Part 56 (2/2)
”To be--to be kind to Clara. Don't say cruel things to her. She has a high spirit, and she feels them, though she says nothing.”
”Doesn't she?” said Barnes, grimly.
”Ah, Barnes, be gentle with her. Seldom as I saw you together, when I lived with you in the spring, I could see that you were harsh, though she affected to laugh when she spoke of your conduct to her. Be kind.
I am sure it is the best, Barnes; better than all the wit in the world.
Look at grandmamma, how witty she was and is; what a reputation she had, how people were afraid of her; and see her now--quite alone.”
”I'll see her in the morning quite alone, my dear,” says Barnes, waving a little gloved hand. ”Bye-bye!” and his brougham drove away. While Ethel Newcome had been under her brother's roof, where I and friend Clive, and scores of others, had been smartly entertained, there had been quarrels and recriminations, misery and heart-burning, cruel words and shameful struggles, the wretched combatants in which appeared before the world with smiling faces, resuming their battle when the feast was concluded and the company gone.
On the next morning, when Barnes came to visit his grandmother, Miss Newcome was gone away to see her sister-in-law, Lady Kew said, with whom she was going to pa.s.s the morning; so Barnes and Lady Kew had an uninterrupted tete-a-tete, in which the former acquainted the old lady with the proposal which Colonel Newcome had made to him on the previous night.
Lady Kew wondered what the impudence of the world's would come to. An artist propose for Ethel! One of her footmen might propose next, and she supposed Barnes would bring the message. ”The father came and proposed for this young painter, and you didn't order him out of the room!”
Barnes laughed. ”The Colonel is one of my const.i.tuents. I can't afford to order the Bundelcund Banking Company out of its own room.”
”You did not tell Ethel this pretty news, I suppose?”
”Of course I didn't tell Ethel. Nor did I tell the Colonel that Ethel was in London. He fancies her in Scotland with your ladys.h.i.+p at this moment.”
”I wish the Colonel were at Calcutta, and his son with him. I wish he was in the Ganges, I wish he was under Juggernaut's car,” cried the old lady. ”How much money has the wretch really got? If he is of importance to the bank, of course you must keep well with him. Five thousand a year, and he says he will settle it all on his son? He must be crazy.
There is nothing some of these people will not do, no sacrifice they will not make, to ally themselves with good families. Certainly you must remain on good terms with him and his bank. And we must say nothing of the business to Ethel, and trot out of town as quickly as we can. Let me see? We go to Drummington on Sat.u.r.day. This is Tuesday. Barkins, you will keep the front drawing-room shutters shut, and remember we are not in town, unless Lady Glenlivat or Lord Farintosh should call.”
”Do you think Farintosh will--will call, ma'am?” asked Sir Barnes demurely.
”He will be going through to Newmarket. He has been where we have been at two or three places in Scotland,” replies the lady, with equal gravity. ”His poor mother wishes him to give up his bachelor's life--as well she may--for you young men are terribly dissipated. Rossmont is quite a regal place. His Norfolk house is not inferior. A young man of that station ought to marry, and live at his places, and be an example to his people, instead of frittering away his time at Paris and Vienna amongst the most odious company.”
”Is he going to Drummington?” asks the grandson.
”I believe he has been invited. We shall go to Paris for November: he probably will be there,” answered the Dowager casually; ”and tired of the dissipated life he has been leading, let us hope he will mend his ways, and find a virtuous, well-bred young woman to keep him right.”
With this her ladys.h.i.+p's apothecary is announced, and her banker and grandson takes his leave.
Sir Barnes walked into the City with his umbrella, read his letters, conferred with his partners and confidential clerks; was for a while not the exasperated husband, or the affectionate brother, or the amiable grandson, but the shrewd, brisk banker, engaged entirely with his business. Presently he had occasion to go on 'Change, or elsewhere, to confer with brother-capitalists, and in Cornhill behold he meets his uncle, Colonel Newcome, riding towards the India House, a groom behind him.
The Colonel springs off his horse, and Barnes greets him in the blandest manner. ”Have you any news for me, Barnes?” cries the officer.
”The accounts from Calcutta are remarkably good. That cotton is of admirable quality really. Mr. Briggs, of our house, who knows cotton as well as any man in England, says----”
”It's not the cotton, my dear Sir Barnes,” cries the other.
”The bills are perfectly good; there is no sort of difficulty about them. Our house will take half a million of 'em, if----”
”You are talking of bills, and I am thinking of poor Clive,” the Colonel interposes. ”I wish you could give me good news for him, Barnes.”
”I wish I could. I heartily trust that I may some day. My good wishes you know are enlisted in your son's behalf,” cries Barnes, gallantly.
”Droll place to talk sentiment in--Cornhill, isn't it? But Ethel, as I told you, is in the hands of higher powers, and we must conciliate Lady Kew if we can. She has always spoken very highly of Clive; very.”
”Had I not best go to her?” asks the Colonel.
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