HARRY ANNESLEY IS ACCEPTED.
She knew that Harry Annesley was at the door. He had written to say that
he must come again, though he had fixed no day for his coming. She had
been delighted to think that he should come, though she had after her
fashion, scolded him for the promised visit. But, though his comings had
not been frequent, she recognized already the sounds of his advent. When
a girl really loves her lover, the very atmosphere tells of his
whereabouts. She was expecting him with almost breathless expectation
when her cousin Mountjoy was brought to her; and so was her mother, who
had been told that Harry Annesley had business on which he intended to
call. But now the two foes must meet in her presence. That was the idea
which first came upon her. She was sure that Harry would behave well.
Why should not a favored lover on such occasions always behave well? But
how would Mountjoy conduct himself when brought face to face with his
rival? As Florence thought of it, she remembered that when last they met
the quarrel between them had been outrageous. And Mountjoy had been the
sinner, while Harry had been made to bear the punishment of the sin.
Harry, when he was told that Miss Mountjoy was at home, had at once
walked in and opened for himself the door of the front room downstairs.
There he found Florence and Mountjoy Scarborough. Mrs. Mountjoy was
still up-stairs in her bedroom, and was palpitating with fear as she
thought of the anger of the two combative lovers. To her belief, Harry
was, of the two, the most like to a roaring lion, because she had heard
of him that he had roared so dreadfully on that former occasion. But she
did not instantly go down, detained in her bedroom by the eagerness of
her fear, and by the necessity of resolving how she would behave when
she got there.
Harry, when he entered, stood a moment at the door, and then, hurrying
across the room, offered Scarborough his hand. "I have been so sorry,"
he said, "to hear of your loss; but your father's health was such that
you could not have expected that his life should be prolonged." Mountjoy
muttered something, but his mutterings, as Florence had observed, were
made in courtesy. And the two men had taken each other by the hand;
after that they could hardly fly at each other's throats in her
presence. Then Harry crossed to Florence and took her hand. "I never get
a line from you," he said, laughing, "but what you scold me. I think I
escape better when I am present; so here I am."
"You always make wicked propositions, and of course I scold you. A girl
has to go on scolding till she's married, and then it's her turn to get
it."
"No wonder, then, that you talk of three years so glibly. I want to be
able to scold you."
All this was going on in Mountjoy's presence, while he stood by, silent,
black, and scowling. His position was very difficult,--that of hearing
the billing and cooing of these lovers. But theirs also was not too
easy, which made the billing and cooing necessary in his presence. Each
had to seem to be natural, but the billing and cooing were in truth
affected. Had he not been there, would they not have been in each
other's arms? and would not she have made him the proudest man in
England by a loving kiss? "I was asking Miss Mountjoy, when you came in,
to be my wife." This Scarborough said with a loud voice, looking Harry
full in the face.
"It cannot be," said Florence; "I told you that, for his honor,"--and she
laid her hand on Harry's arm,--"I could listen to no such request."
"The request has to be made again," he said.
"It will be made in vain," said Harry.
"So, no doubt, you think," said Captain Scarborough.
"You can ask herself," said Harry.
"Of course it will be made in vain," said Florence. "Does he think that
a girl, in such a matter as that of loving a man, can be turned here and
there at a moment's notice,--that she can say yes and no alternately to
two men? It is impossible. Harry Annesley has chosen me, and I am
infinitely happy in his choice." Here Harry made an attempt to get his
arm round her waist, in which, however, she prevented him, seeing the
angry passion rising in her cousin's eyes. "He is to be my husband, I
hope. I have told him that I love him, and I tell you so also. He has my
promise, and I cannot take it back without perjury to him, and ruin,
absolute ruin, to myself. All my happiness in this world depends on him.
He is to me my own one absolute master, to whom I have given myself
altogether, as far as this world goes. Even were he to reject me I could
not give myself to another."
"My Florence! my darling!" Harry exclaimed.
"After having told you so much, can you ask your cousin to be untrue to
her word and to her heart, and to become your wife when her heart is
utterly within his keeping? Mountjoy, it is impossible."
"What of me, then?" he said.
"Rouse yourself and love some other girl and marry her, and so do well
with yourself and with your property."
"You talk of your heart," he said, "and you bid me use my own after such
fashion as that!"
"A man's heart can be changed, but not a woman's. His love is but one
thing among many."
"It is the one thing," said Harry. Then the door opened, and Mrs.
Mountjoy entered the room.
"Oh dear! oh dear!" she said, "you, both of you, here together?"
"Yes: we are both here together," said Harry.
There was an unfortunate smile on his face as he said so, which made
Mountjoy Scarborough very angry. The two men were both handsome, two as
handsome men as you shall see on a summer's day. Mountjoy was
dark-visaged, with coal-black whiskers and mustaches, with sparkling,
angry eyes, and every feature of his face well cut and finely formed;
but there was absent from him all look of contentment or satisfaction.
