Marcus Glen was not a man given to deep thinking, but one of those
straightforward, trusting fellows who, when once he placed faith in
another, gave his whole blind confidence, and whom it was difficult
afterwards to shake in his belief. He had had his flirtations here and
there where his regiment had been stationed, and fancied himself deeply
in love; been jilted in a fashionable way, smoked a cigar over it, and
enjoyed his meals at the mess as usual. But he had found in Clotilde
one so different to the insipid girls of former acquaintance: she was
far more innocent in most things, thoroughly unworldly, and at the same
time so full of loving passion, giving herself, as it were, to his arms
with a full trust and faith, that his pulses had been thoroughly
stirred. She told him of her past, and he soon found out for himself
that hers had been no life of seasons, with half a dozen admirers in
each. He was her first lover, and he told himself--doubtingly--that she
was the first woman, and would be the only one, he could ever love.
Their meetings became few and seldom, and were nearly all of a stolen
nature, for there could be no disguising the fact that when the young
officer called the Honourable Philippa Dymcox was cold and stately; and
though her sister seemed to nervously desire to further Glen's wishes,
she stood too much in awe of her sister, and with a sigh forebore.
Dick Millet then had to put his plan in force, and Joseph began to grow
comparatively wealthy with the weight of the Queen's heads that
accompanied the notes he bore to the young ladies, and visions of the
lodging-house he meant some day to take grew clearer and less hazy in
the distance that they had formerly seemed to occupy.
Visits were paid to Lady Littletown's, and that dame was quite
affectionate in her ways, but Clotilde and Marie were rarely encountered
there; and when fortune did favour Glen to the extent of a meeting,
there were no more inspections of her ladyship's exotics, no encounters
alone, for Lady Littletown was always present; and at last Glen felt
that, if he wished to win, it must be by extraordinary, and not by
ordinary means.
The slightest hint of this seemed to set Dick on fire.
"To be sure," he cried; "the very thing! We must carry them off, Glen,
dear boy. Like you know who."
"And do you think our friend Marie will consent to be carried off?"
"Well--er--yes; I dare say she would oppose it at first, but the moment
she feels certain that her aunts mean to force her into a marriage with
old Moorpark, I feel sure that she will yield."
"Ah, well," said Glen, "we shall see; but look here, most chivalrous of
youths, and greatest among lovers of romance--"
"Oh, I say, how I do hate it when you take up that horrible chaffing
tone!"
"Chaff, my dear boy? No, no, this is sound commonsense! I do not say
that under certain circumstances I might not have a brougham in waiting,
and say to a lady `Here is the licence, let us be driven straight to the
church and made one;' but believe me, my dear Dick, all those romantic,
elopement-loving days are gone by. We have grown too matter-of-fact
now."
"Hang matter-of-fact! I mean to let nothing stand in my way, so I tell
you! But, I say, have you heard?"
"About your sisters? Yes."
"Hang it, no!" cried Dick angrily; "let that rest. It's bad enough
meeting Black Malpas at the mess-table, and being kept back by etiquette
from hurling knives. I mean about the dinner."
"What dinner?"
"Dymcoxes'. And we're not asked. Our dinner's cold shoulder."
"A dinner-party?"
"Yes; and those two old buffers are to be there."
Dick was right, for a dinner was given in the private apartments, where
the ladies did their best; but it certainly was not a success, and Marie
could not help bitterly contrasting the difference between the repast
and its surroundings and that given by Lady Littletown. For the
Honourable Misses Dymcox had been unfortunate in the purveyor to whom
they had applied to furnish the dinner and all the necessaries. All the
linen, the plate, the glass, and, above all, the ornamentation, had a
cheap, evening-party supper aspect. There was the plated epergne which
showed so much copper that it seemed to be trying to out-brazen the
battered Roman cup-shaped wine-coolers, in each of which stood icing a
bottle of champagne, quite unknown to fame--a wine with which a
respectable bottle of Burton ale would have considered it beneath its
dignity to associate. There were flowers upon the table furnished by
the pastrycook; and though a couple of shillings would have supplied a
modest selection of the real, according to well-established custom these
were artificial, many of them being fearfully and wonderfully made.
That artificiality pervaded the whole repast, which from beginning to
end was suggestive of oil-made, puffed-up pastry, which would crush into
nothing at a touch; while soups, gravies, and the preparations of animal
flesh, purveyed and presented under names in John Bull French, with a
good deal of _a la_ in the composition, one and all tasted strongly of
essence of beef, that delicious combination of tin-pot, solder, resin,
and molten glue, which flavours so many of our cheaper feasts.
