Comedies of Courtship

by Anthony Hope

  CHAPTER VII

  THE INEVITABLE MEETING

  The first Viscount Thrapston had been an eminent public character, andthe second a respectable private person; the third had been neither.And yet there was some good in the third. He had loved his only sonwith a fondness rare to find; and for ten whole years, while the youngman was between seventeen and twenty-seven, the old lord lived, for hissake, a life open to no reproach. Then the son died, leaving a latelymarried wife and a baby-girl, and Lord Thrapston, deprived at once ofhope and of restraint, returned to his old courses, till age came uponhim and drove him from practice into reminiscence. Mrs. Glyn hadoutlived her husband fifteen years and then followed him, fairlysnubbed to death, some said, by her formidable father-in-law. Thedaughter was of sterner stuff, and early discovered for herself thatnothing worse than a scowl or a snarl was to be feared. On her, indeed,descended a relic of that tenderness her father had enjoyed, and Agathaused to the full the advantages it gave her. She knew her ownimportance. It is not every girl who will be a peeress in her ownright, and she amused her grandfather by calmly informing him that itwas not on the whole a subject for regret that she had not been a boy."You see," said she, "we get rid of the new viscounty, and it's muchbetter to be Warmley than Thrapston."

  The fact that she was some day to be 'Warmley' was the mainspring ofthat hairbrained jaunt to Lang Marsh in company with Nettie Wallace.Nettie was the daughter of Lord Thrapston's housekeeper, and the twogirls had been intimate in youth, much as Charlie Merceron and WilliePrime had been at the Court; and when Nettie, scorning servitude, setup in life for herself, Agatha gave her her custom and did not withdrawher friendship. In return, she received an allegiance which refusednone of her behests, and a regard which abolished all formality betweenthem, except when Nettie got a pen in her hand and set herself tocompose a polite letter. The expedition was, of course, to see theCourt--the old home of the Warmleys, for which Agatha felt asentimental attraction. She had told herself that some day, if she wererich (and, Lord Thrapston not being rich, she must have had some otherresource in her mind), she would buy back Langbury Court and get rid ofthe Mercerons altogether. There were only a widow and a boy, she hadheard, and they should have their price. So she went to the Court inthe business-like mood of a possible purchaser (Calder could affordanything), as well as in the romantic mood of a girl escaped fromevery-day surroundings and plunging into a past full of interest toher. Had not she also read of Agatha Merceron? And in this mixed moodshe remained till one evening at the Pool she had met 'the boy', whenthe mood became more mixed still. She dared not now look back on thestruggles she had gone through before her meeting with the boy becamefirst a daily event, and then the daily event. She had indulged herselffor once. It was not to last; but for once it was overpoweringly sweetto be gazed at by eyes that did not remind her of a frog's, and to seeswiftly darting towards her a lithe straight figure crowned with a headthat (so she said) reminded her of Lord Byron's. But alas! alas! whyhad nobody told her that the boy was like that before she went? Why didher grandfather take no care of her? Why did Calder never show anyinterest in what she did? Why, in fine, was everybody so cruel as tolet her do exactly what she liked, and thereby get into a scrape likethis?

  One thing was certain. If that boy were in London, she must avoid him.They must never meet. It was nonsense for Mr. Sigismund Taylor to talkof making a. clean breast of it--of a dignified apology to Charlie,coupled with a no less dignified intimation that their acquaintancemust be regarded as closed. Mr. Taylor knew nothing of the world. Heeven wanted her to tell Calder! No. She was truly and properlypenitent, and she hoped that she received all he said in that line in aright spirit; but when it came to a question of expediency, she wouldrather have Mrs. Blunt's advice than that of a thousand Mr. Taylors. Soshe wrote to Mrs. Blunt and asked herself to lunch, and Mrs. Blunt,being an accomplished painstaking hostess, and having no reason tosuppose that her young friend desired a confidential interview, at oncecast about for some one whom Agatha would like to meet. She did not askCalder Wentworth--she was not so commonplace as that--but she invitedVictor Sutton, and, delighting in a happy flash of inspiration, sheadded Mr. Vansittart Merceron. The families were connected in some way,she knew, and Agatha certainly ought to know Mr. Merceron.

  Accordingly, when Agatha arrived, she found Victor, and she had notbeen there five minutes before the butler, throwing open the door,announced "Mr. Merceron."

  Uncle Van had reached that state of body when he took his time overstairs, and between the announcement and his entrance there was timefor Agatha to exclaim, quite audibly, "Oh!"

  "What's the matter, dear?" asked Mrs. Blunt; but Uncle Van's entranceforbade a reply, and left Agatha blushing but relieved.

  Was she never to hear the end of that awful story? It might be naturalthat, her hereditary connection with the Mercerons being disclosed, Mr.Vansittart should discourse of Langbury Court, of the Pool, and ofAgatha Merceron; but was it necessary that Victor Sutton should chimein with the whole history of the canoe and Miss Bushell, or joke withMr. Merceron about his nephew's 'assignations'? The whole topic seemedin bad taste, and she wondered that Mrs. Blunt did not discourage it.But what horrible creatures men were! Did they really think itimpossible for a girl to like to talk to a man for an hour or so in theevening without----?

