Part 19 (1/2)

CHAPTER XVIII.

MARY AND G.o.dFREY.

Everything went very tolerably, so far as concerned the world of talk, in the matter of Letty's misfortunes. Rumors, it is true--and more than one of them strange enough--did for a time go floating about the country; but none of them came to the ears of Tom or of Mary, and Letty was safe from hearing anything; and the engagement between her and Tom soon became generally known.

Mrs. Helmer was very angry, and did all she could to make Tom break it off--it was so much below him! But in nothing could the folly of the woman have been more apparent than in her fancying, with the experience of her life before her, that any opposition of hers could be effectual otherwise than to the confirmation of her son's will. So short-sighted was she as to originate most of the reports to Letty's disadvantage; but Tom's behavior, on the other hand, was strong to put them down; for the man is seldom found so faithful where such reports are facts.

Mrs. Wardour took care to say nothing unkind of Letty. She was of her own family; and, besides, not only was Tom a better match than she could have expected for her, but she was more than satisfied to have G.o.dfrey's dangerous toy thus drawn away beyond his reach. As soon as ever the doctor gave his permission, she went to see her; but, although, dismayed at sight of her suffering face, she did not utter one unkind word, her visit was so plainly injurious in its effects, that it was long before Mary would consent to a repet.i.tion of it.

Letty's recovery was very slow. The spring was close at hand before the bloom began to reappear--and then it was but fitfully--in Letty's cheek. Neither her gayety nor her usual excess of timorousness returned. A certain sad seriousness had taken the place of both, and she seemed to look out from deeper eyes. I can not think that Letty had begun to perceive that there actually is a Nature shaping us to its own ends; but I think she had begun to feel that Mary lived in the conscious presence of such a power. To Tom she behaved very sweetly, but more like a tender sister than a lover, and Mary began to doubt whether her heart was altogether Tom's. From mention of approaching marriage, she turned with a nervous, uneasy haste. Had the insight which the enforced calmness of suffering sometimes brings opened her eyes to anything in Tom? The doubt filled Mary with anxiety. She thought and thought, until--delicate matter as it was to meddle with, and small encouragement as G.o.dfrey Wardour had given her to expect sympathy--she yet made up her mind to speak to him on the subject--and the rather that she was troubled at the unworthiness of his behavior to Letty: gladly would she have him treat her with the generosity essential to the idea she had formed of him.

She went, therefore, one Sunday evening, to Thornwick, and requested to see Mr. Wardour.

It was plainly an unwilling interview he granted her, but she was not thereby deterred from opening her mind to him.

”I fear, Mr. Wardour,” she said, ”--I come altogether without authority--but I fear Letty has been rather hurried in her engagement with Mr. Helmer. I think she dreads being married--at least so soon.”

”You would have her break it off?” said G.o.dfrey, with cold restraint.

”No; certainly not,” replied Mary; ”that would be unjust to Mr. Helmer.

But the thing was so hastened, indeed, hurried, by that unhappy accident, that she had scarcely time to know her own mind.”

”Miss Marston,” answered G.o.dfrey, severely, ”it is her own fault--all and entirely her own fault.”

”But, surely,” said Mary, ”it will not do for us to insist upon desert.

That is not how we are treated ourselves.”

”Is it not?” returned G.o.dfrey, angrily. ”My experience is different. I am sure my faults have come back upon me pretty sharply.--She _must_ marry the fellow, or her character is gone.”

”I am unwilling to grant that, Mr. Wardour. It was wrong in her to have anything to say to Mr. Helmer without your knowledge, and a foolish thing to meet him as she did; but Letty is a good girl, and you know country ways are old-fas.h.i.+oned, and in itself there is nothing wicked in having a talk with a young man after dark.”

”You speak, I dare say, as such things arc regarded in--certain strata of society,” returned G.o.dfrey, coldly; ”but such views do not hold in that to which either of them belongs.”

”It seems to me a pity they should not, then,” said Mary. ”I know nothing of such matters, but, surely, young people should have opportunities of understanding each other. Anyhow, marriage is a heavy penalty to pay for such an indiscretion. A girl might like a young man well enough to enjoy a talk with him now and then, and yet find it hard to marry him.”

”Did you come here to dispute social customs with me, Miss Marston?”

said G.o.dfrey. ”I am not prepared, nor, indeed, sufficiently interested, to discuss them with you.”

”I will come to the point at once,” answered Mary; who, although speaking so collectedly, was much frightened at her own boldness: G.o.dfrey seemed from his knowledge so far above her, and she owed him so much.--”Would it not be possible for Letty to return here? Then the thing might take its natural course, and Tom and she know each other better before they did what was irrevocable. They are little better than children now.”

”The thing is absolutely impossible,” said G.o.dfrey, and haughtily rose from his chair like one in authority ending an interview. ”But,” he added, ”you have been put to great expense for the foolish girl, and, when she leaves you, I desire you will let me know--”

”Thank you, Mr. Wardour!” said Mary, who had risen also. ”As you have now given a turn to the conversation which is not in the least interesting to me, I wish you a good evening.”

With the words, she left the room. He had made her angry at last. She trembled so that, the instant she was out of sight of the house, she had to sit down for dread of falling.

G.o.dfrey remained in the room where she left him, full of indignation.

Ever since that frightful waking, he had brooded over the injury--the insult, he counted it--which Letty had heaped upon him. A great tenderness toward her, to himself unknown, and of his own will unbegotten, remained in his spirit. When he pa.s.sed the door of her room, returning from that terrible ride, he locked it, and put the key in his pocket, and from that day no one entered the chamber. But, had he loved Letty as purely as he had loved her selfishly, he would have listened to Mary pleading in her behalf, and would have thought first about her well-being, not about her character in the eyes of the world.