A DISAGREEABLE INTERVIEW.
“Well!” said Mr. West, when he found himself alone in the smoking-room
with Lord Anthony. How much can be expressed in that exclamation.
“It was not well, sir. She will have nothing to say to me. I had no
luck.”
“Do you mean with Maddie?” exclaimed her father, in a tone of fretful
amazement.
“Yes. I had a long talk with her, and she won’t have anything to say to
me!”
“What--what reason did she give you?” demanded Mr. West. “What reason,
I say?”
“None, except that she did not wish to marry me; and she seemed to
think that reason _enough_.”
“And did you not press her?”
“It was of no use; but, all the same, I intend to try again--that is,
if there is no one else, and Miss West has no attachment elsewhere.”
“Attachment elsewhere? Nonsense!” irritably. “Why, she was at _school_
till I came home--till she met me on the steamer with her governess!
You saw her yourself; so you may put that out of your head. She’s a
mere girl, and does not know her own mind; but I know mine, and if
she marries to please me, I’ll settle forty thousand pounds on her on
her wedding day, and allow her five thousand a year. It’s not many
girls in England who have as much pinned to their petticoat; and she
will have considerably more at my death. If you stick to Maddie, you
will see she will marry you eventually. She knows you, and is getting
used to you--coming in and out in London; and you have a great pull
over other men, staying here in the same house, with lots of wet days
perhaps!”
The following morning Madeline was sent for by her father. He felt that
he could speak with more authority from the ’vantage ground of the
hearthrug in his own writing-room; and after breakfast was the time he
selected for the audience. Evidently Madeline had no idea of what was
awaiting her, for she came up to him and laid her hand upon his arm,
and gave him an extra morning kiss.
“I suppose it’s about this picnic to the Devil’s Pie-dish?” she began.
In no part of the world has the devil so much and such a various
property as in Ireland--glens, mountains, bridges, punch-bowls,
bits, ladders--there is scarcely a county in which he has not some
possessions--and they say he is a resident landlord.
Mr. West propped himself against the mantelpiece and surveyed her
critically. She was certainly a most beautiful creature--in her
parent’s fond eyes--and quite fitted to be sister-in-law to a duke.
“It’s not about the picnic; that must be put off, the day has broken.
It’s something far more important. Ahem!” clearing his throat. “What’s
all _this_ about you and Foster?”
“Why?” she stammered, colouring deeply, and struck by a peculiar ring
in his voice.
“_Why?_” impatiently. “He tells me that he proposed to you yesterday,
and you refused him point-blank; and now, in my turn, _I_ ask why?”
Madeline was silent. She began to feel very uncomfortable, and her
heart beat fearfully fast.
“Well, is it true?” he demanded sharply.
“Yes, quite true,” fiddling with her bangles.
“And may I know why you have said _no_ to a highly eligible young
man, of a station far above your own, the son of a duke--a man young,
agreeable, whose name has never appeared in any flagrant society
scandal, who is well-principled and--and--good-looking--a suitor who
has my warmest approval? Come now.” And he took off his glasses and
rapped them on his thumb nail.
“I do not wish to marry,” she replied in a low voice.
“And you _do_ wish to drive me out of my senses! What foolery, what
tommy rot! Of course, you _must_ marry some day--you are bound to as my
heiress; and I look to you to do something decent, and to bring me in
an equivalent return for my outlay.”
“And you wish me to marry Lord Anthony?” inquired his unhappy daughter,
pale to the lips. Oh, if she could but muster up courage to confess
the truth! But she dared not, with those fiery little eyes fixed upon
her so fiercely. “Father, I cannot. I cannot, indeed!” she whispered,
wringing her hands together in an agony.
“Why?” he demanded in a hoarse, dry voice.
“Would you barter me and your money for a title?” she cried, plucking
up some spirit in her desperation, “as if I was not a living creature,
and had no feeling. I _have_ feeling. I have a heart; and it is useless
for you to attempt to control it--it is out of your power!”
