A DISCOVERY AND ITS RESULT.
Reginald Fraser left Park Lane after the last evening of Mary
Armstrong's visit full of determination to call upon her father on the
following day.
In spite of the effeminate and _nil admirari_ style of the young
officer, he had many amiable qualities, and was not quite deserving of
the title of a "good-natured fool," which his brother officers applied
to him.
Motherless from his birth, an orphan before he had reached the age of
four years, the almost neglected child was placed by his grandfather at
a preparatory school for little boys. From this he passed to Eton, and
after studying at the Woolwich Academy entered the Guards, and at the
age of twenty-four obtained his company.
At Woolwich he had formed an acquaintance with Charles Herbert, and this
young officer before starting for Canada had said to his mother--
"Mother, I wish you would look after that easy-going young fellow
Fraser, he's got more money than he knows what to do with, and the
sooner he finds a wife the better, or he'll get fleeced and no mistake."
Mrs. Herbert remembered this request of her son's, and while in Park
Lane she encouraged the young officer to make their house his home.
This report of his wealth had already made him a welcome visitor at the
houses of scheming mothers, and many well-born but worldly girls were
ready to _fall in love_ with his money and his possessions, while
secretly despising the owner for the shyness and indifference with which
he treated their advances to a better acquaintance. He had, however,
been introduced to very few families when Mary Armstrong made her
appearance at the house of his oldest friends, the Herberts, and it soon
became evident to every one but the young lady herself, that Reginald
Fraser, when he had summoned courage enough to do so, would offer
himself and his possessions to Mary Armstrong.
Such indeed was his intention, or at least to make known his wishes to
her father, when he left Park Lane on that July evening; but on reaching
his quarters in St. James's Park, the official notice that his regiment
was ordered to Windsor on the morrow upset all his plans.
Strange to say, he felt relieved at the thought of a few days' delay; he
dreaded the ordeal, although he had for hours been screwing up his
courage to make the venture, so painful to his natural shyness and
reserve. A few days would not matter; perhaps it was best to leave Miss
Armstrong to prepare the way for his visit by mentioning his name, and
so on.
If Reginald Fraser could have foreseen what would happen during these
few days he might have recalled the proverb, "Delays are dangerous," in
time to escape a new and formidable difficulty.
Mary Armstrong had arranged to return home in time for the commencement
of her brother's holidays. Not all the pleasant attractions in Park Lane
could have induced her to allow the anxiety and care which their
presence would cause, to devolve upon her mother.
For three days, however--days which afterwards were never forgotten,
although their memory was rendered painful by contrast--Mary Armstrong
enjoyed the loving society of her parents alone. After an early
breakfast with her father, during the day till dinner she devoted
herself entirely to her mother, relieving her as usual of all domestic
supervision; sometimes walking with her, reading to her, or painting,
while she worked and talked.
And yet how dissimilar were the causes which made both parents receive
their daughter on her return home with a proud affection which almost
surprised her!
Not perhaps exactly at the moment of her return, but after the first
evening, when she described to them with sparkling eyes and eager
delight the scenes she had witnessed, the places she had visited, and
the company she had met.
There was no reticence of manner now; persons and conversations were
spoken of with ease; and among other names, that of Reginald Fraser,
Charles Herbert's friend.
"And what sort of a young man is Captain Fraser?" asked her mother.
"Well, mamma, he is tall and rather handsome, but I am afraid not very
wise: he was at uncle's house every day, but he had scarcely ever a word
to say for himself, except once, when I happened to speak about horses,
and then his talk was far beyond my comprehension. I used to avoid him
at first, till aunt told me he had been motherless from his birth, and
was an orphan with few acquaintances in London, so I tried to amuse him
and make him talk because he was aunt Helen's guest, but I must confess
it was not a very pleasant occupation."
"But why did this task fall upon you, Mary?" asked her father; "were no
other ladies present?"
"Oh yes, often; but they soon appeared to get tired of his society. I
believe Captain Fraser is very amiable and good-tempered, but he is the
shyest man I ever met."
