CHAPTER XXXV.
Passion versus Prudence.
It had not occurred to Alice that her accepted lover would come toher so soon. She had not told him expressly of the day on which shewould return, and had not reflected that Kate would certainly informhim. She had been thinking so much of the distant perils of thisengagement, that this peril, so sure to come upon her before manydays or hours could pass by, had been forgotten. When the name struckher ear, and George's step was heard outside on the landing-place,she felt the blood rush violently to her heart, and she jumped upfrom her seat panic-stricken and in utter dismay. How should shereceive him? And then again, with what form of affection would she beaccosted by him? But he was there in the room with her before she hadhad a moment allowed to her for thought.
She hardly ventured to look up at him; but, nevertheless, she becameaware that there was something in his appearance and dress brighter,more lover-like, perhaps newer, than was usual with him. This initself was an affliction to her. He ought to have understood thatsuch an engagement as theirs not only did not require, but absolutelyforbade, any such symptom of young love as this. Even when theirmarriage came, if it must come, it should come without any customarysign of smartness, without any outward mark of exaltation. It wouldhave been very good in him to have remained away from her for weeksand months; but to come upon her thus, on the first morning of herreturn, was a cruelty not to be forgiven. These were the feelingswith which Alice regarded her betrothed when he came to see her.
"Alice," said he, coming up to her with his extended hand,--"DearestAlice!"
She gave him her hand, and muttered some word which was inaudibleeven to him; she gave him her hand, and immediately endeavoured toresume it, but he held it clenched within his own, and she felt thatshe was his prisoner. He was standing close to her now, and she couldnot escape from him. She was trembling with fear lest worse mightbetide her even than this. She had promised to marry him, and now shewas covered with dismay as she felt rather than thought how very farshe was from loving the man to whom she had given this promise.
"Alice," he said, "I am a man once again. It is only now that I cantell you what I have suffered during these last few years." He stillheld her hand, but he had not as yet attempted any closer embrace.She knew that she was standing away from him awkwardly, almostshowing her repugnance to him; but it was altogether beyond her powerto assume an attitude of ordinary ease. "Alice," he continued, "Ifeel that I am a strong man again, armed to meet the world at allpoints. Will you not let me thank you for what you have done for me?"
She must speak to him! Though the doing so should be ever so painfulto her, she must say some word to him which should have in it a soundof kindness. After all, it was his undoubted right to come to her,and the footing on which he assumed to stand was simply that whichshe herself had given to him. It was not his fault if at this momenthe inspired her with disgust rather than with love.
"I have done nothing for you, George," she said, "nothing at all."Then she got her hand away from him, and retreated back to a sofawhere she seated herself, leaving him still standing in the spacebefore the fire. "That you may do much for yourself is my greatesthope. If I can help you, I will do so most heartily." Then shebecame thoroughly ashamed of her words, feeling that she was at onceoffering to him the use of her purse.
"Of course you will help me," he said. "I am full of plans, all ofwhich you must share with me. But now, at this moment, my one greatplan is that in which you have already consented to be my partner.Alice, you are my wife now. Tell me that it will make you happy tocall me your husband."
Not for worlds could she have said so at this moment. It wasill-judged in him to press her thus. He should already have seen,with half an eye, that no such triumph as that which he now demandedcould be his on this occasion. He had had his triumph when, in thesolitude of his own room, with quiet sarcasm he had thrown on oneside of him the letter in which she had accepted him, as though thematter had been one almost indifferent to him. He had no right toexpect the double triumph. Then he had frankly told himself that hermoney would be useful to him. He should have been contented withthat conviction, and not have required her also to speak to him softwinning words of love.
"That must be still distant, George," she said. "I have suffered somuch!"
"And it has been my fault that you have suffered; I know that. Theseyears of misery have been my doing." It was, however, the year ofcoming misery that was the most to be dreaded.
"I do not say that," she replied, "nor have I ever thought it. I havemyself and myself only to blame." Here he altogether misunderstoodher, believing her to mean that the fault for which she blamedherself had been committed in separating herself from him on thatformer occasion.
"Alice, dear, let bygones be bygones."
"Bygones will not be bygones. It may be well for people to say so,but it is never true. One might as well say so to one's body as toone's heart. But the hairs will grow grey, and the heart will growcold."
"I do not see that one follows upon the other," said George. "My hairis growing very grey;"--and to show that it was so, he lifted thedark lock from the side of his forehead, and displayed the incipientgrizzling of the hair from behind. "If grey hairs make an old man,Alice, you will marry an old husband; but even you shall not beallowed to say that my heart is old."
