Part 28 (1/2)
”Then I hope the mine will blow up under him,” said Fairfax Cary. ”Can you tell me, sir, if Miss Dandridge is at home?”
The Major looked over the top of his Gazette. ”Miss Dandridge is sitting beneath the catalpa tree.” The other made a movement towards the door.
”Mr. Page is with her. He is reading aloud--Elosa to Abelard, or some such impa.s.sioned stuff. Don't apologize! I have no objection to expletives.”
The younger Cary laid down his hat, took a chair with great deliberation, and flecked his boot with his riding-whip. ”The catalpa shall be sacred for me. Elosa to Abelard! Is it a long poem, sir?”
”It is longer than its author was. Sentimental rubbis.h.!.+”
Major Edward folded the Gazette with his one hand, laid it on the library table, and leaned back in his leather chair. ”It is not my opinion that Unity cares for Mr. Page. She cares for what many men and an occasional woman have cared for--liberty.”
”I would give her liberty.”
”She may possibly prefer it,” said the Major dryly, ”first hand.”
The young man laughed ruefully. ”So little liberty as she has left me!
I am bound hand and foot to her chariot wheels. There's nothing I wouldn't do for her, short of hearing Page read aloud.”
”You'll win in the end, I think. And I hope you may. Unity Dandridge is wilful, but she is a fine woman.”
”The finest in the world--the most beautiful--the most sparkling--the most loyal--”
”You'll not find her lacking in spirit. She will speak her mind, will Miss Dandridge! The Carys, fortunately, have a certain fine obstinacy of their own. It is a saving grace.”
The other laughed. ”I never heard that the Churchills lacked it, sir.
Anyhow, I mean to marry Miss Dandridge. I've told her and the world my intention, and they may count upon my carrying it out. If she only knew how lonely it is at Greenwood! Breakfast, dinner, and supper--Ludwell at the head of the table and I at the foot, and a company of ghosts in between--”
”Ludwell may yet marry.”
Fairfax Cary shook his head. ”No. He'll never marry. If the Carys are obstinate, sir, they are also constant.”
Major Churchill rose, turned to the bookshelves, and drew forth a volume. ”Is he not over that?” he asked harshly.
”No, he is not. He'll never be over it. And they say matches are made in heaven!”
”Bah! They are made on earth, and cracked hearts can be mended like any other cracked ware. 'A little crudded milk, fantastical puff-paste,'
with a woman's name--and it has power to turn the suns.h.i.+ne black! Let him play the man and put her out of mind!”
”He does play the man,” answered the other, with spirit. ”He neither sulks nor s.h.i.+rks. It remains that there was but one woman in the world for him, and that she is at Roselands with Lewis Rand.”
The Major's book fell with a crash to the floor. He stooped quickly and recovered it before the younger man could give him service. ”I shall run Mustapha on the sixteenth at Staunton against Carter's York,” he said, in a shaking voice. ”Have you seen that Barbary mare d.i.c.k has gotten over from England?”
”No,” answered the young man. ”I'll take a look at the stables before I go. What is your book, sir?”
”It is”--said the Major. ”I'm d.a.m.ned if I know what it is!” and he looked at the volume in his hand. ”Paul and Virginia--faugh!” He threw the book down and stalked to the window. Fairfax Cary sat in silence, one booted knee over the other, an arm upon the back of his chair, and the riding-whip depending from his hand. The Major turned. ”They have laid down Pope, and Mr. Page is making his adieux! Humph! I can remember a day when the poem was considered vastly moving. I would advise you to strike while the iron is hot.”
”Sometimes I think it will take an earthquake to move her toward me,”
said the other. ”I'll give Page three minutes in which to clear out, and then I'll try again. It would amuse you, sir, to know how many times I have tried. If to have an object in life is praiseworthy, I am much to be lauded!”
”You have always evinced a fine determination,” admitted the Major.