CHAPTER XVIII.
WANTED—A REASON.
The guests at the castle were, as notified in a local paper, Lady Rachel Jenkins and Mr. Jenkins, the Honourable Mrs. Leach, Lord Anthony Foster, Miss Pamela Pace, Miss Peggy Lumley, Captain Vansittart, and Major Mostyn, of the Royal Sedleitz Dragoons.
The Honourable Mrs. Leach was a handsome widow, whose income was much beneath her requirements. She was acquainted with some colonials, who had come home in the same ship as Mr. West, and was indebted to them for an introduction to her present comfortable quarters. She had a smooth, slow sort of manner, a pair of wonderfully expressive eyes—and her own little plans. It did not suit her to walk with the guns, or join in long expeditions, entailing wear and tear of clothes, nerves, complexion, and tissues. She much preferred to lounge over a novel in the grounds, having breakfasted in her own room, and would appear at teatime before the battered, sun-burnt, sun-blistered company, a miracle of cool grace, in a costume to correspond. And her brilliant appearance of an evening was a pleasure that was generally looked forward to. What toilettes!—so rich, so well-chosen and becoming! What diamonds! (Yes; but these were the best French paste.) She made herself pleasant to every one, especially to Mr. West, and treated Madeline almost as if she were some fond elder sister.
Miss Pamela Pace was excessively lively—the soul of the party, always ready to shoot, ride, or fish; to play billiards, gooseberry, or the banjo; to dance or to act charades. She had a fund of riddles, games, and ghost stories. Without being pretty, she was neat, smart, and a general favourite.
Miss Lumley was her cousin and her foil—tall, fair, statuesque, and silent. However, she was a capital tennis and billiard player, an untiring pedestrian; and, as Lady Rachel talked enough for two ordinary women, she made up for Miss Lumley’s shortcomings.
Lady Rachel was most anxious to get her brother settled—married to a nice girl, such as Madeline, with a large fortune, and she intended to forward the match in every way. She lost no opportunity of sounding Tony’s praises to Madeline, or of plying him with encouragement and advice. Advice, especially given as such for his own good, he shirked, as a child does physic. He admired Miss West. She was unaffected; there was no nonsense about her; she was handsome and ladylike. She would accept him, of course; and he really might do worse. He did not particularly want to marry her, or any one; but his income, no matter how well contrived and cut, was far too small for a man of his position. And money was a pleasant thing.
Wound up by his anxious sister, Lord Tony had asked for and obtained Mr. West’s permission to speak to his daughter, and now the only thing that remained to do was to ask the young lady to ratify the treaty. They had been nearly three weeks in Ireland, whilst this affair was quietly brewing.
Madeline had no suspicion of her father’s wishes, or her suitor’s intentions; such an idea would have filled her—as it subsequently did—with horror. She liked dancing and tennis, and amusing herself as much as other young women of her age; but the notion of any one falling in love with her, in her new and attractive character, never once entered her brain. Pretty speeches and compliments she laughed at and turned aside; and it was generally mooted that the Australian heiress was as cold as the typical iceberg, and had a genius for administering the most crushing snubs if any one ventured on to the borderland, yea, the very suburbs of love-making; and it had been hinted that either there was some pauper lover in the background, or that Miss West was waiting for a duke—English or foreign—to lay his strawberry leaves at her feet. She thought Lord Tony extremely plain, and rather stupid; but he was so easily entertained, and cheery, and helped to make things go off well, that she was glad he formed one of the party. She had seen so much of him in London, she knew him better than any of their young men acquaintances; and he was always so good-tempered, so unassuming, and so confidential, that she entertained quite a sisterly regard for him.
Of Lord Anthony’s present views and intentions she had no more idea than her pet Chinese spaniel. If he was épris with any one, it was with the dashing Pamela, who told his fortune by cards, and played him even at billiards; and his proposal came upon her without any preparation, and like a bolt from the blue. The bolt fell in this fashion, and on a certain sleepy Sunday afternoon.
Sunday at Clane had many empty hours. Mr. West was old-fashioned, and set his face against shooting, tennis, billiards, or even that curate’s own game—croquet. The hours after lunch were spent in smoking, sleeping, novel-reading, devouring fruit in the big garden, or sitting under the lime-trees. It was thus that Lord Anthony found Madeline, surveying the misty haze of a hot August afternoon with a pair of abstracted eyes. Mr. West had given him a hint of her whereabouts, and that here was the hour, and he was the man!