That word "husband," which her cousin had twice used, was painful toAlice's ear. She shrunk from it with palpable bodily suffering. Marryan old husband! His age was nothing to the purpose, though he hadbeen as old as Enoch. But she was again obliged to answer him. "Ispoke of my own heart," said she: "I sometimes feel that it has grownvery old."
"Alice, that is hardly cheering to me."
"You have come to me too quickly, George, and do not reflect how muchthere is that I must remember. You have said that bygones should bebygones. Let them be so, at any rate as far as words are concerned.Give me a few months in which I may learn,--not to forget them, forthat will be impossible,--but to abstain from speaking of them."
There was something in her look as she spoke, and in the tone of hervoice that was very sad. It struck him forcibly, but it struck himwith anger rather than with sadness. Doubtless her money had beenhis chief object when he offered to renew his engagement with her.Doubtless he would have made no such offer had she been penniless,or even had his own need been less pressing. But, nevertheless, hedesired something more than money. The triumph of being preferredto John Grey,--of having John Grey sent altogether adrift, in orderthat his old love might be recovered, would have been too costly aluxury for him to seek, had he not in seeking it been able to combineprudence with the luxury. But though his prudence had been undoubted,he desired the luxury also. It was on a calculation of the combinedadvantage that he had made his second offer to his cousin. As hewould by no means have consented to proceed with the arrangementwithout the benefit of his cousin's money, so also did he feelunwilling to dispense with some expression of her love for him, whichwould be to him triumphant. Hitherto in their present interview therehad certainly been no expression of her love.
"Alice," he said, "your greeting to me is hardly all that I hadhoped."
"Is it not?" said she. "Indeed, George, I am sorry that you shouldbe disappointed; but what can I say? You would not have me affect alightness of spirit which I do not feel?"
"If you wish," said he, very slowly,--"if you wish to retract yourletter to me, you now have my leave to do so."
What an opportunity was this of escape! But she had not the courageto accept it. What girl, under such circumstances, would have hadsuch courage? How often are offers made to us which we would almostgive our eyes to accept, but dare not accept because we fear thecountenance of the offerer? "I do not wish to retract my letter,"said she, speaking as slowly as he had spoken; "but I wish to be leftawhile, that I may recover my strength of mind. Have you not hearddoctors say, that muscles which have been strained, should be allowedrest, or they will never entirely renew their tension?
It is so withme now; if I could be quiet for a few months, I think I could learnto face the future with a better courage."
"And is that all you can say to me, Alice?"
"What would you have me say?"
"I would fain hear one word of love from you; is that unreasonable?I would wish to know from your own lips that you have satisfaction inthe renewed prospect of our union is that too ambitious? It mighthave been that I was over-bold in pressing my suit upon you again;but as you accepted it, have I not a right to expect that you shouldshow me that you have been happy in accepting it?"
But she had not been happy in accepting it. She was not happy nowthat she had accepted it. She could not show to him any sign of suchjoy as that which he desired to see. And now, at this moment, shefeared with an excessive fear that there would come some demand foran outward demonstration of love, such as he in his position mighthave a right to make. She seemed to be aware that this might beprevented only by such demeanour on her part as that which she hadpractised, and she could not, therefore, be stirred to the expressionof any word of affection. She listened to his appeal, and when it wasfinished she made no reply. If he chose to take her in dudgeon, hemust do so. She would make for him any sacrifice that was possible toher, but this sacrifice was not possible.
"And you have not a word to say to me?" he asked. She looked up athim, and saw that the cicature on his face was becoming ominous; hiseyes were bent upon her with all their forbidding brilliance, and hewas assuming that look of angry audacity which was so peculiar tohim, and which had so often cowed those with whom he was brought incontact.
"No other word, at present, George; I have told you that I am not atease. Why do you press me now?"
He had her letter to him in the breast-pocket of his coat, andhis hand was on it, that he might fling it back to her, and tellher that he would not hold her to be his promised wife under suchcircumstances as these. The anger which would have induced him to doso was the better part of his nature. Three or four years since, thisbetter part would have prevailed, and he would have given way to hisrage. But now, as his fingers played upon the paper, he rememberedthat her money was absolutely essential to him,--that some of it wasneeded by him almost instantly,--that on this very morning he wasbound to go where money would be demanded from him, and that hishopes with regard to Chelsea could not be maintained unless he wasable to make some substantial promise of providing funds. His sisterKate's fortune was just two thousand pounds. That, and no more, wasnow the capital at his command, if he should abandon this othersource of aid. Even that must go, if all other sources should failhim; but he would fain have that untouched, if it were possible. Oh,that that old man in Westmoreland would die and be gathered to hisfathers, now that he was full of years and ripe for the sickle! Butthere was no sign of death about the old man. So his fingers releasedtheir hold on the letter, and he stood looking at her in his anger.
