Part 69 (1/2)

”You don't mean to say she ought to waltz, or dance stage dances?”

”Let all that go for the present. She won't want to dance much for a time now, and when she has a baby in her arms she will be more apt to look at things with your eyes. If I were you I should accept the Dean's offer.”

There was a certain amount of comfort in this, but there was more pain.

His wife had defied him, and it was necessary to his dignity that she should be brought to submission before she was received into his full grace. And the Dean had encouraged her in those acts of defiance. They had, of course, come from him. She had been more her father's daughter than her husband's wife, and his pride could not endure that it should be so. Everything had gone against him. Hitherto he had been able to desire her to leave her father and to join him in his own home. Now he had no home to which to take her. He had endeavoured to do his duty,--always excepting that disagreeable episode with Mrs.

Houghton,--and this was the fruit of it. He had tried to serve his brother, because his brother was Marquis of Brotherton, and his brother had used him like an enemy. His mother treated him, with steady injustice. And now his sister told him that he was to yield to the Dean! He could not bring himself to yield to the Dean. At last he answered the Dean's letter as follows;--

”MY DEAR DEAN,--

”Your offer is very kind, but I do not think that I can accept it just at present. No doubt I am very much troubled by my brother's conduct. I have endeavoured to do my duty by him, and have met with but a poor return. What arrangements I shall ultimately make as to a home for myself and Mary, I cannot yet say. When anything is settled I shall, of course, let her know at once. It will always be, at any rate, one of my chief objects to make her comfortable, but I think that this should be done under my roof and not under yours. I hope to be able to see her in a day or two, when perhaps I shall have been able to settle upon something.

”Yours always affectionately,

”G. GERMAIN.”

Then, upon reading this over and feeling that it was cold and almost heartless, he added a postscript. ”I do feel your offer to be very generous, but I think you will understand the reasons which make it impossible that I should accept it.” The Dean as he read this declared to himself that he knew the reasons very well. The reasons were not far to search. The man was pigheaded, foolish, and obstinately proud. So the Dean thought. As far as he himself was concerned Lord George's presence in the house would not be a comfort to him. Lord George had never been a pleasant companion to him. But he would have put up with worse than Lord George for the sake of his daughter.

On the very next day Lord George rode into Brotherton and went direct to the deanery. Having left his horse at the inn he met the Dean in the Close, coming out of a side door of the Cathedral close to the deanery gate. ”I thought I would come in to see Mary,” he said.

”Mary will be delighted.”

”I did not believe that I should be able to come so soon when I wrote yesterday.”

”I hope you are going to tell her that you have thought better of my little plan.”

”Well;--no; I don't think I can do that. I think she must come to me first, sir.”

”But where!”

”I have not yet quite made up my mind. Of course there is a difficulty.

My brother's conduct has been so very strange.”

”Your brother is a madman, George.”

”It is very easy to say so, but that does not make it any better.

Though he be ever so mad the house is his own. If he chooses to turn me out of it he can. I have told Mr. Knox that I would leave it within a month,--for my mother's sake; but that as I had gone there at his express instance, I could not move sooner. I think I was justified in that.”

”I don't see why you should go at all.”

”He would let the place.”

”Or, if you do go, why you should not come here. But, of course, you know your own business best. How d'ye do, Mr. Groschut? I hope the Bishop is better this morning.”

At this moment, just as they were entering the deanery gate, the Bishop's chaplain had appeared. He had been very studious in spreading a report, which he had no doubt believed to be true, that all the Germain family, including Lord George, had altogether repudiated the Dean, whose daughter, according to his story, was left upon her father's hands because she would not be received at Manor Cross. For Mr. Groschut had also heard of Jack De Baron, and had been cut to the soul by the wickedness of the Kappa-kappa. The general iniquity of Mary's life in London had been heavy on him. Brotherton, upon the whole, had pardoned the Dean for knocking the Marquis into the fireplace, having heard something of the true story with more or less correctness. But the Chaplain's morals were sterner than those of Brotherton at large, and he was still of opinion that the Dean was a child of wrath, and poor Mary, therefore, a grandchild. Now, when he saw the Dean and his son-in-law apparently on friendly terms, the spirit of righteousness was vexed within him as he acknowledged this to be another sign that the Dean was escaping from that punishment which alone could be of service to him in this world. ”His Lords.h.i.+p is better this morning. I hope, my Lord, I have the pleasure of seeing your Lords.h.i.+p quite well.” Then Mr. Groschut pa.s.sed on.

”I'm not quite sure,” said the Dean, as he opened his own door, ”whether any good is ever done by converting a Jew.”