"And who is this shy, reticent gentleman?" asked her father. "Is he
worth all the trouble he gives to young ladies in society?"
"I suppose he is, papa, for aunt told me his great-uncle is a duke, and
his grandfather, who died about six months ago, left him a beautiful
estate in Westmorland, and twelve thousand a year."
After saying this in a tone of voice that showed how utterly indifferent
she felt to the facts she had stated, Mary Armstrong without an effort
turned the subject to one more pleasing to herself--the new music and
songs she had brought home with her.
While she sat at the piano playing and singing those on which she wished
to have her mother's opinion, thoughts were passing through the minds of
her parents of a very opposite character.
"That young captain is no doubt the man I one day met riding with
Herbert," said her father to himself, "a fine aristocratic-looking
fellow. What a splendid match he would be for Mary! but I suppose it is
too much to expect such a man as that to marry a corn merchant's
daughter. How absurd all this nonsense is about high birth and good
connexions! This sprig of nobility, who is lucky enough to possess
riches in addition to his other attractions, will easily find a wife
among the 'upper ten' in spite of not being very wise."
How different from these were the thoughts of the gentle mother!
"My Mary is not spoilt by this little peep into the world of fashion;
and I doubt very much if even twenty thousand a year would tempt her to
unite herself to a man who requires to be amused and has nothing to say
for himself."
And so for two days Mary had her mother's gentle love and her father's
unusually kind attentions all to herself. He had reasoned himself into
the conviction that the young officer had been attracted by his
daughter, although she was evidently not aware of it.
"I'll get Herbert to introduce me some day," he said to himself, "and
then ask the captain down to dinner here. If such a position were
offered to Mary, I do not suppose she would be fool enough to refuse,
especially if supported by my authority. She seems to have forgotten
that sentimental affair with the schoolmaster. I am very glad I settled
him so completely in my reply to his letter. Maria tells me they have
seen very little of the family since, excepting when the mother came for
the character of a servant. And I can trust Mary; and--yes--well, the
man himself; they are both above anything dishonourable."
Some such thoughts as these occupied the mind of Mr. Armstrong as he
mounted his horse and rode slowly to town on the second morning after
Mary's return to Lime Grove. How little he guessed that before they met
at dinner his power over his daughter would be weakened by a painful
discovery!
Mrs. Armstrong during the warm weather generally put off her walk till
about four o'clock. The doctor had recommended walking exercise; and her
husband to encourage this had delayed the purchase of an open carriage
for his wife. The arrangement suited his purpose, and he was not far
wrong in adhering to the old-fashioned opinion that walking is more
truly conducive to health than driving.
Mrs. Armstrong enjoyed the country walk with Mary on the afternoon of
which we write. The July day had been hot and sultry; but as they turned
their steps homeward a pleasant breeze sprung up which was very
exhilarating, and seemed to give Mrs. Armstrong additional strength.
As they passed Englefield Grange the schoolroom clock struck five, and
almost at the same moment Mary saw coming towards them in an opposite
direction an invalid chair, which she knew belonged to Mrs. Halford.
More than once Mary and her mother had met the poor lady, now so
completely a wreck of her former self, accompanied by Kate Marston, who
in the midst of the tenderest care of her aunt could still manage to
glance at the fair girl who had so fascinated her cousin Henry with
genuine admiration.
Hitherto a kind inquiry respecting Mrs. Halford's health had been
replied to by Kate with distant politeness; but to-day both mother and
daughter saw with troubled surprise, that instead of her usual
lady-friend, Mrs. Halford was accompanied by her son. Mrs. Armstrong
intended to bow and pass on, for she had not forgotten her husband's
angry remarks respecting the young man, nor her daughter's acknowledged
admiration of his acquirements and talents.
To her astonishment, as they drew nearer, she saw the invalid lean
forward and speak, and in a few moments the chair stopped, and Mrs.
Halford held out her hand to Mrs. Armstrong, but her palsied head shook
and her voice trembled as she said, "I am so glad to be able to speak to
you again, Mrs. Armstrong; I am better, but I have been terribly shaken,
as you can see."
