As on the finger of a throned queen,
The basest jewel will be well esteemed;
So are those errors that in thee are seen,
To truths translated, and for true things deemed.
SHAKESPEARE.
Mr. Gresham and his daughter were passing their evening alone. There was
a bright fire in the stately drawing-room, for it was the end of March,
and the March air was sharp and cold; and on each side of it, though at
a considerable distance from each other, the inmates were sitting. Mr.
Gresham was nobly erect, with a lamp at his side, and a newspaper
before him; Angela was on a sofa idly and wearily perusing a novel of
the most trifling kind. Novels at this moment were her chief employment
and solace, and having none to direct her taste, and being dependent on
the caprice or fancy of her bookseller, it was not remarkable that her
hours were spent, in discovering that the books she read were quite
unworthy of the attention of any rational being.
This night the novel was unusually worthless, and having passed a day
enlivened only by the attendance of her masters, a call from the
daughters of her enemy, Mrs. Vansittart, (young ladies in no degree
favoured with her good graces), and a stately drive in her chariot,
Angela was in a mood to be pleased with anything that arose in the form
of a change or a novelty.
There was a knock at the door, an arrival, an announcement, and the
entrance of a most unexpected guest.
“Mr. Vavasour!” exclaimed Angela, with almost a scream of joy.
“Mr. Vavasour!” said Mr. Gresham, with measured but delighted surprise.
Robert had in the first moment paused hesitatingly at the door; but at
these warm expressions of pleasure he came forward. How very welcome he
was the most diffident must have perceived, and the shade of doubt and
embarrassment which had at first tinged his countenance, and slackened
his steps, passed away.
“You must be very much surprised to see me, Mr. Gresham, at such an
hour,” he began. “I know it is a singular time for a call in England;
but I have been living abroad, and there it is fashionable and
customary, and so I hope you will excuse my practising my foreign
manners upon you.”
“At any time, Mr. Vavasour, at any hour,” Mr. Gresham replied, his words
almost too big for expression, “always welcome; at this moment
especially welcome because so totally unexpected. I have only to regret
that I and my daughter are alone. I have a circle of friends who would
most gratefully receive the pleasure of your acquaintance.”
“But I came to see _you_, Mr. Gresham, and not your friends. To tell you
the truth, my particular wish is to avoid your friends. I came to your
door last night, but there were lights and carriages, and it all looked
a great deal too grand for me. I was half afraid I should find the same
thing to-night, but fortunately I was mistaken. So here I am.”
“And most welcome, let me again assure you. Angela, my love, offer Mr.
Vavasour some tea, or some other refreshment, as may be agreeable to
him.”
“Will you have some tea?” she asked in reply; “it will be here
directly.”
“Yes, but don’t hurry it. I am in no hurry. I will stay if I may.” And
as Angela now reseated herself in her former place he followed, and
drew a chair close to her side.
“Well, Miss Gresham,” he began, “how goes the world with you?”
“Very tediously,” she replied, laughing. “I always hated London, and now
I hate it worse than ever.”
“That’s right, nothing like a downright opinion. But hate London as you
may, it is good for you to come up. Change is good for man and beast.
There is a moral lesson which you will do well to remember.”
“Except that I don’t agree to it,” cried Angela, eagerly. “I don’t wish
for change. I wish to be _always_ doing what I like best.”
“Ah! that’s quite another thing,” said Robert, with a shake of his head,
“and here is an opportunity for a real moral lesson, if I were competent
to give it; but moral lessons are beyond me.”
“My daughter is extremely attached to Underwood, Mr. Vavasour,” broke
in Mr. Gresham; “and, indeed, to all your neighbourhood. London, with
all its pleasures, has no charms compared with it.”
Robert’s brow contracted for an instant, and a dark shade passed over
his face, but it was driven away by something darker as he made a light
and playful answer.
No experienced observer of Robert’s countenance could have failed to
perceive that a change had passed over it during the last few months. He
looked older and more careworn, but at the same time more reckless and
daring. His handsome features nothing could alter, but even they looked
less refined in their beauty. It was as plain as the words of a printed
page, that the dawn which had seemed at hand was overcast, and clouded
by a deeper night. Mr. Gresham, however, was not acute enough to
observe, and Angela was too happy to see him to criticise.
“Why is your life so tedious?” Robert asked of Angela, lowering his
voice not exactly to a whisper, but to a confidential tone. He did it
not for the question’s sake, but to give a hint to Mr. Gresham.
