Part 25 (2/2)

”And I am still,” she interrupted. ”I think it is just too lovely for anything.”

”But have you really got tired of London life?”

”I think it is too stupid for words. Oh! no, I don't mean that exactly.

Pardon me, Sir Charles”--seeing the pained look in his eyes--”I won't complain any more if I can help it, I won't really.”

”I am very anxious that you should enjoy yourself all you possibly can.

Beryl is dreading the time when she will have to go back again.”

”She knows so many people,” Madeline said, reflectively.

”And you have made hosts of acquaintances, have you not?”

”Yes, acquaintances, but they don't mean anything. I never realised before, I think, how many people there are in the world, and how many things there are in the world I can do without.”

”That oughtn't to be a very startling discovery,” he said, with a smile.

”But you don't feel it in a place like St. Gaved,” she said. ”There everybody seems necessary to everybody else.”

”Indeed?” he questioned, dryly.

”Well, I mean that in a little community where each one plays his part, and each one's part is known to all the rest----”

”Yes?” he questioned, seeing she hesitated.

”Oh! I can't explain myself very well, but you must know very well what I mean.”

”No; really you flatter me,” he said, in a tone of banter, ”for in reality your meaning is quite beyond me.”

”Then I must be stupider than I thought,” she answered, with a pout, and relapsed into silence.

Sir Charles was not only perplexed, he was more or less troubled. If he dared he would have been angry, but he knew that anger would defeat the particular end he had in view. Whatever Madeline might or might not be she was not the kind of person to be coerced. She might be led in many directions, but no one could drive her. At the least suggestion of the lash, she would jib and back, and nothing short of physical force would move her a step forward.

Hence Sir Charles had felt from the first that his task was one of extreme difficulty and delicacy. Moreover, every day as it pa.s.sed increased the difficulty. Madeline was swiftly growing out of girlhood into womanhood, and the things that fascinated her as a girl quickly palled upon her as a woman, and Sir Charles was growing desperately afraid lest when she saw Gervase again she might be disillusioned, as she evidently had been in other matters.

He was more troubled also than he liked to confess over her intimacy with Rufus Sterne. He could not forget the romantic circ.u.mstances under which they had met, the signal service he had rendered her, and the long weeks of suffering and idleness that followed as a consequence, and on a romantic and generous nature like Madeline's, these things would make an abiding impression. For that reason he had got her away from St. Gaved as quickly as possible after he had made the discovery that she was in the habit of visiting him, and for the same reason he intended to keep her away until within a few days of his son's return.

Sir Charles had counted so long on annexing the American heiress for his son, that any thought of failure now was too humiliating to be entertained. It was his last hope of rehabilitating Trewinion Hall, and the historic name of Tregony. Gervase's record was of such a character that no English heiress would look at him unless, indeed, he consented to marry the daughter of a tradesman, and even in such case as that his chances would be very doubtful.

The beautiful thing about an American heiress was that n.o.body inquired into her antecedents. So long as she had the requisite number of dollars nothing else mattered. Her father might be a pork-butcher, or a p.a.w.nbroker, or an oilman; that was no barrier to his daughter becoming a countess or even a d.u.c.h.ess.

Poor as Sir Charles was, he would have fainted at the idea of Gervase marrying the daughter of a Redbourne tradesman, however rich or beautiful or accomplished she might be. The very suggestion of ”trade”

was an offence to his aristocratic nostrils. But Madeline came from a country where the only aristocracy was that of cash, hence by virtue of her uncounted millions she was eligible for the highest positions on this side the water. The logic might not be very sound, but it was satisfying. If the Earl of this and the Duke of that had regilded their coronets with American dollars, why might not he refurbish the Tregony coat of arms with the same precious metal? The reasoning appeared to him to be without a flaw.

Moreover, there was the additional argument of necessity. In consequence of the low price of corn along with nearly all other articles of food, agriculture was in a terribly depressed condition. In other words, the farmer could pay only about half the amount in rent that he would be able to do if wheat and barley, and bacon and b.u.t.ter, stood at twice their present prices.

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