Chapter VII.
FIRST OFFER.
A little before noon next day word came to her room that Sir Oliver hadcalled and desired to speak with her.
She was not unprepared. She had indeed dressed with special care inthe hope of it; but she went to her glass and stood for a minute or two,touching here and there her seemly tresses.
Should she keep him waiting--keep him even a long while? . . .He deserved it. . . . But ah, no! She was under a vow never to be otherthan forthright with him; and the truth was, his coming filled her withjoy.
"I am glad you have come!" These, in fact, were her first words as heturned to face her in the drawing-room. He had been standing by thebroad window-seat, staring out on the roses.
"You guess, of course, what has brought me?" He had dressed himselfwith extreme care. His voice was steady, his eye clear, and only atouch of pallor told of the overnight debauch. "I am here to beforgiven."
"Who am I, to forgive?"
"If you say that, you make it three times worse for me. Whatever youare does not touch my right to ask your pardon, or my need to beforgiven--which is absolute."
"No," she mused, "you are right. . . . Have you asked pardon of Tatty?"
"I have, ten minutes ago. She sent the message to you."
"Tatty was heroic"--Ruth paused on the reminiscence with a smile--"and, if you will believe me, quite waspish when I told her so."
"You should have refused to come. You might have known that I wasdrunk, or I could never have sent."
"How does it go?" She stood before him, puckering her brows a little asshe searched to remember the words--"'_On the seventh day, when theheart of the king was merry with wine, he commanded the sevenchamberlains_--'"
"Spare me."
"'--_to bring Vasbti the queen before the king with the crown royal, toshow the people and the princes her beauty, for she was fair to lookon_.' Do I quote immodestly, my lord?"
"Not immodestly," he answered. "For I think--I'll be sworn--no womanever had half your beauty without knowing it. But you quote_mal a propos_. Queen Vashti refused to come."
"'_Therefore was the king very wroth, and his anger burned in him_.'"
"I think, again, that you were not the woman to obey any such fear."
"No. Queen Vashti refused to come, being a queen. Whereas I, my lord--
"'Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire?'"
"My slave?" he asked. "Setting aside last night--when I wasdisgustingly drunk--have you a single excuse for using that word?"
"Of your giving, none. You have been more than considerate. Of my ownchoosing, yes."
He stared.
"At any rate Tatty is not your slave," she went on, and he smiled withher. "I am glad you asked Tatty's pardon. Did she forgive youeasily?"
"Too easily. She was aware, she said, that gentlemen would begentlemen."
"She must have meant precisely the reverse."
"Was I pretty bad?"
She put a hand across her eyes as if to brush the image from them."What matters the degree? It was another man seated and wearing mylord's body. _That_ hurt."
"By God, Ruth, it shall never happen again!"
She winced as he spoke her name, and her colour rose. "Please make nopromise in haste," she said.
"Excuse me; when a man takes an oath for life, the quicker he's throughwith it the better--at least that's the way with us Vyells.It's trifles--like getting drunk, for instance--we do deliberately.Believe me, child, I have a will of my own."
"Yes," she meditated, "I believe you have a strong will."
"'Tis a swinish business, over-drinking, when all's said and done."He announced it as if he made a discovery; and indeed something of adiscovery it was, for that age. "Weakens a man's self-control, besidesdulling his palate. . . . They tell me, by the way, that after you leftI beat Silk."
Ruth looked grave. "You did wrong, then."
"Silk is a beast."
"An excellent reason for not making him your guest; none for strikinghim at your own table."
"Perhaps not." Sir Oliver shrugged his shoulders. "Well, he can havehis revenge, if he wants it."
"How so? As a clergyman he cannot offer to fight you, and as a cowardhe would not if he could."
"Is one, then, to be considerate with cowards?"
"Certainly, if you honour cowards with your friendship."
"Friendship! . . . The dog likes his platter and I suffer him for histalk. When his talk trespasses beyond sufferance, I chastise him.That's how I look at it."
"I am sorry, my lord, that Mr. Silk should make the third on your listthis morning."
"Oh, come; you don't ask me to _apologise_ to Silk!"
"To him rather than to me."
"But--oh nonsense! He was disgusting--unspeakable, I tell you. If yousuppose I struck him for nothing--"
"I do not."
"You cannot think what he said."
"Something about me, was it not?" Then, as Sir Oliver stood silent,"Something a great many folk--your guests included--are quite capable ofthinking about me, though they have not Mr. Silk's gift of language."
"--That gift for which (you will go on to remind me) I suffer him."
"No; that gift which (you said) trespasses beyond sufferance."She did not remind him that he, after all, had exposed her and provokedMr. Silk's uncleanly words.
