CHAPTER XIX.
A DISAGREEABLE INTERVIEW.
“Well!” said Mr. West, when he found himself alone in the smoking-room with Lord Anthony. How much can be expressed in that exclamation.
“It was not well, sir. She will have nothing to say to me. I had no luck.”
“Do you mean with Maddie?” exclaimed her father, in a tone of fretful amazement.
“Yes. I had a long talk with her, and she won’t have anything to say to me!”
“What—what reason did she give you?” demanded Mr. West. “What reason, I say?”
“None, except that she did not wish to marry me; and she seemed to think that reason enough.”
“And did you not press her?”
“It was of no use; but, all the same, I intend to try again—that is, if there is no one else, and Miss West has no attachment elsewhere.”
“Attachment elsewhere? Nonsense!” irritably. “Why, she was at school till I came home—till she met me on the steamer with her governess! You saw her yourself; so you may put that out of your head. She’s a mere girl, and does not know her own mind; but I know mine, and if she marries to please me, I’ll settle forty thousand pounds on her on her wedding day, and allow her five thousand a year. It’s not many girls in England who have as much pinned to their petticoat; and she will have considerably more at my death. If you stick to Maddie, you will see she will marry you eventually. She knows you, and is getting used to you—coming in and out in London; and you have a great pull over other men, staying here in the same house, with lots of wet days perhaps!”
The following morning Madeline was sent for by her father. He felt that he could speak with more authority from the ’vantage ground of the hearthrug in his own writing-room; and after breakfast was the time he selected for the audience. Evidently Madeline had no idea of what was awaiting her, for she came up to him and laid her hand upon his arm, and gave him an extra morning kiss.
“I suppose it’s about this picnic to the Devil’s Pie-dish?” she began.
In no part of the world has the devil so much and such a various property as in Ireland—glens, mountains, bridges, punch-bowls, bits, ladders—there is scarcely a county in which he has not some possessions—and they say he is a resident landlord.
Mr. West propped himself against the mantelpiece and surveyed her critically. She was certainly a most beautiful creature—in her parent’s fond eyes—and quite fitted to be sister-in-law to a duke.
“It’s not about the picnic; that must be put off, the day has broken. It’s something far more important. Ahem!” clearing his throat. “What’s all this about you and Foster?”
“Why?” she stammered, colouring deeply, and struck by a peculiar ring in his voice.
“Why?” impatiently. “He tells me that he proposed to you yesterday, and you refused him point-blank; and now, in my turn, I ask why?”
Madeline was silent. She began to feel very uncomfortable, and her heart beat fearfully fast.
“Well, is it true?” he demanded sharply.
“Yes, quite true,” fiddling with her bangles.
“And may I know why you have said no to a highly eligible young man, of a station far above your own, the son of a duke—a man young, agreeable, whose name has never appeared in any flagrant society scandal, who is well-principled and—and—good-looking—a suitor who has my warmest approval? Come now.” And he took off his glasses and rapped them on his thumb nail.
“I do not wish to marry,” she replied in a low voice.
“And you do wish to drive me out of my senses! What foolery, what tommy rot! Of course, you must marry some day—you are bound to as my heiress; and I look to you to do something decent, and to bring me in an equivalent return for my outlay.”
“And you wish me to marry Lord Anthony?” inquired his unhappy daughter, pale to the lips. Oh, if she could but muster up courage to confess the truth! But she dared not, with those fiery little eyes fixed upon her so fiercely. “Father, I cannot. I cannot, indeed!” she whispered, wringing her hands together in an agony.
“Why?” he demanded in a hoarse, dry voice.
“Would you barter me and your money for a title?” she cried, plucking up some spirit in her desperation, “as if I was not a living creature, and had no feeling. I have feeling. I have a heart; and it is useless for you to attempt to control it—it is out of your power!”
This unexpected speech took her parent aback. She spoke with such passionate vehemence that he scarcely recognized his gay, cool, smiling, and unemotional Madeline.
This imperious girl, with trembling hands, sharply knit brows, and low, agitated voice, was entirely another person. This was not Madeline, his everyday daughter. At last it dawned upon his mind that there was something behind it all, some curious hidden reason in the background, some secret cause for this astonishing behaviour! Suddenly griping her arm in a vice-like grasp, as an awful possibility stirred his inflammable spirit, he whispered through his teeth—
“Who is it?”
“Who is who?” she gasped faintly.
Ah! now it was coming. She shook as if she had the ague.
“Who is this scoundrel, this low-born adventurer that you are in love with? Is it the man you knew at school? Is it the damned dancing-master, or some half-starved curate? Is it him you want to marry? Madeline, on your oath,” shaking her in his furious excitement and passion of apprehension, “is it him you want to marry?” he reiterated.
Madeline turned cold, but she looked full into the enraged face, so close to hers, and as he repeated, “On your oath, remember!” she answered with unfaltering and distinctly audible voice, “On my oath—no!” She spoke the truth, too! Was she not married to him already? Oh, if her father only guessed it! She dared not speculate on the idea! He would be worse, far worse than her worst anticipations. She could never tell him now.
“Father, I have said ‘No,’” she continued. “Let go my hand, you hurt me.” With the utterance of the last word she broke down and collapsed upon the nearest chair, sobbing hysterically.
“What the devil are you crying for?” he demanded angrily. “What I’ve said and done, I’ve done for your good. Take your own time, in reason; but marry you shall, and a title. Foster is the man of my choice. I don’t see what you can bring against him. We will all live together, and, for my own part, I should like it. You go to no poorer home, you become a lady of rank,—what more can any girl want? Money as much as she can spend, a husband and a father who hit it off to a T, both only too anxious to please her in every possible way, rank, and riches; what more would you have, eh?”
“Yes, I know all that!” gasped Madeline, making a great effort to master her agitation. She must protest now or never. “I know everything you would say; but I shall never marry Lord Anthony, and I would be wrong to let you think so. I like him; but, if he persists, I shall hate him. I have said ‘No’ once; let that be sufficient for him—and you!” Then, dreading the consequences of this rashly courageous speech, she got up and hurried out of the room, leaving her father in sole possession of the rug, and actually gasping for speech, his thin lips opening and shutting like a fish’s mouth—when the fish has just been landed. At last he found his voice.
“I don’t care one (a big D) for Madeline and her fancies, and this thunder in the air has upset her. A woman’s no means yes; and she shall marry Foster as sure as my name is Robert West.” To Lord Anthony he said, “I’d a little quiet talk with Madeline, and your name came up. She admitted that she liked you; so you just bide your time and wait. Everything comes to those who wait.”
To this Lord Tony nodded a dubious acquiescence. The poor fellow was thinking of his creditors. How would they like this motto? and how much longer would they wait?
“I told you she liked you,” pursued Mr. West consolingly—“she said so; so you have not even to begin with a little aversion. She has set her face against marriage; she declared she would not marry, and what’s more—and this scores for you—she gave me her word of honour that there was no one she wished to marry. So it’s a clear course and no favour, and the best man wins. And remember, Tony,” said her shrewd little parent, thumping, as he spoke, that gentleman’s reluctant shoulder, “that I back you, and it’s a good thing to have the father and the money on your side, let me tell you.”
Ten days went by very quietly—the calm after the storm. Mr. West never alluded to his daughter’s foolish speech, and kissed her and patted her on the shoulder that selfsame night, as if there had been no little scene between them in the morning. He was waiting. Lord Anthony, even in Madeline’s opinion, behaved beautifully. He did not hold himself too markedly aloof, and yet he never thrust his society upon her, or sought to have a word with her alone. He also was waiting.