Harry was light-haired, with long, silken beard, and bright eyes; but
there was usually present to his face a look of infinite joy, which was
comfortable to all beholders. If not strong, as was the other man's, it
was happy and eloquent of good temper. But in one thing they were
alike:--neither of them counted aught on his good looks. Mountjoy had
attempted to domineer by his bad temper, and had failed; but Harry,
without any attempt at domineering, always doubting of himself till he
had been assured of success by her lips, had succeeded. Now he was very
proud of his success; but he was proud of her, and not of himself.
"You come in here and boast of what you have done in my presence," said
Mountjoy Scarborough.
"How can I not seem to boast when she tells me that she loves me?" said
Harry.
"For God's sake, do not quarrel here!" said Mrs. Mountjoy.
"They shall not quarrel at all," said Florence, "There is no cause for
quarrelling. When a girl has given herself away there should be an end
of it. No man who knows that she has done so should speak to her again
in the way of love. I will leave you now; but, Harry, you must come
again, in order that I may tell you that you must not have it all your
own way, just as you please, sir." Then she gave him her hand, and
passing on at once to Mountjoy, tendered her hand to him also. "You are
my cousin, and the head now of my mother's family. I would fain know
that you would say a kind word to me, and bid me 'God speed.'"
He looked at her, but did not take her hand. "I cannot do it," he said.
"I cannot bid you 'God speed.' You have ruined me, trampled upon me,
destroyed me. I am not angry with him," and he pointed across the room
to Harry Annesley; "nor with you; but only with myself." Then, without
speaking a word to his aunt, he marched out of the room and left the
house, closing the front-door after him with a loud noise, which
testified to his anger.
"He has gone!" said Mrs. Mountjoy, with a tone of deep tragedy.
"It is better so," said Florence.
"A man must take his chance in such warfare as this," said Harry. "There
is something about Mountjoy Scarborough that, after all, I like. I do
not love Augustus, but, with certain faults, Mountjoy is a good fellow."
"He is the head of our family," said Mrs. Mountjoy, "and is the owner of
Tretton."
"That is nothing to do with it," said Florence.
"It has much to do with it," said her mother, "though you would never
listen to me. I had set my heart upon it, but you have determined to
thwart me. And yet there was a time when you preferred him to every one
else."
"Never!" said Florence, with energy.
"Yes, you did,--before Mr. Annesley here came in the way."
"It was before I came, at any rate," said Harry.
"I was young, and I did not wish to be disobedient. But I never loved
him, and I never told him so. Now it is out of the question."
"He will never come back again," said Mrs. Mountjoy, mournfully.
"I should be very glad to see him back when I and Florence are man and
wife. I don't care how soon we should see him."
"No; he will never come back," said Florence,--"not as he came to-day.
That trouble is at last over, mamma."
"And my trouble is going to begin."
"Why should there be any trouble? Harry will not give you trouble;--will
you, Harry?"
"Never, I trust," said Harry.
"He cannot understand," said Mrs. Mountjoy; "he knows nothing of the
desire and ambition of my life. I had promised him my child, and my word
to him is now broken."
"He will have known, mamma, that you could not promise for me. Now go,
Harry, because we are flurried. May I not ask him to come here to-night
and to drink tea with us?" This she said, addressing her mother in a
tone of sweetest entreaty. To this Mrs. Mountjoy unwillingly yielded,
and then Harry also took his departure.
Florence was aware that she had gained much by the interview of the
morning. Even to her it began to appear unnecessary that she should keep
Harry waiting three years. She had spoken of postponing the time of her
servitude and of preserving for herself the masterdom of her own
condition. But in that respect the truth of her own desires was well
understood by them all. She was anxious enough to submit to her new
master, and she felt that the time was coming. Her mother had yielded so
much, and Mountjoy had yielded. Harry was saying to himself at this very
moment that Mountjoy had thrown up the sponge. She, too, was declaring
the same thing for her own comfort in less sporting phraseology, and,
what was much more to her, her mother had nearly thrown up the sponge
also. In the worse days of her troubles any suitor had made himself
welcome to her mother who would rescue her child from the fangs of that
roaring lion, Harry Annesley. Mr. Anderson had been received with open
arms, and even M. Grascour. Mrs. Mountjoy had then got it into her head
that of all lions which were about in those days Harry roared the
loudest. His sins in regard to leaving poor Mountjoy speechless and
motionless on the pavement had filled her with horror. But Florence now
felt that all that had come to an end. Not only had Mountjoy gone away,
but no mention would probably be ever again made of Anderson or
Grascour. When Florence was preparing herself for tea that evening she
sang a little song to herself as to the coming of the conquering hero.
"A man must take his chance in such warfare as this," she said,
repeating to herself her lover's words.
"You can't expect me to be very bright," her mother said to her before
Harry came.
There was a sign of yielding in this also; but Florence in her happiness
did not wish to make her mother miserable, "Why not be bright, mamma?
Don't you know that Harry is good?"
"No. How am I to know anything about him? He may be utterly penniless."
"But his uncle has offered to let us live in the house and to give us an
income. Mr. Prosper has abandoned all idea of getting married."
"He can be married any day. And why do you want to live in another man's
house when you may live in your own? Tretton is ready for you,--the
finest mansion in the whole county." Here Mrs. Mountjoy exaggerated a
little, but some exaggeration may be allowed to a lady in her
circumstances.
