Part 6 (1/2)

”It is getting very late,” May said. ”Don't you think we had better be going?”

Haredale looked at Copley as if waiting for a lesson.

”It is not so very late,” he remarked.

”Well, it seems so to me,” May said. ”Besides I am very tired. I am sure Mr. Copley will excuse me.”

Copley murmured something more or less appropriate. He was not used to taking the trouble to disguise his humiliation.

”If you must go, you must,” he said. ”I'll come round after breakfast and see you to-morrow morning, Sir George. I have something important to say to you. Perhaps you will be there, too, Mr. Fielden. I fancy I can put something in your way. I want some one to take a general superintendence of my stables. Sir George tells me you are thoroughly up to the work, and that I can place every confidence in you. You seem to be the sort of man I am looking for, and, though I am interested in racing, I have very little time to spare to look into the details.”

It was hard work to return thanks for this ungracious speech, but Fielden managed it somehow. He was feeling strangely elated, and hoped that nothing of his emotions found expression on his face. He was glad enough to find himself at length seated in the brougham with his friends on the way back to Haredale Park. It was a singularly silent ride, for May never spoke a word the whole time and Sir George was ill at ease.

When they reached home May turned to Fielden.

”I hope you will excuse me a moment or two, Harry,” she said. ”I have something to say to my father. It won't take many minutes. Perhaps you will wait for us in the library. I think you will find everything you want there.”

Sir George stood nervously in the hall shuffling from one foot to another. It seemed to take him a long time to get out of his overcoat.

He turned to May testily.

”Surely, there is nothing you have to say to me to-night,” he said. ”It will keep till to-morrow.”

Without reply May turned towards the drawing-room and Sir George followed. He closed the door carefully behind him. She crossed to the fireplace and stood facing her father. Her face was firm, though her lips trembled slightly, and the task before her was by no means a pleasant one.

”I hardly know how to begin,” she said. ”It is so difficult for me in my unfortunate position. I have never ceased to regret the death of my mother, but I cannot remember feeling the want of her so much as I do now. I suppose you can guess what happened to-night. You know what Mr.

Copley said to me.”

Sir George shook his head. His attempt to appear unconcerned was so grotesque a failure that, in spite of her unhappiness, May could not repress a smile.

”You are very transparent,” she cried. ”You make a bad conspirator, father. You know perfectly well what happened to-night. You know why we were asked to dine with Mr. Copley. He has done me the honour to ask me to be his wife. Now don't pretend to be surprised, because Mr. Copley had your full sanction; in fact, he told me he had discussed the matter with you more than once.”

”And you accepted him?” Sir George asked eagerly.

”We will come to that presently. Now let me ask you a question. Suppose that your position was as good as it was twenty years ago, that there were no mortgages on the estate. In that case, what would you have said to Mr. Copley if he had expressed a wish to become your son-in-law? You wouldn't have turned him out of the house, because we don't do things like that. But your reply would have been no less unmistakable. You would have made Mr. Copley feel the absurdity of his ambition. He would never have been asked to come here again. Now isn't that so?”

Sir George shuffled about uneasily.

”Other times, other methods,” he answered. ”You see the condition of things is quite altered. Really, some of our best women marry rich men who have nothing particular to boast of in the way of pedigree. I can call a dozen cases to mind.”

”Yes,” May retorted. ”And I can call a dozen cases to mind where you have expressed the strongest indignation with parents who have encouraged marriages of that sort. You have stigmatized the thing as a sale. Why, you refused to shake hands with Lord Middlebourne when he told you that his daughter was going to marry young Blackley. Yet, in the face of all this, you entered into a conspiracy with Mr. Copley, a conspiracy which you must know would be fatal to my happiness.”

”You, you didn't refuse him?” Sir George gasped.

”Refuse him! Of course I did. I hope I did not say too much. But I let him know that the thing was impossible. I told him that in no circ.u.mstances could I become his wife. I have felt that this was coming for some time, and I blame myself for permitting things to go so far.

Mr. Copley took it very badly. He lost his temper. He threatened me. He even went so far as to say that, unless I thought better of my reply, he would turn us out of Haredale Park.”

Sir George turned a white and anxious face towards his daughter.