“She is a cold, undemonstrative, distant sort of girl,” he explained. “She has never had a fancy, that I know of” (no, certainly as yet, he had not known of it). “She likes you, I am sure; it will be all plain sailing.” And, thus encouraged, the suitor figuratively put to sea.
Madeline sat alone under the lime-trees in a low wicker chair, having been deserted by Lady Rachel, who had gone to have a comfortable snooze ere teatime.
It was a drowsy afternoon; the bees buzzed lazily over a bed of mignonette, which sent its fragrance far and near. Madeline’s book lay neglected in her lap. Her thoughts were far from it and Clane; they were with a certain hard-working barrister in London, who had written her a very rough, outspoken letter. Poor Laurence! Why could he not wait? Why could he not have patience? He was beginning to get on so well. She had seen a long review of one of his articles in Tooth and Nail. He was becoming quite a literary celebrity.
And, once he was up the ladder, even a few rungs, she would not feel the change so bitter, supposing her father was furious and implacable. Of course it would be a change! And she sighed as she smoothed out her cambric gown—which had cost eighteen guineas—with a pretty, delicate hand, laden with magnificent rings. Could it be possible that those soft white hands had ever blackened grates and made beds and washed up plates? Oh, such greasy plates and dishes!
“You seem to be in a day-dream, Miss West,” said Lord Anthony, as he approached, “and all the rest of the folk have gone to sleep.”
“Have they?” she exclaimed. “Well, one cannot wonder! It is a broiling afternoon, and, after that long sermon, you must make allowances.”
“Oh, I’m always making allowances. I’m an easy-going sort of fellow, you know,” and he cast himself into a well-cushioned chair. “I want to have a little talk with you.” Hitching this chair nearer he added, “May I?”
“Why, of course! But are we in a talking humour? Isn’t it rather hot? Pray don’t bore yourself to entertain me! I can always amuse myself,” and she slowly agitated her great green fan.
“Yes; I suppose you can say ‘My mind to me a kingdom is’?” he asked, with a smile.
“I think I can,” she answered languidly.
“I wish I could say as much. My mind is a poor, barren, unpopulated country. I should like to take a trip into your territory, and share your pleasant thoughts, Miss West!” then suddenly spurred by a recollection of a solemn promise to his sister, and that he was wasting a golden opportunity, “I have something important to say to you.”
“To say to me?” she echoed, with raised brows. “What can it be? What makes you look so strange? You are not feeling ill, are you?”
“Ill! No; but my mind is ill at ease. Can you not form an idea why?” leaning forward as he spoke, and looking straight into her eyes.
His look was an illumination to Madeline. But as yet she did not think of herself; she mentally glanced at lively Pamela, with her high spirits and low stature. She had seen her present companion carry his rather boisterous attentions to that young lady’s shrine. She amused him, and his loud, long laugh often resounded in her neighbourhood. He was come to ask for her good offices; but she did not suppose that Miss Pam would be unusually difficult to win.
“Oh, I think I have an idea now,” she murmured, with a significant smile. “I have guessed.”
“You have?” he replied, in a tone of great relief. “And—and, may I venture to hope?”
“I really cannot tell you. But I see no reason why you should not,” she returned reassuringly.
“Madeline”—now moving his chair a whole foot nearer, and suddenly taking her hand—“you have made me the happiest of men!”
“I don’t think I quite understand you,” she replied, struggling to withdraw her fingers, and feeling desperately uncomfortable.
“Then I must speak out more plainly. I want you to promise to be my wife.”
For a second she stared at him as if she could not credit her ears. Then she suddenly wrenched her fingers away, sprang to her feet, and stood facing him with crimson cheeks.
“What do you mean? Are you—mad?” she asked sharply.
“Mad?—no!” replied her suitor, both amazed and affronted. “One would think I was a dangerous lunatic, the way you behave. I am quite sane, and in deadly earnest. I have your father’s good wishes, Rachel’s good wishes——”
“My father’s good wishes!” she interrupted, her mind in a perfect tumult at this totally unlooked-for dilemma.
