Probation

‘My dear Mallory, I am glad to see you here at last! Were you unexpectedly detained?’ asked Canon Ponsonby, greeting Sebastian at the door of the room in the town-hall in which the meeting was to be held. It began at half-past seven, and that time had been already past when Sebastian arrived.

‘I was very unexpectedly detained,’ replied the young man, pressing Canon Ponsonby’s hand with a fervour which seemed a little extravagant to that gentleman. ‘But I am quite ready now, quite fit,’ he added. ‘Suppose we go to the platform. They seem to be getting impatient.’

They ascended the platform, and Sebastian was surprised at the heartiness of the greeting he received. He had not known how popular he was, and in his present mood he felt absolutely touched by these signs of goodwill on the part of the ‘people.’ All things combined to-night to rouse and inspire him. One or two even of his warmest friends and supporters, and most earnest admirers, had said they feared Mallory’s coldness of manner might be mistaken for indifference, that he was a little too prone to betray some of the contempt which he felt for party and party feeling: and had a way, in the extreme philosophy of his radicalism, of saying things which might be mistaken by the uninitiated Thanshope mind for distinctly Conservative expressions. On this occasion, these doubting hearts were agreeably deceived. Sebastian’s tact came strongly into play; he made one of those fortunate speeches, in which the right was happily touched off, and in which the truth was told without disturbing people’s feelings. He felt himself penetrated by an enthusiasm as rare, with him, as it was agreeable. Every now and then he seemed to lose sight of the sea of faces below him, and to see only one; his own voice seemed to die away, while Helena’s voice bade him do what was right, and tell the truth as far as he knew it. Under that influence questions which had hitherto seemed even a little contemptible were suddenly revealed as susceptible of being raised and ennobled; and the effort which he had at first thought of making, chiefly in compliance with the wishes of certain friends, and because he felt (like Myles Heywood) a thirst for constant work wherewith to fill up his life—this effort, not a very hearty or enthusiastic one, was now changed completely by the consciousness that there was not only Sebastian Mallory, indolent and indifferent by nature, to be consulted, but also Helena Spenceley, earnest, vehement, and enthusiastic, who would exult in his success, and be bitterly disappointed by his failure. Indeed, she was so calmly confident that he would win, that he felt he dared not lose. All this combined in his favour that night. There was no want of unanimity in the voice of the meeting. The speaker was so carried away himself that he carried his audience away with him. They separated in the highest good humour with him and themselves—full of confidence in their candidate, and of amiable contempt for his Conservative opponent.

There followed a gathering of some of his friends, and supper at home. Politics, and nothing but politics, engrossed the conversation, and it was late when Sebastian found himself alone. He drew a long breath of relief, but checked it again immediately—as he remembered the interview which was to follow.

‘Best get it over at once,’ he reflected, going to the drawing-room; but finding it empty, he went upstairs and knocked at his mother’s dressing-room door.

‘Who’s there?’ she asked.

‘It is I—Sebastian. May I see you for a few minutes?’

‘Come in!’ was the answer, and Sebastian entered.

Mrs. Mallory was seated before her looking-glass, and her maid was brushing her hair.

‘Be quick, Emma,’ said she; ‘and sit down, Sebastian; I shall be ready directly.’

He threw himself into a low chair by the hearth, and in two minutes was lost in a pleasant, pleasant dream.

‘Now!’ said his mother’s voice at last, and he speedily awoke to reality again.

The lady’s maid had twisted up her mistress’s hair into a loose knot in the gaslight. With the soft frills of her dressing-gown round her neck she looked a very young and handsome woman.

‘What beautiful hair you have, mother!’ he exclaimed, struck with its gloss and abundance. ‘Why do you cover it up with a cap?’

‘Is that all you have come to say?’ she inquired drily. ‘What kind of a meeting did you have?’

‘It appeared very unanimous and successful. Ponsonby said it was, and he ought to know. I wish you had been there. I saw a good many ladies.’

‘Very likely; but not ladies of my opinions.’

‘Ah! I forgot,’ said Sebastian, smiling.

He felt soft-hearted to-night, and hardly noticed his mother’s coolness.

‘Have all those men gone?’

‘Yes; the last of them has departed, and I am glad of it. But I did not come to keep you talking about Radical meetings, mother. I wished particularly to see you to-night; I have something to tell you.’

