WHAT HOPE CAN DO.
“Don’t talk to me of tonics!” said Colonel Dacre, a week after his
engagement to Lady Gwendolyn. “I don’t believe in them at all. There
is a sovereign remedy for ‘all the ills that flesh is heir to’; but
it does not come within the doctors’ province, although they take the
credit of its cures.”
“What is that?” inquired Lady Gwendolyn, smiling.
“Hope! When I roused from my long stupor that night, and looked
straight into your dear eyes, the love and pity there gave me courage
to live. Without that I should have fast drifted back into the shadow
again, and not tried to struggle against my terrible weakness. But you
forget, Gwen, that you have never told me how you heard of my illness.”
“One of the chambermaids was my first informant. She said there was a
gentleman ill in the hotel; and when I questioned her, she described
you so accurately that I knew at once whom it must be.”
“But where were you then?”
“Here,” answered Lady Gwendolyn, laughing.
“What! in the hotel? But I thought you wrote me that you had left.”
“I did leave for a few hours--just long enough to get my hair dyed
golden, and to put myself in deep mourning, when I returned as ‘Miss
Mordaunt.’”
“I wonder you weren’t recognized by the servants.”
“None of them had seen me at all plainly. I was very anxious they
should not, after my encounter with Mrs. O’Hara, as I did not know
what she might say, and so I took my precautions. Besides, the golden
hair does alter one a good deal.”
“I knew you at once, Gwen.”
“You looked into my eyes first.”
“Wherever my first glance had fallen it would have been the same thing,
Gwen. Indeed, if I had put out my hand in the darkness and touched you,
some subtle sense would have told me who it was.”
“‘By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.’”
quoted Lady Gwendolyn gaily. “I suppose that is the kind of warning you
would have found at your fingers’ ends, Lawrence.”
“I have done with warnings,” he answered more gravely. “They may be a
help to you when you don’t want to do a thing; but when you do want
they only make you wish for it more. The best way is to follow your
inclinations, so long as they are sufficiently moral, and let the rest
take care of itself.”
“I don’t know about being the best way; but it is the most pleasant.
What is the use of living, if one has to do nothing but struggle,” said
Lady Gwendolyn, who found drifting with the tide a happier state of
things than struggling against circumstances.
There was a minute’s silence, and then Colonel Dacre looked up from the
carpet, which he had been studying with great apparent interest, and
observed:
“To-day is Wednesday, is it not?”
“I believe so.”
“How long does it take to buy a dress, Gwen?”
“That depends upon the buyer. If you are fond of shopping it takes
several hours; if you dislike shopping as much as I do it only takes a
few minutes.”
“A few minutes! Come, that is delightful!” he said cheerily. “But,
then, it has to be made, I suppose?”
“Well, as a rule.”
“You are quizzing me, Gwen, I perceive. We always expose ourselves to
ridicule when we ask for information.”
“Of course, because you display your ignorance so conspicuously. But
tell me what makes you take an interest in these feminine matters,
Lawrence?”
“I was calculating that we might easily be married on Tuesday, my love.”
“Really, Lawrence!” she exclaimed, blushing furiously. “I thought you
had more common sense.”
“Well, but what need prevent it?”
“A hundred things.”
“Mention one or two.”
“I am not ready, for one thing.”
“You mean as far as clothes go? That is of no consequence, as you can
buy whatever you want afterward. You will naturally wish to consult my
taste, and, therefore, it will be very convenient to have me on the
spot to appeal to at every moment.”
“I should like to see your face of disgust under the infliction,” she
said, laughing nervously.
“You are quite welcome to the spectacle. But go on with your reasons,
Gwen; we have only had one so far, and you have still ninety-nine in
reserve.”
“It would look so odd.”
“My dear child, when you consider how many people do get married, such
an ordinary case as ours would not look odd, I assure you. Besides,
I thought we had both decided not to mind what people said. Not that
people will say anything that need afflict you. Lady Teignmouth is
known to be an impracticable person, and very jealous of your beauty;
so that when it is reported that neither she nor your brother was
present at your wedding, it will be laid to her. Lord Teignmouth and I
were always excellent friends; and though I am not a very grand person,
still, I do not think he would be supposed to object to the marriage.”
“Of course not. How could he?” said Lady Gwendolyn quickly. “I never
dreamed they would find any objection of that sort.”
