FOR TWO REASONS.
The young Squire, as soon as Neefit had left him in his own
sitting-room at the Moonbeam, sat himself down and began to think
over his affairs seriously. One thing was certain to him;--nothing on
earth should induce him to offer his hand again to Polly Neefit. He
had had a most miraculous escape, and assuredly would run no further
risk in that direction. But though he had escaped, he could perceive
that there was considerable trouble before him,--considerable trouble
and perhaps some disgrace. It certainly could not be proved against
him that he had broken any promise, as there had been no engagement;
but it could be made public that he had twice offered himself to
Polly, and could also be made public that he had borrowed the
breeches-maker's money. He kept himself alone on that evening; and
though he hunted on the following day, he was not found to be a
lively companion either by Cox or Pepper. The lieutenant was talking
about Neefit and Neefit's daughter all day: but Mr. Pepper, who was
more discreet, declined to canvass the subject. "It's nothing to me
who a man marries and who he don't," said Mr. Pepper. "What sort of
horses he rides;--that's what I look at." During this day and the
next Ralph did consider the state of his affairs very closely, and
the conclusion he came to was this, that the sooner he could engage
himself to marry Mary Bonner the better. If he were once engaged, the
engagement would not then be broken off because of any previous folly
with Miss Neefit; and, again, if he were once engaged to Mary Bonner,
Neefit would see the absurdity of torturing him further in regard
to Polly. On the Wednesday evening he went up to town, and on the
Thursday morning he put himself into a cab and ordered the man to
drive him to Popham Villa.
It was about noon when he started from town; and though he never
hesitated,--did not pause for a moment after he had made up his mind
as to the thing that he would do, still he felt many misgivings as
he was driven down to Fulham. How should he begin his story to Mary
Bonner, and how should he look Clary Underwood in the face? And yet
he had not an idea that he was in truth going to behave badly to
Clarissa. There had no doubt been a sort of tenderness in the feeling
that had existed between them,--a something just a little warmer than
brotherly regard. They had been thrown together and had liked each
other. And as he was driven nearer to the villa, he remembered
distinctly that he had kissed her on the lawn. But did any one
suppose that a man was bound to marry the first girl he kissed,--or
if not the first, then why the second, or the third? Clarissa could
have no fair ground of complaint against him; and yet he was uneasy
as he reflected that she too must know the purport of his present
visit to the villa.
And he was not quite easy about Mary. The good things which he
carried in his hand were so many that he did not conceive that Mary
would refuse him; but yet he wished that the offer had been made, and
had been accepted. Hitherto he had taken pleasure in his intercourse
with young ladies, and had rather enjoyed the excitement of those
moments which to some men are troublesome and even painful. When
he had told Clarissa that she was dearer than any one else, he had
been very happy while he was telling her. There had been nothing of
embarrassment to him in the work of proposing to Polly Neefit. There
may perhaps have been other passages in his life of the same nature,
and he certainly had not feared them beforehand or been ashamed of
them afterwards. But now he found himself endeavouring to think what
words he would use to Mary Bonner, and in what attitude he would
stand or sit as he used them. "The truth is," he said to himself, "a
man should do these kind of things without premeditation." But not
the less was he resolved, and at the gate he jumped out of his cab
with a determination to have it over as soon as possible. He desired
the cabman to wait for him at the nearest stables, remarking that
he might be there for a few minutes, or for a few hours, and then
turned to the gate. As he did so, he saw Sir Thomas walking from the
direction of Fulham Bridge. Sir Thomas had come down by the railway
on the other side of the river, and was now walking home. A sudden
thought struck the young Squire. He would begin his work by telling
his tale to Sir Thomas. There could be nothing so fitting as that he
should obtain the uncle's leave to address the niece.
The two men greeted each other, and there were many things to be
said. Sir Thomas had not seen his ward since the old Squire's death,
and Ralph had not seen Sir Thomas since the election at Percycross
and the accident of the broken arm. Sir Thomas was by far too
reticent, too timid, and too reflective a man to begin at once
whatever observations he might have to make ultimately in regard to
Miss Polly Neefit. He was somewhat slow of speech, unless specially
aroused, and had hardly received the congratulations of his young
friend respecting the election, and expressed with some difficult
decency his sorrow for the old Squire's death as combined with his
satisfaction that the estate had not been sacrificed, when Ralph
stopped him just as they had reached the front door, and, with much
solemnity of manner, declared his wish to make a very particular
private communication to Sir Thomas. "Certainly," said Sir Thomas,
"certainly. Come into my room." But there was some delay before this
privacy could be achieved, for in the hall they were met by the
three girls, and of course there were many things to be said by them.
