Part 79 (1/2)

”Oh, about Mary,” said the squire, almost relieved.

And then Frank, in voluble language, which he hardly, however, had quite under his command, told his father all that had pa.s.sed between him and Mary. ”You see, sir,” said he, ”that it is fixed now, and cannot be altered. Nor must it be altered. You asked me to go away for twelve months, and I have done so. It has made no difference, you see. As to our means of living, I am quite willing to do anything that may be best and most prudent. I was thinking, sir, of taking a farm somewhere near here, and living on that.”

The squire sat quite silent for some moments after this communication had been made to him. Frank's conduct, as a son, had been such that he could not find fault with it; and, in this special matter of his love, how was it possible for him to find fault? He himself was almost as fond of Mary as of a daughter; and, though he too would have been desirous that his son should relieve the estate from its embarra.s.sments by a rich marriage, he did not at all share Lady Arabella's feelings on the subject. No Countess de Courcy had ever engraved it on the tablets of his mind that the world would come to ruin if Frank did not marry money. Ruin there was, and would be, but it had been brought about by no sin of Frank's.

”Do you remember about her birth, Frank?” he said, at last.

”Yes, sir; everything. She told me all she knew; and Dr Thorne finished the story.”

”And what do you think of it?”

”It is a pity, and a misfortune. It might, perhaps, have been a reason why you or my mother should not have had Mary in the house many years ago; but it cannot make any difference now.”

Frank had not meant to lean so heavily on his father; but he did do so. The story had never been told to Lady Arabella; was not even known to her now, positively, and on good authority. But Mr Gresham had always known it. If Mary's birth was so great a stain upon her, why had he brought her into his house among his children?

”It is a misfortune, Frank; a very great misfortune. It will not do for you and me to ignore birth; too much of the value of one's position depends upon it.”

”But what was Mr Moffat's birth?” said Frank, almost with scorn; ”or what Miss Dunstable's?” he would have added, had it not been that his father had not been concerned in that sin of wedding him to the oil of Lebanon.

”True, Frank. But yet, what you would mean to say is not true. We must take the world as we find it. Were you to marry a rich heiress, were her birth even as low as that of poor Mary--”

”Don't call her poor Mary, father; she is not poor. My wife will have a right to take rank in the world, however she was born.”

”Well,--poor in that way. But were she an heiress, the world would forgive her birth on account of her wealth.”

”The world is very complaisant, sir.”

”You must take it as you find it, Frank. I only say that such is the fact. If Porlock were to marry the daughter of a s...o...b..ack, without a farthing, he would make a _mesalliance_; but if the daughter of the s...o...b..ack had half a million of money, n.o.body would dream of saying so. I am stating no opinion of my own: I am only giving you the world's opinion.”

”I don't give a straw for the world.”

”That is a mistake, my boy; you do care for it, and would be very foolish if you did not. What you mean is, that, on this particular point, you value your love more than the world's opinion.”

”Well, yes, that is what I mean.”

But the squire, though he had been very lucid in his definition, had not got no nearer to his object; had not even yet ascertained what his own object was. This marriage would be ruinous to Greshamsbury; and yet, what was he to say against it, seeing that the ruin had been his fault, and not his son's?

”You could let me have a farm; could you not, sir? I was thinking of about six or seven hundred acres. I suppose it could be managed somehow?”

”A farm?” said the father, abstractedly.

”Yes, sir. I must do something for my living. I should make less of a mess of that than of anything else. Besides, it would take such a time to be an attorney, or a doctor, or anything of that sort.”

Do something for his living! And was the heir of Greshamsbury come to this--the heir and only son? Whereas, he, the squire, had succeeded at an earlier age than Frank's to an unembarra.s.sed income of fourteen thousand pounds a year! The reflection was very hard to bear.

”Yes: I dare say you could have a farm:” and then he threw himself back in his chair, closing his eyes. Then, after a while, rose again, and walked hurriedly about the room. ”Frank,” he said, at last, standing opposite to his son, ”I wonder what you think of me?”

”Think of you, sir?” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Frank.

”Yes; what do you think of me, for having thus ruined you. I wonder whether you hate me?”