This unexpected speech took her parent aback. She spoke with such
passionate vehemence that he scarcely recognized his gay, cool,
smiling, and unemotional Madeline.
This imperious girl, with trembling hands, sharply knit brows, and low,
agitated voice, was entirely another person. This was not Madeline,
his everyday daughter. At last it dawned upon his mind that there was
something behind it all, some curious hidden reason in the background,
some secret cause for this astonishing behaviour! Suddenly griping
her arm in a vice-like grasp, as an awful possibility stirred his
inflammable spirit, he whispered through his teeth--
“Who is it?”
“Who is who?” she gasped faintly.
Ah! now it was coming. She shook as if she had the ague.
“Who is this scoundrel, this low-born adventurer that you are in
love with? Is it the man you knew at school? Is it the damned
dancing-master, or some half-starved curate? Is it him you want to
marry? Madeline, on your oath,” shaking her in his furious excitement
and passion of apprehension, “is it him you want to marry?” he
reiterated.
Madeline turned cold, but she looked full into the enraged face, so
close to hers, and as he repeated, “On your oath, remember!” she
answered with unfaltering and distinctly audible voice, “On my
oath--_no!_” She spoke the truth, too! Was she not married to him
already? Oh, if her father only guessed it! She dared not speculate on
the idea! He would be worse, far worse than her worst anticipations.
She could _never_ tell him now.
“Father, I have said ‘No,’” she continued. “Let go my hand, you hurt
me.” With the utterance of the last word she broke down and collapsed
upon the nearest chair, sobbing hysterically.
“What the devil are you crying for?” he demanded angrily. “What I’ve
said and done, I’ve done for your good. Take your own time, in reason;
but marry you _shall_, and a title. Foster is the man of my choice. I
don’t see what you can bring against him. We will all live together,
and, for my own part, I should _like_ it. You go to no poorer home,
you become a lady of rank,--what more can any girl want? Money as much
as she can spend, a husband and a father who hit it off to a T, both
only too anxious to please her in every possible way, rank, and riches;
what more would you have, eh?”
“Yes, I know all that!” gasped Madeline, making a great effort to
master her agitation. She must protest now or never. “I know everything
you would say; but I shall never marry Lord Anthony, and I would be
wrong to let you think so. I like him; but, if he persists, I shall
hate him. I have said ‘No’ once; let that be sufficient for him--and
_you_!” Then, dreading the consequences of this rashly courageous
speech, she got up and hurried out of the room, leaving her father in
sole possession of the rug, and actually gasping for speech, his thin
lips opening and shutting like a fish’s mouth--when the fish has just
been landed. At last he found his voice.
“I don’t care one (a big D) for Madeline and her fancies, and this
thunder in the air has upset her. A woman’s no means yes; and she shall
marry Foster as sure as my name is Robert West.” To Lord Anthony he
said, “I’d a little quiet talk with Madeline, and your name came up.
She admitted that she liked you; so you just bide your time and wait.
Everything comes to those who wait.”
To this Lord Tony nodded a dubious acquiescence. The poor fellow was
thinking of his creditors. How would they like this motto? and how much
longer would _they_ wait?
“I told you she liked you,” pursued Mr. West consolingly--“she said
so; so you have not even to _begin_ with a little aversion. She has
set her face against marriage; she declared she would not marry, and
what’s more--and this scores for you--she gave me her word of honour
that there was no one she _wished_ to marry. So it’s a clear course
and no favour, and the best man wins. And remember, Tony,” said her
shrewd little parent, thumping, as he spoke, that gentleman’s reluctant
shoulder, “that I back you, and it’s a good thing to have the father
and the money on your side, let me tell you.”
Ten days went by very quietly--the calm after the storm. Mr. West never
alluded to his daughter’s foolish speech, and kissed her and patted her
on the shoulder that selfsame night, as if there had been no little
scene between them in the morning. He was waiting. Lord Anthony, even
in Madeline’s opinion, behaved beautifully. He did not hold himself too
markedly aloof, and yet he never thrust his society upon her, or sought
to have a word with her alone. He also was waiting.