Clarissa could hardly repress the flutter of her heart. When the
reader last saw her flutter, and last heard her words as she spoke of
her love to her cousin, she was taking an opportunity of declaring
to Mary Bonner that she did not begrudge the brilliance of Mary's
present prospects,--though the grand estate which made them brilliant
was in a measure taken from her own hopes. And she had owned at the
same time that she did not dare to feel confidence in her own love,
because her lover would now be too poor in his own esteem to indulge
himself with the luxury of a wife. All this Mary had accepted from
her, certainly with no expression of triumph, but certainly with some
triumph in her heart. Now this was entirely changed,--and here was
her lover, with his fortune restored to him, once more beneath her
father's roof! She gave him her hand the first of the three. She
could not repress herself. He took it with a smile, and pressed it
warmly. But he turned to Patience and took hers as rapidly as he was
able. Then came Mary's turn. "I hope you also are glad to see me once
again?" he said. Clarissa's heart sank within her as she heard the
words. The appreciation of a woman in such matters is as fine as the
nose of a hound, and is all but unintelligible to a man. "Oh, yes,
Mr. Newton," said Mary smiling. "But if he asks her, she'll take
him." No such words as these were formed even in Clarissa's mind; but
after some fashion such was the ejaculation of her heart. Mary's "Oh,
yes," had meant little enough, but could Mary withstand such chances
if they were offered to her?
Sir Thomas led the way into his private room, and Ralph followed him.
"You won't be long, papa," said Patience.
"I hope not," said Sir Thomas.
"Remember, Ralph, you will be keeping lunch waiting," said Patience.
Then the two men were alone. Sir Thomas's mind had recurred to Neefit
at the first moment of Ralph's request. The young man was going to
consult him as to the best mode of getting rid of that embarrassment.
But in the hall another idea had come upon him. He was to be asked
for his consent regarding Clarissa. As he seated himself in one chair
and asked Ralph to take another, he had not quite made up his mind
as to the answer he would give. There must at any rate be some delay.
The reader will of course remember that Sir Thomas was persuaded that
Ralph had engaged himself to marry Polly Neefit.
Ralph rushed boldly at his subject at once. "Sir Thomas," he said,
"I am going to make a proposition, and I wish to ask you for your
consent. I have made up my mind that the sooner I marry in my present
condition the better." Sir Thomas smiled and assented. "And I want to
know whether you will object to my asking Miss Bonner to be my wife."
"Miss Bonner!" said Sir Thomas, throwing up both his hands.
"Yes, sir;--is there any objection on your part?"
Sir Thomas hardly knew how to say whether there was or was not an
objection on his part. In the first place he had made up his mind
that the other Ralph was to marry Mary,--that he would do so in spite
of that disclaimer which had been made in the first moment of the
young man's disinheritance. He, Sir Thomas, however, could have no
right to object on that score. Nor could he raise any objection on
the score of Clarissa. It did seem to him that all the young people
were at cross purposes, that Patience must have been very stupid and
Clarissa most addlepated, or else that this Ralph was abominably
false; but still, he could say nothing respecting that. No tale had
reached his ears which made it even possible for him to refer to
Clarissa. But yet he was dissatisfied with the man, and was disposed
to show it. "Perhaps I ought to tell you," said Sir Thomas, "that a
man calling himself Neefit was with me yesterday."
"Oh, yes; the breeches-maker."
"I believe he said that such was his trade. He assured me that you
had borrowed large sums of money from him."
"I do owe him some money."
"A thousand pounds, I think he said."
"Certainly as much as that."
"Not for breeches,--which I suppose would be impossible, but for
money advanced."
"Part one and part the other," said Ralph.
"And he went on to tell me that you were engaged,--to marry his
daughter."
"That is untrue."
"Were you never engaged to her?"
"I was never engaged to her, Sir Thomas."
"And it was all a lie on the part of Mr. Neefit? Was there no
foundation for it? You had told me yourself that you thought of such
a marriage."
"There is nothing to justify him in saying that I was ever engaged
to the young lady. The truth is that I did ask her and she,--refused
me."
"You did ask her?"
"I did ask her," said Ralph.
"In earnest?"
"Well; yes;--certainly in earnest. At that time I thought it the only
way to save the property. I need not tell you how wretched I was at
the time. You will remember what you yourself had said to me. It
is true that I asked her, and that I did so by agreement with her
father. She refused me,--twice. She was so good, so sensible, and so
true, that she knew she had better not make herself a party to such
a bargain. Whatever you may think of my own conduct I shall not have
behaved badly to Miss Neefit."
Sir Thomas did think very ill of Ralph's conduct, but he believed
him. After a while the whole truth came out, as to the money lent and
as to Neefit's schemes. It was of course understood by both of them
that Ralph was required neither by honesty nor by honour to renew
his offer. And then under such circumstances was he or was he not to
be allowed to propose to Mary Bonner? At first Ralph had been much
dismayed at having the Neefit mine sprung on him at such a moment;
but he collected himself very quickly, and renewed his demand as
to Mary. Sir Thomas could not mean to say that because he had been
foolish in regard to Polly Neefit, that therefore he was to be
debarred from marrying! Sir Thomas did not exactly say that; but,
nevertheless, Sir Thomas showed his displeasure. "It seems," said he,
"particularly easy to you to transfer your affections."
