right to claim a father's privileges.
We will now go once again to George Vavasor's room in Cecil Street,
in which he received Alice's letter. He was dressing when it was
first brought to him; and when he recognised the handwriting he put
it down on his toilet table unopened. He put it down, and went on
brushing his hair, as though he were determined to prove to himself
that he was indifferent as to the tidings which it might contain.
He went on brushing his hair, and cleaning his teeth, and tying his
cravat carefully over his turned-down collar, while the unopened
letter lay close to his hand. Of course he was thinking of it,--of
course he was anxious,--of course his eye went to it from moment
to moment. But he carried it with him into the sitting-room still
unopened, and so it remained until after the girl had brought him his
tea and his toast. "And now," said he, as he threw himself into his
arm-chair, "let us see what the girl of my heart says to me." The
girl of his heart said to him as follows:--
MY DEAR GEORGE,
I feel great difficulty in answering your letter. Could I
have my own way, I should make no answer to it at present,
but leave it for the next six months, so that then such
answer might hereafter be made as circumstances should
seem to require. This will be little flattering to you,
but it is less flattering to myself. Whatever answer I may
make, how can anything in this affair be flattering either
to you or to me? We have been like children who have
quarrelled over our game of play, till now, at the close
of our little day of pleasure, we are fain to meet each
other in tears, and acknowledge that we have looked for
delights where no delights were to be found.
Kate, who is here, talks to me of passionate love. There
is no such passion left to me;--nor, as I think, to you
either. It would not now be possible that you and I should
come together on such terms as that. We could not stand
up together as man and wife with any hope of a happy
marriage, unless we had both agreed that such happiness
might be had without passionate love.
You will see from all this that I do not refuse your
offer. Without passion, I have for you a warm affection,
which enables me to take a livelier interest in your
career than in any other of the matters which are around
me. Of course, if I become your wife that interest will be
still closer and dearer, and I do feel that I can take in
it that concern which a wife should have in her husband's
affairs.
If it suits you, I will become your wife;--but it cannot
be quite at once. I have suffered much from the past
conflicts of my life, and there has been very much with
which I must reproach myself. I know that I have behaved
badly. Sometimes I have to undergo the doubly bitter
self-accusation of having behaved in a manner which the
world will call unfeminine. You must understand that I
have not passed through this unscathed, and I must beg
you to allow me some time for a cure. A perfect cure I
may never expect, but I think that in twelve months from
this time I may so far have recovered my usual spirit and
ease of mind as to enable me to devote myself to your
happiness. Dear George, if you will accept me under such
circumstances, I will be your wife, and will endeavour to
do my duty by you faithfully.
I have said that even now, as your cousin, I take a lively
interest in your career,--of course I mean your career as
a politician,--and especially in your hopes of entering
Parliament. I understand, accurately as I think, what you
have said about my fortune, and I perfectly appreciate
your truth and frankness. If I had nothing of my own you,
in your circumstances, could not possibly take me as your
wife. I know, moreover, that your need of assistance from
my means is immediate rather than prospective. My money
may be absolutely necessary to you within this year,
during which, as I tell you most truly, I cannot bring
myself to become a married woman. But my money shall
be less cross-grained than myself. You will take it as
frankly as I mean it when I say, that whatever you want
for your political purposes shall be forthcoming at your
slightest wish. Dear George, let me have the honour and
glory of marrying a man who has gained a seat in the
Parliament of Great Britain! Of all positions which a man
may attain that, to me, is the grandest.
I shall wait for a further letter from you before I speak
either to my father or to my grandfather. If you can tell
me that you accede to my views, I will at once try to
bring about a reconciliation between you and the Squire.
I think that that will be almost easier than inducing my
father to look with favour upon our marriage. But I need
hardly say that should either one or the other oppose
it,--or should both do so,--that would not turn me from my
purpose.
I also wait for your answer to write a last line to Mr.
Grey.
Your affectionate cousin,
ALICE VAVASOR.
George Vavasor when he had read the letter threw it carelessly from
him on to the breakfast table, and began to munch his toast. He threw
it carelessly from him, as though taking a certain pride in his
carelessness. "Very well," said he; "so be it. It is probably the
best thing that I could do, whatever the effect may be on her." Then
he took up his newspaper. But before the day was over he had made
many plans,--plans made almost unconsciously,--as to the benefit
which might accrue to him from the offer which she had made of her
money. And before night he had written that reply to her of which we
have heard the contents; and had written also to his sister Kate a
letter, of which Kate had kept the contents to herself.