To give the whole a _distingue_ air, the London pastrycook had sent
down, beside his red-nosed _chef_ and dubiously bright stewpans, those
two well-known, ghastly-white temples, composed of sugar and chalk,
which do duty at scores of wedding-breakfasts, and then stand in the
pastrycook's window afterwards covered with glass shades, to keep them
from the unholy touch of flies, and their sides from desecration by
rubbing shoulders with the penny buns.
It was a mistake, too, to engage Mortimer, the gentleman who waited
table for the gentry of Hampton Court, and invariably took the lead in
single-handed places and played the part of butler. Mr Mortimer had
been in service--_the_ service, he called it--saved money, applied to a
rising brewer, and taken a public-house "doing" a great number of
barrels per week, so he was informed; but the remarkable fact about that
house was that as soon as Mr Mortimer had paid over his hard-earned
savings and taken his position as landlord, the whole district became
wonderfully temperate, and, to use his own words, "If I hadn't taken to
paying for glasses of ale myself, and so kept the engine going, there
would have been next to nothing to do." The result was that in six
months Mr Mortimer had to leave the house, a poorer and a wiser man,
picking up odd jobs in waiting afterwards in the Palace and
neighbourhood, but retaining his habit of buying himself glasses of ale
to a rather alarming extent.
This habit was manifest upon the entrance of the first course, and had
greatly exercised Joseph in spirit lest it should be detected. In fact,
it became so bad by the time that the remove in the second course was
due, that the footman made a strategic movement, inveigling Mr Mortimer
into the big cupboard where knives and boots and shoes were cleaned, and
then and there locking him up in company with a glass and jug.
Perhaps a viler dinner, worse managed, was never set before guests; but
to Lord Henry Moorpark it was a banquet in dreamland, to Mr Elbraham it
was a feast, for from the moment he took down Clotilde to that when the
ladies rose to return to the drawing-room, he literally gloated over and
devoured the Honourable Misses Dymcox's niece.
Good dinners, served in the most refined style, had lost their charm for
the visitors, who seemed perfectly satisfied, Elbraham's face shining
like a sun when he smiled blandly at his _vis-a-vis_, whose
deeply-lined, aristocratic countenance wore an aspect of pleasant
satisfaction as he gazed back at the millionaire.
"I say, Moorpark, they look well, don't they?" said Elbraham.
"They do, indeed," assented Lord Henry, smiling.
"Make some of them stare on the happy day, I think."
"They are certainly very, very beautiful women," replied Lord Henry,
smiling and thoughtful.
"Eh--what? Oh, ah--yes: coffee. Thanks; I'll take coffee."
This to Joseph, who brought in a black mixture with some thin hot milk
and brown sugar to match. Lord Henry also took a cup, but it was
observable that neither gentleman got much farther than a couple of
spoonfuls.
"Well," said Elbraham suddenly, stretching out his hairy paws, and
examining their fronts and backs, "it's of no use our sitting here
drinking wine, is it?"
"Certainly not," said Lord Henry, who had merely sipped the very thin
champagne at dinner and taken nothing since.
So the gentlemen adjourned to the drawing-room, where certain
conversations took place before they left, the effect of which was to
send Mr Elbraham back to town highly elate, and Lord Henry to his old
bachelor home a sadder, if not a wiser, man.
He had found his opportunity, or, rather, it had been made for him, and
he had plainly asked Marie to be his wife.
"I know I ask you to make a sacrifice," he said--"you so youthful and
beautiful, while I am old, and not possessed of the attraction a young
man might have in your eyes; but if you will be my wife, nothing that
wealth and position can give shall be wanting to make yours a happy
home."
He thought Marie had never looked so beautiful before, as with flushed
cheeks she essayed to speak, and, smiling as he took her soft, white
hand in his, he asked her to be calm and patient with him.
"I dread your refusal," he said; "and yet, old as I am, there is no
selfishness in my love. I wish to see you happy, my child--I wish to
make you happy."
"She has accepted him," thought Marie; and her heart began to beat with
painful violence, for, Clotilde away, who could say that Marcus Glen
would not come to her for sympathy, and at last ask her love. She felt
that she could not accept Lord Henry's proposal, and she turned her face
towards him in an appealing way.
"You look troubled, my child," he said tenderly. "I want you to turn to
me as you would to one who has your happiness thoroughly at heart. I
want to win your love."