"My affection for Miss Neefit was not strong," said Ralph. "I did,
and always shall, regard her as a most excellent young woman."
"She showed her sense in refusing you," said Sir Thomas.
"I think she did," said Ralph.
"And I doubt much whether my niece will not be equally--sensible."
"Ah,--I can say nothing as to that."
"Were she to hear this story of Miss Neefit I am sure she would
refuse you."
"But you would not tell it to her,--as yet! If all goes well with me
I will tell it to her some day. Come, Sir Thomas, you don't mean to
be hard upon me at last. It cannot be that you should really regret
that I have got out of that trouble."
"But I regret much that you should have borrowed a tradesman's money,
and more that you should have offered to pay the debt by marrying his
daughter." Through it all, however, there was a feeling present to
Sir Thomas that he was, in truth, angry with the Squire of Newton,
not so much for his misconduct in coming to propose to Mary so soon
after the affair with Polly Neefit, but because he had not come to
propose to Clarissa. And Sir Thomas knew that such a feeling, if it
did really exist, must be overcome. Mary was entitled to her chance,
and must make the best of it. He would not refuse his sanction to a
marriage with his niece on account of Ralph's misconduct, when he
would have sanctioned a marriage with his own daughter in spite of
that misconduct. The conversation was ended by Sir Thomas leaving
the room with a promise that Miss Bonner should be sent to fill his
place. In five minutes Miss Bonner was there. She entered the room
very slowly, with a countenance that was almost savage, and during
the few minutes that she remained there she did not sit down.
"Sir Thomas has told you why I am here?" he said, advancing towards
her, and taking her hand.
"No; that is;--no. He has not told me."
"Mary--"
"Mr. Newton, my name is Miss Bonner."
"And must it between us be so cold as that?" He still had her by the
hand, which she did not at the moment attempt to withdraw. "I have
come to tell you, at the first moment that was possible to me after
my uncle's death, that of all women in the world I love you the
best."
Then she withdrew her hand. "Mr. Newton, I am sorry to hear you say
so;--very sorry."
"Why should you be sorry? If you are unkind to me like this, there
may be reason why I should be sorry. I shall, indeed, be very sorry.
Since I first saw you, I have hoped that you would be my wife."
"I never can be your wife, Mr. Newton."
"Why not? Have I done anything to offend you? Being here as one of
the family you must know enough of my affairs to feel sure,--that I
have come to you the first moment that was possible. I did not dare
to come when I thought that my position was one that was not worthy
of you."
"It would have been the same at any time," said Mary.
"And why should you reject me,--like this; without a moment's
thought?"
"For two reasons," said Mary, slowly, and then she paused, as though
doubting whether she would continue her speech, or give the two
reasons which now guided her. But he stood, looking into her face,
waiting for them. "In the first place," she said, "I think you are
untrue to another person." Then she paused again, as though asking
herself whether that reason would not suffice. But she resolved that
she would be bold, and give the other. "In the next place, my heart
is not my own to give."
"Is it so?" asked Ralph.
"I have said as much as can be necessary,--perhaps more, and I would
rather go now." Then she left the room with the same slow, stately
step, and he saw her no more on that day.
Then in those short five minutes Sir Thomas had absolutely told
her the whole story about Polly Neefit, and she had come to the
conclusion that because in his trouble he had offered to marry a
tradesman's daughter, therefore he was to be debarred from ever
receiving the hand of a lady! That was the light in which he looked
upon Mary's first announcement. As to the second announcement he was
absolutely at a loss. There must probably, he thought, have been some
engagement before she left Jamaica. Not the less on that account was
it an act of unpardonable ill-nature on the part of Sir Thomas,--that
telling of Polly Neefit's story to Mary Bonner at such a moment.
He was left alone for a few minutes after Mary's departure, and then
Patience came to him. Would he stay for dinner? Even Patience was
very cold to him. Sir Thomas was fatigued and was lying down, but
would see him, of course, if he wished it. "And where is Clarissa?"
asked Ralph. Patience said that Clarissa was not very well. She also
was lying down. "I see what it is," said Ralph, turning upon her
angrily. "You are, all of you, determined to quarrel with me because
of my uncle's death."
"I do not see why that should make us quarrel," said Patience. "I do
not know that any one has quarrelled with you."
Of course he would not wait for dinner, nor would he have any lunch.
He walked out on to the lawn with something of a bluster in his step,
and stood there for three or four minutes looking up at the house and
speaking to Patience. A young man when he has been rejected by one
of the young ladies of a family has rather a hard time of it till he
gets away. "Well, Patience," he said at last, "make my farewells for
me." And then he was gone.