Part 21 (1/2)

Trilby looked down at Mrs. Bagot very kindly, put out her shaking hand, and said; ”Good-bye, Mrs. Bagot. I will not marry your son. I _promise_ you. I will never see him again.”

Mrs. Bagot caught and clasped her hand and tried to kiss it, and said: ”Don't go yet, my dear good girl. I want to talk to you. I want to tell you how deeply I--”

”Good-bye, Mrs. Bagot,” said Trilby, once more; and, disengaging her hand, she walked swiftly out of the room.

Mrs. Bagot seemed stupefied, and only half content with her quick triumph.

”She will not marry your son, Mrs. Bagot. I only wish to G.o.d she'd marry _me_!”

”Oh, Mr. Wynne!” said Mrs. Bagot, and burst into tears.

”Ah!” exclaimed the clergyman, with a feebly satirical smile and a little cough and sniff that were not sympathetic, ”now if _that_ could be arranged--and I've no doubt there wouldn't be much opposition on the part of the lady” (here he made a little complimentary bow), ”it would be a very desirable thing all round!”

”It's tremendously good of you, I'm sure--to interest yourself in _my_ humble affairs,” said Taffy. ”Look here, sir--I'm not a great genius like your nephew--and it doesn't much matter to any one but myself what I make of my life--but I can a.s.sure you that if Trilby's heart were set on me as it is on him, I would gladly cast in my lot with hers for life.

She's one in a thousand. She's the one sinner that repenteth, you know!”

”Ah, yes--to be sure!--to be sure! I know all about that; still, facts are facts, and the world is the world, and we've got to live in it,”

said Mr. Bagot, whose satirical smile had died away under the gleam of Taffy's choleric blue eye.

Then said the good Taffy, frowning down on the parson (who looked mean and foolish, as people can sometimes do even with right on their side): ”And now, Mr. Bagot--I can't tell you how very keenly I have suffered during this--a--this most painful interview--on account of my very deep regard for Trilby O'Ferrall. I congratulate you and your sister-in-law on its complete success. I also feel very deeply for your nephew. I'm not sure that he has not lost more than he will gain by--a--by the--a--the success of this--a--this interview, in short!”

Taffy's eloquence was exhausted, and his quick temper was getting the better of him.

Then Mrs. Bagot, drying her eyes, came and took his hand in a very charming and simple manner, and said: ”Mr. Wynne, I think I know what you are feeling just now. You must try and make some allowance for us.

You will, I am sure, when we are gone, and you have had time to think a little. As for that n.o.ble and beautiful girl, I only wish that she were such that my son _could_ marry her--in her past life, I mean. It is not her humble rank that would frighten me; _pray_ believe that I am quite sincere in this--and don't think too hardly of your friend's mother.

Think of all I shall have to go through with my poor son--who is deeply in love--and no wonder! and who has won the love of such a woman as that! and who cannot see at present how fatal to him such a marriage would be. I can see all the charm and believe in all the goodness, in spite of all. And, oh, how beautiful she is, and what a voice! All that counts for so much, doesn't it? I cannot tell you how I grieve for her.

I can make no amends--who could, for such a thing? There are no amends, and I shall not even try. I will only write and tell her all I think and feel. You will forgive us, won't you?”

And in the quick, impulsive warmth and grace and sincerity of her manner as she said all this, Mrs. Bagot was so absurdly like Little Billee that it touched big Taffy's heart, and he would have forgiven anything, and there was nothing to forgive.

”Oh, Mrs. Bagot, there's no question of forgiveness. Good heavens! it is all so unfortunate, you know! n.o.body's to blame that I can see.

Good-bye, Mrs. Bagot; good-bye, sir,” and so saying, he saw them down to their ”remise,” in which sat a singularly pretty young lady of seventeen or so, pale and anxious, and so like Little Billee that it was quite funny, and touched big Taffy's heart again.

When Trilby went out into the court-yard in the Place St. Anatole des Arts, she saw Miss Bagot looking out of the carriage window, and in the young lady's face, as she caught her eye, an expression of sweet surprise and sympathetic admiration, with lifted eyebrows and parted lips--just such a look as she had often got from Little Billee! She knew her for his sister at once. It was a sharp pang.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”SO LIKE LITTLE BILLEE”]

She turned away, saying to herself: ”Oh no; I will not separate him from his sister, his family, his friends! That would _never_ do! _That's_ settled, anyhow!”

Feeling a little dazed, and wis.h.i.+ng to think, she turned up the Rue Vieille des Mauvais Ladres, which was always deserted at this hour. It was empty but for a solitary figure sitting on a post, with its legs dangling, its hands in its trousers-pockets, an inverted pipe in its mouth, a tattered straw hat on the back of its head, and a long gray coat down to its heels. It was the Laird.

As soon as he saw her he jumped off his post and came to her, saying: ”Oh, Trilby--what's it all about? I couldn't stand it! I ran away!

Little Billee's mother's there!”

”Yes, Sandy dear, I've just seen her.”