"My--my aunts know that you ask me this, Lord Henry?" she faltered.
"Yes, they know it; and they wish it, for we have quietly discussed the
matter, and," he added, with a sad smile, "I have not omitted to point
out to them how unsuited to you I am as a match. I throw myself then
upon your mercy, Marie, but you must not let fear influence you; I must
have your heart, my child, given over to my safe-keeping."
She looked at him wildly.
"Is this hand to be mine?" he whispered. "Will you make the rest of my
days blessed with your young love? Tell me, is it to be?"
"Oh, no, no, no, Lord Henry," she said, in a low, excited tone; "I could
not, I dare not say yes. Pray, pray do not ask me."
"Shall I give you time?" he whispered; "shall I wait a week--a month,
for your answer, and then come again and plead?"
"Oh, no, no, no," she said; "I could--I never could say yes. I like
you, Lord Henry, I respect and esteem you--indeed, indeed I do; but I
could not become your wife."
"You could not become my wife," he said softly. "No, no, I suppose not.
It was another foolish dream, and I should have been wiser. But you
will not ridicule me when I am gone? I ask you to try and think of the
old man's love with respect, even if it is mingled with pity, for,
believe me, my child, it is very true and honest."
"Ridicule! oh, no, no," cried Marie eagerly, "I could not do that. You
ask me to be your wife, Lord Henry: I cannot, but I have always felt
that I loved you as--like--"
"You might say a father or some dear old friend?" said Lord Henry sadly.
"Yes, indeed yes!" she cried.
"Be it so, then," he said, holding her hand in his in a sad, resigned
way. "You are right; it is impossible. Your young verdant spring and
my frosted winter would be ill matched. But let me go on loving you--if
not as one who would be your husband, as a very faithful friend."
"Yes, yes, please, Lord Henry," she said; "I have so few friends."
"Then you shall not lose me for one," he continued sadly. "There,
there, the little dream is over, and I am awake again. See here,
Marie," he said, drawing a diamond and sapphire ring from his pocket,
"this was to be your engaged ring: I am going to place it on your finger
now as a present from the dear old friend."
She shrank from him, but he retained her hand gently, and she felt the
ring glide over her finger, a quick glance showing her that her aunts
were seeing everything from behind the books they were reading, becoming
deeply immersed, though, as they saw how far matters seemed to have
progressed.
Mr Elbraham's wooing was moulded far differently to Lord Henry's.
It was an understood thing that he was to propose that evening, the
dinner being given for the purpose.
"There's no confounded tom-fool nonsense about me;" and each time Mr
Elbraham said this he took out of the morocco white satin-lined case a
brilliant half-hoop ring, set with magnificent stones, breathed on it,
held it to the light, moistened it between his lips, held it up again,
finished by rubbing it upon his sleeve, and returning it to the case.
"That'll fetch her," he said. "My! what you can do with a woman if you
bring out a few diamonds. I shan't shilly-shally: I shall come out with
it plump;" but all the same, when by proper manoeuvring the Honourable
Misses Dymcox had arranged themselves behind books and left the two
couples at opposite ends of the room, while they themselves occupied
_dos-a-dos_ the ottoman in the centre, Mr Elbraham did not "out with it
plump."
He seated himself as close as decency would permit to Clotilde, and
stared at her, and breathed hard, while she returned his look with one
that was half mocking, half defiant.
"Been to many parties lately?" he said at last, nothing else occurring
to his mind except sentences that he would have addressed to
ballet-girls upon their good looks, their agility, and the like.
No; Clotilde had not been to many parties.
"But you like 'em; I'll bet a wager you like 'em?" said Elbraham with a
hoarse laugh.
Oh yes, Clotilde dearly liked parties when they were nice.
There was another interval of hard breathing, during which Mr Elbraham
took out and consulted his watch.
The act of replacing that made him remember the ring in the morocco
case, and he thrust his finger and thumb in his vest pocket, but it was
not there, and he remembered that he had placed it in his trousers
pocket.
This was awkward, for Mr Elbraham was stout and his garments tight.
Still, he would want it directly, and he made a struggle and dragged it
out, growing rather red in the face with the effort.
This gave him something else to talk about.
"Ha! it's nice to be you," he said, dropping the case in his vest.
"Why?" said Clotilde, looking amused.
"Because you gal--ladies dress so well; not like us, always in black.
That's a pretty dress."
"Think so?" said Clotilde carelessly.
