"The thing is, that he must be brought to the point. I said so in town.
He dangled after her all the season, and he's dangled after her down
here. The little beggar knows better than that. He knows that sharp
people would never stand it. He is trusting to your country simplicity.
When a man does not come to the point of his own accord, he must be led
to it--or driven to it, for that matter," said Rintoul. He was out of
humour, poor fellow. He had gone astray in his own person. His
disapproval of his mother and of everybody belonging to him was nothing
in comparison with his disapproval of himself. This put him out in every
way: instead of making him tolerant of the others who were no worse than
himself, it made him rampant in his wisdom. If it was so that he could
not persuade or force himself into the right way, then was it more and
more necessary to persuade or force other people. He took a high tone
with Lady Lindores, all the more because he had discovered with
astonishment, and a comical sort of indignation, that his mother had
come over to his way of thinking. He could not believe it to be possible
at first, and afterwards this inconsistent young man had felt disgusted
with the new accomplice whom he had in his heart believed incapable of
any such conversion. But such being the case, there was no need to
_ménager_ her susceptibilities. "Or driven to it," he repeated with
emphasis. "I shall not stand by, I promise you, and see my sister
_planté là_----"
"You have used these words before, Rintoul. They disgust me, and they
offend me," said his mother. "I will not be a party to anything of the
kind. Those who do such things dishonour the girl--oh, far more than
anything else can do. She does not care at all for him. Most likely she
would refuse him summarily."
"And you would let her--refuse a dukedom?" cried Rintoul.
"Refuse a--man whom she does not care for. What could I do? I should
even like now, after all that has happened, that it should come to
something; but if she found that she could not marry him, how could I
interfere?"
"Jove! but I should interfere," cried Rintoul, pacing up and down the
room. "How could you help interfering? Would you suffer me to throw
away all my prospects?" Here he paused, with a curious,
half-threatening, half-deprecating look. Perhaps his mother would be one
who would suffer him to sacrifice his prospects. Perhaps she would
sympathise with him even in that wrong-doing. She was capable of it. He
looked at her with mingled disdain and admiration. She was a woman who
was capable of applauding him for throwing himself away. What folly! and
yet perhaps it was good to have a mother like that. But not for Edith,
whose case was of an altogether different complexion from his own. He
made a pause, and then he added in a slightly louder tone, being
excited: "But he must not be allowed to dangle on for ever. When a
fellow follows a girl into the country he must mean something. You may
take my word for that."
At this moment the handle of the door gave a slight clink; a soft step
was audible. "Pardon me for disturbing you, dearest lady," said the
mellifluous voice of Millefleurs. The little Marquis had a foot which
made no sound on the carpet. He was daintily attired, and all his
movements were noiseless. He came upon the sestartled conspirators like
a ghost. "Send me away if I am _de trop_," he said, clasping his plump
hands. "It is my hour of audience, but Rintoul has the first claim."
"Oh, I don't want any audience," said Rintoul. He had exchanged an
anxious glance with his mother, and both had reddened in spite of
themselves. Not to betray that you have been discussing some one who
appears, while the words of criticism are still on your lips, is
difficult at all times; and Rintoul, feeling confused and guilty, was
anxious to give the interrupted conversation an air of insignificance.
"My mother and I have no secrets. She is not so easy as the mothers in
society," he said, with a laugh.
"No!" said Millefleurs, folding his hands with an air of devotion. "I
would not discuss the _chronique scandaleuse_, if that is what you mean,
in Lady Lindores's hearing. The air is pure here; it is like living out
of doors. There is no _dessous des cartes_--no behind the scenes."
"What does the little beggar mean?" Rintoul said to himself, feeling red
and uncomfortable. Lady Lindores took up her work, which was her flag of
distress. She felt herself humiliated beyond description. To think that
she should be afraid of any one overhearing what she said or what her
son had said to her! She felt her cheeks burn and tingle; her needle
trembled in her fingers; and then there ensued a most uncomfortable
pause. Had he heard what they were saying? Rintoul did not go away,
which would have been the best policy, but stood about, taking up books
and throwing them down again, and wearing, which was the last thing he
wished to do, the air of a man disturbed in an important consultation.
As a matter of fact, his mind was occupied with two troublesome
questions: the first, whether Millefleurs had overheard anything; the
second, how he could himself get away. Millefleurs very soon perceived
and shared in this embarrassment. The phrase which had been uttered as
he opened the door had reached his ear without affecting his mind for
the first moment. Perhaps if he had not perceived the embarrassment of
the speaker he would not have given any weight to the words--"When a
fellow follows----" Funny alliteration! he said to himself. And then he
saw that the mother and son were greatly disturbed by his entrance. He
was as much occupied by wondering what they could mean, as they were by
wondering if he had heard. But he was the first to cut the difficulty.
