Muswell Hill.
The next day Turlington drove to the suburbs, on the chance of finding
the Graybrookes at home again. Sir Joseph disliked London, and could
not prevail on himself to live any nearer to the metropolis than Muswell
Hill. When Natalie wanted a change, and languished for balls, theaters,
flower-shows, and the like, she had a room especially reserved for her
in the house of Sir Joseph's married sister, Mrs. Sancroft, living in
that central deep of the fashionable whirlpool known among mortals as
Berkeley Square.
On his way through the streets, Turlington encountered a plain proof
that the Graybrookes must have returned. He was passed by Launce,
driving, in company with a gentleman, in a cab. The gentleman was
Launce's brother, and the two were on their way to the Commissioners
of Police to make the necessary arrangements for instituting an inquiry
into Turlington's early life.
Arrived at the gate of the villa, the information received only
partially fulfilled the visitor's expectations. The family had returned
on the previous evening. Sir Joseph and his sister were at home, but
Natalie was away again already. She had driven into town to lunch with
her aunt. Turlington went into the house.
"Have you lost any money?" Those were the first words uttered by Sir
Joseph when he and Richard met again, after the parting on board the
yacht.
"Not a farthing. I might have lost seriously, if I had not got back in
time to set things straight. Stupidity on the part of my people left in
charge--nothing more. It's all right now."
Sir Joseph lifted his eyes, with heartfelt devotion, to the ceiling.
"Thank God, Richard!" he said, in tones of the deepest feeling. He rang
the bell. "Tell Miss Graybrooke Mr. Turlington is here." He turned again
to Richard. "Lavinia is like me--Lavinia has been so anxious about you.
We have both of us passed a sleepless night." Miss Lavinia came in. Sir
Joseph hurried to meet her, and took her affectionately by both hands.
"My dear! the best of all good news, Richard has not lost a farthing."
Miss Lavinia lifted _her_ eyes to the ceiling with heartfelt devotion,
and said, "Thank God, Richard!"--like the echo of her brother's voice;
a little late, perhaps, for its reputation as an echo, but accurate to
half a note in its perfect repetition of sound.
Turlington asked the question which it had been his one object to put in
paying his visit to Muswell Hill.
"Have you spoken to Natalie?"
"This morning," replied Sir Joseph. "An opportunity offered itself after
breakfast. I took advantage of it, Richard--you shall hear how."
He settled himself in his chair for one of his interminable stories; he
began his opening sentence--and stopped, struck dumb at the first
word. There was an unexpected obstacle in the way--his sister was not
attending to him; his sister had silenced him at starting. The story
touching, this time, on the question of marriage, Miss Lavinia had her
woman's interest in seeing full justice done to the subject. She seized
on her brother's narrative as on property in her own right.
"Joseph should have told you," she began, addressing herself to
Turlington, "that our dear girl was unusually depressed in spirits this
morning. Quite in the right frame of mind for a little serious talk
about her future life. She ate nothing at breakfast, poor child, but a
morsel of dry toast."
"And marmalade," said Sir Joseph, striking in at the first opportunity.
The story, on this occasion, being Miss Lavinia's story, the polite
contradictions necessary to its successful progress were naturally
transferred from the sister to the brother, and became contradictions on
Sir Joseph's side.
"No," said Miss Lavinia, gently, "if you _will_ have it, Joseph--jam."
"I beg your pardon," persisted Sir Joseph; "marmalade."
"What _does_ it matter, brother?"
"Sister! the late great and good Doctor Johnson said accuracy ought
always to be studied even in the most trifling things."
"You _will_ have your way, Joseph--"(this was the formula--answering
to Sir Joseph's 'Let us waive the point'--which Miss Lavinia used, as
a means of conciliating her brother, and getting a fresh start for her
story). "Well, we took dear Natalie out between us, after breakfast,
for a little walk in the grounds. My brother opened the subject with
infinite delicacy and tact. 'Circumstances,' he said, 'into which it was
not then necessary to enter, made it very desirable, young as she was,
to begin to think of her establishment in life.' And then he referred,
Richard (so nicely), to your faithful and devoted attachment--"
"Excuse me, Lavinia. I began with Richard's attachment, and then I got
on to her establishment in life."
"Excuse _me_, Joseph. You managed it much more delicately than you
suppose. You didn't drag Richard in by the head and shoulders in that
way."
"Lavinia! I began with Richard."
"Joseph! your memory deceives you."
Turlington's impatience broke through all restraint.
