Miss Marjoribanks

by Mrs. Oliphant

  _Chapter XLI_

  Mr Cavendish thought he had been an object of admiration to Maria Brown,as we have said. He thought of it with a little middle-aged complacency,and a confidence that this vague sentiment would stand the test he wasabout to apply to it, which did honour to the freshness of his heart.With this idea it was Miss Brown he asked for as he knocked at theMajor's door; and he found them both in the drawing-room, Maria withgloves on to hide the honourable stains of her photography, which madeher comparatively useless when she was out of her "studio"--and herfather walking about in a state of excitement, which was, indeed, whatMr Cavendish expected. The two exchanged a guilty look when they saw whotheir visitor was. They looked as people might well look who had beencaught in the fact and did not know how to get over it. They cameforward, both of them, with a cowardly cordiality and eagerness towelcome him--"How very good of you to come to see us so soon!" MissBrown said, and fluttered and looked at her father, and could not tellwhat more to say. And then a dead pause fell upon them--such a pause asnot unfrequently falls upon people who have got through their mutualgreetings almost with an excess of cordiality. They stopped short all atonce, and looked at each other, and smiled, and made a fatal consciouseffort to talk of something. "It is so good of you to come so soon,"Miss Brown repeated; "perhaps you have been to see Lucilla," and thenshe stopped again, slightly tremulous, and turned an appealing gaze toher papa.

  "I have come to see _you_," said Mr Cavendish, plucking up all hiscourage. "I have been a long time gone, you know, but I have notforgotten Carlingford; and you must forgive me for saying that I wasvery glad to hear I might still come to see--Miss Brown. As for Lydia?"said the candidate, looking about him with a smile.

  "Ah, Lydia," said her sister, with a sigh--"her eldest is eight, MrCavendish. We don't see her as often as we should like--marriage makessuch a difference. Of course it is quite natural she should be all forher own family now."

  "Quite natural," said Mr Cavendish, and then he turned to the Major. "Idon't think there are quite so many public changes as I expected to see.The old Rector always holds out, and the old Colonel; and you have notdone much that I can see about the new paving. You know what I have comehome about, Major; and I am sure I can count upon you to support me,"the candidate said, with a great deal more confidence than he felt inhis voice.

  Major Brown cleared his throat; his heart was moved by the familiarvoice, and he could not conceal his embarrassment. "I hope nothing willever occur," he said, "to make any difference in the friendlyfeelings--I am sure I shall be very glad to welcome you back permanentlyto Carlingford. You may always rest assured of that," and he held outhis hand. But he grew red as he thought of his treachery, and Maria, whowas quaking over it, did not even try to say a word to help him--and asfor Mr Cavendish, he took up his position on the arm of the sofa, as heused to do. But he had a slim youthful figure when he used to do it, andnow the attitude was one which revealed a certain dawning rotundity,very different, as Maria afterwards said, from one's idea of MrCavendish. He was not aware of it himself, but as these two peoplelooked, their simultaneous thought was how much he had changed.

  "Thank you, you are very kind," said Mr Cavendish. "I have been a littlelazy, I am afraid, since I came here; but I expect my agent downto-night, and then, I hope, you'll come over to my place and have a talkwith Woodburn and Centum and the rest about it. I am a poor tactician,for my part. You shall contrive what is best to be done, and I'll carryit out. I suppose I may expect almost to walk over," he said. It was theconfidence of despair that moved him. The more he saw that his cause waslost, the more he would make it out that he was sure to win--which isnot an unusual state of mind.

  "I--I don't know, I am sure," said poor Major Brown. "To tell the truth,I--though I can safely say my sympathies are always with you,Cavendish--I--have been so unfortunate as to commit myself, you know. Itwas quite involuntary, I am sure, for I never thought my casualexpression of opinion likely to have any weight----"

  "Papa never will perceive the weight that is attached to his opinion,"said Miss Brown.

  "I was not thinking of it in the least, Maria," said the modest Major;"but the fact is, it seems to have been _that_ that decided Ashburton tostand; and after drawing a man in to such a thing, the least one can dois to back him out in it. Nobody had an idea then, you know, that youwere coming back, my dear fellow. I assure you, if I had known----"

  "But even if you had known, you know you never meant it, papa," saidMaria. And Mr Cavendish sat on the arm of the sofa, and put his handsdeep into his pockets, and dropped his upper lip, and knit his eyebrowsa little, and listened to the anxious people excusing themselves. He didnot make any answer one way or another. He was terribly mortified anddisappointed, and it went against his pride to make furtherremonstrances. When they had done, he got down off his seat and took hisright hand out of his pocket and offered it to Miss Brown, who, puttingher own into it, poor soul! with the remembrance of her ancientallegiance, was like to cry.

