Part 29 (1/2)

”Oh, don't, don't!” cried Lucy. In that little bit of time, not more than five minutes as it appeared, the familiar room, which had just heard the romance of her youth, had come to have a dismantled and desolate look. The agent of this destruction, who saw in her mind's eye a new scene, altogether surpa.s.sing the old, looked complacently upon her work, and piled the abstracted articles on the top of each other, with a pleasant sense of property.

”And your little chair and work-table are yours,” said Miss Wodehouse; ”they were always considered yours. You worked the chair yourself, though perhaps Miss Gibbons helped you a little; and the table you know, was sent home the day you were eighteen. It was--a present, you remember. Don't cry, my darling, don't cry; oh, I am sure I did not mean anything!” cried Miss Wodehouse, putting down the St Agnes and flying to her sister, about whom she threw her arms. ”My hands are all dusty, dear,” said the repentant woman; ”but you know, Lucy, we must look it in the face, for it is not our drawing-room now. Tom may come in any day and say--oh, dear, dear, here is some one coming up-stairs!”

Lucy extricated herself from her sister's arms when she heard footsteps outside. ”If it is anybody who has a right to come, I suppose we are able to receive them,” she said, and sat erect over her needlework, with a changed countenance, not condescending so much as to look towards the door.

”But what if it should be Tom? Oh, Lucy dear, don't be uncivil to him,” said the elder sister. Miss Wodehouse even made a furtive attempt to replace the things, in which she was indignantly stopped by Lucy. ”But, my dear, perhaps it is Tom,” said the alarmed woman, and sank trembling into a chair against the St Agnes, which had just been deposited there.

”It does not matter who it is,” said Lucy, with dignity. For her own part, she felt too much aggrieved to mention his name--aggrieved by her own ignorance, by the deception that had been practised upon her, by the character of the man whom she was obliged to call her brother, and chiefly by his existence, which was the princ.i.p.al grievance of all. Lucy's brief life had been embellished, almost ever since she had been capable of independent action, by deeds and thoughts of mercy.

With her whole heart she was a disciple of Him who came to seek the lost; notwithstanding, a natural human sentiment in her heart protested against the existence of this man, who had brought shame and distress into the family without any act of theirs, and who injured everybody he came in contact with. When the thought of Rosa Elsworthy occurred to her, a burning blush came upon Lucy's cheek--why were such men permitted in G.o.d's world? To be sure, when she came to be aware of what she was thinking, Lucy felt guilty, and called herself a Pharisee, and said a prayer in her heart for the man who had upset all her cherished ideas of her family and home; but, after all, _that_ was an after-thought, and did not alter her instinctive sense of repulsion and indignation. All this swept rapidly through her mind while she sat awaiting the entrance of the person or persons who were approaching the door. ”If it is the--owner of the house, it will be best to tell him what things you mean to remove,” said Lucy; and before Miss Wodehouse could answer, the door was opened. They started, however, to perceive not Wodehouse, but a personage of very different appearance, who came in with an easy air of polite apology, and looked at them with eyes which recalled to Lucy the eyes which had been gazing into her own scarcely an hour ago. ”Pardon me,” said this unlooked-for visitor; ”your brother, Miss Wodehouse, finds some difficulty in explaining himself to relations from whom he has been separated so long. Not to interfere with family privacy, will you let me a.s.sist at the conference?” said Jack Wentworth. ”My brother, I understand, is a friend of yours, and your brother--is a--hem--friend of mine,” the diplomatist added, scarcely able to avoid making a wry face over the statement. Wodehouse came in behind, looking an inch or two taller for that acknowledgment, and sat down, confronting his sisters, who were standing on the defensive. The heir, too, had a strong sense of property, as was natural, and the disarrangement of the room struck him in that point of view, especially as Miss Wodehouse continued to prop herself up against the St Agnes in the back of her chair.

Wodehouse looked from the wall to the table, and saw what appeared to him a clear case of intended spoliation. ”By Jove! they didn't mean to go empty-handed,” said the vagabond, who naturally judged according to his own standard, and knew no better. Upon which Lucy, rising with youthful state and dignity, took the explanation upon herself.

”I do not see why we should have the mortification of a spectator,”

said Lucy, who already, having been engaged three-quarters of an hour, felt deeply disinclined to reveal the weak points of her own family to the inspection of the Wentworths. ”All that there is to explain can be done very simply. Thank you, I will not sit down. Up to this time we may be allowed to imagine ourselves in our own--in our father's house.

What we have to say is simple enough.”

”But pardon me, my dear Miss Wodehouse--” said Jack Wentworth.

”My sister is Miss Wodehouse,” said Lucy. ”What there is to settle had better be arranged with our--our brother. If he will tell us precisely when he wishes us to go away, we shall be ready. Mary is going to be married,” she went on, turning round so as to face Wodehouse, and addressing him pointedly, though she did not look at him--to the exclusion of Jack, who, experienced man as he was, felt disconcerted, and addressed himself with more precaution to a task which was less easy than he supposed.

”Oh, Lucy!” cried Miss Wodehouse, with a blush worthy of eighteen. It was perhaps the first time that the fact had been so broadly stated, and the sudden announcement made before two men overwhelmed the timid woman. Then she was older than Lucy, and had picked up in the course of her career one or two inevitable sc.r.a.ps of experience, and she could not but wonder with a momentary qualm what Mr Proctor might think of his brother-in-law. Lucy, who thought Mr Proctor only too well off, went on without regarding her sister's exclamation.