"Very pretty. I like it ever so, but it isn't half good enough for
you.--That's getting on at last," he muttered to himself.
"Oh yes, but it is. Aunt Philippa said it was a very expensive dress."
"Tchh, my dear, rubbish! Why, I would not see anyone I cared for in
such a dress as that. I like things rich and good, and the best money
can buy."
"Do you?" said Clotilde innocently; but her cheeks began to burn.
"Do I? Yes; I should just think I do. Look here! What do you think of
that?"
He took out and opened the little case, breathed on the diamonds, and
then held them in a good light.
"Oh, how lovely!" said Clotilde softly.
"Ain't they?" said Elbraham. "They're the best they'd got at Hancock's,
in Bond Street. Pretty stiff figure, too, I can tell you."
"Are you fond of diamonds, Mr Elbraham?" she said, with a peculiar look
at him from beneath her darkly fringed lids--a strange look for one so
innocent and young.
"Yes, on some people," he said. "Are you?"
"Oh yes; I love them," she said eagerly.
"All right, then. Look here, Clotilde; say the word, and you can have
diamonds till you are sick of them, and everything else. I--hang it
all! I'm not used to this sort of thing," he said, dabbing his moist
face with his handkerchief; "but I said to myself, when I came to-night,
`I won't shilly-shally, but ask her out plain.' So look here, my dear,
may I put this diamond ring on the finger of the lady that's to be Mrs
Elbraham as soon as she likes?"
Clotilde darted one luminous look at him which took in his squat, vulgar
figure and red face, and then her eyes half-closed, and she saw tall,
manly, handsome Marcus Glen look appealingly in her eyes, and telling
her he loved her with all his heart.
She loved him--she told herself she loved him very dearly; but he was
poor, and on the one side was life in lodgings in provincial towns
wherever the regiment was stationed; on the other side, horses and
carriages and servants, a splendid town mansion, diamonds, dresses, the
opera, every luxury and gaiety that money could command.
"Poor Marcus!" she sighed to herself. "He's very nice!"
"Come," said Mr Elbraham; "I don't suppose you want me to go down on my
knees and propose, do you? I want to do the thing right, but I'm a
business man, you know; and, I say, Clotilde, you're the most beautiful
gal I ever saw in my life."
She slowly raised her eyes to his, and there was a wicked, mocking laugh
in her look as she said in a low tone:
"Am I?"
"Yes, that you are," he whispered in a low, passionate tone.
"You are laughing at me," she said softly.
"'Pon my soul I'm not," he whispered again; "I swear I'm not; and I love
you--there, I can't tell you how much. I say, don't play with me. I'll
do anything you like--give you anything you like. I'll make the
princesses bite their lips with jealousy to see your jewels. I will,
honour! May I? Yes? Slip it on? I say, my beautiful darling, when
may I put on the plain gold one?"
"Oh, hush!" she whispered softly, as she surrendered her hand, and fixed
her eyes in what he told himself was a loving, rapturous gaze upon his;
"be content now."
"But no games," he whispered; "you'll be my wife?"
"Yes," she said in the same low tone, and he raised the beringed hand to
his lips, while the Honourable Isabella uttered a little faint sigh, and
her book trembled visibly in her attenuated hands.
"Hah!" ejaculated Mr Elbraham; and then to himself: "What things
diamonds are!"
Perhaps he would have felt less satisfied if he had known that, when
Clotilde fixed her eyes upon his, she was looking down a long vista of
pleasure stretched out in the future.
At the same moment the face of Marcus Glen seemed to rise up before her,
but she put it aside as she lifted the hand that Elbraham had just
kissed.
"He could not have brought me such a ring as that," she said to herself;
and then, "Heigho! poor fellow; but it isn't my fault. I must tell him
I am only doing what my dear aunts wish."
She placed the ring against her deep-red lips and kissed it very softly,
her beautiful eyes with their long fringed lids looking dark and dewy,
and full of a delicious languor that made Mr Elbraham sit with his arms
resting upon his knees, and gaze at her with half-open mouth, while he
felt a strange feeling of triumph at his power as a man of the world,
and thought of how he would show off his young wife to all he knew, and
gloat over their envy.
Then a sense of satisfaction and love of self came over him, and he
indulged in a little glorification of Mr Elbraham.
"Litton's a humbug," he said to himself; "I can get on better without
his advice than with it. Women like a fellow to be downright with them,
and say what he means."
Volume 2, Chapter X.