Lord Culduff and Colonel Bramleigh spoke little to each other as they
journeyed back to Ireland. Each fell back upon the theme personally
interesting to him, and cared not to impart it to his neighbor. They
were not like men who had so long travelled the same road in life that
by a dropping word a whole train of associations can be conjured up, and
familiar scenes and people be passed in review before the mind.
A few curt sentences uttered by Bramleigh told how matters stood in
the City--money was “tight” being the text of all he said; but of that
financial sensitiveness that shrinks timidly from all enterprise after
a period of crash and bankruptcy, Culduff could make nothing. In his own
craft nobody dreaded the fire because his neighbor's child was burned,
and he could not see why capitalists should not learn something from
diplomacy.
Nor was Colonel Bramleigh, on his side, much better able to follow the
subjects which had interest for his companion. The rise and fall of
kingdoms, the varying fortunes of states, impressed themselves upon the
City man by the condition of financial credit they implied, and a mere
glance at the price of a foreign loan conveyed to his appreciation a
more correct notion of a people than all the blue-books and all the
correspondence with plenipotentiaries.
These were not Culduffs views. His code--it is the code of all his
calling--was: No country of any pretensions, no more than any gentleman
of blood and family, ever became bankrupt. Pressed, hard-pushed, he
would say, Yes! we all of us have had our difficulties, and to surmount
them occasionally we are driven to make unprofitable bargains, but we
“rub through,” and so will Greece and Spain and those other countries
where they are borrowing at twelve or twenty per cent, and raise a loan
each year to discharge the dividends.
Not only, then, were these two little gifted with qualities to render
them companionable to each other, but from the totally different way
every event and every circumstance presented itself to their minds, each
grew to conceive for the other a sort of depreciatory estimate as of
one who only could see a very small part of any subject, and even that
colored and tinted by the hues of his own daily calling.
“So, then,” said Culduff, after listening to a somewhat lengthy
explanation from Bramleigh of why and how it was that there was nothing
to be done financially at the moment,--“so, then, I am to gather the
plan of a company to work the mines is out of the question?”
“I would rather call it deferred than abandoned,” was the cautious
reply.
“In my career what we postpone we generally prohibit. And what other
course is open to us?”
“We can wait, my Lord, we can wait. Coal is not like indigo or tobacco;
it is not a question of hours--whether the crop be saved or ruined. We
can wait.”
“Very true, sir; but _I_ cannot wait. There are some urgent calls upon
me just now, the men who are pressing which will not be so complaisant
as to wait either.”
“I was always under the impression, my Lord, that your position as
a peer, and the nature of the services that you were engaged in, were
sufficient to relieve you from all the embarrassments that attach to
humbler men in difficulties?”
“They don't arrest, but they dun us, sir; and they dun with an
insistence and an amount of menace, too, that middle-class people can
form no conception of. They besiege the departments we serve under with
their vulgar complaints, and if the rumor gets abroad that one of us is
about to be advanced to a governorship or an embassy, they assemble in
Downing Street like a Reform demonstration. I declare to you I had to
make my way through a lane of creditors from the Privy Council Office
to the private entrance to F. O., my hands full of their confounded
accounts--one fellow, a boot-maker, actually having pinned his bill to
the skirt of my coat as I went. And the worst of these impertinences
is, that they give a Minister who is indisposed towards you a handle for
refusing your just claims. I have just come through such an ordeal: I
have been told that my debts are to be a bar to my promotion.”
The almost tremulous horror which he gave to this last expression--as of
an outrage unknown to mankind--warned Bramleigh to be silent.
“I perceive that you do not find it easy to believe this, but I pledge
my word to you it is true. It is not forty-eight hours since a Secretary
of State assumed to make my personal liabilities--the things which, if
any things are a man's own, are certainly so--to make these an objection
to my taking a mission of importance. I believe he was sorry for his
indiscretion; I have reason to suppose that it was a blunder he will not
readily repeat.”
“And you obtained your appointment?” asked Bramleigh.
“Minister extraordinary and plenipotentiary to the court of
Hochmaringen,” said Culduff, with a slow and pompous enunciation.
Bramleigh, pardonably ignorant of the geography of the important state
alluded to, merely bowed in acknowledgment. “Is there much--much to do
at one of these courts?” asked he, diffidently, after a pause.
“In one sense there is a great deal. In Germany the action of the
greater cabinets is always to be discovered in the intrigues of the
small dukedoms, just as you gather the temper of the huntsman from the
way he lashes the hounds. You may, therefore, send a 'cretin,' if
you like, to Berlin or Vienna; you want a man of tact and address at
Sigmaringen or Kleinesel-stadt. They begin to see that here at home, but
it took them years to arrive at it.”
