Part 15 (1/2)
”What did you expect--that I should welcome your proposal and thank you for it?”
”Well, Enid and I had made up our minds that you wouldn't thwart her wishes.”
”But, Mr. Kenion, even if I had agreed and made everything easy and pleasant for you, surely you would not be content to live as a pensioner for the rest of your days?”
She was thinking of what d.i.c.k Marsden had said to her in the dusk by the river. ”I could not pose as the pensioner of a rich wife.” It seemed to her a natural and yet a n.o.ble sentiment; and she contrasted the proper manly frame of mind that found expression in such an utterance with the mean-spirited readiness to depend on others that Mr. Kenion confessed so shamelessly. Marsden was perhaps not a gentleman in the sn.o.bbish, conventional sense, but how much more a man than this Kenion!
”Don't you know,” he was saying feebly; and, as he said it, he stifled another yawn; ”I should certainly try to do something myself.”
”What?”
”Well, perhaps a little farming. I think I could help to keep the pot on the boil by making and selling hunters--and a good deal can be done with poultry, if you set to work in the right way.... Enid seemed to like the notion of living in the country.”
Mrs. Thompson turned the revolving chair round a few inches towards the desk, and politely told Mr. Kenion that she need not detain him any further.
He had come in loungingly, and he went out loungingly; but he was limper after the interview than before it. He probably felt that the stuffing had been more or less knocked out of him; for he presently turned into a saloon bar, and sought to brace himself again with strong stimulants.
No doubt he complained bitterly enough to Enid of the severely chilling reception that he had met with in the queer back room behind the shop.
Anyhow Enid complained with bitterness to her mother. Indeed at this crisis of her life Enid was horrid. Yates begged her to be more considerate, and committed a breach of confidence by telling her of how her unkind tone had twice made the mistress weep; but Enid could attend only to one thing at a time. She wanted her sweetheart, and she thought it very hard that anybody should attempt to deprive her of him.
”And it will all be no use, mother--because I never, never can give him up.”
Thus the days pa.s.sed miserably; and a sort of stalemate seemed to have occurred. Kenion had not retired, but he was not coming on; and Enid was horrid.
In her perplexity and distress Mrs. Thompson went to Mr. Prentice, and asked him for advice and aid.
Mr. Prentice, delighted to be restored to favour after his recent disgrace, was jovial and cheering. He pooh-poohed the notion that Enid had in the smallest degree compromised herself; he talked of the wide lat.i.tude given to modern girls, of their independence, their capacity to take care of themselves in all circ.u.mstances; and stoutly declared his belief that among fas.h.i.+onable people the chaperon had ceased to exist.
”Don't you worry about that, my dear. No one is going to think any the worse of her for being seen with a cavalier dangling at her heels.”
Nevertheless he heartily applauded Mrs. Thompson for her firm tackling of the indigent suitor; he offered to find out everything about Kenion and his family, and promised that he would render staunch aid in sending him ”to the right-abouts.”
When Mrs. Thompson called again Mr. Prentice had collected a formidable dossier, and he read out the damaging details of Mr. Kenion's history with triumphant relish.
”Now this is private detective work, not solicitors' work--and I expect a compliment for the quick way I've got the information.... Well then, there's only one word for Mr. Kenion--he's a thorough rotter.”
And Mr. Prentice began to read his notes.
”Our friend,” as he called the subject of the memoir, was sent down from Cambridge in dire disgrace. He had attempted an intricately dangerous transaction, with a credit-giving jeweller and three diamond rings at one end of it, and a p.a.w.nbroker at the other. The college authorities heard of it--from whom do you suppose? _The police!_ Old Kenion paid the bill, to avoid something worse than the curtailment of the university curriculum. Since then ”our friend” had been mixed up with horsedealers of ill repute--riding their horses, taking commissions when he could sell them.
”He gambles,” said Mr. Prentice with gusto; ”he drinks; he womani--I should say, his morals with the other s.e.x are a minus quant.i.ty.... And last of all, I can tell you this. I've seen the fellow--got a man to point him out to me; and there's _blackguard_ written all over him.”
”Then how _can_ respectable people like the Salters entertain him?”
”Ah,” said Mr. Prentice philosophically, ”that's the way we live nowadays. The home is no longer sacred. People don't seem to care who they let into their houses. If a fellow can ride and can show a few decent relations, hunting folk forgive him a good deal. And the Salters very likely hadn't heard--or at any rate didn't _know_ anything against him.”
At his own suggestion, jumped at by his client, Mr. Prentice returned with Mrs. Thompson to St. Saviour's Court, and told Miss Enid that it would be madness for her any longer to encourage the attentions of such a ne'er-do-well.
”If you were my own daughter,” said Mr. Prentice solemnly, ”I should forbid your ever seeing him again. And I give you my word of honour I believe that before a year has past you'll thank Mrs. Thompson for standing firm now.”