Old Max looked up at his visitor over the great tortoise-shell
spectacles on his nose. He had a large Bible open on the table before
him. The large Bible was placed there every evening, and on Sunday
evenings any other mundane volume which might chance to be lying in the
parlour was carefully removed out of sight, to be restored to the light
of day on Monday morning. This was the custom of the house, and had been
so for years. It had obtained all through the Methodist days, and now
lasted under the new orthodox dispensation. Since old Max had his
spectacles on, it was to be supposed that he had been reading, and,
since there was no other printed document within sight, not even an
almanac, it was clear that he could have been reading nothing but his
Bible. And yet it was nearly an hour since he had turned the page before
him. He had been dozing, sitting up in his chair by the fire. This had
latterly become a habit with him whenever he was left alone in the
evening. And once, even, he had fallen into a sleep, or a stupor, in the
midst of the assembled family, and, on awaking, had been lethargic in
his movements, and dazed in his manner for some time.
He was quite awake now, however, as he peered sharply at Diamond over
his glasses. The latter found some little difficulty in beginning his
communication, not being assisted by a word from old Max, who stared at
him silently.
"I have a few words to say to you, Mr. Maxfield, if you are at leisure
to hear them," he said at length.
"If it's anything in the natur' of a business communication, I can't
attend to it now," returned old Max deliberately. "It has been a rule of
mine through life to transact no manner of business on the Lord's day,
and I have found it prosper with me."
"No, no; it is not a matter of business, Mr. Maxfield," said Diamond
smiling, but not quite at his ease. Then he sat down and told his
errand. Maxfield listened in perfect silence. "May I hope, Mr. Maxfield,
that you will give us your consent and approbation?" asked Diamond,
after a pause.
"You're pretty glib, sir! I must know a little more about this matter
before I can give an answer one way or another."
"You shall know all that I can tell you, Mr. Maxfield. Indeed, I do not
see what more I have to say. I have explained to you what my prospects
in life are. I have told you every particular with the most absolute
fulness and candour. As to my feeling for your daughter, I don't think I
could fully express that if I talked to you all night."
"What did my daughter say to you?"
"She--she told me that she was willing to be my wife, but that it must
depend upon your consent."
"Rhoda has always been a very dutiful daughter. There's not many like
Rhoda."
"I appreciate her, Mr. Maxfield. You may believe that I do most heartily
appreciate her. I have long known that all my happiness depended on
winning Rhoda for my wife. I have loved her long. But, of course, I
could not venture to ask her to marry me, or to ask you to give her to
me, until I had some prospect of a home to offer her."
"Ah! And this prospect, now--you aren't sure about it?"
"No; I am not quite sure."
"And, supposing you don't get the place--how then?"
"Why, then, Mr. Maxfield, I should look for another. If you will give
your consent to my engagement to Rhoda, I am not afraid of not finding
a place in the world for her. I have a fair share of resolution; I am
industrious and well educated; I am not quite thirty years old. If you
will give me a word of encouragement I shall be sure to succeed."
"Head-master of Dorrington Proprietary School, eh? Will that be a place
like Dr. Bodkin's?"
"Something of that kind, only not so lucrative."
"Dr. Bodkin is thought a good deal of in Whitford."
"Mr. Maxfield, may I hope for a favourable answer from you before I go?"
Old Max struck his hand sharply on the table as he exclaimed, almost
with a snarl, "I will not be hurried, sir! nor made to speak rashly and
without duly pondering and meditating my words." Then he added, in a
different tone, "You are glib, sir! mighty glib! Do you know what Miss
Maxfield will have to her portion--if I choose to give it her?"
"No, Mr. Maxfield, I do not. Nor do I care to know. I would take her to
my heart to-morrow if she would come, although she were the poorest
beggar in the world!"
"And would you take her without my consent?"
"I would, if you had no reasonable grounds for withholding it."
"You would steal my daughter away without my consent?"
"I said nothing about stealing. I should not think of deceiving you in
the matter. I think you must acknowledge that I am speaking to you
pretty frankly, at any rate!"
