Millie, with shame at her own appropriation, which, looked back upon,
appeared excessive, decided that Fanny had been bored that night, and no
wonder, with so floundering an acquaintance thrust upon her! She
admired her friend, penitently, for that last offer of a plank of
refuge, and hoped that bashfulness might prevent his accepting it.
"Why were you so kind, Fanny?" she remonstrated. "I am sure you had
done all that could have been expected of you!"
"Oh, and more. He never expects," said Lady Fanny, musingly. "One
ought to do something for the helpless. You, at any rate, might be
obliged to him."
It was Mrs Ravenhill who asked why?
Lady Fanny considered that he made a second centre of conversation, and,
cried out at, maintained her assertion.
"First you have to discover what he has to say, and then to help him to
say it. It is very absorbing."
"I think you might have been more helpful, then," Mrs Ravenhill
remarked, smiling. "For a long time you left him to me, and what did I
know of what he had to say! And I don't approve of your laughing at
him, for he is a good man, and carries it in his face."
"Is goodness pink?" asked Fanny, with an innocent air. The next moment
she cried out, "Oh, don't listen to me! Good? He is better than all of
us put together. The poor love him. You don't know how he has changed
the place where he has been working. Even Milborough hasn't a word to
say against him. There was a young fellow at Huntsdon going to the bad
as fast as he could, and Mr Elliot got hold of him and never let go
again--that's the only way of describing it. It was splendid. And then
one makes much of these little trifles, as if they mattered! as if they
could compare with the real thing!"
And once more Milly caught a gleam in the grey Irish eyes, which, if it
had been possible, looked like tears.
Mrs Ravenhill, suddenly enlightened, was beginning to say something in
praise of such a character, when Fanny interrupted her.
"No. He's absurd, ridiculous!" she cried, and tore him to tatters.
This was at breakfast. Afterwards, when Millie was alone with her
mother, she flew at her with questions. What did she think? Was it
possible? Mrs Ravenhill was as much at sea as herself. Everything
pointed to unlikelihood, yet nothing else seemed to explain those
rushing words with which Fanny had painted a noble nature. They talked
amazedly. The last person they would have expected! Mrs Ravenhill was
more quickly reconciled than Millie.
"If she respects him, I have no fear; and what else can have attracted
her? I hope he does not think of her fortune, but I should not suspect
him."
"No, no! But a man that she laughs at!"
"It is her revenge on her own heart. I can hardly fancy Milborough
approving, still--in a year she will be her own mistress. And, after
all, Millie, we may have gone too far. It may be no more than girlish
enthusiasm. You know, as well as I, how quickly Fanny is stirred by
what she admires, and, poor child, Thorpe has not too much of that! If
I were you, I would say nothing to her until she speaks herself."
Not a word did Fanny breathe, and perhaps was unconscious of having
betrayed feeling. A suggestion made that she might not care to
accompany Mrs Ravenhill and Millie for some shopping, she set aside,
declaring that with fashion changing every week, she must make the most
of being at head-quarters. Mrs Ravenhill satisfied herself by leaving
word, unknown to her, that if Mr Elliot appeared they would be at home
for tea. However, the precaution was useless, for he did not come, and
Fanny made no remark.
By the next day, Mrs Ravenhill, now on the look-out for signs,
convinced herself that her guest was restless, and earned off Millie.
Fanny, left to herself, wandered about the house, and peeped over the
stairs when a hesitating ring sounded, declaring that it must be his.
"He cannot even ring like other people, he turns it into an apology,"
she cried, angry with every shortcoming. But when only a card followed
the ring she grew uneasy, beginning to fear she knew not what, wandered
on the landing, watched from the balcony. "This living?--he is in the
tortures of doubt; so am I. It would make all the difference; perhaps
provide him with a tongue, at least give me an excuse. An excuse! Now,
Fanny the coward, Fanny the worldly"--she scourged herself with
scorn--"what excuse do you want? You know him--that he is worth a
hundred of those butterfly nonentities who are suggested as appropriate
husbands--yet you have not the courage of your convictions." Then, with
a laugh, she relented from her fierceness. "When the courage of
convictions includes something extremely like having to offer oneself,
one may be forgiven hesitation--"
At this point Mr Elliot was announced, and Fanny coloured as furiously
as if she had been caught in the act she was contemplating. She even
descended to an untruth by implication of surprise.
"You are the most surprising person! Who would have expected you to be
still in London!"
"Did you think I had left?"
Mr Elliot was no longer shy, and his look, fixed on hers, was as frank
and open as a child's. Lady Fanny fidgeted, and confessed--
"No, no, I did not."
"I could not have gone without seeing you. Do you recollect what I said
I wanted?" Fanny nodded, and remarked that it could only be a question
of what he wished himself.
"Scarcely that," he said, without looking at her. "But circumstances
have forced me into decision without asking your advice."
She leant forward eagerly.
"I am very glad. I hope you asked nobody. Why should you hesitate? It
was offered to you because you were the best man. The best man should
have it. Yes, I am glad, for it shows that they can appreciate--"
She stopped, fearing to have said too much. He fingered a paper-knife
on the table, and eyed the floor. When he spoke, it was with a certain
stiffness.
"I shall always be sensible of the kindness--the undeserved kindness.
It has made me more ashamed of my own failures than ever before--"
"Oh, no," cried Lady Fanny, happy enough to jest once more, "I forbid
your growing more retiring. Go on, please, go on; never mind the
failures. I dare say your letter of acceptance was as full of apologies
as if you were a fraud."
"I--I--" he became nervous again, but recovered himself. "I have
refused."
"Refused!" Her voice was tragic.
"I could do nothing else."
"Why, why? What possessed you!"
"There was another."
"Another? What other?" She grew ashamed of her eagerness, and sat back
in her chair trying to look unconcerned. "Of course I have no right to
ask."
This roused him. He looked at her like a man who had been struck. "You
are the one, the only person--forgive me, I don't know what I am
saving."
She looked away. "If you were kindly to explain what you have done, and
why?"
"Yes, yes, I came here to do so. When--when I had seen you on Monday
night, I thought--I fancied--yes, I determined to accept the offer.
There seemed no reason against it, except the doubt whether I should not
be filling the place of another man who would be better fitted. But--
one may carry that fear too far--"