The hint was broad, and being sedulous to please his guest, immediately
understood and taken. “If you will excuse me, Mr. Vavasour, being a man
of business, I will make the most of my spare time, and leave you to my
daughter, while I master the news of the day. You will excuse me.”
“Oh! pray don’t treat me like a stranger, Mr. Gresham,” was very civilly
said; and Mr. Gresham sat down, and devoted himself to his newspaper, or
rather to the contemplation of the pleasant sight that was before his
eyes.
Without waiting for an answer to his former question, Robert now
addressed another to Angela, in the same tone. “Have you seen any of my
family of late, Miss Gresham? Have you seen Everard?”
“No,” she said, blushing deeply, “not since January.”
He saw the blush, and again a slight contraction of brow and darkness of
countenance were visible; but he paid no other heed to what she said.
“Have you heard anything? Have you heard from ... anybody?”
“I sometimes write to Hope, and then she answers. But I have nothing to
say except to abuse the world, and that you know she does not like to
hear. I always mean to write, and I shall write in a few days, I am
pretty sure.”
“I shall be very much obliged to you, Miss Gresham, when you do write,
not to say you have seen me.” He lowered his voice still more as he
spoke.
“Oh, Mr. Vavasour, how very strange! Why do you ask such a thing?”
“Promise me,” he said, without heeding her. “I really must have you
promise.”
“And I really can’t,” she replied quickly. “It is a sort of thing I
should not like to do.”
“Very well, then, you drive me away. I am staying in London alone, and I
thought, perhaps, I might occasionally look in of an evening, and make a
sort of a home of your house; but if you will not do as I ask, you drive
me away.”
“I am sure,” she cried, warmly, “I should be grieved to do that; but I
must tell you plainly that it sounds to me a bad kind of a thing, and
unless you tell me the reason why you ask it, I will not promise.”
“I will tell you then; but remember, Miss Gresham, if I confide in you I
will not have what I say repeated. The reason is that I am in debt, and
I do not wish my father to know. It will soon be over, at least I hope
and expect it will, and so I do not wish to give him or myself the pain
of his knowing anything about it. There is my reason; the exact truth.
Now will you do what I ask?”
“I suppose I must,” she said, reluctantly. “Now you have told me this,
how _can_ I tell? I would not for the whole world.”
“Thank you.” After a pause, he added, “You are very good not to lecture
me. Most women would make a fine parley over it.”
“I am not good enough to be a lecturer,” she said, gravely, “but I don’t
like it any the better for that.”
“You think me a great brute?” he said, earnestly. “Say it out! You can’t
think me a greater than I think myself.”
“No, no, not that. But, Mr. Vavasour, one thing; will you not write
yourself? You need not say anything about debt you know.”
“No, I can’t. I don’t wish it to be known that I am in London. I hardly
ever go out, except in the evening.”
“But only consider how anxious they are. Hope does not say so, but I had
a letter from Mr. Addison one day, and he did.”
Robert fell into a fit of musing, painful enough, by the look of his
countenance. At last he roused himself, and said, “No, Miss Gresham, I
can’t. If I wrote I must deceive, and I will not be a hypocrite. However
bad I may be I will _never_ be a hypocrite. They must bear anxiety a
short time longer. I hope it will be but a short time, and then....”
“And then; what ...?”
“And then an end,” he said, with a faint smile, “and I hope we shall all
be good and happy.”
Angela looked very thoughtful.
“Do you hate me?” he inquired, earnestly, looking keenly into her face.
“No,” she replied, startled; and then, laughing, “Perhaps I ought, but I
cannot say I do.”
“Then don’t. I may deserve it, but don’t. Don’t judge harshly of things
which you cannot understand.”
“Well, I won’t.”
“And may I sometimes look in of an evening?”
“Certainly, yes, so far as I am concerned. You cannot think how
thankful I was for your appearance to-night. My life sometimes reaches
that point of weariness that I think I shall go mad.”
“And why? Why is your life so tedious?”
“The people. If you could but see the people I live with.”
“I can guess,” he said, laughing, driving away the graver mood that had
been upon him. “Young ladies full of airs, and graces, and love, and
partners; young gentlemen full of airs and graces, jewels, and
themselves; elderly gentlemen without graces, fond of riches and food;
and elderly ladies, mothers and wives to all the rest.”