  "You must let me bring my nephew to meet Miss Glyn," said Uncle Vangraciously to his hostess. "She is so interested in the family historythat she and Charlie would get on like wildfire. He's mad about it."

  "In fact," sniggered Victor (Miss Glyn always detested that man), "sointerested that, as you hear, he went to meet Agatha Merceron everyevening for a fortnight!"

  "You'll be delighted to meet him, won't you, Agatha? We must arrange aday," said Mrs. Blunt.

  "Calder knows him," added Victor.

  "He's an idle young dog," said Uncle Van, "but a nice fellow. A littleflighty and fanciful, as boys will be, but no harm in him. You mustn'tattach too much importance to our chaff about his meetings at the Pool,Miss Glyn; we don't mean any harm."

  Agatha tried to smile, but the attempt was not a brilliant success.She stammered that she would be delighted to meet Mr. Charles Merceron,swearing in her heart that she would sooner start for Tierra del Fuego.But her confession to Mrs. Blunt would save her, if only these odiousmen would go. They had had their coffee, and their liqueurs, and theircigarettes. What more, in Heaven's name, could even a man want topropitiate the god of his idolatry?

  Apparently the guests themselves became aware that they weretrespassing, for Uncle Van, turning to his hostess with his blandestsmile, remarked, "I hope we're not staying too long. The fact is, mydear Mrs. Blunt, you're always so kind that we took the liberty oftelling Calder Wentworth to call for us here. He ought to have come bynow."

  Mrs. Blunt declared that she would be offended if they thought of goingbefore Calder came. Agatha rose in despair: the confession must be putoff. She held out her hand to her hostess. At this moment the door-bellrang.

  "That's him," said Victor.

  "Sit down again for a minute, dear," urged Mrs. Blunt.

  There was renewed hope for the confession. Agatha sat down. But hardlyhad she done so before the strangest presentiment came over her. Sheheard the door below open and shut, and it was borne in upon her mindthat two men had entered. How she guessed it, she could not tell, but,as she sat there, she had no doubt at all that Charlie Merceron hadcome with Calder Went worth. Escape was impossible, but she walkedacross to the window and stood there, with her back to the door.

  "Mr. Wentworth!" she heard, and then, cutting the servant short, cameCalder's voice.

  "I took the liberty---" he began: and she did not know how he went on,for her head was swimming.

  "Agatha! Agatha, dear!" called Mrs. Blunt.

  Perforce she turned, passing her hand quickly across her brow. Yes! Itwas so. There he stood by Calder's side, and Calder was saying, "Mydear Agatha, this is Charlie Merceron."

  She
would not look at Charlie. She moved slowly forward, her eyes fixedon Calder, and bowed with a little set smile. Luckily people pay slightattention to one another's expressions on social occasions, or theymust all have noticed her agitation. As it was, only Calder Wentworthlooked curiously at her before he turned aside to shake hands withUncle Van.

  Then she felt Charlie Merceron coining nearer, and, a second later, sheheard his voice.

  "Is it possible that it's you?" he asked, in a low tone.

  Then she looked at him. His face was pale and his eyes eagerlystraining to read what might be in hers.

  "Hush!" she whispered. "Yes. Hush! hush!"

  "But--but he told me your name was Glyn?"

  "Yes."

  "And he says you're engaged to him."

  Agatha clasped her hands, and Calder's voice broke in, between them:"Come along, Merceron, we're waiting for you."

  "They've got into antiquities already," smiled Mrs. Blunt. "You mustcome again, Mr. Merceron, and meet Miss Glyn. Mustn't he, Agatha?"

  Agatha threw one glance at him.

  "If he will," she said.

  Charlie pulled himself together, muttered something appropriate, andshuffled out tinder his uncle's wing. Mr. Vansittart was surprised tofind him a trifle confused and awkward in society.

  Outside the house, Charlie ranged up beside Calder "Wentworth, leavingUncle Van and Sutton together.

  "Well, what do you think of her?" asked Calder.

  Charlie gave no opinion. He asked just one question:

  "How long have you been engaged to her?"

  "How long? Oh, let's see. About--yes, just about a year. I never knewthat there was a sort of connection between you and her--sort ofrelationship, you know. I ain't strong on the Peerage."

  "A sort of connection!" There was that in more senses than the oneCalder had been told of by Uncle Van. There was a connection that poorCharlie thought Heaven itself had tied on those summer evenings by thePool, which to strengthen and confirm forever he had sallied from hishome, like a knight in search of his mistress the world over in oldendays. And he found her--such as this girl must be! Stay! He did notknow all yet. Perhaps she had been forced into a bond she hated. Heknew that happened. Did not stories tell of it, and moralists declaimagainst it? This man--this creature, Calder Wentworth--was buying herwith his money, forcing himself on her, brutally capturing her. Ofcourse! How could he have doubted her? Charlie dropped Calder's arm asthough it had been made of red-hot iron.

  "Hullo!" exclaimed that worthy fellow, unconscious of offence.

  Charlie stopped short. "I can't come," he said. "I--I've remembered anengagement;" and without more he turned away and shot out of sightround the nearest corner.

  "Well, I'm hanged!" said Calder Wentworth, and, with a puzzled frown,he joined his other friends.