"Go down to the Major; give him my compliments, and say that I will be
with him in a moment."
She then proceeded to put on a clean collar and a fresh and becoming tie
of cherry-coloured ribbon at her throat. Her dress was dark brown. She
looked a very neat and comely little person when she entered the Major's
presence. The Major, however, had no special eye for Mrs Fortescue's
comeliness. He looked rather excited. He was holding his stick in his
hand as though he did not wish to part with it, and when he stood up, it
was with considerable difficulty that Mrs Fortescue could get him to
sit down again.
"Dear, dear!" he said. "Dear, dear! I don't know how to apologise for
coming to you at such an hour before lunch. I do hope you will forgive
me."
Here he deliberately paced from the door to the mantelpiece. The room
was small, and he accomplished the distance in a couple of strides; but
his whole manner was so confused and _distrait_ that Mrs Fortescue
wondered if the good man had taken leave of his senses and was about to
propose to her. She was, however, thoroughly sensible and practical;
and, knowing that the Major had certainly no money wherewith to support
a second wife, turned her mind from the subject and endeavoured to set
him at his ease.
"Do sit down," she said. "Do you know--I am sorry to have to say it--
but it fidgets me dreadfully to see people pacing about my
drawing-room."
The Major dropped in the nearest chair as though he had been shot.
"May I take your stick from you?" said Mrs Fortescue.
He resigned it with the expression of one who was about to suffer
martyrdom.
"Now, that is much better," she said. "But I would suggest an
easy-chair; there is one near the window. You can then lean back and
cross your legs. My late dear husband said he never felt comfortable
unless he could lean back in his chair and cross his legs. Ah! how well
I remember him; such a dear fellow, so devoted to me. I have never
ceased to mourn for him. I could never put another in his place."
"Now I have set him at his ease, and got him to abandon the ridiculous
idea of proposing to me," thought the widow. "Yes; he looks quite
happy, but I do wonder what he wants. I could have taken the
opportunity in the absence of the dear girls of looking over the house
linen; but he will dawdle on--I know he will. What can he have to say?"
The Major was staring hard at Mrs Fortescue, but she soon perceived
that though he was looking at her, he was not seeing her. He was, in
fact, looking through her at something which considerably disturbed,
excited, and delighted him.
"The Heathcotes have gone to London, have they not?" he said.
"Yes," she replied at once. "My children have left me for the day; but
they are coming back to-night--my Brenda and my Florence, as I call
them--for they are to me, I assure you, Major Reid, just as though they
were my very own children. For years I have given them a mother's care,
and--sweet girls!--they have repaid me amply."
"They are fine girls, both of them," said the Major.
"Fine!" said Mrs Fortescue. "I should scarcely express what the girls
are by that word. Aristocratic--I should call them; more particularly
Florence, and yet in some ways Brenda has a rare dignity of her own--
like a sweet winter rose: that is what I call her; whereas Florence is
like the passion-flower. Marvellous grace that child possesses! He
certainly will be a happy man who secures her."
"I am coming to that," said Major Reid. "I am coming to that. I want
to confide in you."
Mrs Fortescue became intensely interested. She had not looked for a
confidence in this visit of the Major's; but now she saw by his red face
and by the way his lips twitched that he had really come on special
business.
"The fact is this," he said. "That young dog of mine, Michael, has had
the audacity to fall in love with your--well, your adopted child. He is
madly in love with Florence, and I have an idea that she responds to his
attachment. There; I have told you the truth. I thought it only
right."
"You will excuse me for a minute," said Mrs Fortescue.
She got up abruptly and left the room. The moment she had done so, the
Major sprang from his easy-chair, took hold of his stick, and began to
pace about more energetically than ever.
"If that woman puts a spoke in Mike's wheel, I shall hate her as long as
I live!" he thought. "She is just the spiteful sort to do it. I shall
have to be very wary when I talk to her."
Meanwhile, Mrs Fortescue had really left the room to recover her
self-control. But she was a woman, and could quickly achieve her
object. She came back looking as calm as though the Major had not
brought her any special information.
"You will, Major Reid, forgive me," she said, "for having left you so
suddenly, but your news startled me."