"Mamma, you know that I cannot live at Tretton."
"It is the house in which I was born."
"How can that signify? When such things happen they are used as
additional grounds for satisfaction. But I cannot marry your nephew
because you were born in a certain house. And all that is over now: you
know that Mountjoy will not come back again."
"He would," exclaimed the mother, as though with new hopes.
"Oh, mamma! how can you talk like that? I mean to marry Harry
Annesley;--you know that I do. Why not make your own girl happy by
accepting him?" Then Mrs. Mountjoy left the room and went to her own
chamber and cried there, not bitterly, I think, but copiously. Her girl
would be the wife of the squire of Buston, who, after all, was not a bad
sort of fellow. At any rate he would not gamble. There had always been
that terrible drawback. And he was a fellow of his college, in which she
would look for, and probably would find, some compensation as to
Tretton. When, therefore, she came down to tea, she was able to receive
Harry not with joy but at least without rebuke.
Conversation was at first somewhat flat between the two. If the old
lady could have been induced to remain up-stairs, Harry felt that the
evening would have been much more satisfactory. But, as it was, he found
himself enabled to make some progress. He at once began to address
Florence as his undoubted future spouse, very slyly using words adapted
for that purpose: and she, without any outburst of her intention,--as she
had made when discussing the matter with her cousin,--answered him in the
same spirit, and by degrees came so to talk as though the matter were
entirely settled. And then, at last, that future day was absolutely
brought on the tapis as though now to be named.
"Three years!" ejaculated Mrs. Mountjoy, as though not even yet
surrendering her last hope.
Florence, from the nature of the circumstances, received this in
silence. Had it been ten years she might have expostulated. But a young
lady's bashfulness was bound to appear satisfied with an assurance of
marriage within three years. But it was otherwise with Harry. "Good God,
Mrs. Mountjoy, we shall all be dead!" he cried out.
Mrs. Mountjoy showed by her countenance that she was extremely shocked.
"Oh, Harry!" said Florence, "none of us, I hope, will be dead in three
years."
"I shall be a great deal too old to be married if I am left alive. Three
months, you mean. It will be just the proper time of year, which does go
for something. And three months is always supposed to be long enough to
allow a girl to get her new frocks."
"You know nothing about it, Harry," said Florence. And so the matter was
discussed--in such a manner that when Harry took his departure that
evening he was half inclined to sing a song of himself about the
conquering hero. "Dear mamma!" said Florence, kissing her mother with
all the warm, clinging affection of former years. It was very
pleasant,--but still Mrs. Mountjoy went to her room with a sad heart.
When there she sat for a while over the fire, and then drew out her
desk. She had been beaten,--absolutely beaten,--and it was necessary that
she should own so much in writing to one person. So she wrote her
letter, which was as follows:
"Dear Mountjoy,--After all it cannot be as I would have had it. As they
say, 'Man proposes, but God disposes.' I would have given her to you
now, and would even yet have trusted that you would have treated her
well, had it not been that Mr. Annesley has gained such a hold upon her
affections. She is wilful, as you are, and I cannot bend her. It has
been the longing of my heart that you two should live together at
Tretton. But such longings are, I think, wicked, and are seldom
realized.
"I write now just this one line to tell you that it is all settled. I
have not been strong enough to prevent such settling. He talks of three
months! But what does it matter? Three months or three years will be the
same to you, and nearly the same to me.
"Your affectionate aunt,
"SARAH MOUNTJOY.
"P.S.--May I as your loving aunt add one word of passionate entreaty?
All Tretton is yours now, and the honor of Tretton is within your
keeping. Do not go back to those wretched tables!"
Mountjoy Scarborough when he received this letter cannot be said to have
been made unhappy by it, because he had already known all his
unhappiness. But he turned it in his mind as though to think what would
now be the best course of life open to him. And he did think that he had
better go back to those tables against which his aunt had warned him,
and there remain till he had made the acres of Tretton utterly
disappear. There was nothing for him which seemed to be better. And here
at home in England even that would at present be impossible to him. He
could not enter the clubs, and elsewhere Samuel Hart would be ever at
his heels. And there was his brother with his lawsuit, though on that
matter a compromise had already been offered to him. Augustus had
proposed to him by his lawyer to share Tretton. He would never share
Tretton. His brother should have an income secured to him, but he would
keep Tretton in his own hands,--as long as the gambling-tables would
allow him.
He was, in truth, a wretched man, as on that night he did make up his
mind, and ringing his bell called his servant out of his bed to bid him
prepare everything for a sudden start. He would leave Tretton on the
following day, or on the day after, and intended at once to go abroad.
"He is off for that place nigh to Italy where they have the
gambling-tables," said the butler, on the following morning, to the
valet who declared his master's intentions.
"I shouldn't wonder, Mr. Stokes," said the valet. "I'm told it's a
beauteous country and I should like to see a little of that sort of
life myself." Alas, alas! Within a week from that time Captain
Scarborough might have been seen seated in the Monte Carlo room, without
any friendly Samuel Hart to stand over him and guard him.