He said, "Pardon me, dear lady, I have forgotten something. I'll come
back directly if you'll let me"--and went out. Certainly there had been
some discussion going on between mother and son. Perhaps Rintoul had got
into debt, perhaps into love; both were things which occurred daily, and
it was always best when such a subject had been started between parent
and child that they should have it out. So he withdrew, but with that
phrase still buzzing in his ears, "When a fellow follows----" It was a
comical combination of words; he could not get rid of it, and presently
it began to disturb his mind. Instead of going to the library or any of
the other rooms in the house, he went outside with the sensation of
having something to reflect upon, though he could not be sure what it
was. By-and-by the entire sentence came to his recollection. "When a
fellow follows a girl into the country--but then, who is it that has
followed the girl into the country?--Rintoul?----" This cost him about
five minutes' thought. Then little Millefleurs stopped short in the
midst of the path, and clasped his hands against his plump bosom, and
turned up his eyes to heaven. "Why! it is I!----" he said to himself,
being more grammatical than most men in a state of agitation. He stood
for a whole minute in this attitude, among the big blue-green araucarias
which stood around. What a subject for a painter if there had been one
at hand! It was honour confronting fate. He had not intended anything so
serious. He liked, he would have said loved, the ladies of the house. He
would not have hesitated anywhere to give full utterance to this
sentiment: and to please his father, and to amuse himself, he was
consciously on the search for some one who might be suitable for the
vacant post of Marchioness of Millefleurs. And he had thought of Edith
in that capacity--certainly he had thought of her. So had he thought of
various other young ladies in society, turning over their various
claims. But it had not occurred to him to come to any sudden decision,
or to think that necessary. As he stood there, however, with his eyes
upraised, invoking aid from that paternal Providence which watches over
marquises, a flood of light spread over the subject and all its
accessories. Though he had not thought of them, he knew the prejudices
of society; and all that Rintoul had said about leaving a girl _planté
là_ was familiar to him. "When a fellow follows" (absurd alliteration!
said Millefleurs, with his lisp, to himself) "a girl into the country,
he muth mean thomething----" and once more he clasped his hands and
pressed them to his breast. His eyes, raised to heaven, took a
languishing look; a smile of consciousness played about his mouth; but
this was only for a moment, and was replaced at once by a look of firm
resolution. No maiden owed her scath to Millefleurs: though he was so
plump, he was the soul of honour. Not for a moment could he permit it to
be supposed that he was trifling with Edith Lindores, amusing
himself--any of those pretty phrases in use in society. He thought with
horror of the possibility of having compromised her, even though, so far
as he was himself concerned, the idea was not disagreeable. In five
minutes--for he had a quick little brain and the finest faculty of
observation, a quality cultivated in his race by several centuries of
social eminence--Millefleurs had mastered the situation. All the
instructions that Rintoul had so zealously endeavoured to convey to his
mother's mind became apparent to Millefleurs in the twinkling of an eye.
It would be said that he had left her _planté là_; he allowed himself no
illusion on the subject. So it might be said,--but so it never must be
said of Edith Lindores. He was perfectly chivalrous in his instant
decision. He was not to say in love--though did Providence bestow any
one of five or six young ladies, among whom Edith stood high, upon him,
Millefleurs felt positively convinced that he would be the happiest man
in the world. And he was not sure that he might not be running the risk
of a refusal, a thing which is very appalling to a young man's
imagination. But notwithstanding this danger, Millefleurs, without
hesitation, braced himself up to do his duty. He buttoned his coat, took
off his hat and put it on again, and then pulling himself together, went
off without a moment's hesitation in search of Lord Lindores.
An hour later the Earl entered his lady's chamber with a countenance in
which gratification, and proud content in an achieved success, were only
kept in check by the other kind of pride which would not permit it to be
perceived that this success was anything out of the ordinary. He told
her his news in a few brief words, which Lady Lindores received with so
much agitation, turning from red to white, and with such an appearance
of vexation and pain, that the Earl put on his sternest aspect. "What is
the meaning of all this flurry and disturbance?" he said. "I hope we are
not going to have it all over again, as we had before Carry's wedding."
"Oh, don't speak of poor Carry's wedding in comparison with this. This,
God grant it, if it comes to pass, will be no degradation--no
misery----"
"Not much degradation, certainly--only somewhere about the best position
in England," with angry scorn Lord Lindores said.
But the lines were not smoothed away from his wife's forehead, nor did
the flush of shame and pain leave her face. She looked at him for a
moment, to see whether she should tell him. But why poison his pleasure?
"It is not his fault," she said to herself; and all that she gave
utterance to was an anxious exclamation: "Provided that Edith sees as we
do!"
"She must see as we do," Lord Lindores said.