"Naturally, quite naturally," he answered.
He was clasping his stick between his two hands and leaning on it. His
stick gave him a lot of support.
"Quite naturally," he repeated.
"As my dear Florence's mother--we will assume for the time being that I
hold that position--you are quite right to tell me, Major Reid. But
when--when did Michael give my dear girl to understand that he cared for
her!"
"As far as I can make out, he has always cared for her," said the Major;
"but I don't think he showed her any serious attention until Christmas
Day. You must have noticed that they were a good deal together then."
"Oh well--I naturally observed that your son was pleased to be with the
prettiest girl in the room."
"Quite so; most natural, most natural," said the Major. "Well,
yesterday they took a walk together, and then he told her that he--he
loved her."
"He ought to have spoken to me or to Mr Timmins."
"I don't agree with you, madam," said the Major. "I think the person
most concerned ought to be first talked to on so essential a matter. My
boy is the very soul of honour. You know what a good family we belong
to. The Reids of Ardnacarrick can hold up their heads with any one. It
is true, I am only the younger son; but there is never any saying what
my boy may inherit by and by. Anyhow, he is a good boy, a brave boy, a
true soul. He spoke openly to the girl, and she--"
"Yes; that is the important part," said Mrs Fortescue. "What did
Florence say?"
"She was wonderfully careful, all things considered."
"I have taught her that," said Mrs Fortescue, drawing herself up. "I
have taught her that of all qualities self-control is the most essential
in the case of a woman."
"She asked him," continued the Major, "to give her a week to decide.
She has gone to town to-day. Most probably she will tell her guardian."
"Oh dear, oh dear!" said Mrs Fortescue. Then she added, the colour
rushing into her cheeks: "Do you think it was quite fair of your son to
try to entangle Florence before she met any other man?"
"Madam," said Major Reid, "I must not permit such a word. You must
excuse me if I ask you to recall it. The Reids of Ardnacarrick may very
justly unite themselves with any family in England."
"I am saying nothing against you, Major; nor indeed against your son.
But Florence has only just left school: she is but eighteen years of
age, and will be, I understand, exceedingly well off. She has also
great beauty. My hope was that I could take a house in London during
the spring and bring both girls out."
"Yes!" said the Major, his face hot with indignation. "And marry
Florence to some dissipated _roue_ or some horrible American
millionaire! My son is a gentleman, and surely," he added, the anxiety
in his face causing him to clutch his stick more violently than ever,
"they will have money enough between them."
"I do not know," said Mrs Fortescue, "why you call it between them,
when it happens to be entirely on one side."
The Major was quite silent for a minute. He felt the indignity of his
present position, and would have given a good deal to put himself
outside Mrs Fortescue's house at the present moment. But as he had
come there with the express intention of finding out what Florence's
fortune would be, it seemed absurd to go away without doing so.
Accordingly, he said, after a pause--
"My dear madam, we have known each other for years."
"We have," said Mrs Fortescue.
"And neither you nor I are to blame if the young people fall in love
with each other."
"That is certainly true," said Mrs Fortescue. "I never encouraged it."
"Oh!" said the Major. "Can you say that? You were always asking my boy
over to play tennis or croquet with the girls during their holidays: in
fact, he was always in and out of the house. He was the only young man
you admitted into their society."
"True--very true," she said. "I did wrong; I did not think. I hope,
Major, you won't use this knowledge to my disadvantage."
"By no means," he replied. "I should be more than sorry to injure your
position at the present moment: my entire desire, my one object is to be
as friendly with you as possible. I have come to you at the first
possible moment to tell you what I myself know--that the young people
are much attracted each to the other, and that a marriage is likely to
take place between them. It is impossible for either you or me to
prevent such a union: indeed, we should be doing wrong were we to
attempt it. It is best, therefore, for us to be friends in the matter.
Two heads are better than one. Florence need never be ashamed of
herself as Mrs Reid. As my daughter-in-law she will have a good
position, and as my son's wife she will be a truly happy woman. You
can, of course, make yourself disagreeable at the present moment, but
that will not prevent the marriage; for, after all, you were only paid
to be good to the girls."
