In which Mr. Fox-Cordery meets with a repulse.
Shortly afterward Mr. Fox-Cordery saw Mrs. Grantham issue from the
house and advance toward him. With conspicuous gallantry he went to
meet her, and raised his hat. He was careful to omit no form of
politeness and attention to establish himself in her regard.
"I have come especially to have a chat with you," said Mrs. Grantham,
declining the arm he offered her. "Such old friends as ourselves need
not stand upon ceremony."
Mr. Fox-Cordery looked upon this as a promising opening.
"There is something I wish to say to you," he said boldly and
tenderly, "if you will listen to me."
"Certainly I will listen to you. Is it about business?"
"It is of far more importance than business," he replied, with a
significance of tone that could not fail to convey some perception of
his meaning.
She paused awhile before she spoke again, and then seemed to have
arrived at a decision.
"I wish to say a word about your sister."
"Dear Charlotte!" he murmured, and could not have said anything, nor
uttered what he said in a tone that would have been more fatal to his
cause, even if she were willing to listen to it favorably. He had been
his own enemy, and had forged the weapon that was to strike him down;
for it was Mrs. Grantham's insight into the life Charlotte must have
led with him and her mother that had made her reflect upon the true
nature of the man who had been for so many years her husband's friend
and her own. The closer intimacy of the last few weeks had served him
ill. Mrs. Grantham was a lady of much sweetness, but the trials she
had passed through had taught her to observe and sometimes to suspect.
"To-day is Charlotte's birthday," she said.
"Charlotte's birthday!" he exclaimed. "How could we have overlooked
it? Charlotte's birthday! Why so it is! I must wish her every
happiness." He began to pick some flowers. "For Charlotte," he said.
"She will appreciate them. I have grown very fond of your sister."
"You could not say anything to make me happier--except----"
She nipped his tenderly suggested exception in the bud by continuing:
"She has the most amiable nature in the world--"
"No, no," he protested; "not the _most_ amiable nature in the world."
"And is so sweet-tempered and self-sacrificing--"
"She shares the best qualities of our family," he managed to get in.
"That I am as anxious for her happiness as you yourself can be. She
has had two birthday presents, which have given her great pleasure,
one especially." ("Confound her!" was Mr. Fox-Cordery's thought, as he
bent over a dwarf rose tree. "Who has been making her birthday
presents?") "I have given her a poor little brooch"--("That is one of
the presents," thought Mr. Fox-Cordery, "and Clair has given her the
other. Of course, of course." He was content that the gifts should
have come from Mrs. Grantham and her little girl)--"and Mr. Dixon,"
continued Mrs. Grantham, "sent her an engagement ring."
Mr. Fox-Cordery looked suddenly up.
"Mr. Dixon!" he cried. "An engagement ring!"
"Yes," said Mrs. Grantham, ignoring his surprise, "a very beautiful
ring. It is set with diamonds, and Charlotte, you may depend, put it
on her finger at once. She must never take it off, at least till she
is married. We foolish women, you know, have superstitions."
"Charlotte has been telling you a great deal about Mr. Dixon," said
Mr. Fox-Cordery, striving to speak amiably, and not succeeding.
"Not a great deal; very little, indeed. It is only because I would
have an answer to my questions that I learned anything at all. I have
a common failing of my sex: I am intensely curious. And I am really
annoyed, taking the interest I do in your sister, that I have not yet
been introduced to Mr. Dixon. How is it that I have not been
introduced to Mr. Dixon? Put a little forget-me-not in your posy; it
means remembrance."
He obeyed her, and then took the bull by the horns.
"Mrs. Grantham," he said, "inspired by a hope I have entertained for
many years, you must not remain in ignorance of our family secrets. I
do not blame Charlotte for speaking to you about Mr. Dixon----"
"No," she gently interposed, "you must not blame her. We chat together
every night before we retire, and little things come out in our
conversation. If you must blame anybody, blame me, for it is entirely
my fault that I know anything of her engagement. I teased it out of
her."
"I regarded it as a family secret," he said. "The fact is--it pains me
to make the statement--that neither my mother nor I quite approve of
Mr. Dixon. You do not know him, and I do not wish to say anything
against him. We are more likely to form a correct estimate of his
character than Charlotte. We have a wider experience of human nature."
"Granted. But Charlotte has set her heart upon him, and he appears to
have a very sincere love for her. But I am wrong, perhaps, in
presuming to interfere in a matter which you say is a family secret. I
was not aware of it when I commenced to speak to you. Forgive me."