All other emotions were lost in regret and sympathy, as Mrs. Armstrong
for the first time saw the painful change which illness had made in the
mother of Henry Halford; she pressed the offered hand, and spoke her
commiserations in a tearful voice. The invalid, while she retained Mrs.
Armstrong's hand, described her sufferings and sorrows, and spoke of her
daughter's death; and her listener noticed with pain that not only the
physical but the mental powers of Mrs. Halford had received a shock from
which it was scarcely possible they could ever recover. Presently, as
Mrs. Armstrong withdrew her hand and moved to glance at her daughter,
the invalid said--
"I have my son with me now; he came home from Oxford last week. He looks
pale, Mrs. Armstrong. Don't you think so?"
Mrs. Armstrong turned and bowed to Henry Halford.
She almost started at his white face and trembling lips as he raised his
hat and said--
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Armstrong."
Then she turned and looked at her daughter. Never in her life had she
seen her so pale.
Quickly recovering herself for the sake of the young people, she said in
a cheering tone--
"Mr. Halford is perhaps studying too closely, so we must expect him to
look pale and----"
"Yes, yes," interrupted the invalid, "but that is not all; he has never
been well since your husband's reply to his letter about your daughter."
"Mother, mother, hush! you forget.--Forgive her, Mrs. Armstrong," he
added, in a lower tone. "Her heart is broken about poor Fanny, she
scarcely knows what she is talking about."
"But have any letters passed between you and Mr. Armstrong?" she asked
with painful eagerness.
Mary had heard the invalid's words, and her pale cheeks flushed as she
listened for Henry Halford's reply.
"One only from me," he said, "and Mr. Armstrong's answer, in which he
refuses----" he stopped abruptly, and then said hurriedly, "But it is
all past now. Pray excuse us, Mrs. Armstrong, it is time my mother was
at home."
"Henry, I am very sorry, I did not mean it," exclaimed the poor
broken-hearted mother, as she saw by her son's face and manner that he
was painfully annoyed.
Mrs. Armstrong saw it also. She took the trembling hand in hers and
said--
"Don't make yourself uneasy, my dear friend, it will all come right in
time. We must trust and hope."
"Thank you, Mrs. Armstrong," said Henry, "you have helped me to trust
and hope. I will never forget those words."
He took off his hat to the ladies as they turned to continue their walk,
while the pallor which had so startled them had given place to the flush
of hope which Mrs. Armstrong's words had excited.
For some moments neither mother nor daughter spoke, both were reflecting
anxiously on what they had just heard. Mrs. Armstrong, although at first
taken by surprise, could quite understand her husband's wish to conceal
even from her the correspondence between himself and Henry Halford.
Her indignation at the evident pain it had caused to both mother and son
made her utter those cheering words, which, however, she did not wish
unsaid. She knew too well how bitterly her husband could write on a
subject which irritated him, and she shrunk from the thought of what
insults that letter might have contained.
But the daughter's feelings on the matter were far more intense and
painful, not because Henry Halford had offered and been refused, not
from any fear of what her father's letter might have said to cause pain,
but from surprise and distress at the concealment.
Children whose parents are able to support parental authority have
generally the greatest faith in their knowledge, their opinions, and
their judgment.
"My father says so," "My mamma knows best," are often uttered or thought
by young people; and on this account children who live entirely at home
grow up narrow-minded, and under the influence of certain opinions which
they consider right in contradistinction from all others.
Mary Armstrong had very narrowly escaped from such an influence, still
her confidence in her father had been unbounded. He had taught her to be
open, candid, straightforward, and truthful; and now she had found that
while speaking of the schoolmaster as having forgotten the young lady to
whom he had been so polite at Oxford, and now and then indulging in a
joke about the impossibility of a student being able to love anything
but his books, he had known of this young man's love for his daughter,
and refused him without one word of reference to herself.
She had yet to learn the hardening effects produced by a growing love of
money and the acquirement of wealth.
They had nearly reached the gate entrance to Lime Grove, when her mother
said--
"Mary dear, what passed between you and Mr. Halford, while I was talking
to his mother?"