Mrs Fortescue sprang indignantly to her feet. People never spoke
directly about money at Langdale. No one ever before had alluded to the
fact that she had made a nice harvest out of the girls. No one had been
so ill-bred; but now it flashed across her mind that it was true: it
also came over her that she had been envied amongst the most
aristocratic members of society in Langdale, because of her chaperonage
of Brenda and Florence Heathcote. Accordingly, she sank down again with
a faint smile on her face.
"After all," she said, her words coming out with a pause between each,
"we had best, as you say, be friendly in the matter."
"Yes; that is just what I think. I can help you if you can help me--"
"Won't you stay and have lunch with me?" said Mrs Fortescue suddenly.
The Major loathed having lunch anywhere except at home, where he
invariably ate a chop specially prepared, and drank a glass of old port.
The present occasion was too serious, however, to make him consider
either his chop or port.
"I shall be delighted to have lunch with you," he said.
Mrs Fortescue thought of her cold mutton and the very sour claret which
she usually had on the sideboard but never drank. Still, what did food
matter? The moment was too important. She reflected with satisfaction
that she had one or two bottles of champagne in her wine cellar. She
would have one opened for the Major. He was fond of good champagne--
that she knew. Afterwards he would talk to her; they would, as he
expressed it, get to understand each other.
She left the room to give some directions with regard to lunch, and came
back in a few minutes ready to listen to the Major. On purpose, she
drew him into other channels of conversation, chatting lightly and
agreeably about the girls and about other matters, even going to the
length of asking his advice as to what port of town would be the best
for her to take a house for the coming season.
Lunch, after all, was a poor affair, when it did arrive; but the Major
gallantly ate his cold mutton and drank enough champagne to put him into
good humour.
After the meal was over, they went into the drawing-room again, where
excellent black coffee was served, and then the Major found courage to
ask Mrs Fortescue that question which was burning on the top of his
tongue.
"You know," he said, "that my boy Michael could not possibly marry at
present, deeply as he loves Florence, were she not an heiress."
"I quite understand that," said Mrs Fortescue.
"You, my dear madam, probably know something of what her expectations
are. She is a very young girl, only eighteen, but there is no sense in
her waiting to marry until she is twenty-one; for marriage, as a rule,
has an equal effect with coming of age, as far as money is concerned.
Can you give me the least idea what she is likely to inherit?"
"No; I can't," said Mrs Fortescue bluntly. "I have often and often
tried to find out, but have never succeeded. My idea, however, is--
seeing that the girls have been spared no expense whatever since the
death of their parents, and knowing that their parents, during their
lifetime, were very well off--that they will both be rich. I know that
Mr Timmins has spent hundreds a year on their education, and as to the
amount he has devoted to their dress, it has really amazed me, although
it has been no affair of mine. Florence now possesses a set of sealskin
which would delight any duchess in the land, and there was a little talk
last year of giving her a similar set of chinchilla. She looks better
in furs than her sister, who requires altogether a simpler style of
dress. The girls travelled up to town first-class to-day and were met
by Mr Timmins' man--his confidential clerk: that I happen to know; but
I have not the slightest idea whether Florence Heathcote's fortune
represents a pound a year, or two or three thousand."
"Two or three thousand!" murmured the Major.
A greedy look came into his old eyes. He suddenly rose to his feet.
"I am very much obliged," he said. "You have frankly told me all you
know."
"Most frankly; most unreservedly. You will regard our conversation as
confidential?"
"Certainly: it would not be fair to mention it to anybody else until the
week for which Florence has stipulated expires," said the old man. "But
now; let me assure you, that were the dear girl blessed with nothing at
all in the way of money she would be equally precious both to my son and
to me."
"Oh, you old hypocrite!" murmured Mrs Fortescue under her breath, but
she did not say the words aloud: people don't in polite society.
The Major took his leave.
"Your champagne was excellent," he said, as the widow saw him to the
door. "You must let me know some day where you get it, and, of course,
when the week is up and everything is comfortably arranged, you and
Brenda and Florence will give us the pleasure of dining with us at the
Moat."
"Thank you so much, Major," said Mrs Fortescue.