Whether Bramleigh was confounded by the depth of this remark, or annoyed
by the man who made it, he relapsed into a dreamy silence that soon
passed into sleep, into which state the illustrious diplomatist
followed, and thus was the journey made till the tall towers of Castello
came into view, and they found themselves rapidly careering along with
four posters towards the grand entrance. The tidings of their coming
soon reached the drawing-room, and the hall was filled by the young
members of the family to welcome them. “Remember,” said Bramleigh, “we
have had nothing but a light luncheon since morning. Come and join us,
if you like, in the dining-room, but let us have some dinner as soon as
may be.”
It is not pleasant, perhaps, to be talked to while eating by persons
quite unemployed by the pleasures of the table; but there is a sort
of “free and easy” at such times not wholly unconducive to agreeable
intercourse, and many little cares and attentions, impossible or
unmeaning in the more formal habits of the table, are now graceful
adjuncts to the incident. Thus was it that Marion contrived by some
slight service or other to indicate to Lord Culduff that he was an
honored guest; and when she filled his glass with champagne, and poured
a little into her own to pledge him, the great man felt a sense of
triumph that warmed the whole of that region where, anatomically, his
heart was situated. While the others around were engaged in general
conversation, she led him to talk of his journey to town, and what he
had done there; and he told her somewhat proudly of the high mission
about to be entrusted to him, not omitting to speak of the haughty
tone he had used towards the Minister, and the spirit he had evinced in
asserting his just claims. “We had what threatened at one time to be a
stormy interview. When a man like myself has to recall the list of his
services, the case may well be considered imminent. He pushed me to
this, and I accepted his challenge. I told him, if I am not rich, it is
because I have spent my fortune in maintaining the dignity of the high
stations I have filled. The breaches in my fortune are all honorable
wounds. He next objected to what I could not but admit as a more valid
barrier to my claims. Can you guess it?”
She shook her head in dissent. It could not be his rank, or anything
that bore upon his rank. Was it possible that official prudery had been
shocked by the noble Lord's social derelictions? Had the scandal of that
old elopement survived to tarnish his fame and injure his success?
and she blushed as she thought of the theme to which he invited her
approach.
“I see you do divine it,” said he, smiling courteously.
“I suspect not,” said she, diffidently, and still blushing deeper.
“It would be a great boon to me--a most encouraging assurance,” said
he, in a low and earnest voice, “if I could believe that your interest
in me went so far as actually to read the story and anticipate the
catastrophe of my life. Tell me then, I entreat you, that you know what
I allude to.”
She hesitated. “Was it possible,” thought she, “that he wished me to
admit that my opinion of him was not prejudiced by this 'escapade' of
thirty years ago? Is he asking me to own that I am tolerant towards
such offences?” His age, his tone generally, his essentially foreign
breeding, made this very possible. Her perplexity was great, and her
confusion increased with every minute.
At this critical moment there was a general move to go into the
drawing-room, and as he gave her his arm, Lord Culduff drew her gently
towards him, and said in his most insinuating voice, “Let me hear my
fate.”
“I declare, my Lord,” said she, hesitatingly, “I don't know what to
say. Moralists and worldly people have two different measures for these
things. I have no pretensions to claim a place with the former, and I
rather shrink from accepting all the ideas of the latter. At all events,
I would suppose that after a certain lapse of time, when years have gone
over--profitably, I would hope--in fact, I mean--in short, I do not know
what I mean.”
“You mean, perhaps, that it is not at my time of life men take such a
step with prudence. Is that it?” asked he, trying in vain to keep down
the irritation that moved him.
“Well, my Lord, I believe about the prudence there can scarcely be
two opinions, whether a man be young or old. These things are wrong in
themselves, and nothing can make them right.”
“I protest I am unable to follow you,” said he, tartly.
“All the better, my Lord, if I be only leading you where you have no
inclination to wander. I see Nelly wants me at the piano.”
“And you prefer accompanying _her_ to _me_” said he, reproachfully.
“At least, my Lord, we shall be in harmony, which is scarcely our case
here.”
He sighed, almost theatrically, as he relinquished her arm, and retiring
to a remote part of the room, affected to read a newspaper. Mr. Cutbill,
however, soon drew a chair near, and engaged him in conversation.
“So Bramleigh has done nothing,” whispered Cutbill, as he bent forward.
“He did not, so far as I gather, even speak of the mine in the City.”
“He said it was of no use; the time was unfavorable.”
“Did you ever know it otherwise? Is n't it with that same cant of an
unfavorable time these men always add so much to the premium on every
undertaking?”
“Sir, I am unable to answer your question. It is my first--I would I
may be able to say, and my last--occasion to deal with this class of
people.”
“They 're not a bad set, after all; only you must take them in the way
they're used to--the way they understand.”
“It is a language I have yet to learn, Mr. Cutbill.”
“The sooner your Lordship sets to work at it the better then.”
Lord Culduff wheeled round in his chair, and stared with amazement
at the man before him. He saw, however, the unmistakable signs of his
having drunk freely, and his bloodshot eyes declared that the moment was
not favorable for calm discussion.
“It would be as well, perhaps, to adjourn this conversation,” said
Culduff.
