by Anthony Hope
CHAPTER II
MISS WALLACE'S FRIEND
In old days the Mercerons had been great folk. They had held theearldom of Langbury and the barony of Warmley. A failure of directdescent in the male line extinguished the earldom; the Lady Agatha wasthe daughter of the last earl, and would have been Baroness Warmley hadshe lived. On her death that title passed to her cousin, and continuedin that branch till the early days of the present century. Then cameanother break. The Lord Warmley of that day, a Regency dandy, had ason, but not one who could inherit his honors, and away went the baronyto a yet younger branch, where, falling a few years later into femalehands, it was merged in a brand-new viscounty, and was now waiting tillchance again should restore it to an independent existence. From theMercerons of the Court it was gone for ever, and the blot on theirescutcheon which lost it them was a sore point, from which it behoovedvisitors and friends to refrain their tongues. The Regent had, indeed,with his well-known good nature, offered a baronetcy to hide the stain;but pride forbade, and the Mercerons now held no titles, save themodest dignity which Charlie's father, made a K.C.B. for services inthe North-West Provinces, had left behind him to his widow. But the oldhouse was theirs, and a comfortable remnant of the lands, and thepictures of the extinct earls and barons, down to him whose sins hadrobbed the line of its surviving rank and left it in a position, froman heraldic point of view, of doubtful respectability. Lady Merceronfelt so acutely on the subject that she banished this last nobleman tothe smoking-room. There was, considering everything, an appropriatenessin that position, and he no longer vexed her eyes as she sat at meat inthe dining room. She had purposed a like banishment for Lady Agatha;but here Charlie had interceded, and the unhappy beauty hung stillbehind his mother's chair and opposite his own. It was just to rememberthat but for poor Agatha's fault and fate the present branch mightnever have enjoyed the honors at all; so Charlie urged to LadyMerceron, catching at any excuse for keeping Lady Agatha. LadyMerceron's way of judging pictures may seem peculiar, but the fact isthat she lacked what is called the sense of historical perspective: shedid not see why our ancestors should be treated so tenderly andallowed, with a charitable reference to the change in manners,forgiveness for what no one to-day could hope to win a pardon. Mr.Vansittart Merceron smiled at his sister-in-law and shrugged hisshoulders; but in vain. To the smoking-room went the wicked LordWarmley, and Lady Agatha was remarkably lucky in that she did notfollow him.
Mr. Vansittart, half-brother to the late Sir Victor, and twenty yearsyounger than he, was a short thick-set man, with a smooth round whiteface, and a way of speaking so deliberate and weighty that it impartedmomentousness to nothings and infallibility to nonsense. When he reallyhad something sensible to say, and that was very fairly often, theeffect was enormous. He was now forty-four, a widower, well off by hismarriage, and a Member of Parliament. Naturally, Lady Merceron reliedmuch, on his advice, especially in what concerned her son; she was hazyabout the characters and needs of young men, not knowing how theyshould be treated or what appealed to them. Amid her haziness, one factonly stood out clear. To deal with a young man, you wanted a man of theworld. In this capacity Mr. Vansittart had now been sent for to theCourt, the object of his visit being nothing less than the arrangementand satisfactory settlement of Charlie's future.
Mr. Vansittart approached the future through the present and the past."Yon wasted your time at school, you wasted your time at Oxford, you'rewasting your time now," he remarked, when Charlie and he were leftalone after dinner.
Charlie was looking at Lady Agatha's picture. "With a sigh he turned tohis uncle.
"That's all very well," he said tolerantly, "but what is there for meto do?"
"If you took more interest in country pursuits it might be different.But you don't hunt, you shoot very seldom----"
"And very badly."
"And not at all well, as you admit. You say you won't become amagistrate, you show no interest in politics or--or--social questions.You simply moon about."
Charlie was vividly reminded of a learned judge whom he had once heardpronouncing sentence of death. His uncle's denunciation seemed to lackits appropriate conclusion--that he should be hanged by the neck tillhe was dead. He was roused to defend himself.
