Part 72 (2/2)
I began to think I did look pretty in my fine new clothes, and I saw that other people thought so too. I was certainly the belle of the house, and it was very pleasant to feel my power. The last day or two of that gay week Mr. Preston joined our party. The last time he had seen me was when I was dressed in shabby clothes too small for me, half-crying in my solitude, neglected and penniless. At the Donaldsons' I was a little queen; and as I said, fine feathers make fine birds, and all the people were making much of me; and at that Ball, which was the first night he came, I had more partners than I knew what to do with. I suppose he really did fall in love with me then. I don't think he had done so before. And then I began to feel how awkward it was to be in his debt. I couldn't give myself airs to him as I did to others. Oh! it was so awkward and uncomfortable! But I liked him, and felt him as a friend all the time. The last day I was walking in the garden along with the others, and I thought I would tell him how much I had enjoyed myself, and how happy I had been, all thanks to his twenty pounds (I was beginning to feel like Cinderella when the clock was striking twelve), and to tell him it should be repaid to him as soon as possible, though I turned sick at the thought of telling mamma, and knew enough of our affairs to understand how very difficult it would be to muster up the money. The end of our talk came very soon; for, almost to my terror, he began to talk violent love to me, and to beg me to promise to marry him. I was so frightened, that I ran away to the others. But that night I got a letter from him, apologizing for startling me, renewing his offer, his entreaties for a promise of marriage, to be fulfilled at any date I would please to name--in fact, a most urgent love-letter, and in it a reference to my unlucky debt, which was to be a debt no longer, only an advance of the money to be hereafter mine if only-- You can fancy it all, Molly, better than I can remember it to tell it you.”
”And what did you say?” asked Molly, breathless.
”I did not answer it at all until another letter came, entreating for a reply. By that time mamma had come home, and the old daily pressure and plaint of poverty had come on. Mary Donaldson wrote to me often, singing the praises of Mr. Preston as enthusiastically as if she had been bribed to do it. I had seen him a very popular man in their set, and I liked him well enough, and felt grateful to him. So I wrote and gave him my promise to marry him when I was twenty, but it was to be a secret till then. And I tried to forget I had ever borrowed money of him, but somehow as soon as I felt pledged to him I began to hate him. I couldn't endure his eagerness of greeting if ever he found me alone; and mamma began to suspect, I think. I cannot tell you all the ins and outs; in fact, I didn't understand them at the time, and I don't remember clearly how it all happened now. But I know that Lady Cuxhaven sent mamma some money to be applied to my education, as she called it; and mamma seemed very much put out and in very low spirits, and she and I didn't get on at all together. So, of course, I never ventured to name the hateful twenty pounds to her, but went on trying to think that if I was to marry Mr. Preston, it need never be paid--very mean and wicked, I daresay; but oh, Molly, I've been punished for it, for how I abhor that man.”
”But why? When did you begin to dislike him? You seem to have taken it very pa.s.sively all this time.”
”I don't know. It was growing upon me before I went to that school at Boulogne. He made me feel as if I was in his power; and by too often reminding me of my engagement to him, he made me critical of his words and ways. There was an insolence in his manner to mamma, too. Ah! you're thinking that I'm not too respectful a daughter--and perhaps not; but I couldn't bear his covert sneers at her faults, and I hated his way of showing what he called his 'love' for me. Then, after I had been a _semestre_ at Mdme. Lefevre's, a new English girl came--a cousin of his, who knew but little of me. Now, Molly, you must forget as soon as I've told you what I'm going to say; and she used to talk so much and perpetually about her cousin Robert--he was the great man of the family, evidently--and how he was so handsome, and every lady of the land in love with him,--a lady of t.i.tle into the bargain.”
”Lady Harriet! I daresay,” said Molly, indignantly.
”I don't know,” said Cynthia, wearily. ”I didn't care at the time, and I don't care now; for she went on to say there was a very pretty widow too, who made desperate love to him. He had often laughed with them at all her little advances, which she thought he didn't see through. And, oh! and this was the man I had promised to marry, and gone into debt to, and written love-letters to! So now you understand it all, Molly.”
”No, I don't yet. What did you do on hearing how he had spoken about your mother?”
”There was but one thing to do. I wrote and told him I hated him, and would never, never marry him, and would pay him back his money and the interest on it as soon as ever I could.”
”Well?”
”And Mdme. Lefevre brought me back my letter,--unopened, I will say; and told me that she didn't allow letters to gentlemen to be sent by the pupils of her establishment unless she had previously seen their contents. I told her he was a family friend, the agent who managed mamma's affairs--I really could not stick at the truth; but she wouldn't let it go; and I had to see her burn it, and to give her my promise I wouldn't write again before she would consent not to tell mamma. So I had to calm down and wait till I came home.”
”But you didn't see him then; at least, not for some time?”
”No, but I could write; and I began to try and save up my money to pay him.”
”What did he say to your letter?”
”Oh, at first he pretended not to believe I could be in earnest; he thought it was only pique, or a temporary offence to be apologized for and covered over with pa.s.sionate protestations.”
”And afterwards?”
”He condescended to threats; and, what is worse, then I turned coward. I couldn't bear to have it all known and talked about, and my silly letters shown--oh, such letters! I cannot bear to think of them, beginning, 'My dearest Robert,' to that man--”
”But, oh, Cynthia, how could you go and engage yourself to Roger?”
asked Molly.
”Why not?” said Cynthia, sharply turning round upon her. ”I was free--I am free; it seemed a way of a.s.suring myself that I was quite free; and I did like Roger--it was such a comfort to be brought into contact with people who could be relied upon; and I was not a stock or a stone that I could fail to be touched with his tender, unselfish love, so different to Mr. Preston's. I know you don't think me good enough for him; and, of course, if all this comes out, he won't think me good enough either” (falling into a plaintive tone very touching to hear); ”and sometimes I think I'll give him up, and go off to some fresh life amongst strangers; and once or twice I've thought I would marry Mr. Preston out of pure revenge, and have him for ever in my power--only I think I should have the worst of it; for he is cruel in his very soul--tigerish, with his beautiful striped skin and relentless heart. I have so begged and begged him to let me go without exposure.”
”Never mind the exposure,” said Molly. ”It will recoil far more on him than harm you.”
Cynthia went a little paler. ”But I said things in those letters about mamma. I was quick-eyed enough to all her faults, and hardly understood the force of her temptations; and he says he will show those letters to your father, unless I consent to acknowledge our engagement.”
”He shall not!” said Molly, rising up in her indignation, and standing before Cynthia almost as resolutely fierce as if she were in the very presence of Mr. Preston himself. ”I am not afraid of him.
He dare not insult me, or if he does I don't care. I will ask him for those letters, and see if he will dare to refuse me.”
”You don't know him,” said Cynthia, shaking her head. ”He has made many an appointment with me, just as if he would take back the money--which has been sealed up ready for him this four months; or as if he would give me back my letters. Poor, poor Roger! How little he thinks of all this! When I want to write words of love to him I pull myself up, for I have written words as affectionate to that other man. And if Mr. Preston ever guessed that Roger and I were engaged, he would manage to be revenged on both him and me, by giving us as much pain as he could with those unlucky letters--written when I was not sixteen, Molly,--only seven of them! They are like a mine under my feet, which may blow up any day; and down will come father and mother and all.” She ended bitterly enough, though her words were so light.
”How can I get them?” said Molly, thinking: ”for get them I will.
With papa to back me, he dare not refuse.”
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