"I wonder whether I shall ever have any children of my own," said John
Huish; "and, if I do, whether I shall ever be so hard, cruel, and
worldly to them as some people are. Money is very nice, and one would
like to see one's young folks well off; but how a mother and father can
deliberately match a beautiful, innocent young girl with some old fellow
because he is rich and has a title, is something beyond my
comprehension. Sixty and twenty! Oh, it is a disgrace to our boasted
civilisation!"
John Huish's breakfast was on the table in his snug room, and the
coffee, French rolls, and delicately-brown ham looked enticing, but they
did not tempt him. He had made several beginnings, such as taking off
the cover that concealed the ham, opening his napkin, pouring out the
steaming amber coffee, and the like; but he had touched nothing, for a
letter he had received from Gertrude that morning had taken away his
appetite.
"Poor girl!" he mused; "suffering agonies, and I seem as if I can do
nothing to help her. Money! Why have I not plenty of money? I always
felt well enough off till this happened, and then all at once I
discovered that I was a poor man."
He wrinkled up his brow, and let his cheek down upon his hand, with his
elbow in dangerous proximity to his coffee.
"I was dreaming of going up to Stonor's again last night. Good heavens!
Is it likely that I shall ever become like one of those poor fellows--
unhinged, doing all kinds of things involuntarily? There must be
something wrong with me; only Stonor spoke as he did, like all doctors
do, to take one's thoughts away from one's malady. It is so strange,
that perhaps I ought not to think any more of my poor darling; only
Stonor encouraged me so. It would be a sin against her to marry if I
really am wrong. But am I? Let me think.
"Robson, for some reason, cut me dead yesterday; but then he is one of
Lady Millet's intimates. Then Rock Anderson apologised for not paying
me that money. What money? I remember no debt. It's softening of the
brain, that's what it is--memory gradually going; and yet I think of
Gertrude and dare--Well, the doctor said I was all right; he ought to
know. He said it was only a lapse of memory now and then.
"But there are so many things which are so puzzling. Friends seem to be
dropping away from me. Man after man with whom I used to be intimate
cuts me dead.
"No, no, no!" he cried impatiently; "I will not think of it. And as to
that woman who came to me and made me worry my brains, it must have been
some town trick."
But the cloud hung over him still, various little matters connected with
his daily life clinging together like snowflakes from that cloud, till
the recollection of his position with regard to Gertrude came back, and
her face shone through the darkness to dissipate the mental mist.
"Yes!" he cried, brightening up; "the doctor must be right. He
encouraged me in my ideas; and my darling will keep away all these
wretched morbid fancies. But what am I to do?
"Act!" he cried sharply; "act!--not sit down here like a morbid, dreamy
fool, and let that old woman have her way in making two people wretched
for life. I'll go to Captain Millet's and see him. Not so easy,
though," he said, laughing. "Never mind; I'll go. He must have plenty
of influence. Oh, of course; and if he fails, why, there's the doctor.
Hang it! he might interfere, and put in a certificate saying that it
would be the death of the poor girl if she is forced into a wedding with
that fellow. But the old man told me to--Oh, what a hesitating fool I
am!"
Meanwhile, matters were progressing in no very pleasant way at the
Millet's. Renee made no confidant of her mother, but clung to her
sister, from whom Lady Millet heard a portion of the trouble that had
fallen upon her child.
"There, I can't help it," said her ladyship. "I do everything I can for
you children, and if matters go wrong through your own imprudence, you
must put up with the consequences. There, there, it is a silly young
married couple's piece of quarrelling, and they must make it up as fast
as they can."
"But, mamma!" said Gertrude.
"Don't argue with me, Gertrude. Renee must have been imprudent, and she
must take the consequences. She had no business to encourage Major
Malpas to visit her; and I trust that this will be a warning to you when
you are married."
"Mamma!"
"Oh yes, I understand you, Gertrude," said her ladyship; "but I know
your obstinacy, and I maintain that it would be utter madness for you to
see that man after your marriage."
"But, mamma, you would not think of pressing on that affair now Renee is
in such trouble."
"What has that to do with it, child? What has Renee's trouble to do
with your marriage? Lord Henry has been put off long enough. I wish
you to accept him; and I am convinced that a word, even a look, would
make him propose."
"Oh, mamma!"
"Gertrude, I insist! I know he likes you, and if he is to be kept back
like this, a scheming woman will secure him for some creature or
another. Why, it is nearly a month since he called, and no wonder,
after your icy conduct! I shall take steps at once. Let me see, a
dinner-party will be best. There, I'm going out; I'll resume the
subject on my return."
"Oh, mamma, mamma!" cried Gertrude as soon as she was alone. "But I
will not; I'd sooner die."
Lady Millet was put off from resuming the subject on her return, and
during her absence Gertrude had relieved her troubled heart by writing a
letter of no small importance to herself.
Next day she was driven to Chesham Place with Lady Millet, who left her
there while her ladyship went to attend to some shopping.
"Not been back?" said Gertrude eagerly, as she gazed in her sister's
pale face.
"No, Gertrude, not yet," replied Renee; "but he will come soon, I hope,"
she continued, with a sigh full of resignation; "I am waiting. And now
about your troubles. Is this affair to take place?"
"So mamma says," replied Gertrude, with a bitter smile. "Like you, I am
to have an establishment."
"Oh, Gertrude, sister!" whispered Renee, kissing her. "But it makes it
less bitter, now that Mr Huish has proved to be--"
Gertrude laid her hand upon her lips.
"Hush, Renee!" she cried. "I do not know what you may have heard, and I
will not listen to it. Neither will I sit and hear a word against Mr
Huish."
"I will not speak against him, dear," said Renee sadly; and she gazed
piteously in her sister's eyes.
"And you, Renee? My poor darling! your position gives me the
heartache."
"I shall wait, Gertrude. Some day he will find out my innocence and
return to ask my pardon. I can wait till then. You see, dear, that,
like you, I have faith, and can abide my time."
In place of returning home, Gertrude persuaded her sister to accompany
her to her uncle's, where Vidler admitted them both directly, and showed
them up to the darkened drawing-room.
It was a curious change from the bright sunshine of the street to the
gloom within; but it seemed to accord well with the sadness in the
sisters' breasts, and they sat and talked to the old man, playing to him
as well, till it drew near the time for them to return to their
respective homes.
All this time the pale, almost ghostly-looking hand was playing about in
the little opening, and indicating by its nervous action that something
was passing in the ordinarily calm mind of its owner.
"Renee, my child," he said at last, "I can hear that you are in
trouble."
There was no reply for a few moments, and then she said softly: "Yes,
dear uncle."
"I do not ask you for your confidence," he said, "for if it is some
trouble between you and your husband it should be sacred. I dreaded
this," he muttered to himself. "Gertrude, my child, I would not, if I
could help it, do anything to encourage you to act in disobedience to
your parents' wishes, but be careful how you enter on this proposed
alliance. I like it not, I like it not."
Gertrude did not answer, only stole to the opening, and pressed her warm
fresh lips to the cold white hand. Then the young people took their
leave, and the yellow-looking house in Wimpole Street resumed its wonted
aspect of gloom.
Volume 2, Chapter VII.