IN THE TOILS
In spite of his dislike of Copley, Fielden could not see much to object
to in his manner as he came forward to receive his guests. He was,
perhaps, a trifle loud and domineering, perhaps a little too familiar in
the way in which he held May Haredale's hand in his. Foster more or less
obliterated himself. It was his role in company to play the confidential
servant. He was quiet and subdued, though nothing escaped his sharp
glance. The dinner was excellent. Everything was in good taste, as
Fielden was forced to admit. The talk, for the most part, was lively and
was kept principally to the topic of sport. Afterwards there was a move
towards the billiard-room, and ere he realized it, Fielden found himself
engaged in a game of pool with Sir George and Foster, while May Haredale
and Copley looked on. A moment or two later these two vanished on a
pretext of Copley's that he wished to show May some sporting pictures he
had lately acquired. The pictures were duly inspected, but Copley made
no move to rejoin the party.
"Hadn't we better go back?" May suggested.
Copley turned an admiring glance upon the girl. There was no mistaking
the expression of his face. May had more than her fair share of courage,
but she was feeling a bit restless and nervous. She was wondering why
she disliked this man so much. She had had nothing but kindness and
courtesy at his hands. She knew that he had helped her father more than
once. Yet her instinct told her that Copley was not to be trusted. There
was a boldness about him that repelled her, something in his glittering
eye from which she recoiled. Now she knew almost before the words were
spoken what Copley was going to say.
"The others are not likely to miss us for a bit," he said. "Besides,
there is something I have to talk to you about. To be perfectly candid,
I asked you over here this evening on purpose. I wonder why it is that
you avoid me so."
"I was not aware of it," May murmured.
"But, indeed, you do. I have noticed it more than once. Surely you must
know why I come so frequently to Haredale Park. I am not much of a
ladies' man, Miss May, and I never have been. I have led a rough kind of
life. I know so little of the atmosphere of drawing-rooms. But every man
recognizes, when the time comes, when he meets with the woman who is
made for him alone, and that is the point I have reached. I think I
could provide you all you need. You will have a fine house and a good
position, and everything you want. I daresay this is a rough way of
putting it, but it is none the less sincere for that."
It was sincere enough, as May had to admit. Copley's assurance had
vanished. He was speaking from his heart. The man was rogue and
scoundrel through and through, but had fallen deeply in love with May
Haredale. He was prepared to go any lengths to make her his wife. It was
the only piece of honesty and sincerity that he had ever displayed since
he was old enough to know the distinction between right and wrong.
May stood silent and trembling. She was not insensible to the compliment
Copley was paying her. She knew that he meant every word he said, and
she knew, too, that there must be a hard fight before she could convince
him that the thing he so ardently desired was impossible. She had an
uneasy feeling, too, that Copley had not yet played all his cards. "I
ought to thank you, I suppose," she said. "In a sense you are doing me
an honour, and this is the first time that any man has asked me such a
question, and naturally I feel disturbed. But what you ask of me is
quite impossible."
"Why impossible?" Copley asked grimly. "Oh, I didn't expect you to jump
at me; I know you are not that sort of girl. Perhaps that is one of the
main reasons why I am so anxious to make you my wife. But if there is no
one else----"
"There is no one else," May said with a sorrowful sincerity which was
not lost upon her companion. "There is no one else, and there never will
be. If it is any sort of consolation to you, Mr. Copley, I shall never
marry."
"Never is a long day," Copley smiled. "At any rate, as long as there is
nobody else in question I shall feel encouraged to go on. I am a very
persistent man, and in the end I always get my own way. I'll ask you
again in a week or two, and, perhaps, when you have had time to think it
over----"
"No, no," May said firmly. "There must be no thinking it over. I could
not marry you. I could not care for you enough for that and I would
never marry a man to whom I could not give myself wholly and entirely.