”I do not know when the marriage is to be--I don't suppose they have fixed it yet,” said Lucy; ”but it appears to me that it would save us all some trouble if we were allowed to remain until that time. I do not mean to ask any favour,” she said, with a little more sharpness and less dignity. ”We could pay rent for that matter, if--if it were desired. She is your sister,” said Lucy, suddenly looking Wodehouse in the face, ”as well as mine. I daresay she has done as much for you as she has for me. I don't ask any favour for her--but I would cut off my little finger if that would please her,” cried the excited young woman, with a wildness of ill.u.s.tration so totally out of keeping with the matter referred to, that Miss Wodehouse, in the midst of her emotion, could scarcely restrain a scream of terror; ”and you too might be willing to do something; you cannot have any kind of feeling for me,” Lucy continued, recovering herself; ”but you might perhaps have some feeling for Mary. If we can be permitted to remain until her marriage takes place, it may perhaps bring about--a feeling--more like--relations; and I shall be able to--”

”Forgive you,” Lucy was about to say, but fortunately stopped herself in time; for it was the fact of his existence that she had to forgive, and naturally such an amount of toleration was difficult to explain.

As for Wodehouse himself, he listened to this appeal with very mingled feelings. Some natural admiration and liking woke in his dull mind as Lucy spoke. He was not dest.i.tute of good impulses, nor of the ordinary human affections. His little sister was pretty, and a lady, and clever enough to put Jack Wentworth much more in the background than usual.

He said, ”By Jove” to himself three or four times over in his beard, and showed a little emotion when she said he could have no feeling for her. At that point of Lucy's address he moved about uneasily in his chair, and plucked at his beard, and felt himself anything but comfortable. ”By Jove! I never had a chance,” the prodigal said, in his undertone. ”I might have cared a deal for her if I had had a chance. She might have done a fellow good, by Jove!” mutterings of which Lucy took no manner of notice, but proceeded with her speech.

When she had ended, and it became apparent that an answer was expected of him, Wodehouse flushed all over with the embarra.s.sment of the position. He cleared his throat, he s.h.i.+fted his eyes, which were embarra.s.sed by Lucy's gaze, he pushed his chair from the table, and made various attempts to collect himself, but at last ended by a pitiful appeal to Jack Wentworth, who had been looking seriously on.

”You might come to a fellow's a.s.sistance!” cried Wodehouse. ”By Jove!

it was for that you came here.”

”The Miss Wodehouses evidently prefer to communicate with their brother direct,” said Jack Wentworth, ”which is a very natural sentiment. If I interfere, it is simply because I have had the advantage of talking the matter over, and understanding a little of what you mean. Miss Wodehouse, your brother is not disposed to act the part of a domestic tyrant. He has come here to offer you the house, which must have so many tender a.s.sociations for you, not for a short period, as you wish, but for--”

”I didn't know she was going to be married!” exclaimed Wodehouse--”that makes all the difference, by Jove! Lucy will marry fast enough; but as for Mary, I never thought she would hook any one at her time of life,”

said the vagabond, with a rude laugh. He turned to Lucy, not knowing any better, and with some intention of pleasing her; but being met by a look of indignation under which he faltered, he went back to his natural role of sulky insolence. ”By Jove! when I gave in to make such an offer, I never thought she had a chance of getting married,” said the heir. ”I aint going to give what belongs to me to another man--”

”Your brother wishes,” said Jack Wentworth, calmly, ”to make over the house and furniture as it stands to you and your sister, Miss Wodehouse.

Of course it is not to be expected that he should be sorry to get his father's property; but he is sorry that there should be no--no provision for you. He means that you should have the house--”

”But I never thought she was going to be married, by Jove!” protested the rightful owner. ”Look here, Molly; you shall have the furniture.

The house would sell for a good bit of money. I tell you, Wentworth--”

Jack Wentworth did not move from the mantlepiece where he was standing, but he cast a glance upon his unlucky follower which froze the words on his lips. ”My good fellow, you are quite at liberty to decline my mediation in your affairs. Probably you can manage them better your own way,” said Wodehouse's hero. ”I can only beg the Miss Wodehouses to pardon my intrusion.” Jack Wentworth's first step towards the door let loose a flood of nameless terrors upon the soul of his victim. If he were abandoned by his powerful protector, what would become of him? His very desire of money, and the avarice which prompted him to grudge making any provision for his sisters, was, after all, not real avarice, but the spendthrift's longing for more to spend. The house which he was sentenced to give up represented not so much gold and silver, but so many pleasures, fine dinners, and bad company. He could order the dinners by himself, it is true, and get men like himself to eat them; but the fine people--the men who had once been fine, and who still retained a certain tarnished glory--were, so far as Wodehouse was concerned, entirely in Jack Wentworth's keeping. He made a piteous appeal to his patron as the great man turned to go away.

”I don't see what good it can do _you_ to rob a poor fellow!” cried Wodehouse. ”But look here, I aint going to turn against your advice.

I'll give it them, by Jove, for life--that is, for Mary's life,” said the munificent brother. ”She's twenty years older than Lucy--”