“Exactly,” cried Angela laughing also, “those are my friends. Do you
call them pleasant companions?”
“Certainly not; you should try and get better ones.”
“But that is what I can’t do. Till I made acquaintance with your family,
I never, or hardly ever, saw any one I liked; and now you have all
spoiled me for _anything_ else. I cannot like common people now.”
“You are most kind and flattering, Miss Gresham,” said Robert smiling.
“I wish I for one was more worthy of such good compliments. I must make
myself so.”
The weariness of Angela’s life, and the tediousness of her friends was a
very fertile subject with her. She was never tired of dilating upon it,
and for some time longer she made her confidences to Robert, and
received his full sympathy. The conversation was gay and lively, though
so conducted as not to reach her father’s ears, and when he rose up and
said he must go, Angela felt lighter and happier than she had done for
many a day; she longed only that she might disburden her mind more fully
of the accumulated weight of annoyances, which had been collecting
during many past months.
Her countenance brightened while she heard her father’s warm invitation
to his guest, begging him to look in upon them again; and listened to
Robert’s ready promise to do so whenever he had an opportunity, and
found them alone; and yet her conscience smote her all the while.
Mr. Gresham followed Robert to the door, and opened it for him, and
Robert engaged him in conversation, until he had drawn him outside. He
then made a sign to him to follow him a few steps further, and then in a
low and rapid voice addressed him.
“I don’t want to come to your house, Mr. Gresham, under false pretences,
so I may as well tell you at once the circumstances in which I stand. I
am in debt, and I do not wish my father to know of it, or even to guess
that I am in London. I have just been requesting Miss Gresham not to
mention my visits, or my name, and I must beg of you the same favour. I
hope circumstances may arise to clear me before long, but till that time
comes I am under a cloud I would not come to your house and take
advantage of your kindness in allowing me to associate with your
daughter, without telling you plainly how matters stand with me, and it
is now your province to forbid my return if you choose. I put myself
entirely in your hands, but if you give me leave to come, you must take
the consequences.”
So much does manner do, that others, besides Mr. Gresham, might have
been taken by the frankness of Robert’s declaration, and the open way in
which he made known his situation, and suggested his designs. Mr.
Gresham was more than taken, he was even overpowered by the honour
Robert did him, in making him the repository of his private
circumstances.
“I thank you, Mr. Vavasour,” he replied, warmly grasping his hand, “for
the very honourable manner in which you have conducted yourself towards
me on this occasion. I cannot find words to express my sense of it. Let
me assure you that your presence, even under the circumstances you
mention, is welcome, most welcome. I would not be understood to say
that, in general terms, I approve of habits of irregular extravagance; I
am very far from so doing; but I am aware that among young men of
distinction, at certain periods of their lives, such habits are not
uncommon, and ... and ... I believe I know how to make allowances;” and
here, what between his moral principles, and his wish to encourage
Robert, he came to a stand still, and finished his argument by a very
friendly shake of the hand, which was intended to say that he wiped out
the past, and trusted him for the future.
“Thank you, Mr. Gresham, you are very kind. Then you allow me to come
notwithstanding my present position.”
“After the very honourable manner in which you have conducted yourself
towards me, my dear Mr. Vavasour, I should not feel myself justified in
refusing my permission to your request. But allow me to add ...” he
stopped and cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon for the suggestion,
but allow me to say that if in any way I can serve you, my means are
such...”--he placed his hands under his coat tails for a moment--“that
to be of service would be at once a convenience and a pleasure. You
understand me, Mr. Vavasour. My doors are open to you. Make such use of
me as you please.”
A flush passed over Robert’s face--if of gratification and relief, yet
not purely so. “I am very grateful to you for your kind expressions,” he
said, gravely, “though at the same time they make me ashamed of myself.
I will say no more at present. Perhaps a time may come when I shall
remind you of them.”
“I shall need no reminding,” was the warm and gracious reply,
accompanied by another shake of the hand; and the strange companions
parted.
Mr. Gresham walked up the stairs elevating his head, as if endeavouring
to catch a distant view of the old towers of Audley Court; and his
chest expanded, and his lips broke into a smile as he passed along.
Robert put on a great coat, pulled his hat over his brows, and paced
onward with rapid steps as if to escape from the reflections of his own
mind; but the rapid steps were not so available as to drown the sound of
a mingled sigh and groan, which burst from his lips as he left his
destiny behind him.