  "Well," he said, "if that is the case, I suppose I need not bother youany longer. You'll give me your good wishes all the same. I used to hearof Ashburton sometimes, but I never had the least idea he was sopopular. And to tell the truth, I don't think he's any great things tobrag of--though I suppose it's not to be expected _I_ should appreciatehis qualities," Mr Cavendish added, with a laugh. As for Miss Brown, itwas all she could do to keep from crying as he went away. She said shecould see, by the way he left the drawing-room, that he was a strickendeer; and yet, notwithstanding this sympathetic feeling, she could notbut acknowledge, when Miss Marjoribanks mentioned it, that, to have beensuch a handsome man, he was inconceivably gone off.

  Mr Cavendish went up Grange Lane with his hands in his pockets, andtried to think that he did not care; but he did care all the same, andwas very bitter in his mind over the failure of friends and the vanityof expectations. The last time he had walked past those garden walls hehad thought himself sure of the support of Carlingford, and thepersonal esteem of all the people in all the houses he was passing. Itwas after the Archdeacon had broken down in his case against the manwhom he called an adventurer, and when Mr Cavendish felt all thesweetness of being a member of an oligarchy, and entitled to thesympathy and support of his order. Now he went along the same path withhis hat over his ears and his hands in his pockets, and rage and pain inhis heart. Whose fault was it that his friends had deserted him andCarlingford knew him no more? He might as well have asked whose fault itwas that he was getting stout and red in the face, and had not the samegrace of figure nor ease of mind as he used to have? He had come verynear to settling down and becoming a man of domestic respectability inthis quiet place, and he had just escaped in time, and had laughed overit since, and imagined himself, with much glee, an old fogy lookingafter a lot of children. But the fact is that men do become old fogieseven when they have no children to look after, and lose their figure andtheir elasticity just as soon and perhaps a little sooner in the midstof what is called life than in any milder scene of enjoyment. And itwould have been very handy just now to have been sure of his electionwithout paying much for it. He had been living fast, and spending agreat deal of money, and this, after all, was the only real ambition hehad ever had; and he had thought within himself that if he won he wouldchange his mode of life, and turn over a new leaf, and become all atonce a different man. When a man has made such a resolution, and feelsnot only that a mere success but a moral reformation depends upon hisvictory, he may be permitted to consider that he has a right to win; andit may be divined what his state of mind was when he had made thediscovery that even his old friends did not see his election to be ofany such importance as he did, and could think of a miserable little bitof self-importance or gratified vanity more than of his interests--eventhe women who had once been so kind to him! He had just got so far inhis thoughts when he met Mr Centum, who stared for a moment, and thenburst into one of his great laughs as he greeted him. "Good Lord!Cavendish, is this you? I never expect
ed to see you like that!" thebanker said, in his coarse way. "You're stouter than I am, old fellow;and such an Adonis as you used to be!" Mr Cavendish had to bear all thiswithout giving way to his feelings, or even showing them any more thanhe could help it. Nobody would spare him that imbecile suggestion as tohow things used to be. To be growing stouter than Centum withoutCentum's excuse of being a well-to-do householder and father of afamily, and respectable man from whom stoutness was expected, was verybitter to him: but he had to gulp it down, and recollect that Centum wasas yet the only influential supporter, except his brother-in-law, whomhe had in Carlingford.

  "What have you been doing with yourself since you came that nobody hasseen you?" said Mr Centum. "If you are to do any good here, you know, weshall have to look alive."

  "I have been ill," said the unfortunate candidate, with a little naturalloss of temper. "You would not have a man to trudge about at this timeof year in all weathers when he is ill."

  "I would not be ill again, if I were you, till it's all over," said MrCentum. "We shall have to fight every inch of our ground; and I tell youthat fellow Ashburton knows what he's about--he goes at everything in asteady sort of way. He's not brilliant, you know, but he's sure----"

  "Brilliant!" said Mr Cavendish, "I should think not. It is LucillaMarjoribanks who is putting him up to it. You know she had an old grudgeat me."

  "Oh, nonsense about Lucilla," said Mr Centum. "I can tell you Ashburtonis not at all a contemptible adversary. He is going to work in thecunningest way--not a woman's sort of thing, and he's not a ladies' manlike you," the banker added, with a laugh.

