“Ah, well—what a good child she is, to be sure.”
“A wonderful child, Sir. I hope—that is to say. . .”
“Yes?”
Sir Basil had leant a little forward, as had the young lady, but she stopped and would not continue.
“Nothing, Sir—that is, nothing of any importance, now.”
That “now” struck Sir Basil as a little odd. He should liked to have known what had been of some importance before, which was not now. Anything of importance to Miss Calder, it struck him suddenly, was important also to him. But he could not show it without threatening her own delicacy, a thing he dreaded doing.
“Ah! Well! Tell me, Miss Calder, have you had a moment to look into that little book I gave you?”
Miss Calder seemed not to understand.
“A Country Parson—did you determine in your own mind whether or not it was written by a man?”
Miss Calder seemed to smile a little.
“Why—yes, Sir. I read it quite thoroughly—acquainted myself with it as much as possible—and have decided that in fact you must be correct after all. It could not possibly have been written by a woman.”
Sir Basil was delighted. At last he had convinced her to see something in his own way. The triumph of the moment made him beam.
“Aha! Far too clever, was it not?”
Miss Calder looked grave, considering for a moment.
“No Sir, that is not what I would say. I would say it was not clever enough.”
Sir Basil gaped. Miss Calder, amused, only stared back and nodded.
Chapter XXIII
Mr. Calder, having read over his letter several times, at last made up his mind what to do. The decision was not born solely out of consideration for Sir Basil Ives, for he had very little reason to wish to be kind to that gentleman. The letter had been so pompous that it had made him laugh, until he had considered what spirit had moved the author to write it. That, combined with a little gnawing desire of his own (not wholly becoming in a man of the cloth) to find out what all the fuss was about which his wife and daughters were continually wailing over, put the final stamp upon his resolution: He would go to London himself upon a dual mission. The first, of course, was to collect his daughter, and the second, was to disillusion the Baronet.
The minister set forth at once, for he was not a man to sit about having once made up his mind, nor did he desire to be encumbered by the company of any other member of his family, which he knew was a strong likelihood if the news of his departure was allowed to get about. Setting forth that same afternoon, therefore, he took stages to Grimley and, passing the night at one of the larger and more commodious inns upon the highway, arrived the next morning in London at about twelve o’clock. He went immediately to the house of his sister, a Mrs. Norton, who lived in Curzon Street, and whom, by dint of having married a well-known solicitor, he could depend upon to advise him, as well as giving both himself and his daughter beds for the night. Mrs. Norton had not been told of her niece’s residence in London, for Anne had not wanted to be obliged to her, nor had Mrs. Calder relished the idea of her sister-in-law’s reaction to the news of Anne’s governessship. Mrs. Norton was rich and well connected, but she was equally an expansive and devoted aunt. Mr. Calder was positive he could depend upon her to help him.
His sister met him with some amazement, but a great deal of geniality. Her amazement was, of course, destined to grow sharper when she heard the reasons for her brother’s mission, and the background of the story.
“Oh, Lord!” cried she, delighted, when she had heard the whole business narrated. “I always thought Anne was of a class by herself! What a plucky thing she is! And now, you say, Sir Basil is offering you charity?”
“A thousand pounds, to start!” smiled Mr. Calder. “With the offer of more when it is needed. Can you fathom it? I am almost tempted to keep it, only to teach him a lesson.”
“But it is not his fault, you know.”
Mr. Calder looked grave. “I know; and that is the worst of it, for Anne has now caught me up in her web of untruths, and I cannot let the man throw about his money in such a heedless sort of way.”
“Sir Basil has got plenty of it, however,” responded Mrs. Norton. “And it is exceeding odd, you know: for while his brother, Lord Hargate, has got the reputation of a complete bamboozle with his funds—forever in debt from cards and the excesses of his Countess—Sir Basil is known for quite the opposite characteristic. He is a famous skinflint. I don’t know either of them personally, of course, but they are so well known, each in his separate way, that I am positive of the fact. I heard not long ago that he would not put up the funds to redecorate the Embassy, and the House of Commons was forced to raise them for him.”
