CHAPTER XIVPHILIP'S LOVE AFFAIR
Philip Gascoigne,whom this history chiefly concerns, was the only child of a distinguished officer who late in life had prevailed on a beautiful and charming woman to accept his gallant heart and honorable name. General Gascoigne had settled down in a fine old manor house in the heart of Kent, and there turned his sword into a ploughshare, which latter implement, according to his old club comrades, had dug his grave. He died when his boy was nine years of age, having survived sufficiently long to imbue the little fellow with some of his own high ideas of truth and honour, discipline and self-command. Within a short distance of "Earlsmead" Manor was Earlsmead Park, the stately home of the Craven-Hargreaves. Venetia Gascoigne and Mary Hargreaves had been schoolfellows and were close friends, and little Philip grew up almost as one of the Hargreaves family, which consisted of two fine manly boys, and a girl named Lola—a child with a cloud of frizzy bronze hair, and a pair of irresistible dark eyes; she was the youngest of the three, and the spoiled darling of the household. Mr. Craven-Hargreaves was an agreeable, dapper little gentleman, who had been in debt ever since he left Eton, and was existing (and more or less enjoying life) on the forbearance of his creditors. He was rarely at home, save in the shooting season, and the burthenof the family cares fell on his wife's graceful shoulders. The boys had to be sent to school, and theprosandconsconnected with this outlay cost their mother many anxious hours. Philip Gascoigne preceded them to Harrow, there being no question of expense regarding his education, for when his father died, honoured and regretted, he left behind him the best traditions of a soldier and a gentleman, he also left an unexpectedly large provision for his family. Philip was three years older than Lola, and had been her bond slave ever since she could walk alone. It was always "Phil and Lola" who were partners in games, forays, excursions, and scrapes. What halcyon days those were, when the eldest of the quartette was but twelve; and everything they entered into was a pure and unalloyed delight, from nutting, and fishing, and cricket, and riding, to play—at robbers and smugglers in the woods, making fires and roasting apples, potatoes—also, sad to relate, blackbirds and thrushes—returning home grubby, weary, and happy, with but scant appetite for schoolroom tea. One day Philip and Lola, who had been despatched on an errand to the village, surprised some boys who were drowning a puppy in a pond. Philip instantly interfered to save it, tore off his jacket and swam to the rescue. Subsequently, all dripping like a water-god, he had fought Bill Lacy, of the "Leg of Mutton Inn," and had thrashed him soundly, whilst Lola stood by with the shivering puppy in her arms, alternately screaming encouragement and defiance. Then when the bruised and bleeding victor turned to her, for his jacket, and his meed of praise, she had rewarded him in her ownimpulsive fashion—she kissed him then and there before all the boys in Earlsmead village. It was an unseemly and indecent spectacle in the eyes of Mrs. Grundy (who lived over the Post Office), Miss Craven-Hargreaves, of the Park, acting as backer in a street fight, and awarding as prize her kisses. It was true that she was but eight years of age and her champion eleven, and consequently the misdemeanour was suffered to pass. Some said she was a fine courageous little miss; others, that she was a bold piece, who would come to no good yet, but all agreed that she had plenty of pluck, and would sooner or later marry the General's boy.
When Lola was seventeen—and oh! what a fascinating sweet seventeen—Philip found his tongue, and they became engaged. Contemporary matrons lifted their hands in horror. A lad of twenty, who had only just left Sandhurst! But other far-seeing and less ambitious individuals pointed out that young Gascoigne was a fairly good match, he must succeed to at least a thousand a year, and expectations, whilst the Hargreaves might expect the bailiffs at any moment.
Within the next twelve months Philip lost his mother—whom he worshipped; even Lola had not disturbed her from her niche—and the long impending crash came at the Park. Mr. Hargreaves fled with a portmanteau to the south of France—his plea was health—and left his wife to face the storm alone. The storm developed into a typhoon, a tempest of howling creditors; mortgages were foreclosed, the park was let to graziers, and, as a finalclimax, there was a sale—an auction, at the house itself. The family pictures, portraits by Gainsborough, Raeburn, and Romney, went to the highest bidder. The treasured silver and tapestries, as well as carriage and horses, were scattered far and wide. After a storm—a calm—the Hargreaves boys obtained commissions, the Park had found a tenant, Mrs. Hargreaves and Lola went abroad, and Philip Gascoigne, now a full-blown sapper, was despatched to Gibraltar. He and Lola corresponded faithfully. They were to be married when he was four-and-twenty, and already he was collecting rugs, Moorish trays, and old carpets suitable for a lady's drawing-room, when he received a letter from Lola to say that her father was once more in difficulties,frightfuldifficulties; he had been gambling on the Stock Exchange, hoping to recoup his fortune, and had had every penny of his own (as well as other people's pennies) swept away. Philip wired to place all his available funds at Lola's disposal; but what was a mere five thousand pounds, when the deficit amounted to ten times the sum? Mr. Hargreaves did everything on a grand scale. He was a born gambler, it was hereditary; his grandfather had once lost thirty thousand pounds, after playing two nights and a day, and sitting up to his knees in cards. His worthy descendant had gone even more rapidly to work, staked all on a "chance" and lost—lost the estates which had been in the family since the reign of Edward the Fourth—lost his head—his hopes—his honour.