  "But I am afraid you can't go in for that sort of thing as you used todo, Cavendish. You should marry, and settle, and become a steady memberof society, now you've grown so stout." This was the kind of way inwhich he was addressed even by his own supporter, who uttered anothergreat laugh as he went off upon his busy way. It was a sort of thing MrCavendish was not used to, and he felt it accordingly. To be sure heknew that he was ten years older, and that there were several thingswhich he could not do with the same facility as in his youth. But he hadsaved up Carlingford in his imagination as a spot in which he wouldalways be young, and where nobody should find out the difference; andinstead of that, it was precisely in Carlingford that he was fated tohear how changed he was, with a frankness which only old friends wouldhave been justified in using. As for Lucilla Marjoribanks, she wasrather better looking than otherwise, and absolutely had not gone off.It did not occur to Mr Cavendish that this might be because Lucilla atpresent was not still so old as he had been ten years ago, in the periodwhich he now considered his youth. He was rather disposed, on thecontrary, to take a moral view, and to consider that it was her feminineincapacity for going too far, which had kept years and amusements fromhaving their due effect upon Miss Marjoribanks. And, poor fellow, he_had_ gone too far. He had not been as careful in his life as he mighthave been had he stayed at Carlingford; and now he was paying thepenalty. Such was the edifying state of mind which he had come to whenhe reached the top of Grove Street. And there a waft of softrecollections came across his mind. In the absence of all sympathy hecould not help turning back to the thought of the enchantress of old whoused to sing to him, and listen to him, and storm at him. Probably hewould have ended by strolling along the familiar street, and canvassingfor Mr Lake's vote, which would have done him no good in Carlingford,but just then Dr Marjoribanks stopped in his brougham. The Doctor waslooking very strange that morning, though nobody had particularlyremarked it--perhaps because he smoothed his countenance when he was outof the brougham, which was his refuge when he had anything to thinkabout. But he stopped suddenly to speak to Mr Cavendish, and perhaps hehad not time to perform that ceremony. He looked dark and cloudy, andconstrained, and as if he forced himself to speak; which, to be sure,under the circumstances, was not so very strange.

  "I am very glad to see you," the Doctor said, "though you were a day toolate, you know. Why didn't you give us warning before we all went andcommitted ourselves? If we had known that you were coming----"

  "Ah, that's what old Brown said," said Mr Cavendish, with a slight shrugof his shoulders; which was imprudent, for the Major was not so old asthe Doctor, and besides was a much less important man in Grange Lane.

  "So you have been to see old Brown," said Dr Marjoribanks, in his dryway. "He always was a great admirer of yours. I can't wish you luck, youknow, for if you win we lose----"

  "Oh, I don't want you to wish me luck. I don't suppose there can be muchcomparison between my chance and that of a new man whom nobody everheard of in my time," said the candidate for Carlingford. "I thought youScotchmen, Doctor, always liked to be on the winning side."

  "We've a way of making our side the winning side," said Dr Marjoribanksgrimly, for he was touchy where his nationality was concerned. "Healthall right, I hope?" he added, looking at Mr Cavendish with that criticalmedical glance which shows that a verbal response is quite unnecessary.This time there was in the look a certain insinuation of doubt on thesubject, which was not pleasant. "You are getting stout, I see," DrMarjoribanks added--not laughing, but as if that too was poor MrCavendish's fault.

  "Yes, I'm very well," he answered curtly; but the truth was that he didnot feel sure that he was quite well after he had seen the critical lookin Dr Marjoribanks's eye.

  "You young men always go too fast," said the Doctor, with a strangelittle smile; but the term at least was consolatory; and after thatDoctor Marjoribanks quite changed his tone. "Have you heard Woodburntalking of that great crash in town?" he said--"that India house, youknow--I suppose it's quite true?"

  "Quite true," said Mr Cavendish, promptly, and somehow he felt apleasure in saying it. "I got all the particulars to-day in one of myletters--and lots of private people involved, which is always the waywith these old houses," he added, with a mixture of curiosity andmalice--"widows, and all sorts of superannuated folks."

  "It's a great pity," said the Doctor: "I knew old Lichfield once, thechief partner--I am very sorry to hear it's true;" and then the twoshook hands, and the brougham drove on. As for Mr Cavendish, he made uphis mind at once that the Doctor was involved, and was not sorry, andfelt that it was a sort of judicial recompense for his desertion of hisfriends. And he went home to tell his sister of it, who shared in hissentiments. And then it was not worth while going out any more thatday--for the electioneering agent, who knew all about it, was not comingtill the last train. "I suppose I shall have to work when he is here,"Mr Cavendish said. And in the meantime he threw himself into an easychair. Perhaps that was why he was getting so stout.

  And in the meantime the Doctor went on visiting his patients. When hecame back to his brougham between his visits, and went bowling along inthat comfortable way, along the familiar roads, there was a certainglumness upon his face. He was not a demonstrative man, but when he wasalone you could tell by certain lines about the well-worn cordage of hiscountenance whether all was right with the Doctor; and it was easy tosee just at this moment that all was not right with him. But he did notsay anything about it when he got home; on the contrary, he was just asusual, and told his daughter all about his encounter with Mr Cavendish."A man at his time of life has no right to get fat--it's a sort of thingI don't like to see. And he'll never be a ladies' man no more, Lucilla,"said the Doctor, with a gleam of humour in his eye.

  "He is exactly like George the Fourth, papa," said Miss Marjoribanks;and the Doctor laughed as he sat down to dinner. If he had anything onhis mind he bore it like a hero, and gave no sign; but then, as Mrs Johnvery truly remarked, when a man does not disclose his annoyances theyalways tell more upon him in the end.