“Clever fellow,” murmured her brother, for he had a more pragmatic view of the distribution of one’s money than his sister.
“So it is exceedingly odd that he has chosen this moment to commence so much generosity,” continued Mrs. Norton. “He must be very fond of Anne.”
“And so he ought to be. But, however, I do not think she thinks as well of him—for she wishes to come home at once, and has hinted that she dislikes him amazingly.”
“Really? Well, how odd. I know Sir Basil is meant to be tight with his money, but otherwise have heard nothing but good of him. It was he, you know, who put us upon such amiable terms with the French, after Wellington had pretty well ruptured them.”
Mr. Calder did not know this, and listened with interest to some other of the Baronet’s accomplishments. It was a very long list, and after hearing it, he felt a conflict between his original prejudice against the man and the proof which this new view afforded of his being a diligent and illustrious diplomatist. The sister and brother conversed a little longer, and when it happened to come out that Anne had had her book published, Mrs. Norton exclaimed in delighted amazement.
“What a girl!” cried she. “What is it called, Arthur? I shall get a copy as soon as ever I can.”
“A Country Parson” replied Mr. Calder, adding, “It is meant to be a satire. I hope it is not all aimed at me!”
“Why!” cried Mrs. Norton, “I cannot believe it! It is being talked about everywhere, you know! Sir Walter Scott has called it brilliant, and the Regent is clamoring to know who wrote it! Heavens, and it was our very own Anne! I cannot believe it!”
Mr. Calder could believe anything good of his daughter, and having once accustomed himself to the notion that she was an authoress, even the notion that she was thought brilliant by such figures as Walter Scott and the Regent did not amaze him.
“That so?” he inquired. “Well, well! She is a very clever girl, you know.”
“Clever! She is being called everywhere a genius!”
“Well, that is putting it a little strongly. Let her produce another book, first.”
Mrs. Norton was amazed. She had ever held a high opinion of her eldest niece, and had always had a special fondness for her. But to think she was an authoress! And one so highly thought of! Well, it really was an astonishing thing.
Mr. Calder was very glad to hear all this, but his chief purpose in coming to London had been to fetch his daughter home, and to return the check to Sir Basil Ives with an explanation of his daughter’s conduct. Having passed a few more minutes with his sister, therefore, and promising that he should return a little later with the prodigal child, he set off on foot for Regent’s Terrace.
His thoughts had come full circle since he had set out, and now, walking through the city streets, he endeavoured to collect them a little. He had initially intended to confront the Baronet with the check, apologize for his daughter’s conduct, and enjoy the spectacle of befuddlement upon the supercilious fellow’s face. Now, however, he had come to review his ideas a little. He was unsure how he should go, and, having reached the house on Regent’s Terrace, knocked tentatively at the door.
He was soon admitted and, having offered the butler his card, saying he was “Miss Calder’s f
ather,” was shown into an elegant drawing room. There he waited for several moments, until a step was heard in the corridor, the door opened, and in stepped a tall and personable gentleman.
Mr. Calder rose from his chair and extended his hand.
“Your Excellency—I am afraid I have disturbed you. No doubt you are very busy.”
Sir Basil Ives took in the dignified figure before him, a little amazed, inquired if this was really Miss Calder’s father.
“Yes, I am afraid so! And I am afraid we have caused you a great deal of trouble.”
“Trouble! Nothing like it! It is only that—well, to be frank, I expected something else.”
Mr. Calder raised a comical eyebrow. “Ah! How so?”
Sir Basil hemmed and hawed a moment, taking a chair and inviting his guest to resume his own.
“I expected something rather different, Sir. Miss Calder led me to believe———”
“That I was an impoverished little old clergyman from the country?”
Sir Basil looked uncomfortable. “Well—yes, I suppose, if that is how you must put it.”