“What, then?”
“I suppose they must accuse me of having behaved badly in some way to
account for Reggie’s desertion.”
“Not at all; they will think it is one of my lady’s caprices. She is
cordially disliked by her own sex, because she has a way of making
herself so extremely agreeable to their husbands.”
“Like your friend, Mrs. O’Hara,” put in Lady Gwendolyn maliciously.
“I don’t think the two women can be compared in any way. Norah is a
thoughtless flirt--Lady Teignmouth is a cold-blooded coquette.”
“Isn’t that a distinction without a difference, Lawrence?”
“I should be sorry to think so, Gwen, since a certain young lady, who
is beyond measure dear to my heart, was certainly a thoughtless flirt
in days not very long gone by.”
“I didn’t mean any harm,” said Gwendolyn, coloring.
“Exactly; nor did Nora. But Lady Teignmouth means a good deal of harm.
She has the most insatiable vanity of any woman I ever knew, and would
quite have enjoyed that affair at Turoy as a tribute to her charms, if
only it could have been proved that Mr. Belmont committed suicide in
despair.”
“Oh! then, you are convinced at last that Mr. Belmont was Lady
Teignmouth’s lover, and not mine.”
“Perfectly; for ‘putting that an’ that thegither,’ as the Scotch say,
I see the whole case clear before me. Lady Teignmouth meant to make a
fool of me--not because I was particularly desirable, but because she
looked upon all men as her legitimate prey. When she found that you
had saved her the trouble she felt very spiteful, and longed to make a
breach between us. I am convinced now that the person I saw at Preston
Station was Lady Teignmouth, although she did get into a third-class
carriage, and assumed a regular Northern burr on purpose to divert
my suspicions. She kept me to luncheon after she had given me your
address, because she did not want me to reach Turoy until she was ready
to receive me.”
“But I should have fancied you would have been in her way there.”
“No; because she wanted to kill two birds with one stone--get rid of
a lover whose ardor was growing troublesome and compromising, and
disenchant me. I must say that she is a consummate actress, and managed
things very cleverly.”
“Too cleverly, I think,” answered Lady Gwendolyn.
“But you will admit, dearest, that if you go in for that sort of thing
you may as well do it nicely.”
“In fact, if you are a rogue at all, you may as well be----”
“A good rogue,” put in Colonel Dacre, laughing.
“I don’t like your morality at all, Lawrence; it is much better to fail
in a bad trade.”
“Certainly; but, then, I did not know we were speaking morally. I was
discussing the question from a worldly point of view. But go on with
your reasons against our speedy marriage--there are still ninety eight
to account for.”
“I--I--think I am afraid of you, Lawrence,” answered Lady Gwendolyn,
looking down.
“Go on; that’s a reason with a reason, and, therefore, needs
explaining.”
“I can’t explain it. I know I oughtn’t to be; and that you are one of
those men who may be trusted; that I shall still keep your affection
even when my beauty is waning. Still, when I picture the long future
that may be before us, I get frightened.”
“Then you do not love me, Gwen. When I remember that we may have a long
future I thrill with joy--because we shall be together always--unless
death should part us. This is just what I have prayed and longed for,
and I found myself getting terribly depressed the other day because I
was twelve years older than you, and might have to leave you a little
while alone in the world.”
His accent and expression showed such deep sincerity, such a passion of
yearning love, that, although Lady Gwendolyn was rather chary of her
caresses as a rule, thinking she had already made too many concessions,
she bent down now, and laid her fresh, cool cheek against his hand.
“Don’t, darling,” he said diffidently. “You pain me.”
“Why not let me be a little humble, Lawrence? Balzac says that you can
never be sure you have really won a woman’s love until she is on her
knees before you.”
“I think I could bear to see you there if it had such a meaning.”
She slipped down, blushing, and looked up at him with such a divine
smile, such true love-light in her eyes, that he would have been less
than human if he had not strained her to his heart, while he murmured
again and again that he loved her better than life, next to honor, and
after God.
Still, when he released her, he said, with comical persistence:
“Now for the ninety-seventh, Gwen?”
“I am tired of giving you reasons, you dispose of them so summarily.”
“Because they are so flimsy, and unsubstantial. And, seriously,
darling, it is right we should be married at once. You stand quite
alone--you are beautiful enough to make other women your enemies by
simply unveiling your face. And you will surely be very lonely in
lodgings.”