"How did it end?" he asked. "Did you propose to her that we should be
married in the first week of the New Year?"
"Yes!" said Miss Lavinia.
"No!" said Sir Joseph.
The sister looked at the brother with an expression of affectionate
surprise. The brother looked at the sister with a fund of amiable
contradiction, expressed in a low bow.
"Do you really mean to deny, Joseph, that you told Natalie we had
decided on the first week in the New Year?"
"I deny the New Year, Lavinia. I said early in January."
"You _will_ have your way, Joseph! We were walking in the shrubbery at
the time. I had our dear girl's arm in mine, and I felt it tremble.
She suddenly stopped. 'Oh,' she said, 'not so soon!' I said, 'My dear,
consider Richard!' She turned to her father. She said, 'Don't, pray
don't press it so soon, papa! I respect Richard; I like Richard as your
true and faithful friend; but I don't love him as I ought to love him
if I am to be his wife.' Imagine her talking in that way! What could she
possibly know about it? Of course we both laughed--"
"_you_ laughed, Lavinia."
"_you_ laughed, Joseph."
"Get on, for God's sake!" cried Turlington, striking his hand
passionately on the table by which he was sitting. "Don't madden me by
contradicting each other! Did she give way or not?"
Miss Lavinia turned to her brother. "Contradicting each other, Joseph!"
she exclaimed, lifting her hands in blank amazement.
"Contradicting each other!" repeated Sir Joseph, equally astonished on
his side. "My dear Richard, what can you be thinking of? I contradict my
sister! We never disagreed in our lives."
"I contradict my brother! We have never had a cross word between us from
the time when we were children."
Turlington internally cursed his own irritable temper.
"I beg your pardon--both of you," he said. "I didn't know what I was
saying. Make some allowance for me. All my hopes in life are centered in
Natalie; and you have just told me (in her own words, Miss Lavinia) that
she doesn't love. You don't mean any harm, I dare say; but you cut me to
the heart."
This confession, and the look that accompanied it, touched the ready
sympathies of the two old people in the right place. The remainder of
the story dropped between them by common consent. They vied with each
other in saying the comforting words which would allay their dear
Richard's anxiety. How little he knew of young girls. How could he be
so foolish, poor fellow! as to attach any serious importance to what
Natalie had said? As if a young creature in her teens knew the state of
her own heart! Protestations and entreaties were matters of course, in
such cases. Tears even might be confidently expected from a right-minded
girl. It had all ended exactly as Richard would have wished it to end.
Sir Joseph had said, "My child! this is a matter of experience; love
will come when you are married." And Miss Lavinia had added, "Dear
Natalie, if you remembered your poor mother as I remember her, you would
know that your father's experience is to be relied on." In that way they
had put it to her; and she had hung her head and had given--all that
maiden modesty could be expected to give--a silent consent. "The
wedding-day was fixed for the first week in the New Year." ("No, Joseph;
not January--the New Year.") "And God bless you, Richard! and may your
married life be a long and happy one."
So the average ignorance of human nature, and the average belief in
conventional sentiment, complacently contemplated the sacrifice of one
more victim on the all-devouring altar of Marriage! So Sir Joseph and
his sister provided Launcelot Linzie with the one argument which he
wanted to convince Natalie: "Choose between making the misery of
your life by marrying _him_, and making the happiness of your life by
marrying _me._"
"When shall I see her?" asked Turlington, with Miss Lavinia (in tears
which did _her_ credit) in possession of one of his hands, and Sir
Joseph (in tears which did _him_ credit) in possession of the other.
"She will be back to dinner, dear Richard. Stay and dine."
"Thank you. I must go into the City first. I will come back and dine."
With that arrangement in prospect, he left them.
An hour later a telegram arrived from Natalie. She had consented to
dine, as well as lunch, in Berkeley Square--sleeping there that night,
and returning the next morning. Her father instantly telegraphed back
by the messenger, insisting on Natalie's return to Muswell Hill that
evening, in time to meet Richard Turlington at dinner.
"Quite right. Joseph," said Miss Lavinia, looking over her brother's
shoulder, while he wrote the telegram.
"She is showing a disposition to coquet with Richard," rejoined Sir
Joseph, with the air of a man who knew female human nature in its
remotest corners. "My telegram, Lavinia, will have its effect."
Sir Joseph was quite right. His telegram _had_ its effect. It not only
brought his daughter back to dinner--it produced another result which
his prophetic faculty had altogether failed to foresee.
The message reached Berkeley Square at five o'clock in the afternoon.
Let us follow the message.