“My daughter has deceived you sadly, I am afraid. She is a very naughty girl. This was all a whim of her own devising, and had I any suspicion of how far it would go—”
Sir Basil, looking exceedingly shocked, held up his hand.
“Pray, Sir! Do not belabour the point. Only tell me how far I have been led astray. You are not a clergyman? What, in Heaven’s name, is the point?”
Mr. Calder smiled at his host’s confusion, and felt a knot of sympathy for him. Having four daughters and a wife had taught him to regard the caprices of womankind a little more indulgently than he might have otherwise. A bachelor must certainly be appalled to find the whole sex so scheming and frivolous. As clearly as he could, therefore, he attempted to tell the story right from the start. Sir Basil, as may be expected, listened with profound amazement.
“So you see, Sir, she has led us all right down the primrose path. I need not tell you how sorry I am for having been any party to this ruse. I ought to have forbidden it right from the start. But how could I have known how far it would go?”
Sir Basil was sitting very pale in his chair. He said nothing for a moment.
“Then she has no need to be a governess? She has, you say, thirty thousand pounds of her own? Excuse me, Sir—but I cannot fathom it! Why should she have wanted to masquerade as a poor girl?”
“To escape her own life for a little, I suppose,” replied Mr. Calder, smiling. “Who can ever say what gets into these women’s heads? She did not wish to marry, and her mother loathes the idea that one of her daughters might be a spinster. She had several offers, you know—none of them brilliant, but then we live in a remote part of the country. Besides, she has always had a fanciful mind. I am exceedingly sorry, Sir, to have put you in such a position, and have come to take her away and to give you back your check. My son is perfectly all right. He shall never recover completely, I am afraid, for the effects of his illness are permanent. But now he has got something to amuse him—now that the book seems to have had so much success, well, I am sure he shall content himself perfectly with helping Anne to write her little books.”
“Book . . . books?” repeated the Baronet, baffled.
“Why, you know, she is an authoress—ah, I suppose she has not told you that, either? She wrote a little novel—something to fill her idle hours in the country—and now it seems to have become all the rage. I have heard it is a very good one, too! I mean to read it as soon as I can. It was really on account of that that she wished to come to London. She said she had exhausted the resources of our little part of the world, and wished to see the Great One. Only now, I suppose, she finds it is really too much for her. She has led a very sheltered life, you know.”
Sir Basil was looking flabbergasted. “Excuse me, Mr. Calder, if I seem to be having some trouble getting my breath. So much news all at once . . . dear me! She is an authoress, and has thirty thousand pounds! Her father is a gentleman, and she desires to be a governess!”
“It is all rather odd, is it not? But women are like that, Sir Basil. You have not seen as much of ’em as I have. I dare say. I am dreadfully sorry to have inconvenienced you in this inexcusable fashion. But I shall attempt to make it up as soon as I can. First, by returning your check, and second, by taking my daughter away. You shall resume your normal life as soon as possible, I hope.”
“Oh, Sir—I hope not!”
Mr. Calder regarded him in amazement. “Why, what do you mean, Sir?”
“I do not see how I can do without her! She has made herself invaluable here, both for my ward and for myself! I depended upon her coming to Paris with me!”
“I do not understand you, Sir. Surely you cannot still wish her to be in your employ! I do not think she will like to be, in any case! And, Sir, I have made up my mind. I think this prank has gone far enough.”
“Will you, Sir, allow her to make up her own mind?”
Mr. Calder looked uncertain. He thought perhaps he ought to inform his host that Anne already had made up her mind, but having already caused him so much chagrin, he did not see how he could refuse.
“Very well, Sir Basil. Why do not you send for her at once?”
The bell was pulled, and a footman sent to fetch the young lady from the schoolroom. Having not been informed of her father’s presence in the house, she opened the door quickly, unsure why she had been sent for. The sight of the two occupants of the room almost made her jump.
“Father!” she exclaimed. “What—what on earth are you doing here?”