"You're quite wrong, uncle," he said. "I'm working hard. I'm writing ahistory of the family."
"A history of the family!" groaned Mr. Vansittart. "Who wants one?Who'll read one?"
"From an antiquarian point of view--" began Charlie stoutly.
"Of all ways of wasting time, antiquarianism is perhaps the mostfutile;" and Mr. Vansittart wiped his mouth with an air of finality.
"Now the Agatha Merceron story," continued Charlie, "is in itself---"
"Perhaps we'd better finish our talk tomorrow. The ladies will, expectus in the garden."
"All right," said Charlie, with much content. He enjoyed himself morein the garden, for, while Lady Merceron and her brother in law tookcounsel, he strolled through the moonlit shrubberies with Mrs. Marland,and Mrs. Marland was very sympathetically interested in him and hispursuits. She was a little eager woman, the very antithesis in body andmind to Millie Bushell; she had plenty of brains but very little sense,a good deal of charm but no beauty, and, without any counterbalancingdefect at all, a hearty liking for handsome young men. She had also ahusband in the City.
"Ghost-hunting again to-night, Mr. Merceron?" she asked, glancing up atCharlie, who was puffing happily at a cigar.
"Yes," he answered, "I'm very regular."
"And did you see anyone?
"I saw Millie Bushell."
"Miss Bushell's hardly ghost-like, is she?"
"We'll," said Charlie meditatively, "I suppose if one was fat oneselfone's ghost would be fat, wouldn't it?"
Mrs. Marland, letting the problem alone, laughed softly.
"Poor Miss Bushell! If she heard you say that! Or if Lady Merceronheard you!"
"It would hardly surprise my mother to hear that I thought MillieBushell plump. She is plump, you know;" and Charlie's eyes expressed acandid homage to truth.
"Oh, I know what's being arranged for you."
"So do I."
"And you'll do it. Oh, you think you won't, but you will. Men alwaysend by doing what they're told."
"Does Mr. Marland?"
"He begins by it," laughed his wife.
"Is that why he's not coming till Saturday week?"
"Mr. Merceron! But what was Miss Bushell doing at the Pool? Did shecome to find you?"
"Oh, no; just for a walk."
"Poor girl!"
"Why--it's good for her."
"I didn't mean the walk,"
"I'd blush if there was light enough to make it any use, Mrs. Marland."
"Oh, but I know there's something. You don't go there every evening tolook for a dead lady, Mr. Merceron."
Charlie stopped short, and took his cigar from his mouth.
"What?" he asked, a little abruptly.
"Well, I shall follow you some day, and I shouldn't be surprised if Imet--not Agatha--but----"
"Well?" asked Charlie, with an uncertain smile.
"Why, poor Miss Bushell!"
Charlie laughed and replaced his cigar.
"What are we standing still for?" he said.
"I don't know. You stopped. She'd be such an ideal match for you."
"Then I should never have done for you, Mrs. Marland."
"My dear boy, I was married when you were still in Eton collars."
They had completed the circuit of the garden, and now approached whereLady Merceron sat, enveloped in a shawl.
"Charlie!" she called. "Here's a letter from Victor Button. He's comingto-morrow."
"I didn't know you'd asked him," said Charlie, with no sign of pleasureat the news. Victor had been at school and college with Charlie, andoften, in his holidays, at the Court, for he was Sir Victor's godson.Yet Charlie did not love him. For the rest, he was very rich, and wasunderstood to cut something of a figure in Lon
don society.
"Mr. Sutton? Oh, I know him," exclaimed Mrs. Marland. "He's charming!"
"Then you shall entertain him," said Charlie. "I resign him."
"I can't think why you're not more pleased to have him here, Charlie,"remarked Lady Merceron. "He's very popular in London, isn't he,Vansittart?"
"I've met him at some very good houses," answered Mr. Vansittart. Andthat, he seemed to imply, is better than mere popularity.