Maxfield could not but acknowledge to himself that the young man was
honest and straightforward, and spoke fairly. He was well-looking too,
and had the air of a gentleman, although there was not a trace about him
of the peculiar airy elegance, the graceful charm of face and figure,
which made Algernon Errington so attractive. Neither had he Algernon's
gift of flattery, so adroitly conveyed as to appear unconscious;
nor--what might, under the present circumstances, have served him
equally well with the old tradesman--Algernon's good-humoured way of
taking for granted his own incontestable social superiority over the
Whitford grocer. Maxfield had his doubts as to whether this young man,
ex-usher at the Grammar School, a fellow who went about to people's
houses and gave lessons for money, could prove to be a fine enough match
for his Rhoda, even though he should become head-master at
Dorrington--Maxfield had so set his heart on seeing Rhoda "made a lady
of," in the phraseology of his class.
"I shall have some conversation with my daughter, and let you have my
answer after that, sir," said he, looking half sullenly, half
thoughtfully at the suitor. "And as there will be questions of figures
to go into, maybe, I am not willing to consider the subject more at
length on the Lord's day."
But I am bound to confess that this was an afterthought on old Max's
part.
When Diamond had gone, the old man sent for his daughter to come to him
in the parlour. "You can take yourself off, Betty Grimshaw," said he to
that respectable spinster, very unceremoniously. "You and James can bide
in the kitchen till supper's ready. When it is, come and tell me."
Rhoda came, in answer to her father's summons, very calmly. She had, of
course, expected it. She had quite got over the agitation of the
interview with her lover, and was her usual sweet, placid self again.
Yes; she said Mr. Diamond had asked her to marry him, and she was
willing to marry him if her father would consent. She believed Mr.
Diamond loved her very much, and she liked him very much. She had been
afraid of him once because he was so very learned and clever, and seemed
rather proud and stern. But he was really extremely gentle when you came
to know him. She was sure he would be kind to her.
"It's not a thing to decide upon all in a moment, Rhoda," said her
father.
"No, father; but I have thought of it for some time past," answered
Rhoda, simply.
The old man looked at her with a slight feeling of surprise. "Rhoda has
a vast deal of common sense," thought he. "She has some of my brains
inside that pretty brown head of hers, that is so like her poor
mother's!" Then he said aloud, "You see, this Mr. Diamond is nobody
after all. A schoolmaster! Well, that's no great shakes."
"Dr. Bodkin is a schoolmaster, father."
"Dr. Bodkin is rector of St. Chad's and D.D., and a man of substance
besides."
"Mr. Diamond is a gentleman, father. Everybody allows that."
"Do you think you could be happy to be his wife, Rhoda?" As he asked
this question her father's voice was almost tender, and he placed his
hand gently on her head.
"Yes, father; I think so. He would take care of me, and be good to me,
and guide me right. And he would never put himself between you and me,
father. I mean he would wish me always to be dutiful and affectionate to
you."
"Well, Rhoda, we must consider. And I hope the Lord will send me wisdom
in the matter. I would fain see thee happy before I am called away. God
bless thee, child."
Jonathan Maxfield turned the matter in his mind during the watches of
the night with much anxious consideration, according to his lights. In
social status there was truly not much to complain of, he thought. A man
in a position like that of Dr. Bodkin, who should have money of his own
(or of his wife's) to render him independent of the profits of his
place, might come to be a personage of importance. "And money there will
be; more'n they think for," said old Max to himself. "The young man
seemed to worship Rhoda; as he ought." She had shown herself to be very
dutiful, very honest, very sensible on this occasion. "He's out and away
a better man than that t'other one! Lives clear and clean before the
world, and is ashamed to look no man in the face."
Thus old Max reflected. And it will be seen that his reflections tended
more and more to favour the acceptance of Matthew Diamond as his
son-in-law. Yes; he should be glad to see Rhoda safe and happy under a
husband's care before he died. And yet--and yet--he felt, as the
prosperous wooer had felt, a dim sense of dissatisfaction. Old Max could
not be accused of being sentimental, but he had looked forward to
Rhoda's marriage as an occasion of triumph and exultation. If she found
a husband whom he approved of, he would be large and generous in his
dealings with them. He would show the world that Rhoda Maxfield was no
tocherless lass, but an heiress, courted, and sought after, and destined
to belong to a sphere far above that of Whitford shopkeepers. Now the
husband had been found--he had almost made up his mind as to that--but
there was no exultation; certainly no triumph. Rhoda was so cool and
quiet. Very sensible! Oh, admirably sensible; but----. In a word, the
whole affair seemed a little flat and chilly. Of all the three
personages chiefly interested, Rhoda was the only one who was conscious
of no disappointment.