Nasmith did not answer. The proposal was too unexpected to fit into
any compartment of his mind. Room had first to be made for it, room
provided with hesitation and an agitated heart. Nasmith did not deny
that Nancy had occupied much of his thought, more than he openly
allowed. He could not shake out of his memory the sight of the girl,
poised tiptoe for flight, as she stood between the doors of the
temple. He had been haunted by the picture, haunted by a crying
sense of wrong in restoring the girl to a dangerous, tragic future.
But Herrick's offer was too real. It was stern stuff to be built
upon such vague foundations.
"Don't imagine I wanted to bring up this subject," said Herrick. "I
don't wish to see Nancy married to you or to anyone else. I would
hide her from every last one of you if I had the choice. You haven't
got her, I tell you; you haven't got her yet. I may hide her despite
you. Ah, if I only had the choice! This stupid heart of mine has
taken the choice out of my hands."
"There is no need to be angry with me for weighing your own
proposal," Nasmith said. "Your suggestion is no less a shock to me
than it seems to be to yourself. But before going into my side of
the matter, I think we must consider Nancy's side. Whatever my own
inclinations may be--and I must confess they are not very definite--I
would not consider your offer for a moment if I thought the
arrangement would be distasteful to your daughter. What do you think
she would say at being disposed of in this summary manner to a man
who is practically a stranger?"
"It's not at all so dreadful as you imagine. Nancy's training all
her life has led her to expect no other method of betrothal. Your
haphazard Western fashion would seem scandalous to her. A father is
more competent to choose a husband for his daughter than the girl
herself; he knows the world, she doesn't. No doubt she has her
fancies, but if she is betrothed to a man who is not utterly
impossible it will not be hard to attach her fancies to the husband
chosen for her."
"That may be so; I am not prepared to deny it, though it seems to me,
in the main, a heartless business. But what about my share in the
contract? I have not been educated to think your Chinese way is
normal. Can I attach my fancies to a girl I have hardly known?"
"Is this merely a theoretical question or have you some practical
plan in mind? I certainly feel no need to advertise the merits of my
daughter. You have seen her and, if you are the man I take you for,
you have understood her. Remember this: it was not by throwing dice
or tossing a coin that I chose you instead of Beresford. He, I
think, would have jumped at my offer--I should suspect anyone who
jumped at so unusual an offer as mine."
"No, I am not putting a theoretical question; I have a most practical
plan," said Nasmith.
"I know your plan; you want Nancy to live with your sister."
"Yes, and I want more than that. I want her sent to school with my
nieces."
"You want me to undo the last twelve years of her training."
"Not at all. I am quite satisfied with her training, but if she is
to be a Westerner it has to be given a more definite direction; it
cannot continue on Chinese lines. There will not be much shock now;
there would be tremendous shock a few years later."
"Yes, I was prepared for all these arguments," said Herrick, "and for
a few more as well. By living with your sister, Nancy would come to
know you better; you in turn would have a better acquaintance with
her. Yes, I know all these arguments. And suppose, after this
mutual acquaintance, you found your tastes growing farther and
farther apart, what would you do to remedy the situation?"
"Break the engagement."
"No, that's not my notion of a betrothal. That simply transfers
Nancy from my care, puts her at the mercy of all the accidents which
may occur in your sister's home, possible jealousies or gossip or
misunderstanding,--you know the things I mean,--and leaves her with
the chance of a broken engagement at the end. Then what would she be
fit for? Do you expect her to go out and capture a husband as your
Western women do or come back to the Chinese life she has unlearned?"
"At least, it is better," protested Nasmith, "to discover uncongenial
tastes before marriage than afterward."
"Not at all. After marriage you have made your bargain. You have no
choice but to make your tastes congenial. Have you forgotten your
old proverb about necessity? It's when people have the option of
being uncongenial that they look for excuses to quarrel just to
assert their freedom. If I sent Nancy to you in a red chair
to-morrow, I haven't the slightest doubt that she would prove
congenial. It would be your duty to see that she did."
"You don't really wish me to marry her now?" demanded Nasmith,
somewhat disconcerted, "a girl of seventeen."
"A girl of sixteen," Herrick corrected. "No, indeed I don't wish you
to marry her now. I don't wish to surrender her a day before she is
twenty, that is, if my heart holds out. If I die, she goes to you at
once and Edward with her--he will be suitably provided for. But
while I live or until she is twenty Nancy remains with me."
"And you expect me to consent to betrothal on these terms?"
"I do."
"Don't you think it is rather one-sided?"
"It is one-sided," Herrick admitted, "but it appears more one-sided
now than it will later. I am asking you to put inordinate trust in
the judgment of an old man who has done some thinking about the both
of you. I have put twelve years into what you might term an
experiment. Nancy is the result, and if you think the result
lovable--as I do--you will give some credit to the methods which
achieved it. I want just four more years, four more years; the Nancy
you see now will not bear comparison with the Nancy I am offering you
as a bride. Ah, if my heart had not given out I shouldn't need to be
begging you; you would be begging me. Nancy needs no excuses, sir,
no apologies, but I--I need four years of security, four years of
peace of mind, to complete my work and to keep the love of my
children. It is only in your own interests that I am asking you to
make a one-sided bargain."
Nasmith was moved by Herrick's earnestness, but he was not convinced.
Nasmith paused.
"Then you refuse my terms," he said, at last, after allowing the
effect of Herrick's passionate appeal to grow cold, "you will not let
Nancy visit my sister, nor go to school with my nieces, not even if I
bind myself to marry your daughter."
"I cannot accept such terms even if you bind yourself. I have
considered them, Mr. Nasmith, considered them thoroughly, long before
I sent for you. They are too great a price for any betrothal. I
would rather take chances with my heart."
"Is it fair to take such chances, fair to leave a young girl without
protection?" Nasmith was angry in his deliberate way. "What other
alternative have you, if I refuse?"
Herrick smiled. He had his trump card to play.
"I have the alternative I have entertained from the beginning--until
I met you, in fact, and thought I had found a man large-minded
enough, generous enough to make it unnecessary. I have the
alternative of marrying Nancy to a Chinese."
"You are trying to threaten me now," said Nasmith. "You chose the
wrong man. I will not be threatened into betrothing myself to your
daughter."
"Don't decide too hastily," said Herrick; "we'll have tiffin first."
"Thank you, but I have decided. There is no use wasting more time.
You have my terms; I have yours. The situation is simple. Which one
of us intends to change?"
"I don't," vowed Herrick.
"Neither do I."
With these words Nasmith picked up his helmet, bowed to his
astonished host, and departed.
"I've made the attempt," said Herrick to himself, much piqued by the
failure of tactics he had reckoned sure of success. "I have offered
him the choice decently and fairly. If he thinks I am going to seek
him out and get down on my knees, begging him to take a girl who is
twice too good for him, he can wait till the Yellow River runs dry."
Some such hope had occurred to Nasmith. The knowledge that Nancy had
been offered to him acted like sun and rain upon his memory of her,
so that only now did he begin to realize how strong was the hold she
had gained. Whatever the feeling might be, it disturbed him. In a
fever of uneasiness most unusual to his orderly nature he awaited
Herrick's next overture, waited till his impatience could be brooked
no further. There was that last ever-disquieting threat. Would the
father be fool enough or selfish or wrong-headed enough to carry it
into effect? Nasmith even regretted his own judgment, his own
conduct, right though he knew these had been. At last, unable to
contain his distress, he walked the long road to Herrick's temple and
found it vacant, with only a bleary-eyed caretaker to tell him
Herrick had taken his family, son and daughter, concubine and nurse,
back to Peking.