“What is the matter with you, Miss West? Why are you so upset and agitated? Am I so totally unworthy? Is there anything so extravagantly strange in my wishing to marry you?”
“Oh no, no!”—endeavouring to control her feelings, and not give herself away. “But—but——” A scarlet wave rushed into her cheeks. But what would Laurence say?
“Is it to be ‘Yes’ or ‘No’?” he pleaded.
She simply shook her head, and drew back a step or two.
He had never been so near to loving this tall pretty girl, standing under the lime-trees with flushed, averted face, as now, when she shook her head.
“At least you will give me reason,” he demanded, rather sulkily.
As the words left his lips he saw an odd change pass across her face, an expression that he could not understand. It was a look half of fear, half of contemptuous derision.
“There is no reason,” she answered quietly, “beyond the usual one in a similar case. I do not wish to marry you.”
“And why?” he asked, after an appreciable pause.
“Well, really, I have never thought about you, Lord Anthony, but as a pleasant acquaintance. As an acquaintance I like you very much,” she answered, with astounding calmness. “An acquaintance—but nothing more.” And she turned to take up her parasol.
Opposition always roused Lord Anthony; it acted as a spur. In a short five minutes he saw everything from his sister’s point of view, and had suddenly developed a passion for Miss West.
“Every marriage begins by an acquaintance. Perhaps in time,” he urged—“in a few short months, my dearest Madeline——”
“I am not your ‘dearest Madeline,’ Lord Anthony,” she interrupted quickly. “Pray consider the subject closed once for all; and remember, for the future, that I am Miss West.”
She was getting angry with his persistency. He was getting angry with her persistency.
There ensued a long silence, unbroken by speech. And at last he said—
“There is some other fellow, of course. You are engaged already.”
“I am not. Oh, Pamela, I did not see you”—as that vivacious young lady suddenly came upon the scene with a strong escort of dogs.
From her window she had noted the conference, and had hastily descended in order to discover what it might portend. A proposal! Well, if he had proposed, he had not been accepted, she remarked to herself complacently.
They both looked confused and ill at ease. Evidently they had been quarrelling. Lord Anthony was ridiculously red, and Madeline was white as a sheet.
“How delightfully cool and comfortable you two look!” she mendaciously ejaculated, sinking into Madeline’s chair with a gesture of exhaustion. “This is quite the nicest place, under these motherly old trees. I’ve been trying to sleep, but it did not come off. I was driven quite frantic by a diabolical bluebottle, that would not keep away from my face.”
“I’m sure I don’t wonder,” said Lord Anthony, who was recovering his good temper, which was never lost for long.
“And so I came out. You will have tea here, Maddie, won’t you, like a duck?”
“I’m not sure that ducks care for tea,” rejoined Madeline. “Their weakness is snails. But I’ll run in and order it. It must be after five.” And in another minute her tall white figure was half-way to the castle, and Miss Pamela and Lord Anthony were alone.
Both were eager to question the other in a delicate, roundabout way. Strange to say, the man got out his query first. Throwing himself once more into a chair, and crossing his legs, he said—
“Girls know girls and their affairs, as men know men, and are up to their little games. Now, you saw a lot of Miss West in town. Same dressmaker, same dentist, same bootmaker. Look here, now; I want to know something.” And he bent over and gazed into Miss Pam’s pale little dancing eyes.
“I am quite at your service,” she answered smilingly. “Her waist is twenty inches. She takes a longer skirt than you would think. She has no false teeth, and only a little stuffing in one back molar. Her size in shoes is fours.”
“Bosh! What do I care about her teeth and her shoes? I want to know—and I’ll do as much for you some day—if Miss West has any hanger-on—any lover loafing round? Of course I know she had heaps of Johnnies who admired her. But did she seem sweet on them? ‘Lookers-on see most of the game.’”
“Yes, when there is any game to see,” retorted the young lady. “In this case there was none. Or, if there was, it was double dummy.”
“No one?” he said incredulously.
“No one,” she answered. “She talks like an old grandmother, who has been through every phase of life; talks in the abstract, of course. She has never, as far as I know, and in the language of romance, ‘smiled on any suitor.’”
“Most extraordinary!” muttered Lord Anthony. “A new woman who bars men. However, there is always the one exception; and, by George”—to himself—“I’ll have another try!”