“I'm for business--anywhere and at any moment. I made one of the best
hits I ever chanced upon after a smash on the Trent Valley line. There
was Boulders--of the firm of Skale and Boulders Brothers--had his
shoulder dislocated and two of his front teeth knocked out. He was lying
with a lot of scantling and barrel-staves over him, and he cried
out, 'Is there any one there?' I said, 'Yes; Cutbill. Tom Cutbill, of
Viceregal Terrace, St. John's Wood.'”
Lord Culduff s patience could stand no more, and he arose with a slight
bow and moved haughtily away. Cutbill, however, was quickly at his
side. “You must hear the rest of this; it was a matter of close on ten
thousand pounds to me, and this is the way it came out--”
“I felicitate you heartily, sir, on your success, but beg I may be
spared the story of it.”
“You've heard worse. Egad, I'd not say you haven't told worse. It's not
every fellow, I promise you, has his wits about him at a moment when
people are shouting for help, and an express train standing on its head
in a cutting, and a tender hanging over a viaduct.”
“Sir, there are worse inflictions than even this.”
“Eh, what?” said Cutbill, crossing his arms on his chest, and looking
fully in the other's face; but Lord Culduff moved quietly on, and,
approaching a table where Ellen was seated, said, “I'm coming to beg for
a cup of tea;” not a trace of excitement or irritation to be detected in
his voice or manner. He loitered for a few moments at the table,
talking lightly and pleasantly on indifferent subjects, and then moved
carelessly away till he found himself near the door, when he made a
precipitate escape and hurried up to his room.
It was his invariable custom to look at himself carefully in the glass
whenever he came home at night. As a general might have examined the
list of killed and wounded after an action, computing with himself the
cost of victory or defeat, so did this veteran warrior of a world's
campaign go carefully over all the signs of wear and tear, the hard
lines of pain or checkered coloring of agitation, which his last
engagement might have inflicted.
As he sat down before his mirror now, he was actually shocked to see
what ravages a single evening had produced. The circles around his eyes
were deeply indented, the corners of his mouth drawn down so fixedly and
firmly that all attempts to conjure up a smile were failures, while a
purple tint beneath his rouge totally destroyed that delicate coloring
which was wont to impart the youthful look to his features.
The vulgar impertinence of Cutbill made indeed but little impression
upon him. An annoyance while it lasted, it still left nothing for memory
that could not be dismissed with ease. It was Marion. It was what she
had said that weighed so painfully on his heart, wounding where he was
most intensely and delicately sensitive. She had told him--what had she
told him? He tried to recall her exact words, but he could not. They
were in reply to remarks of his own, and owed all their significance to
the context. One thing she certainly had said--that there were certain
steps in life about which the world held but one opinion, and the
allusion was to men marrying late in life; and then she added a
remark as to the want of “sympathy”--or was it “harmony” she called
it?--between them. How strange that he could not remember more exactly
all that passed, he, who, after his interviews with Ministers and
great men, could go home and send off in an official despatch the whole
dialogue of the audience. But why seek for the precise expressions
she employed? The meaning should surely be enough for him, and that
was--there was no denying it--that the disparity of their ages was a bar
to his pretensions. “Had our ranks in life been alike, there might have
been force in her observation; but she forgets that a coronet encircles
a brow like a wreath of youth;” and he adjusted the curls of his wig
as he spoke, and smiled at himself more successfully than he had done
before.
“On the whole, perhaps it is better,” said he, as he arose and walked
the room. “A mésalliance can only be justified by great beauty or great
wealth. One must do a consumedly rash thing, or a wonderfully sharp
one, to come out well with the world. Forty thousand, and a good-looking
girl--she is n't more--would not satisfy the just expectations of
society, which, with men like myself, are severely exacting.”
He had met with a repulse, he could not deny it, and the sense of pain
it inflicted galled him to the quick. To be sure, the thing occurred in
a remote, out-of-the-way spot, where there were no people to discover
or retail the story. It was not as if it chanced in some cognate land of
society where such incidents get immediate currency and form the gossip
of every coterie. Who was ever to hear of what passed in an Irish
country-house? Marion herself indeed might write it--she most probably
would--but to whom?
To some friend as little in the world as herself, and none knew better
than Lord Culduff of how few people the “world” was composed. It was a
defeat, but a defeat that need never be gazetted. And, after all, are
not the worst things in all our reverses, the comments that are passed
upon them? Are not the censures of our enemies and the condolences of
our friends sometimes harder to bear than the misfortunes that have
evoked them?
What Marion's manner towards him might be in future, was also a painful
reflection. It would naturally be a triumphant incident in her life
to have rejected such an offer. Would she be eager to parade this fact
before the world? Would she try to let people know that she had refused
him? This was possible. He felt that such a slight would tarnish the
whole glory of his life, whose boast was to have done many things that
were actually wicked, but not one that was merely weak.
The imminent matter was to get out of his present situation without
defeat. To quit the field, but not as a beaten army; and revolving how
this was to be done he sunk off to sleep.