We all met again at dinner-time.
Sir Percival was in such boisterous high spirits that I hardly
recognised him as the same man whose quiet tact, refinement, and good
sense had impressed me so strongly at the interview of the morning.
The only trace of his former self that I could detect reappeared,
every now and then, in his manner towards Miss Fairlie. A look or a
word from her suspended his loudest laugh, checked his gayest flow of
talk, and rendered him all attention to her, and to no one else at
table, in an instant. Although he never openly tried to draw her into
the conversation, he never lost the slightest chance she gave him of
letting her drift into it by accident, and of saying the words to her,
under those favourable circumstances, which a man with less tact and
delicacy would have pointedly addressed to her the moment they occurred
to him. Rather to my surprise, Miss Fairlie appeared to be sensible of
his attentions without being moved by them. She was a little confused
from time to time when he looked at her, or spoke to her; but she never
warmed towards him. Rank, fortune, good breeding, good looks, the
respect of a gentleman, and the devotion of a lover were all humbly
placed at her feet, and, so far as appearances went, were all offered
in vain.
On the next day, the Tuesday, Sir Percival went in the morning (taking
one of the servants with him as a guide) to Todd’s Corner. His
inquiries, as I afterwards heard, led to no results. On his return he
had an interview with Mr. Fairlie, and in the afternoon he and Miss
Halcombe rode out together. Nothing else happened worthy of record. The
evening passed as usual. There was no change in Sir Percival, and no
change in Miss Fairlie.
The Wednesday’s post brought with it an event—the reply from Mrs.
Catherick. I took a copy of the document, which I have preserved, and
which I may as well present in this place. It ran as follows—
“MADAM,—I beg to acknowledge the receipt of your letter, inquiring
whether my daughter, Anne, was placed under medical superintendence
with my knowledge and approval, and whether the share taken in the
matter by Sir Percival Glyde was such as to merit the expression of my
gratitude towards that gentleman. Be pleased to accept my answer in the
affirmative to both those questions, and believe me to remain, your
obedient servant,
“JANE ANNE CATHERICK.”
Short, sharp, and to the point; in form rather a business-like letter
for a woman to write—in substance as plain a confirmation as could be
desired of Sir Percival Glyde’s statement. This was my opinion, and
with certain minor reservations, Miss Halcombe’s opinion also. Sir
Percival, when the letter was shown to him, did not appear to be struck
by the sharp, short tone of it. He told us that Mrs. Catherick was a
woman of few words, a clear-headed, straightforward, unimaginative
person, who wrote briefly and plainly, just as she spoke.
The next duty to be accomplished, now that the answer had been
received, was to acquaint Miss Fairlie with Sir Percival’s explanation.
Miss Halcombe had undertaken to do this, and had left the room to go
to her sister, when she suddenly returned again, and sat down by the
easy-chair in which I was reading the newspaper. Sir Percival had gone
out a minute before to look at the stables, and no one was in the room
but ourselves.
“I suppose we have really and truly done all we can?” she said, turning
and twisting Mrs. Catherick’s letter in her hand.
“If we are friends of Sir Percival’s, who know him and trust him, we
have done all, and more than all, that is necessary,” I answered, a
little annoyed by this return of her hesitation. “But if we are enemies
who suspect him——”
“That alternative is not even to be thought of,” she interposed. “We
are Sir Percival’s friends, and if generosity and forbearance can add
to our regard for him, we ought to be Sir Percival’s admirers as well.
You know that he saw Mr. Fairlie yesterday, and that he afterwards went
out with me.”
“Yes. I saw you riding away together.”
“We began the ride by talking about Anne Catherick, and about the
singular manner in which Mr. Hartright met with her. But we soon
dropped that subject, and Sir Percival spoke next, in the most
unselfish terms, of his engagement with Laura. He said he had observed
that she was out of spirits, and he was willing, if not informed to
the contrary, to attribute to that cause the alteration in her manner
towards him during his present visit. If, however, there was any more
serious reason for the change, he would entreat that no constraint
might be placed on her inclinations either by Mr. Fairlie or by me. All
he asked, in that case, was that she would recall to mind, for the last
time, what the circumstances were under which the engagement between
them was made, and what his conduct had been from the beginning of the
courtship to the present time. If, after due reflection on those two
subjects, she seriously desired that he should withdraw his pretensions
to the honour of becoming her husband—and if she would tell him so
plainly with her own lips—he would sacrifice himself by leaving her
perfectly free to withdraw from the engagement.”
“No man could say more than that, Miss Halcombe. As to my experience,
few men in his situation would have said as much.”
She paused after I had spoken those words, and looked at me with a
singular expression of perplexity and distress.
“I accuse nobody, and I suspect nothing,” she broke out abruptly. “But
I cannot and will not accept the responsibility of persuading Laura to
this marriage.”
“That is exactly the course which Sir Percival Glyde has himself
requested you to take,” I replied in astonishment. “He has begged you
not to force her inclinations.”
“And he indirectly obliges me to force them, if I give her his message.”
“How can that possibly be?”
“Consult your own knowledge of Laura, Mr. Gilmore. If I tell her to
reflect on the circumstances of her engagement, I at once appeal
to two of the strongest feelings in her nature—to her love for her
father’s memory, and to her strict regard for truth. You know that she
never broke a promise in her life—you know that she entered on this
engagement at the beginning of her father’s fatal illness, and that he
spoke hopefully and happily of her marriage to Sir Percival Glyde on
his deathbed.”