"Only a few polite inquiries after my health, and remarks on the
weather; indeed, I could scarcely make a commonplace reply, for his
white face frightened me; but I understand it all now. Oh, mamma, I
cannot tell you how distressed I feel at the discovery we have made,
because it lowers my father in my estimation. Oh, if he had only told
me!"
Mrs. Armstrong sighed as they entered the gate; she had tried for years
to believe that her husband was the soul of honour; and though she could
account for the concealment of Mr. Halford's letter from his daughter,
yet she knew too well that he was not the strictly honourable man in
many matters which he wished to appear.
Mother and daughter entered the dining-room on that memorable evening
totally unprepared for the scene which was about to take place.
Mr. Armstrong appeared in the most exuberant spirits; he joked with his
daughter, complimented his wife, and during dinner made himself
altogether so very agreeable, that Mary's anger against him was fast
fading from her heart, in which filial love had so long found a place.
The cloth had been removed, and the wine and dessert of summer fruit
placed on the table in the style of olden times, before Mr. Armstrong
ventured to refer to the subject which had so raised his spirits.
"I had a visitor in Dover Street to-day, Maria," he said, addressing his
wife, "and I have asked him to dine with us to-morrow."
"Uncle Herbert, papa?" said Mary.
"No, my dear, but a friend of his who inquired very kindly after you."
"After me, papa? Who can it be? a lady or a gentleman?"
"Is there any gentleman friend of your uncle's who you think would be
likely to inquire after you?"
"Well, papa, yes; several I met at Park Lane would ask for me, I
daresay." Then suddenly she added, "Oh, perhaps it was Captain Fraser;
he told me he should pay you a visit some day."
"Why did you not mention, this, Mary?"
"I forgot it, papa, till your remark reminded me of it. I never cared to
remember Captain Fraser's sayings."
"You are not kind then, Mary, for he speaks of you in the highest terms.
He has not forgotten you, most certainly."
"I am very sorry, papa," she replied, "but I cannot appreciate his
praise as it deserves; he is so very effeminate and weak-minded, that
had he not been the guest of uncle and aunt Herbert I should scarcely
have been even civil to him."
There was a bitterness in Mary's manner and speech, occasioned by the
discovery of the afternoon; for while her father spoke she could not
help comparing the two young men, with very great loss to the subject of
their present conversation.
All at once to Mary's memory arose the teachings of her dear
grandfather. "I have no right to despise this young captain," she said
to herself; "it is not his fault that he is so inferior to others in
intellect;" and she was just about to speak kindly of his temper and
disposition, when her father said, in a tone that startled her--
"You will have to be more than civil to Captain Fraser to-morrow, Mary,
for he has asked me for the hand of my daughter, and I expect you to
accept him."
"Father! What do you mean?"
The tone of voice, the calm yet determined utterance, startled Mr.
Armstrong, yet he said firmly--
"I mean what I say, Mary. Here is a man connected with some of the
highest of England's aristocracy, and in addition to personal advantages
he possesses a noble estate and a rent-roll of 12,000_l._ a year. He
comes forward honourably, and offers to marry my daughter, and make her
mistress of all these honours and possessions, and she asks me what I
mean!"
Mary did not reply, but with a will unbending as her father's she
resolved that nothing should induce her to marry Reginald Fraser.
"Why do you not speak, Mary?" said her father at last, in a tone of
voice that Mrs. Armstrong knew betokened an outburst of passion.
"Do not oblige Mary to decide to-night, Edward," said the gentle voice
of his wife; "give her a few hours to think over the advantages of such
a marriage, and----"
"No, mamma," interrupted Mary; and while she spoke her face was pale and
her lips white, but her voice was clear and firm, "I do not require even
a few minutes to decide. I have been associated with Captain Fraser
daily for a month, and I could not marry him if he were fifty times more
rich or more well connected than he is."
Mr. Armstrong rose from his chair, his face livid with passion.
"Do you dare to oppose my wishes? Am I to be defied by my own daughter?
If you do not accept this gentleman who honours you by his preference, I
swear----"
"Stop! stop, Edward!" and his wife's hand was placed on his arm, "why
should you wish to force your child in a matter so important as
marriage? Do not say anything now that you may afterwards regret."