But when Rintoul came in, his mother went to him and seized his arm with
both her hands. "He heard what you said!" she cried, with anguish in her
voice. "Now I shall never be able to hold up my head in his presence--he
heard what you said!"
Rintoul too, notwithstanding his more enlightened views, was somewhat
red. Though it was in accordance with his principles, yet the fact of
having helped to force, in any way, a proposal for his sister, caused
him an unpleasant sensation. He tried to carry it off with a laugh.
"Anyhow, since it _has_ brought him to the point," he said.
This was the day on which Millefleurs was to be taken to Tinto to see
the house and all its curiosities and wealth. In view of this he had
begged that nothing might be said to Edith, with a chivalrous desire to
save her pain should her answer be unfavourable. But how could Lady
Lindores keep such a secret from her daughter? While she was still full
of the excitement, the painful triumph, the terror and shame with which
she had received the news, Edith came in to the morning room, which
to-day had been the scene of so many important discussions. They had
been perhaps half an hour together, going gaily on with the flood of
light-hearted conversation about anything and nothing which is natural
between a girl and her mother, when she suddenly caught a glimpse in a
mirror of Lady Lindores's troubled face. The girl rushed to her
instantly, took this disturbed countenance between her hands, and turned
it with gentle force towards her. Her own face grew grave at once.
"Something is the matter," she said; "something has happened. Oh,
mother, darling, what is it? Something about Carry?"
"No, no; nothing, nothing! Certainly nothing that is unhappy----Don't
question me now, Edith. Afterwards, you shall know it all."
"Let me know it now," the girl said; and she insisted with that filial
tyranny against which mothers are helpless. At last Lady Lindores, being
pressed into a corner, murmured something about Lord Millefleurs. "If he
speaks to you to-night, oh, my darling--if he asks you--do not be hasty;
say nothing, say nothing, without thought."
"Speaks to me--asks me!"--Edith stood wonder-stricken, her eyes wide
open, her lips apart. "What should he ask me?" She grew a little pale in
spite of herself.
"My dearest! what should he ask you? What is it that a young man
asks--in such circumstances? He will ask you--perhaps--to marry him."
Edith gave a kind of shriek--and then burst into a peal of agitated
laughter. "Mother, dear, what a fright you have given me! I thought--I
didn't know what to think. Poor little man! Don't let him do it--don't
let him do it, mamma! It would make us both ridiculous, and if it made
him at all--unhappy; but that is nonsense--you are only making fun of
me," said the girl, kissing her, with a hurried eagerness as if to
silence her. Lady Lindores drew herself away from her daughter's
embrace.
"Edith, it is you who are making yourself ridiculous--consider how he
has sought you all this time--and he came after you to the country. I
have felt what--was coming all along. My dearest, did not you suspect it
too?"
Edith stood within her mother's arm, but she was angry and held herself
apart, not leaning upon the bosom where she had rested so often. "_I_
suspect it! how could I suspect it?" she cried. It went to Lady
Lindores's heart to feel her child straighten herself up, and keep apart
from her and all her caresses.
"Edith, for God's sake, do not set yourself against it! Think, only
think----"
"What has God got to do with it, mother?" the young creature cried
sternly. "I will set myself against it--nay, more than that, I am not
like Carry; nothing in the world will make me do it--not any reason, not
any argument." She was still encircled by her mother's arm, but she
stood straight, upright, erect as a willow-wand, unyielding, drawing her
garments, as it were, about her, insensible to the quivering lines of
her mother's upturned face, and the softer strain of her embrace. No,
not indifferent--but resisting--shutting her eyes to them, holding
herself apart.
"For heaven's sake, Edith! Oh, my darling, think how different this is
from the other! Your father has set his heart on it, and I wish it too.
And Millefleurs is----Millefleurs will be----"
"Is this how you persuaded Carry?" cried Edith, with sad indignation;
"but mother, mother, listen! not me. It is better that never another
word should be said between us on this subject, for I will never do it,
whatever may be said. If my father chooses to speak to me, I will give
him my answer. Let us say no more--not another word;" and with this the
girl unbent and threw herself upon her mother, and stopped her mouth
with kisses, indignant, impassioned--her cheeks hot and flushed, her
eyes full of angry tears.
It may be thought that the drive to Tinto of this strange party, all
palpitating with the secret which each thought unknown to the other, was
a curious episode enough. Millefleurs, satisfied with himself, and
feeling the importance of his position with so much to bestow, found, he
thought, a sympathetic response in the look of Lady Lindores, to whom,
no doubt, as was quite right, her husband had disclosed the great news;
but he thought that Edith was entirely ignorant of it. And Edith and her
mother had their secret on their side, the possession of which was more
momentous still. But they all talked and smiled with the little
pleasantries and criticisms that are inevitable in the conversation of
persons of the highest and most cultivated classes, and did not betray
what was in their hearts.