"The Bushells were delighted with him last time he was here," continuedLady Merceron.
"There! A rival for you!" Mrs. Marland whispered.
Charlie laughed cheerfully. Sutton would be no rival of his, hethought; and if he and Millie liked one another, by all means let themtake one another. A month before he would hardly have dismissed thequestion in so summary a fashion, for the habit of regarding Millie asa possibility and her readiness as a fact had grown strong by thecustom of years, and, far as he was from a passion, he might not haveenjoyed seeing her allegiance transferred to Victor Sutton. Certainlyhe would have suffered defeat from that hand with very bad grace. Now,however, everything was changed.
"Vansittart," said Lady Merceron, "Charlie and I want to consult you(she often coupled Charlie's hypothetical desire for advice with herown actual one in appeals to Mr. Vansittart) about Mr. Prime's rent."
"Oh, at the old farm?"
"Yes. He wants another reduction."
"He'll want to be paid for staying there next."
"Well, poor man, he's had to take lodgers this summer--a thing he'snever done before. Charlie, did you know that?"
"Yes," said Charlie, interrupting an animated conversation which he hadstarted with Mrs. Marland.
"Do you know who they are?" pursued his mother, wandering from Mr.Prime's rent to the more interesting subject of his lodgers.
"Ladies from London," answered Charlie.
"Rather vague," commented Mr. Vansittart. "Young ladies or old ladies,Charlie?"
"Why does he want to know?" asked Mrs. Marland; but chaff had about asmuch effect on Mr. Vansittart as it would have on an ironclad. Heseemed not to hear, and awaited an answer with a bland smile. In truth,he thought Mrs. Marland a silly woman.
"Young, I believe," answered Charlie, in a careless tone.
"It's curious I've not seen them about," said Lady Merceron. "I passthe farm almost every day. Who are they, Charlie?"
"One's a Miss Wallace. She's engaged to Willie Prime."
"To Willie? Fancy!"
"H'm! I think," remarked Mr. Vansittart, "that, from the point of viewof a reduction of rent, these lodgers are a delusion. Of course shestays with Prime if she's going to many his son."
"Fancy Willie!" reiterated Lady Merceron. "Surely he can't afford tomarry? He's in a bank, you know, Vansittart, and he only gets a hundredand twenty pounds a year."
"One blessing of the country is that everybody knows his neighbor'sincome," observed Mr. Vansittart.
"Perhaps the lady has money," suggested Mrs. Marland. "But, Mr.Merceron, who's the other lady?"
"A friend of Miss Wallace's, I believe. I don't know her name."
"Oh, they're merely friends of Prime's?" Mr. Vansittart concluded. "Ifthat's all he bases his claim for a reduction on---"
"Hang it! He might as well have it," interrupted Charlie. "He talks tome about it for half an hour every time we meet."
"But, my dear Charlie, you have more time than money to waste--atleast, so it seems."
His uncle's sarcasm never affected Charlie's temper.
"I'll turn him on to you, uncle," he replied, "and you can see how youlike it."
"I'll go and call on him tomorrow. You'd better come too, Charlie."
"And then you can see the ladies from London," added Mrs. Marland."Perhaps the one who isn't young Mr. Prime's will be interesting."
"Or," said Charlie, "as mostly happens in this woeful world, the onewho is."
"I think the less we see of that sort of person at all, the better,"observed Lady Merceron, with gentle decision. "They can hardly be quitewhat we're accustomed to."
"That sort of person!"
Charlie went to bed with the phrase ringing in his horror-struck ears.If to be the most beautiful, the most charming, and the most refined,the daintiest, the wittiest and prettiest, the kindest and thesweetest, the merriest and most provoking creature in the wholeworld--if to be all this were yet not to weigh against being 'that sortof person'--if it were not, indeed, to outweigh, banish, and obliterateeverything else why, the world was not fit to live in, and he no trueMerceron! For the Merceron men had always pleased themselves.