"You wish me then to go from you?" he said.
"Do not be angry with me, George!"
"Angry! I have no right to be angry. But, by heaven, I am wrongthere. I have the right, and I am angry. I think you owed it me togive me some warmer welcome. Is it to be thus with us always for thenext accursed year?"
"Oh, George!"
"To me it will be accursed. But is it to be thus between us always?Alice, I have loved you above all women. I may say that I have neverloved any woman but you; and yet I am sometimes driven to doubtwhether you have a heart in you capable of love. After all that haspassed, all your old protestations, all my repentance, and yourproffer of forgiveness, you should have received me with open arms.I suppose I may go now, and feel that I have been kicked out of yourhouse like a dog."
"If you speak to me like that, and look at me like that, how can Ianswer you?"
"I want no answer. I wanted you to put your hand in mine, to kiss me,and to tell me that you are once more my own. Alice, think better ofit; kiss me, and let me feel my arm once more round your waist."
She shuddered as she sat, still silent, on her seat, and he saw thatshe shuddered. With all his desire for her money,--his instant needof it,--this was too much for him; and he turned upon his heel, andleft the room without another word. She heard his quick step as hehurried down the stairs, but she did not rise to arrest him. Sheheard the door slam as he left the house, but still she did not movefrom her seat. Her immediate desire had been that he should go,--andnow he was gone. There was in that a relief which almost comfortedher. And this was the man from whom, within the last few days, shehad accepted an offer of marriage.
George, when he left the house, walked hurriedly into CavendishSquare, and down along the east side, till he made his way out alongPrinces Street, into the Circus in Oxford Street. Close to him there,in Great Marlborough Street, was the house of his parliamentaryattorney, Mr. Scruby, on whom he was bound to call on that morning. Ashe had walked away from Queen Anne Street, he had thought of nothingbut that too visible shudder which his cousin Alice had been unableto repress. He had been feeding on his anger, and indulging it,telling himself at one moment that he would let her and her moneygo from him whither they list,--and making inward threats in thenext that the time should come in which he would punish her for thisill-usage. But there was the necessity of resolving what he would sayto Mr. Scruby. To Mr. Scruby was still due some trifle on the cost ofthe last election but even if this were paid, Mr. Scruby would makeno heavy advance towards the expense of the next election. Whoevermight come out at the end of such affairs without a satisfactorysettlement of his little bill, as had for a while been the case withMr. Grimes, from the "Handsome Man,"--and as, indeed, still was thecase with him, as that note of hand at three months' date was not yetpaid,--Mr. Scruby seldom allowed himself to suffer. It was true thatthe election would not take place till the summer; but there werepreliminary expenses which needed ready money. Metropolitan voters,as Mr. Scruby often declared, required to be kept in good humour,--sothat Mr. Scruby wanted the present payment of some five hundredpounds, and a well-grounded assurance that he would be put in fullfunds by the beginning of next June. Even Mr. Scruby might not be trueas perfect steel, if he thought that his candidate at the last momentwould not come forth properly prepared. Other candidates, with moneyin their pockets, might find their way into Mr. Scruby's offices.As George Vavasor crossed Regent Street, he gulped down his anger,and applied his mind to business. Should he prepare himself to giveorders that Kate's little property should be sold out, or would heresolve to use his cousin's money? That his cousin's money wouldstill be at his disposal, in spite of the stormy mood in which he hadretreated from her presence, he felt sure; but the asking for it onhis part would be unpleasant. That duty he must entrust to Kate. Butas he reached Mr. Scruby's door, he had decided that for such purposesas those now in hand, it was preferable that he should use his wife'sfortune. It was thus that in his own mind he worded the phrase, andmade for himself an excuse. Yes;--he would use his wife's fortune,and explain to Mr. Scruby that he would be justified in doing soby the fact that his own heritage would be settled on her at hermarriage. I do not suppose that he altogether liked it. He was not,at any rate as yet, an altogether heartless swindler. He could nottake his cousin's money without meaning,--without thinking that hemeant, to repay her in full all that he took. Her behaviour to himthis very morning had no doubt made the affair more difficult tohis mind, and more unpleasant than it would have been had she smiledon him; but even as it was, he managed to assure himself that hewas doing her no wrong, and with this self-assurance he entered Mr.Scruby's office.
