CHAPTER XXVI
A FATHER'S NO
Paul has stormed the House of Commons with one of the greatest speecheswhich even he has delivered, and I have quarrelled with papa. And,also, I have very nearly quarrelled with Sydney.
Sydney's little affair is nothing. He actually still persists inthinking himself in love with me,--as if, since last night, when hewhat he calls 'proposed' to me, he has not time to fall out of love,and in again, half a dozen times; and, on the strength of it, he seemsto consider himself entitled to make himself as disagreeable as he can.That I should not mind,--for Sydney disagreeable is about as nice asSydney any other way; but when it comes to his shooting poisoned shaftsat Paul, I object. If he imagines that anything he can say, or hint,will lessen my estimation of Paul Lessingham by one hair's breadth, hehas less wisdom even than I gave him credit for. By the way, PercyWoodville asked me to be his wife tonight,--which, also, is nothing; hehas been trying to do it for the last three years,--though, under thecircumstances, it is a little trying; but he would not spit venommerely because I preferred another man,--and he, I believe, does carefor me.
Papa's affair is serious. It is the first clashing of the foils,--andthis time, I imagine, the buttons are really off. This morning he saida few words, not so much to, as at me. He informed me that Paul wasexpected to speak to-night,--as if I did not know it!--and availedhimself of the opening to load him with the abuse which, in his case,he thinks is not unbecoming to a gentleman. I don't know--or, rather, Ido know what he would think, if he heard another man use, in thepresence of a woman, the kind of language which he habitually employs.However, I said nothing. I had a motive for allowing the chaff to flybefore the wind.
But, to-night, issue was joined.
I, of course, went to hear Paul speak,--as I have done over and overagain before. Afterwards, Paul came and fetched me from the cage. Hehad to leave me for a moment, while he gave somebody a message; and inthe lobby, there was Sydney,--all sneers! I could have pinched him.Just as I was coming to the conclusion that I should have to stick apin into his arm, Paul returned,--and, positively, Sydney was rude tohim. I was ashamed, if Mr Atherton was not. As if it was not enoughthat he should be insulted by a mere popinjay, at the very moment whenhe had been adding another stone to the fabric of his country'sglory,--papa came up. He actually wanted to take me away from Paul. Ishould have liked to see him do it. Of course I went down with Paul tothe carriage, leaving papa to follow if he chose. He did notchoose,--but, none the less, he managed to be home within three minutesafter I had myself returned.
Then the battle began.
It is impossible for me to give an idea of papa in a rage. There may bemen who look well when they lose their temper, but, if there are, papais certainly not one. He is always talking about the magnificence, andthe high breeding of the Lindons, but anything less high-bred than thehead of the Lindons, in his moments of wrath, it would be hard toconceive. His language I will not attempt to portray,--but hisobservations consisted, mainly, of abuse of Paul, glorification of theLindons, and orders to me.
'I forbid you--I forbid you--' when papa wishes to be impressive herepeats his own words three or four times over; I don't know if heimagines that they are improved by repetition; if he does, he iswrong--'I forbid you ever again to speak to that--that--that--'
Here followed language.
I was silent.
My cue was to keep cool. I believe that, with the exception, perhaps,of being a little white, and exceedingly sorry that papa should soforget himself, I was about the same as I generally am.
'Do you hear me?--do you hear what I say?--do you hear me, miss?'
'Yes, papa; I hear you.'
'Then--then--then promise me!--promise that you will do as I tellyou!--mark my words, my girl, you shall promise before you leave thisroom!'
'My dear papa!--do you intend me to spend the remainder of my life inthe drawing-room?'
'Don't you be impertinent!--do-do-don't you speak to me likethat!--I--I--I won't have it!'
'I tell you what it is, papa, if you don't take care you'll haveanother attack of gout.'
'Damn gout.'
That was the most sensible thing he said; if such a tormentor as goutcan be consigned to the nether regions by the mere utterance of a word,by all means let the word be uttered. Off he went again.
'The man's a ruffianly, rascally,--' and so on. 'There's not such avillainous vagabond--' and all the rest of it. 'And I order you,--I'm aLindon, and I order you! I'm your father, and I order you!--I order younever to speak to such a--such a'--various vain repetitions--'again,and--and--and I order you never to look at him!'
'Listen to me, papa. I will promise you never to speak to PaulLessingham again, if you will promise me never to speak to LordCantilever again,--or to recognise him if you meet him in the street.'
'You should have seen how papa glared. Lord Cantilever is the head ofhis party. Its august, and, I presume, reverenced leader. He is papa'sparticular fetish. I am not sure that he does regard him as being anylower than the angels, but if he does it is certainly something indecimals. My suggestion seemed as outrageous to him as his suggestionseemed to me. But it is papa's misfortune that he can only see one sideof a question,--and that's his own.'
'You--you dare to compare Lord Cantilever to--to that--that--that--!'
'I am not comparing them. I am not aware of there being anything inparticular against Lord Cantilever,--that is against his character.But, of course, I should not dream of comparing a man of his calibre,with one of real ability, like Paul Lessingham. It would be to treathis lordship with too much severity.'
I could not help it,--but that did it. The rest of papa's conversationwas a jumble of explosions. It was all so sad.
Papa poured all the vials of his wrath upon Paul,--to his own soredisfigurement. He threatened me with all the pains and penalties of theinquisition if I did not immediately promise to hold no furthercommunication with Mr Lessingham,--of course I did nothing of the kind.He cursed me, in default, by bell, book, and candle,--and by ever somany other things beside. He called me the most dreadful names,--me!his only child. He warned me that I should find myself in prison beforeI had done,--I am not sure that he did not hint darkly at the gallows.Finally, he drove me from the room in a whirlwind of anathemas.
The Beetle: A Mystery Page 26