It is the same to-day, it will be the same next year. Mr. Copley, I ask
you not to allude to this distressing topic again. If you do, I shall
have no alternative but to treat you as a stranger."
There was no mistaking the sincerity of May's words. Her natural courage
and resolution had come back to her. She met Copley's glance without
flinching. Her little mouth was firmly set. Even Copley, with all his
egotism and assurance, knew that the last words had been said.
A sudden blind rage clutched him. His thin veneer of gentility vanished.
He stretched out a hand and laid it upon the girl's arm.
"So you mean to defy me," he said hoarsely.
"Defy you!" May cried, indignantly. "What do you mean? Have you
forgotten that you are a gentleman? Anybody would think to look at you
and hear you speak that you were playing the villain in some sensational
melodrama. You have paid me the compliment of asking me to be your wife,
and I have done my best to decline in such a manner as to give you as
little pain as possible. You will be good enough to take me back to the
billiard-room and not to allude to this matter again."
Copley laughed derisively. He had forgotten himself. The love and
passion in his heart had died away to a sullen anger. Never since he had
known May Haredale had he felt such a wild longing to possess her. Well,
if the girl would have it, then he must speak openly and freely. She
must be made to understand that here was her master, whose lightest wish
she must learn to obey.
"You don't understand," he said. "I suppose you think you have only to
raise your hand and pick and choose. Ah, you are mistaken, my dear young
lady. If you don't believe me, ask Sir George. He promised to speak to
you on my behalf, but I see he hasn't done so. Probably he shirked it.
Now I shall have to tell you myself. Do you know that at the present
moment I am master of Haredale Park? I don't imagine you are acquainted
with business, but you know that your father is not a rich man. Has that
fact escaped you?"
"I am aware of it," May said coldly.
"Very well, then. Where do you suppose he has found the money to pay his
racing debts? Do you suppose it dropped from the clouds? During the last
twelve months, your father has had from me something like thirty
thousand pounds. Even a rich man can't always put his hand on large sums
of money like that. And I should have refused to part with the money if
it had not been for your sake. But when a man is in love, he is guilty
of all sorts of follies and extravagances and when a man like me is in
love he does not stick at trifles. Now try to realize my position. Try
to realize that if I say the word there is an end to Haredale Park as
far as you are concerned. I am not boasting. I could turn you both out
to-morrow if I chose, and what would become of you then? Ask yourself
the question. You needn't answer it now; you can take time to do so."
May Haredale trembled from head to foot. She had half-dreaded,
half-expected this, but the blow was no less crushing now that it had
fallen, and she could see from the grim expression on Copley's face that
he meant every word he said. She had read of similar situations in
novels, but they had sounded cold and unconvincing, and little like the
real thing now that she was face to face with it.
"You would never do it," she faltered.
"By Heaven, I would!" Copley cried. "Ah, you do not know what manner of
man I am. Why, when you look at me like that, instead of melting I grow
all the harder. I must make you my wife. You little know the sacrifices
I have made to bring this about. I never thought that I could be a fool
for the sake of a woman. I could almost laugh at my own folly, but it
has become part and parcel of my very existence, the only object in the
world that is worth attaining. Well, it is no use talking, for I could
go on in the same strain all night. It is for you to decide. You can
please yourself whether your father is turned out of house and home, or
whether your prosperous and happy future----"
"Prosperous and happy future," May echoed scornfully. "The words on your
lips sound like blasphemy. It seems almost incredible that a man with
any sort of pride should stoop to such a trick as this to force a woman
to marry him, when, from the bottom of her heart, she loathes and
detests him."
Copley jeered.
"Oh, go on," he said. "Let it come out. Treat me as if I were dirt under
your feet. But you will think better of it before a week has passed.
Tell your father what I have been saying to-night, and talk it over
with him. Perhaps he will be able to persuade you better than I can. Let
us go back to the billiard-room."
May turned coldly away, but her eyes were dim, and all the world seemed
slipping away from beneath her feet.