The clerks in the outer office were very civil to him, and undertookto promise him that he should not be kept waiting an instant. Therewere four gentlemen in the little parlour, they said, waiting to seeMr. Scruby, but there they should remain till Mr. Vavasor's interviewwas over. One gentleman, as it seemed, was even turned out to makeway for him; for as George was ushered into the lawyer's room, alittle man, looking very meek, was hurried away from it.
"You can wait
, Smithers," said Mr. Scruby, speaking from within. "Ishan't be very long." Vavasor apologized to his agent for the injuryhe was doing Smithers; but Mr. Scruby explained that he was only apoor devil of a printer, looking for payment of his little account.He had printed and posted 30,000 placards for one of the lateMarylebone candidates, and found some difficulty in getting hismoney. "You see, when they're in a small way of business, it ruinsthem," said Scruby. "Now that poor devil,--he hasn't had a shillingof his money yet, and the greater part has been paid out of hispocket to the posters. It is hard."
It comforted Vavasor when he thus heard that there were others whowere more backward in their payments, even than himself, and made himreflect that a longer credit than had yet been achieved by him, mightperhaps be within his reach. "It is astonishing how much a man mayget done for him," said he, "without paying anything for years."
"Yes; that's true. So he may, if he knows how to go about it. Butwhen he does pay, Mr. Vavasor, he does it through the nose;--cent. percent., and worse, for all his former shortcomings."
"How many there are who never pay at all," said George.
"Yes, Mr. Vavasor;--that's true, too. But see what a life they lead.It isn't a pleasant thing to be afraid of coming into your agent'soffice; not what you would like, Mr. Vavasor;--not if I know you."
"I never was afraid of meeting anyone yet," said Vavasor; "but Idon't know what I may come to."
"Nor never will, I'll go bail. But, Lord love you, I could tellyou such tales! I've had Members of Parliament, past, present, andfuture, almost down on their knees to me in this little room. It'sabout a month or six weeks before the elections come on when they'reat their worst. There is so much you see, Mr. Vavasor, for which agentleman must pay ready money. It isn't like a business in which alawyer is supposed to find the capital. If I had money enough to payout of my own pocket all the cost of all the metropolitan gentlemenfor whom I act, why, I could live on the interest without anytrouble, and go into Parliament myself like a man."
George Vavasor perfectly understood that Mr. Scruby was explaining tohim, with what best attempt at delicacy he could make, that funds forthe expense of the Chelsea election were not to be forthcoming fromthe Great Marlborough Street establishment.
"I suppose so," said he. "But you do do it sometimes."
"Never, Mr. Vavasor," said Mr. Scruby, very solemnly. "As a rule,never. I may advance the money, on interest, of course, when Ireceive a guarantee from the candidate's father, or from six orseven among the committee, who must all be very substantial,--verysubstantial indeed. But in a general way I don't do it. It isn't myplace."
"I thought you did;--but at any rate I don't want you to do it forme."
"I'm quite sure you don't," said Mr. Scruby, with a brighter tone ofvoice than that he had just been using. "I never thought you did, Mr.Vavasor. Lord bless you, Mr. Vavasor, I know the difference betweengentlemen as soon as I see them."
Then they went to business, and Vavasor became aware that it would bethought convenient that he should lodge with Mr. Scruby, to his ownaccount, a sum not less than six hundred pounds within the next week,and it would be also necessary that he should provide for taking upthat bill, amounting to ninety-two pounds, which he had given tothe landlord of the "Handsome Man." In short, it would be well thathe should borrow a thousand pounds from Alice, and as he did notwish that the family attorney of the Vavasors should be employedto raise it, he communicated to Mr. Scruby as much of his plans aswas necessary,--feeling more hesitation in doing it than might havebeen expected from him. When he had done so, he was very intent onexplaining also that the money taken from his cousin, and futurebride, would be repaid to her out of the property in Westmoreland,which was,--did he say settled on himself? I am afraid he did.
"Yes, yes;--a family arrangement," said Mr. Scruby, as hecongratulated him on his proposed marriage. Mr. Scruby did not care astraw from what source the necessary funds might be drawn.
Can You Forgive Her? Page 37