“Am I to go into lodgings, then?”
“I am sorry to say you ought. There can be no excuse for your remaining
here, now that I am so much stronger.”
Lady Gwendolyn looked exceedingly grave.
“It seems very difficult to be single comfortably,” she said.
“Yes, there the world is good enough to help us poor lovers. Some of
you would hesitate half your life away if you did not occasionally feel
the need of masculine aid and intervention.”
“I wish I were strong-minded, then.”
“Thank goodness, you are not! Only in that case I should not be
pleading to you now, as there is nothing earthly of which I have a
greater horror than a woman who raves about her rights, and lectures
publicly on things she does not half understand.”
“When I lecture I’ll get you to coach me beforehand,” said Lady
Gwendolyn saucily. “Of course I should not like to be deprived of my
rights any more than the rest.”
“Do you know what they are?”
“I suppose I do. Let me see, I have a right to your entire affection.”
“Granted. What next?”
She hesitated a long time, and then laughed out gaily.
“I really don’t know. I expect if I had your entire affection there
would not be any need to make any minor claims, unless it were for
increased pin-money; and you have such ridiculous notions upon that
subject I am only afraid of being too rich.”
“Then we have settled that question. How about the other?”
“What other?” she asked innocently.
“Don’t be foolish, child. You seem to take a pleasure in tormenting me.”
Lady Gwendolyn hung down her head, and became as red as a rose. She
understood now.
“But I really don’t think there is any such great hurry, Lawrence,” she
said, still disposed to capitulate.
“And I really think I have sufficiently proved that there is something
to hurry about,” was the cool reply.
Her arguments failing to convince, Lady Gwendolyn took refuge in a
pout. This is a woman’s last refuge when she finds her position is
weak, and is a sure index of faltering resolution.
“You are very unreasonable, Lawrence, and abominably arbitrary. Because
you want a thing it must needs be done.”
“If the thing be right.”
“But your wishing it seems to make it right, in your own eyes,” she
answered petulantly.
“You are entirely mistaken there, Gwen. I love you so tenderly that
if I wished anything that would harm you in your reputation, your
self-respect, in any way, in fact, I would bite my tongue in twain
before I would advocate it by a single word. But you ought to marry
before people find out that you have been here with me. Don’t you
understand?”
“I thought nothing could be said, as this is a hotel----”
“I am not sure that does not aggravate the case, by rendering it more
conspicuous.”
“You turn and twist every argument I bring forward so as to make it
serve your cause,” she said resentfully. “It is no use my trying to
have an opinion of my own.”
“That is just what I am trying to persuade you, Gwen,” he said, drawing
her to him in spite of her struggles. “You shall have your own way as
much as is good for you after we are married; but now I want mine.
Don’t be so impracticable, darling,” he added, in his coaxing voice.
“You know what I demand is ‘just, expedient, and right.’”
“I know it is very tiresome to be hurried,” she said, by way of showing
that she had still a few objections in reserve.
“But you sha’n’t be hurried, dearest. Listen to my program. This
evening you will go to Mrs. Venable, in Park Lane.”
“How do you know she will receive me?”
“I have already asked her the question, and received a satisfactory
reply,” said Colonel Dacre quietly. “I never let the grass grow under
my feet when I have work to do that should be done quickly.”
“But what made you think of Mrs. Venable?”
“For two or three reasons. As your former governess I thought she would
be a suitable person. And then I knew you liked her, and would prefer
to be married from her house.”
“Then I should have to stay there a fortnight,” said Lady Gwendolyn,
with a little air of triumph, for she thought she was going to demolish
the gallant colonel’s program.
“Not at all. There is nothing to prevent our being married to-morrow,
if you like.”
“I thought you were obliged to remain a certain time in a place.”
“I have a special license, Gwen, and, moreover, we have both been more
than the required length of time in this parish.”
“Oh!” she said rather dubiously. “You have arranged everything, then?”
“Of course. Would you mind trying on your wedding-ring, to make sure it
fits?”
Gwendolyn’s eyes flashed, and her color rose. But when he stooped down
and kissed her, she suddenly laid her hand on his breast and burst into
tears.
“I begin to think you don’t love me a bit, Gwen,” he said, caressing
her tenderly; “or that you look upon me as a kind of ogre, who is not
to be trusted with a woman’s happiness.”