Both were beating time now. He had come, as was meet, to offer anapology, and with no intent beyond. He found not only that RuthJosselin was grown a woman surpassing fair, but that her mere presence(it seemed, by no will of hers, but in spite of her will) laid hold ofhim, commanding him to face a further intent. It was wonderful, and yetjust at this moment it mattered little, that the daylight soberlyconfirmed what had dazzled his drunkenness over night; that her speechadded good sense to beauty. . . . What mattered at the moment was asense of urgency, oppressing and oppressed by an equal sense ofhelplessness.
He had set the forces working and, with that, had chosen to standaside--in indolence partly, partly in a careful cultivated indifference,but in part also obeying motives more creditable. He had stood aside,promising the result, but himself dallying with time. And lo! of asudden the result had overtaken him. Had he created a monster, in placeof a beautiful woman, he had not been more at its mercy.
But why this sense of urgency? And why should he allow it to oppresshim?
Here was a creature exquisite, desirable, educated for no purpose but tobe his. Then why not declare himself, leap the last easy fence and in ashort while make her his?
To be sure her education--which, as we have seen, owned one source andspring, the passion to make herself perfect for his sake--had fashioneda woman very different to the woman of _his_ planning. She had builtnot upon his careless defective design but upon her own incessantinstinct for the best. So much his last night's blunder had taught him.He had sent for her as for a handmaid; and as a handmaid she hadobeyed--but in spirit as a queen.
To put it brutally, she could raise her terms, and he as a gentlemancould not beat her down. With ninety-nine women out of a hundred thosehigher terms could be summed up in one word--marriage. Well and again,why not? He was rich and his own master. In all but her poor originand the scandal of an undeserved punishment she was worthy--more thanworthy; and for the Colonials, among whom alone that scandal would countagainst her, he had a habit of contempt. He could, and would in hishumour, force Boston to court her salons and hold its tongue from allbut secret tattle. The thought, too, of Lady Caroline at this momentcrossing the high seas to be met with the news agreeably moved him tomirth.
But somehow, face to face here, he divined that Ruth was not asninety-nine women in the hundred; that her terms were different.They might he less, but also they were more. They might be less.Had she not crossed her arms and told him she was his slave? But inthat very humility he read that they were more. There was no last easyfence.
There was no fence at all. But a veil there was; a veil helacked the insight to penetrate, the brutality to tear aside.
Partly to assure himself, partly to tempt her from this mysterious ringof defence, he went on, "I ought to apologise, too, for having sent Silkyesterday with my message. You received it?"
She bent her head.
"My aunt and cousin invite themselves to Boston, and give me no chanceto say anything but 'Welcome.' Two pistols held to my head."He laughed. "There's a certain downrightness in Lady Caroline.And what do you suppose she wants?"
"Mr. Silk says she wants you to marry your cousin."
"Told you that, did he?" His eyes were on her face, but it had notchanged colour; her clear gaze yet baffled him. "Well, and what do yousay?"
"Must I say anything?"
"Well"--he gave a short, impatient laugh--"we can hardly pretend--canwe?--that it doesn't concern you."
"I do not pretend it," she answered. "I am yours, to deal with as youwill; to dismiss when you choose. I can never owe you anything butgratitude."
"Ruth, will you marry me?"
He said it with the accent of passion, stepping half a pace forward,holding out his hands. She winced and drew back a little; she, too,holding out her hands, but with the palms turned downward. Upon thatmovement his passion hung fire. (Was it actual passion, or rather asurrender to the inevitable--to a feeling that it had all happenedfatally, beyond escape, that now--beautiful, wonderful as she hadgrown--he could never do without her? At any rate their hands,outstretched thus, did not meet.)
"You talked lightly just now," she said, and with the smallest catch inher voice, "of vows made in haste. You forget your vow that after threeyears I should go back--go back whence you took me--and choose."
"No," he corrected. "My promise was that you should go back andannounce your choice. If some few months are to run, nothing hindersyour choosing here and now. I do not ask you to marry me before theterm is out, but only to make up your mind. You hear what I offer?"
She swept him a low, obedient bow. "I do, and it is much to me, my dearlord. Oh, believe me, it is very much! . . . But I do not think I wantto be your wife--thus."
"You could not love me? Is that what you mean?"
"Not love you?" Her voice, sweet and low, choked on the words."Not love you?" she managed to repeat. "You, who came to me as a god--to me, a poor tavern drudge--who lifted me from the cart, the scourge;lifted me out of ignorance, out of shame? Lord--love--doubt what youwill of me--but not that!"
"You do love me? Then why--" He paused, wondering. The impalpablebarrier hung like a mist about his wits.
"Did Andromeda not love Perseus, think you?" she asked lightly,recovering her smile, albeit her eyes were dewy.
"I am dull, then," he confessed. "I certainly do not understand."
"You came to me as a god when you saved me. Shall you come to me asless by an inch when you stoop to love me?"