A nervous glance between the gentlemen was sufficient to tell her at least part of the story. The one was staring at her crossly, the other with an imploring look.
“I have come on purpose to attempt to undo some of the damage you have done Sir Basil, my dear.”
Anne looked inquiring, and then guilty. “Oh dear!”
“And to take you home.”
Mr. Calder paused. “Sir Basil, however, is such a charitable man that he seems to wish you to continue in his employ. I have attempted to make him see the true light of your character, but he seems blinded to it. We have therefore agreed to leave the decision to you. Well, my dear—do you wish to come home with me at once, or to go to Paris as the Ambassador’s governess?”
Sir Basil coughed. “Ah—Miss Calder. I hope you will not make up your mind just yet. I should have preferred to do this in another way, but I seem to have no choice. I do not wish you to come to Paris with me as a governess.”
Miss Calder, already startled, looked doubly so. “Sir?”
“Not as my governess—that is to say Nicole’s governess—but as my wife.”
Now it was Mr. Calder’s turn to look flabbergasted. He stared back and forth between the two other occupants of the room, wondering if he had heard correctly. Had Sir Basil said “wife”? What on earth was going forward? His daughter’s face had gone perfectly white, and then perfectly red. She was staring at the Baronet in shock. Sir Basil himself was utterly pale.
“I know this is not how it is generally done, Miss Calder. I have not much experience with this kind of thing, and hope you will forgive me. Perhaps we ought to walk out into the garden, where I can fall upon my knees—only I am not much good at that sort of thing. I only know that I shall be miserable if you tell me “no.”
Anne had raised a hand to her forehead, and was swaying slightly. Seeing that she was any moment in danger of fainting dead away, her father rushed to her side, just in time to catch her fall. Sir Basil, too, had jumped forward, and now struggled to help move her to a sofa. Here the two gentlemen bent over her, chafing her wrists and looking rather idiotic, under the circumstances, since neither of them had ever been in this situation before. It was some moments before either of them was composed enough to speak. By that time, Anne’s lids had begun to flutter, and she gazed up into the face of Sir Basil Ives, bent in utmost sympathy above her.
“Did
you really ask me to be your wife, Sir?”
Sir Basil nodded emphatically.
“You do not hate me?”
“On the contrary, I am in love with you. I wish you would say something.”
Anne did.
Chapter XXIV
“Never,” murmured Sir Basil Ives in a wondering meditative tone, “could I have imagined that I should find myself so happy to be so much in the company of women.”
Some few days had passed since the enactment of the last scene, and so much had occurred to fill them up that neither the Ambassador nor Anne, who now sat next to him upon the drawing room sofa staring absently into the flickering fire, could account for their passage. The Baronet had indeed been subjected to an almost constant barrage of female company and conversation. No sooner had the news of their engagement reached Devonshire than Mrs. Calder and her two next eldest children had descended upon the Capital to oversee the couple’s plans. Anne had been instantly transported out of Regent’s Terrace to the more appropriate environment of Curzon Street, for now, as her mother declared, that she was no longer Sir Basil’s governess but his intended, she could scarcely remain beneath the same roof. Sir Basil failed to see the logic of this argument, for as he quickly pointed out, he had fallen in love with her beneath that roof, and beneath that roof they had already passed one blissful month of solitary peace, enjoying each other’s company in the most proper and civilized fashion, without the aid of any chaperone. Mrs. Calder would have snorted upon hearing this, had she not fallen so much beneath the Baronet’s spell the moment she clapped eyes upon him that it was sometimes difficult to tell whether mother or daughter was more enraptured with that gentleman. She could scarce bring herself to contradict even his most facetious remarks, which were made on purpose to tease her, and found his circumlocutions of her arguments only a little more charming than they were frustrating. Still, the ladies had had their way in the end, as Sir Basil remarked now, leaning back against the pillows of the sofa and heaving a deep sigh of contented indolence. His hand searched out the fingers of his companion, which lay an inch or two away from his own, and gave them a gentle squeeze.
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