“You know it isn’t that.”
“Then what is it?”
“Marriage is a great change, and a great risk,” she stammered out at
last.
“Of course it is a change, dear love; but it cannot be any risk when
you have a man of honor to deal with, and know yourself to be truly
valued and beloved.”
“Yes,” she said desperately; “but I am afraid I shall often trouble
about that lady I saw at Borton Hall.”
Colonel Dacre changed color visibly.
“I thought you had promised me never to think about or mention her
again, Gwen? I do solemnly swear over again that no woman living,
excepting yourself, can ever say that I have asked her to be my wife. I
had a good many foolish fancies as a lad, but none of them went as far
as that.”
“Was she one of your foolish fancies?” inquired Lady Gwendolyn
hesitatingly.
“I don’t know whom you mean by she, but I can answer for it that my
‘foolish fancies’ are all married, and the mothers of families by this
time.”
“Then you haven’t had any lately?” she asked, with timid but anxious
earnestness.
“Not for the last ten years, on my word.”
“And the lady at Borton----” she persisted.
“Was a myth, or an impostor, and need not trouble you for a moment.”
“I thought you said she was probably a madwoman who had delusions?”
observed Lady Gwendolyn, who appeared to have stored up carefully the
lightest word her lover had spoken on the subject.
“Did I say that?” he returned, slightly embarrassed. “Well, it may
be so; and all the better if it were, as she would not be likely to
trouble you again.”
“Will she now, do you suppose?”
“No, my love; I’ll take care about that, when once you are in my
charge. Besides, you may be sure that if she is not right in her mind,
she has been put under confinement by this time.”
“It is to be hoped so, because--don’t be angry with me, Lawrence--but
if she were to claim you after we were married, I should not feel that
I ought to stay with you a minute longer.”
“Then the ravings of a maniac would drive you out of your home, even
after we had been all in all to each other; and you ought to have
learned to trust me.”
“I am afraid it would. To take another woman’s place would be such a
terrible wrong. Indeed, I don’t think I ought to marry you at all,
only--only I am so wicked, so horrible. I would rather be your wife a
little while than never at all. And you swear that you are free?”
“I swear it!” he answered solemnly and firmly.
“Then I won’t trouble about all these horrors any more. After all, any
man might be married secretly--who is to know? And you always must
trust to his word, mustn’t you? If I had never seen that woman at
Borton Hall, it would not have occurred to me to ask the question. I
should have made so sure it was all right.”
“And it is all right now, you foolish child. Do I look like a
malefactor and a scoundrel?”
“No; you look very nice,” Lady Gwendolyn admitted, with a blush.
“But not nice enough to be trusted, it seems. However, I’ll teach
you that later, my love; _en attendant_, you may as well fix our
wedding-day.”
“This day three months,” said Lady Gwendolyn demurely; “unless you
think that too soon.”
“You little witch! If you don’t take care I will insist upon its taking
place in three days!” retorted Colonel Dacre.
“But I am not obliged to obey.”
“Oh! I shall use coercive measures. But seriously, very seriously,
Gwen, you are paining me by all these objections. If you don’t love
me, leave me. Heaven knows I do not want an unwilling wife; but if you
pretend to care for me, act up to your profession. I have put you to
the test, and if you fail me, I shall get away out of the country as
fast as I can, and try and forget the woman who has spoiled my whole
life. I have made all my arrangements to leave England on Wednesday.
Will you come with me or not? I warn you fairly that I am not poor
spirited enough ever to give you another chance of fooling me. If once
I leave you behind, we shall never meet again on this side of the
grave.”
His decided tone startled Gwendolyn. She saw she had found a lover at
last who would not be played fast and loose with, and she began to
respect Colonel Dacre as much as she had loved him.
To have parted with him forever would have broken her heart outright,
and as she could only keep him one way, she must make the sacrifice he
demanded.
To do Lady Gwendolyn justice, she was not wont to give grudgingly when
she did give. So that having decided to accord what he asked, she made
the gift sweeter by the grace with which she gave. All his long life
Colonel Dacre would remember the smile that lighted up her blushing
face as she put her hand into his, and murmured:
“I will marry you when you like, Lawrence, and trust you whatever
betide.”
If Lady Gwendolyn had kept the second promise as she kept the first,
how much sorrow it would have saved them both.