Mrs. Mallory knew in an instant the nature of the coming communication, and prepared herself to hear something disagreeable. She had not omitted to provide her son with many opportunities of changing his estate. She had had plenty of visitors at her house, and chiefly young lady visitors. None of them had had a hundred thousand pounds, but equally none of them had been quite portionless, and all of them had been more or less good-looking, and what are called ‘nice girls.’ She had seen all her efforts wasted; had seen Sebastian studiously polite and amiable, even putting himself out of the way often to attend her and her visitors when they wanted an escort. She had seen him follow them to concerts and dances and garden-parties; she had seen him play the host—and nothing else—to admiration; and she had seen the look of relief which dawned upon his face when the duty could conscientiously be left, and he could return to his books, his plans, and his business—that business which seemed to have become the very breath of life to him, and from which no girl, however nice, could succeed in drawing him away.

But some one had at last found this power—probably some one whom she would dislike excessively. Most probably he had met Adrienne Blisset again somewhere; had proposed to her a second time, and been accepted. Mrs. Mallory thought she would have preferred him to come and tell her that he was going to marry any one—a barmaid, a milliner—any one rather than ‘that girl,’ whom she hated with a virulence which grew with time.

‘Indeed!’ she made answer, and left him to inflict the blow. It was exactly as she expected.

‘I am going to be married, mother.’

‘To be married?’ she repeated mechanically. She had long ago said that she had no power over her son, but she felt bitter at this proof of the truth of her words.

‘Yes. I hope you will approve my choice.’

‘If your choice is Miss Blisset, Sebastian, I shall never approve it, and so I tell you distinctly.’

‘But it is not Miss Blisset, mother. She refused me two years ago—she would refuse me now, and she would refuse me through all time. Then I was a good deal cut-up about it. Now, I am very glad. No; it is some one whom you used to like very much. At least, I always understood you to say so.’

It is a fact that the idea of Helena Spenceley did not once enter Mrs. Mallory’s mind. She had so come to believe that her son never could, under any circumstances, turn to her former favourite, that since the downfall of Helena and her family she had altogether dismissed them from her thoughts. Even now, as Sebastian paused, she did not think of Helena, but said, after a moment.

‘I cannot imagine whom you mean, Sebastian, and I never could guess things of that kind. Who may the lady be?’

‘Helena Spenceley.’

Mrs. Mallory actually started from her chair.

‘Helena Spenceley! What will you tell me?’

‘You surely cannot disapprove of that. My dear mother, you at one time wished me to marry her. You told me so.’

‘You have the most extraordinary, perverted ideas of right and duty, Sebastian. Can you suppose that I ever wished you to marry a girl whose father committed suicide after behaving in a far from honourable way in his business affairs, and whose brother absconded with a large sum of money which he had stolen, and who is now—who knows where he is, or what he is doing, or what trouble he may cause his relations even yet?’

Sebastian almost smiled at the utter opposition of his mother’s ideas to his own. They never saw but one side each of the other’s nature—not because neither had another side to show, but because of the formation of their respective mental eyes. Yet, for the sake of appearances, he must argue the matter out.

‘Suppose we had married at the time you wished it,’ he suggested. ‘These things would have happened all the same. As it is, they are now nearly forgotten. No one with any feeling would wish to remind her of them. If you could only see her, you would forget them all, in looking at herself. She was always a beautiful girl, but now she is lovelier than ever, and more charming.’

She was silent.

‘Will you not say you approve of this, mother! You know I will not seek a wife with a fortune. If she had happened to have money, well and good; but I would rather have her without, and with the beauty and the love that Helena gives me.’

‘It is a mockery to ask me whether I approve of it. You will do it whether I approve or not.’

‘But if you will approve—if you will hold out your hand to Helena, and accept her as my wife, you will gratify me beyond measure. You know, it is really your fault. You threw Helena in my way at first, and she must have made a much deeper impression upon me than I knew, for a few weeks ago, when I met her unexpectedly, I was scarcely master of myself. It was all over with me from that moment.’

‘And suppose I do not approve?’

‘I should be unspeakably grieved. We are alone in the world, almost. You are the very nearest relative a man can have; but you will agree,’ and he stooped and gently kissed her cheek.

