Part 83 (2/2)
”There's no need of that; I can afford a special licence.”
”Lawk a daisy: why you be a gentleman, then.”
”No, but I can keep my wife like a lady.”
”You sounds very tempting,” murmured Peggy, throwing her skirt over her head--for a drizzle was beginning--and walking slower and slower.
Then he made hot love to her, and pressed her hard to name the day.
She coquetted with the question till they came near the mouth of a dark lane, called Lovers' Walk; then, as he insisted on an answer, she hung her head bashfully, and coughed a little cough. At which preconcerted signal a huge policeman sprang out of the lane and collared Mr. Green.
On this Peggy, who was all Lie from head to heel, uttered a little scream of dismay and surprise.
Mr. Green laughed.
”Well, you _are_ a downy one,” said he. ”I'll marry you all the more for thus.”
The detective put his hands suddenly inside the policeman's, caught him by the bosom with his right hand by way of fulcrum; and with his left by the chin, which he forced violently back, and gave him a slight Cornish trip at the same moment; down went the policeman on the back of his head a fearful crack. Green then caught the astonished Peggy round the neck, kissed her lips violently, and fled like the wind; removed all traces of his personal ident.i.ty, and up to London by the train in the character of a young swell, with a self-fitting eyegla.s.s and a long moustache the colour of his tender mistress's eyebrow: tow.
From town he wrote to her, made her a formal offer of marriage; and gave her an address to write to ”should she at any time think more kindly of him and of his sincere affection.”
I suppose he specified sincere because it was no longer sincere: he hurled the offer into Musgrove Cottage by way of an apple of discord--at least so I infer from the memorandum, with which he retired at present from the cash hunt.
”Mr. Hardie has the stiff, I think: but, if so, it is planted somewhere--doesn't carry it about him; my Peggy is his mistress: nothing to be done till they split.”
Victorious so far, Mr. Hardie had still one pressing anxiety: Dr.
Sampson's placard: this had been renewed, and stared him everywhere in the face. Every copy of it he encountered made him s.h.i.+ver. If he had been a man of impulse, he would have torn it down wherever he saw it; but he knew that would not do. However, learning from Jane, who had it from old Betty, who had it from Sarah, that Mrs. and Miss Dodd would leave for London the day before the sale, and Edward the day after it, he thought he might venture in the busy intermediate time to take some liberties with it. This he did with excellent tact and judgment. Peggy and a billsticker were seen in conference, and, soon after, the huge bills of a travelling circus were pasted right over both the rival advertis.e.m.e.nts in which the name of Hardie figured. The consequence was, Edward raised no objection: he was full of the sale for one thing; but I suspect he was content to see his own false move pasted over on such easy terms.
One morning Peggy brought in the letters, and Jane saw one in Alfred's handwriting. She s.n.a.t.c.hed it up, and cried ”Papa, from Alfred!” And she left off making the tea, while her father opened it with comparative composure.
This coolness, however, did not outlast the perusal: ”The young ruffian!” said he; ”would you believe it Jenny, he accuses me of being the cause of his last business.”
”Let me see, papa.”
He held her out the letter; but hesitated and drew it back. ”My dear, it would give you pain to see your poor father treated so. Here's a specimen: 'What could they expect but that the son of a sharper would prove a traitor? You stole her money; I her affections, of which I am unworthy.' Now what do you think of that?”
”Unhappy Alfred!” said Jane. ”No, papa, I would not read it, if you are insulted in it. But where is he?”
”The letter is dated Paris. See!” And he showed her the date. ”But he says here he is coming back to London directly; and he orders me in the most peremptory way to be ready with my accounts, and pay him over his fortune. Well, he is alive, at all events: really my good, kind, interfering, pragmatical friend Sampson, with his placards, made me feel uneasy, more uneasy than I would own to you, Jenny.”
”Unhappy Alfred!” cried Jane, with the tears in her eyes; ”and poor papa!”
”Oh, never mind me,” said Mr. Hardie; ”now that I know no harm has come to him, I really don't care a straw: I have got one child that loves me, and that I love.”
”Ah yes, dear, dear papa, and that will always love you, and never, never disobey you in small things or great.” She rose from the table and sealed this with a pious kiss; and, when she sat down with a pink flush on her delicate cheek, his hard eye melted and dwelt on her with beaming tenderness. His heart yearned over her, and a pang went through it: to think that he must deceive even her, the one sweet soul that loved him!
It was a pa.s.sing remorse: the successful plotter soon predominated, and it was with unmixed satisfaction he saw her put on her bonnet directly after breakfast and hurry off to Albion Villa to play the part of his unconscious sieve.
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