The effort caused the gentle wife to sink back in her chair, faint with
excitement.
Mary flew to her mother, and standing by her, she turned to her father,
who said in a slightly subdued tone--
"I have a right to expect my own daughter to obey me when it is for her
future good."
"No, my father," said Mary, who though deathly white was still calm,
"you have lost that right. If you had told me of Henry Halford's letter
to you openly and candidly, instead of concealing it and sending a
refusal without one word of reference to me, I would then have given way
to your wishes without a murmur, but now you cannot expect me to do so."
She assisted her mother to rise as she ceased speaking, and they left
the room together in silence, Mr. Armstrong being too completely stunned
by Mary's speech to utter a word in reply.
Surprise, not only at Mary's manner, but also at the discovery that she
had by some means heard of Mr. Henry Halford's letter respecting
herself, subdued for a time his rising anger, and presently he threw
himself into an easy-chair and began to reflect.
Not for long, however, for Mary, after soothing her mother, and placing
her on the sofa near the window, that the sweet calm of the summer
evening might bring repose to her startled nerves, returned to the
dining-room.
Mr. Armstrong scarcely noticed her approach till she threw herself on
her knees by his chair, and exclaimed--
"Forgive me, my father, I forgot myself just now; I ought not to have
spoken to you as I did; but why, oh! why did you not tell me of Mr.
Henry Halford's letter?"
The words, the pleading tones for pardon, softened for a time the
violent passions of the father; he placed his arm round his daughter,
and said--
"My child, how could I consent to such a marriage for you, with nothing
but poverty to look forward to, whether as the wife of a schoolmaster or
a curate? The young man's letter proved that; and now you are mad enough
to refuse an offer that even a duke's daughter might envy; why is this?"
"Papa, I could not marry to be ashamed of my husband; how could I honour
and respect him if I found him inferior in knowledge to myself? Papa, if
you intended me to marry only for money and position, why did you give
me such a superior education? How do you suppose I could be satisfied
with a man less clever than my own father? I know," she continued,
changing her tone, "that Captain Fraser is good, and gentle; and
amiable, but if you have seen him, and talked with him, you must know
how far inferior he is in every way mentally to Mr. Henry Halford."
"And I suppose, then, you want me to consent to your marrying a man who
expects me to advance sufficient money as your marriage portion to
enable him to support his wife?"
"No, my father, I will never marry without your consent, and I do not
expect you to give that consent to a man whom you treat as you would a
beggar; but I want you to understand how impossible it is for me to
accept any one else, even if he were as rich as Croesus. Ah, papa,"
she continued, clinging to his arm, "suppose mamma's relations had
treated _you_ as you have treated Mr. Henry Halford!"
"But I had money, child."
"And can money make amends for the absence of everything else? are rich
people always happy? Oh, papa," continued the young girl, who knew not
with what a firm grasp the demon of gold had seized upon her father's
heart, "you were not always like this; only promise me that I shall not
be asked to marry a man just for money and position, and I shall not
care about being married at all. I would rather live at home with you
and dear mamma, for I am sure I shall never be happier anywhere else."
The pleading voice, the consciousness that he had not acted rightly
respecting Henry Halford's letter, and that in many points his
daughter's remarks were correct, softened the father. He drew her
closely to his heart, and said--
"Mary, my child, although I cannot consent to your marriage with Mr.
Henry Halford, yet I promise you that you shall not be troubled with any
other suitors till you choose one for yourself of whom I can approve.
And now," he continued, rising, "let us go to your mother."
But at this kindness on her father's part Mary felt her firmness giving
way. Hastily returning his proffered kiss, she rushed upstairs to her
room, and gave vent to her long-controlled feelings in a burst of tears.
Meanwhile Mr. Armstrong was cheering his wife's heart by relating what
he had promised to Mary; and when she appeared on the announcement that
tea was ready, there was a look of calm happiness on her face in spite
of the reddened eyelids, which alone remained to bear testimony to the
tears which had relieved her over-charged heart.