She started. With that kiss seemed to come suddenly to her a great revelation, the revelation of the love which she had thrust obstinately away from her. She had received her son as a child, and had tried to curb and control him; and when he acted as a man, she had enclosed herself within a wall of icy reserve, and had repelled every advance he had made. The truth rushed upon her mind now with overwhelming force. She was a selfish, a profoundly selfish, woman; but somewhere, not quite withered away within her, there lay the remains of a mother’s heart.

‘I am your mother, Sebastian,’ she said, with a sudden tremor in her voice. ‘It is very strange that we should have got on so badly since you came home.... I have had no wish but for your prosperity and well-being, and yet——’

‘I know you have. I fear I have not been all that I might have been to you. Forgive me!’

He refrained, and she noticed it, from even speaking of the other side of the question—from saying, ‘You have deliberately set yourself against every plan and project of mine, until at last, in very self-defence, I have been obliged to be silent, and to keep my hopes and wishes to myself.’ This behaviour was generous, and she knew it was. It appeared that Sebastian did love her, and prized her goodwill. The emotion she felt was not an unpleasant one. And then, as he certainly would marry Helena, she put her hand on his shoulder and said,

‘I consent, Sebastian, though it is a trial. No; I don’t mean that I disapprove of Helena. I know a more lovely girl could not easily be found. It is her—well, never mind! Are you going to be married soon?’

‘Thank you! I thank you from my very heart!’ he exclaimed. ‘My great fear was lest you should be displeased. Shall we be married soon? I do not know in the least. I am obliged to go abroad before the autumn, and if I can persuade Helena, we will be married before then; but I am not sure that I can. She is not by any means inclined to rush into my arms. She is very much changed. She used to be so impulsive, and to betray her feelings so easily; and now, I assure you, her dignity has already almost overwhelmed me more than once.’

‘When you are married, or, at any rate, when you return from abroad, you will want the Oakenrod to yourselves,’ she suggested graciously.

‘My dear mother, I hope you will stay in it exactly as long as you feel disposed to do so. Helena wishes very much to please you,’ he added, drawing a bow at a venture.

‘Does she? When next you see her give her my—my love. Perhaps I had better go and call upon her.’

‘Or I will bring her over here to spend the day with you.’

‘Yes, perhaps that might be better. Has she given up any of her old notions yet?’

‘We both find that our views on these points are considerably modified, so that we are quite able to meet each other and agree together.’

‘I am glad to hear it. I think it must be getting late.’

‘It is indeed. You must excuse me, mother. I seem to have found more than a wife to-day,’ he added, kissing her hands one after the other. ‘Good night.’

Mrs. Mallory drew her son’s face down, and kissed him, strangely moved.

‘Good night, my son. God bless you!’

Sebastian left her. The conquest was won. From that day Augusta Mallory was a happier woman than she had been. There was always a certain distance about the intercourse between her and her son and his family, but there was amity and concord; and later, when Helena won triumphs by her beauty, grace, and spirit, which no money could ever have purchased for her, and when Mrs. Mallory heard on all sides of her beautiful and charming daughter-in-law, she began to think that after all Sebastian had not done so badly, even in a worldly wise point of view; and her respect for him increased accordingly.

---

In the course of a week the election came off, when the Radical candidate headed the poll by a large majority. Despite the exceeding business of that week, Sebastian had found time to pay several visits at 57 Woodford Street, and there had used such arguments with Helena that she had consented to the early marriage he wished for. Sebastian, Mrs. Mallory, and Canon Ponsonby went over to Manchester one evening, and the next day there was a small wedding at a quiet church in some fields.

Helena was given away by her uncle of the uncompromisingly truthful disposition. Mrs. Mallory looked calmly dignified. Mrs. Galloway was there, subdued by the fact that Helena had taken the liberty to contradict her hypothesis that governesses always make disastrous marriages. Mrs. Spenceley was there too, weeping in an obtrusive manner; and, when it was all over, they returned to their respective dwellings, except Helena and Sebastian, who went to the London Road station, to a compartment in the Euston express marked ‘engaged.’ They were on their way to Germany, but before they arrived at Euston Square Sebastian had told Helena the whole history of his earlier love for Adrienne, and his own misty conjectures as to how things stood between her and Myles Heywood—a recital which aroused the romantic Helena’s most compassionate and interested feelings—and so ended Sebastian’s courtship.