"Ah!" he said, as if at length he comprehended; "I was drunk last night,and you must have time to get that image out of your mind."
She shook her head slowly. "You did not ask me last night to marry you.I shall always, I think, be able to separate an unworthy image of you,and forget it."
"Then you must mean that I am yet unworthy."
"My dear lord," she said after a moment or two, in which she seemed toconsider how best to make it plain to him, "you asked me just now tomarry you, but not because you knew me to be worthy; and though you maycommand what you choose, and I can deny you nothing, I would notwillingly be your wife for a smaller reason. Nor did you ask me in thestrength of your will, your passion even, but in their weakness.Am I not right?"
He was dumb.
"And is it thus," she went on, "that the great ones love and beget noblechildren?"
"I see," he said at length, and very slowly. "It means that I must veryhumbly become your wooer."
"It means that, if it be my honour ever to reward you, I would fain itwere with the best of me. . . . Send me away from Sabines, my lord, andbe in no hurry to choose. Your cousin--what is her name? Oh, I shallnot be jealous!"
With a change of tone she led him to talk of the new home he hadprepared for her--at a farmstead under Wachusett. He was sendingthither two of his gentlest thoroughbreds, that she might learn to ride.
"Books, too, you shall have in plenty," he promised. "But there will bea dearth of tutors, I fear. I could not, for example, very well ask Mr.Hichens to leave his cure of souls and dwell with two maiden ladies inthe wilderness."
She laughed. Her eyes sparkled already at the thought of learning tobe a horsewoman.
"I will do without tutors." She spread her arms wide, as with aswimmer's motion, and he could not but note the grace of it. The palms,turned outward and slightly downward, had an eloquence, too, which heinterpreted.
"I have mewed you here too long. You sigh for liberty."
She nodded, drawing a long breath. "I come from the sea-beach,remember."
"Say but the word, and instead of the mountain, the beach shall beyours."
"No. I have never seen a mountain. It will have the sound of waters,too--of its own cataracts. And on the plain I shall learn to gallop,and feel the wind rushing past me. These things, and a few books, andTatty--" Here she broke off, on a sudden thought. "My lord, there is aquestion I have put to myself many times, and have promised myself toput to you. Why does Tatty never talk to me about God and religion andsuch things?"
He did not answer at once.
She went on: "It cannot only be because you do not believe in them.For Tatty is very religious, and brave as a lion; she would never besilent against her conscience."
"How do you know that I don't believe in them?"
She laughed. "Does my lord truly suppose me so dull of wit? or will hefence with my question instead of answering it?"
"The truth is, then," he confessed, "that before she saw you I thoughtfit to tell Miss Quiney what you had suffered--"
"She has known it from the first? I wondered sometimes. But oh, thedear deceit of her!"
"--And seeing that this same religion had caused your sufferings, Iasked her to deal gently with you. She would not promise more than towait and choose her own time. But Tatty, as you call her, is anhonourable woman."
Ruth stretched out her hands.
"Ah, you were good--you were good! . . . If only my heart were a glass,and you might see how goodness becomes you!"
He took her hands this time, and laying one over another, kissed theback of the uppermost, but yet so respectfully that Miss Quiney,entering the room just then, supposed him to be merely taking aceremonious leave.
For a few minutes he lingered out his call, hat and walking-cane inhand, talking pleasantly of his last night's guests, and with a smilethat assumed his pardon to be granted. Incidentally Ruth learned how ithad happened that a chair stood empty for her by Mr. Langton's side.It appeared that Governor Shirley himself had called, earlier in theevening, to offer his felicitations; and finding the seat on SirOliver's right occupied by a toper who either would not or could notmake room, he had with some tact taken a chair at the far end of thetable and _vis-a-vis_ with his host, protesting that he chose it as thebetter vantage-ground for delivering a small speech. His speech, too,had been neat, happy in phrase, and not devoid of good feeling. Havingdelivered it, he had slipped away early, on an excuse of officialbusiness.
Sir Oliver related this appreciatively; and it had, in fact, been one ofthose small courtesies which, among men of English stock, give a graceto public life and help to keep the fighting clean. But in fact also(Ruth gathered) the two men did not love one another. Shirley--able and_ruse_ statesman--had some sense of colonial independence, colonialambition, colonial self-respect. Sir Oliver had none; he was a Whigpatrician, and the colonies existed for the use and patronage ofEngland. More than a year before, when Massachusetts raised a militiaand went forth to capture Louisbourg--which it did, to the a
stonishmentof the world--the Governor, whose heart was set on the expedition, hadapproached Captain Vyell and privately begged him to command it. He wasanswered that, having once borne the King's commission, Captain Vyelldid not find a colonial uniform to his taste.
Lady Good-for-Nothing: A Man's Portrait of a Woman Page 20