Part 25 (1/2)
”No, child, you have not done wrong; nevertheless, you have done something that the world would not approve of. Now, I want you to come away to my house. I live in another part of London; in my house you can see my brother if you wish, but why do you not confide in me? I should like to be your friend.”
I looked straight up at her. After all, she was nearer to my own age.
Could I not tell her? I said impulsively:
”I will go away to your house with you and I will tell you there, and you can advise me what I ought really to do.”
”Yes, I am sure that will be much the wisest plan. And now let us talk of other matters.”
She began to chat in a light, winsome voice. After a time she begged of me to excuse her and went downstairs. She came back again in a few minutes.
”I have told my brother that you would tell me what you intended to say to him, and he is quite pleased with the idea,” she said, ”and my carriage is now at the door, so shall we go?”
”Yes,” I answered.
We went downstairs together. We entered a very luxurious carriage, which was drawn by a pair of spirited bay horses. In a few minutes we found ourselves in another part of fas.h.i.+onable London. I cannot even to this day recall the name of the street. The house was not at all unlike Lord Hawtrey's house; it was furnished with the same severity, and the same excellent taste. Lady Mary took me into a little boudoir, which was dest.i.tute of knick-knacks and bric-a-brac. But it had many flowers, and, what I greatly enjoyed, a comfortable sense of s.p.a.ce. My hostess drew a cus.h.i.+oned chair forward and desired me to sit in it; I did so. Then she seated herself and took one of my hands.
”Your story, Miss Heather Dalrymple?” she said.
”I will tell you,” I answered. ”Perhaps you will be dreadfully angry, but I cannot help it, you must know. I am eighteen and Lord Hawtrey is forty. I think Lord Hawtrey one of the best men in all the world; he is so kind and he has such a beautiful way with him. Last night he dined at our house and afterwards he came to see me quite by myself, and he spoke as no other man ever spoke to me before, only you must understand, please, and not be angry, that I could not do what he wanted. He wanted a very young girl like me, a girl who knows nothing at all of life, to--to marry him. Do you think that was fair or right, Lady Mary Percy?”
Lady Mary's brown eyes seemed to dance in her head. It was with an effort she suppressed something which might have been a smile or might have been a frown. After a minute's silence she said gently:
”It altogether depends on the girl to whom such a speech is addressed.”
”I know that,” I answered, ”but this girl, the girl who is now talking to you ... I cannot even try to explain to you what a simple life I have lived--just the very quietest, and with a dear, dear old lady, who is poor, and doesn't know anything about the luxuries of the rich people of London. She has brought me up, during all the years I have been with her, to think nothing whatsoever of riches; she has got that idea so firmly into my mind that I don't think it can be uprooted. So whatever happens, I am not likely to care for Lord Hawtrey because he is rich, nor to care for him because he is a n.o.bleman or has high rank, or anything of that sort. I said to him last night: 'You don't want to force me to be your wife,' and he answered, 'You must come to me of your own free will.' Well, it is just this, Lady Mary. I can never come to him of my own free will, never, never!”
”He told me, child,” said Lady Mary, in a quiet, low, very level sort of voice, ”that he had spoken to you. I was a good deal astonished; I thought the advantages were on your side. You must forgive me; you have spoken frankly to me, it is my turn to speak frankly to you--I thought the disadvantages were on his side. A very young, innocent, ignorant girl, I did not think a suitable wife for my brother, but he a.s.sured me that he loved you, he a.s.sured me also that there was something about you which wins hearts. That being the case, I--well, I said no more. Now you speak to me as though I earnestly desired this marriage. I do not earnestly desire it--I don't wish for it at all.”
”Then you will prevent it? How splendid of you!” I said, and I bent forward as though I would kiss her hand.
She moved slightly away from me. She was in touch with me, but not altogether in touch at that moment.
”I will tell you what has really happened,” I said. ”I must. I admire your brother beyond words, I know how tremendously he has honoured me, and I think somehow, if things were different, that I might feel tempted to--just to do what he wants. But things are so circ.u.mstanced that I cannot possibly do what Lord Hawtrey wishes, for I love another man. He is quite young, he--he and I love each other tremendously. He asked me this morning to be his wife and I accepted him. I was in the Park when I met him, and he asked me there and then. We walked home together, my maid was with us, so I suppose it was all right. This is a very queer world, where there seems no freedom for any young girl. I brought Vernon Carbury----”
”Whom did you say?”
”Captain Carbury, I mean. I brought him into the room with my father and mother--or my stepmother--and--he told them what he wanted. They sent me away--I was rather frightened when they did that--and when they had him all alone they spoke to him and they told him that he was to go out of my life, because, Lady Mary, your brother, Lord Hawtrey, was to come in. They said that they wanted me to marry your brother, and I won't--I can't--and I much want you to help me in this matter.”
”Upon my word!” said Lady Mary. She rose abruptly and began to pace the room. ”You are the queerest girl I ever met! There must be some queer sort of witchery about you. On a certain night you are proposed to by my brother Hawtrey, the head of our house, one of the richest men in England, and certainly one of the most n.o.bly born. You snub him, just as though he were a n.o.body. On the following morning you receive a proposal from Vernon Carbury, he who was engaged to Lady Dorothy Vinguard.”
”Yes, but all that is at an end,” I said.
”I know, I know. Dorothy is not a perfectly silly girl like you, and she is marrying a man older and richer and greater than Carbury. And so you have fallen in love with him? Yes, I know; those blue eyes of his would be certain to make havoc in more than one girl's heart. It is a pretty tale, upon my word it is, and out of the common. Now you have confided things to me, I don't think Hawtrey will trouble you any more; perhaps I can see to that. Would you like to go back home--and before you go, is there anything I can do for you?”
”No, oh, no,” I said, ”you have made me quite happy!”
”I am glad of that. You are a very strange girl; I suppose you will marry Captain Carbury some day. You are, of course, quite unaware of the fact that Hawtrey must have loved you beyond the ordinary when he made up his mind to take as a wife the daughter of Major Grayson?”
I sprang to my feet.