"Dear Mrs. Grantham," he said, "do not distress me by saying that you
are wrong. You are right, entirely right, in everything you do. I only
wished to explain to you why it is that Mr. Dixon does not visit us.
We have Charlotte's interests at heart, and if she insists upon having
her way we shall not thwart her. Our hope will be that her marriage
will turn out better than we anticipate. It is true that we put her
upon probation for a time. We desired her--you can ask her for
confirmation of my statement--to wait for two months before she
finally committed herself, and she consented to do so. And now, Mrs.
Grantham----"
"Pardon me," interrupted Mrs. Grantham; "let me justify myself
completely. In speaking to you about your sister, I was prompted by my
affection for her; she is not a young girl, and can to some extent
judge for herself. We will not discuss Mr. Dixon, who is represented
to me in two opposite lights. Let us hope for the best, and that her
union with that gentleman will be a happy one. My own married life
taught me much that brought sadness to my heart; I will pray that no
shadow shall rest upon hers. But my sorrows have been softened by
time, and I have a heavenly consolation in the love of my child, to
whom, since I lost my husband, I have consecrated my life."
"Let that life," he said grandiloquently, "be consecrated to make
another happy, as well as your darling child."
"No," she said firmly; "I am fixed in my resolve to form no other
ties. Mr. Fox-Cordery, it would be a mere pretense for me to say I do
not understand you. I beg you to go no farther--to say nothing more.
You were my husband's friend; you are mine. Let us remain friends."
"But, dear Mrs. Grantham," he stammered, enraged and confounded at
this unexpected repulse, "surely you must have seen, you must have
known--the devotion of years----"
Either inability to proceed, or an expression in her face, restrained
him here.
"Do not say what cannot be unsaid or forgotten. It will be best for
both of us. Clair and I have been very happy during our visit. If you
wish to drive us away----"
"No, no!" he cried; "you are cruel to make the suggestion. I do not
deserve such a return. My mother would look upon it as an affront; and
Charlotte--you love Charlotte----"
He hardly knew what to say in his confusion; but he felt it would be
quite fatal to his hopes if he lost his present hold upon her.
"You do not deserve such a return," she said; "and not for worlds
would I wound your mother's feelings or yours. It was only an hour ago
that I promised Charlotte not to curtail my visit; and I will promise
you, if you will engage not to reopen the subject. Let us forget what
has passed. Shall we exchange promises?"
She held out her hand, and he deluded himself into the belief that he
saw signs of softening in her face. As he took her hand his native
cunning and coolness returned to him, and he was more than ever
determined that she should not slip from him. He would be her master
yet, and she should pay for her treatment of him. Even as he held her
hand in his, the skeleton of a scheme to force her compliance
presented itself to his mind, fertile in schemes and snares.
"I am almost inclined to be jealous of dear Clair," he said, in a
plaintive tone, "for she seems to stand in the way of my happiness."
"You must not say that. If it were not for her, I might not be living
this day. Through her, I saw my duty clear before me. I live only for
her and for her happiness. It is an understanding, then?"
"Yes," he said, "it is an understanding. Excuse me now; I will go and
give these flowers to Charlotte."
But he did nothing of the kind. He walked away, and when he was sure
that no one saw him he tore the posy to pieces, and trod savagely upon
the fragments, stamping at the same time upon every living thing
beneath him that caught his eye. Such acts of destruction and cruelty
always afforded him satisfaction, and after a few minutes so occupied
he devoted himself more calmly to the difficulties of his position.
Gradually a scheme formed itself in his mind, and he smiled at the
thought that it would lead him to victory. He recalled the words Mrs.
Grantham had spoken:
"The love of her child is a heavenly consolation to her, and she has
consecrated her life to the brat. She lives only for Clair's
happiness. If I prove to her how that happiness is imperiled, and that
her infernal consecration will land her in the gutter .... Yes, I see
my way; I see my way!"
But he saw not the Nemesis that was following his footsteps, born of a
base action he had committed without ruth or remorse. He thought it
was dead and buried, and that a woman he had wronged--not the only
one--was happily lost to him, if not to the world. Neither did he
bestow a thought upon Robert Grantham, nor upon the double deceit he
had practiced upon husband and wife. In fancied security he paced a
secluded path, meditating upon the new lie which would bring Mrs.
Grantham to her knees, for the sake of the child she loved so well.