The next mail brought still heavier news to a certain good-looking subaltern in barracks at Gibraltar.
Lola wrote formally to dissolve her engagement. She was about to marry Mr. Reuben Waldershare, one of her father's creditors, who would cancel his debt, and buy back Earlsmead. Thus she saved her parent, and averted ruin from her people. Mr. Waldershare was enormously rich and generous.
Philip succeeded in obtaining leave on urgent private affairs that same hour, and journeyed to England that same night.
The Craven-Hargreaves had taken a house in London for the season. At four o'clock in the afternoon Gascoigne presented himself at 146 Mount Street, and inquired for Miss Hargreaves. The man—who was not an Earlsmead servant, and knew not Master Philip—said:
"Yes, sir, Miss Hargreaves is at home. Who shall I say?" and he preceded the visitor up the stairs, and ushered him into a pretty green and white drawing-room with a resonant—"Mr. Gascoigne, if you please."
Secretly, the lady did not please.
Lola was alone, sitting on a low sofa, with her back to the light, and surrounded by morocco and velvet jewel-cases. She was dressed in a white gown, and wore a large picture hat, her gloves and parasol lay on a chair near her, and in her hands she held a row of great pearls. A tea equipage waited, the spirit-lamp flamed, and Lola's toilette betokened careful thought. The room was fragrant with exquisite La France roses, an arm-chair was drawn up invitingly near the sofa—evidently someone was expected, but obviously that some one was not Philip Gascoigne.
"Philip," she almost screamed, as the door closed and she rose to her feet, her face white to the lips, "whathas brought you?"
"You can easily guess," he replied, as he came forward; "your letter."
"Yes—of course," and she held out both her hands; "but, oh, why did you come?—it only makes it harder."
"You are talking in riddles," he answered sharply. "I want you to tell me the truth—face to face. Why do you wish to break off our engagement? Why does my return make anythingworse?"
"Because—seeing you brings everything back—and I am going to marry Mr. Waldershare."
She turned away and averted her face to hide her emotion.
A long silence followed this announcement, and at last Philip said:
"Well, I don't suppose anything could be worse than that!"
As he spoke, Lola sank back on the sofa, and stealthily displaced some of the jewel-cases under the big brocade cushions.
"Will you listen to me?" she said piteously.
"Oh, yes, I am here to listen. I have come a thousand miles since Monday to listen—and to speak."
"Phil, when you hear all you will be twice as sorry for me as you are for yourself. Do you know that we are ruined?"
"I gathered as much," he replied gravely.
"Father has been gambling on the Stock Exchange—he has lost everything. Earlsmead, that has been centuries in the family; and not only that—it is not merely ruin—it is disgrace," and as she spoke, Lola put her hands over her eyes.
"Disgrace," repeated Gascoigne. "It is impossible."
"It is not really father's doing," she sobbed. "He got mixed up with shady people, and lent them his good name—and now it is smirched, or will be—the catastrophe is impending—the only door of escape is—Mr. Waldershare. He will advance money—he will stifle scandal—he is enormously rich——"
"And the reason for his liberality?" demanded Philip in a harsh key.
"Is here," replied Lola, laying her hand on her breast. "I marry him to save our good name—and Earlsmead."
"In short, you sell yourself for your family?" he cried.
"I think you might say—sacrifice myself—for my family," she answered softly, and her eyes were eloquent.
"AndIam also to be sacrificed?"
"Always remember that you are free—whilst I am bound—for life."
"And you are prepared to throw me over, to marry a man old enough to be your father?" he questioned.
"Yes; but, after all, what is age! and"——(home-thrust) "your own mother—dear Aunt Venetia—did the same."
Philip now began to pace the room, whilst Lola looked furtively at the clock. At last he came to a halt, and said:
"What does your mother say?"
"Nothing, poor dear, for sheknows. The boys, Edgar and Billy, are simply furious with me. They have not seen the family skeleton—they think I am doing this—because—Mr. Waldershare is fabulously rich—and they say I have no more heart than a sea anemone. Bill declares that I was always greedy, and took more than my share of jam and the pony, and neither of them will come to the wedding. They will never forgive me, and neither will you——" and Lola buried her face in a cushion, and wept—that is to say, drew long, gasping sighs.
"Listen to me, Lola," said her lover, authoritatively; "I have a suggestion to make." She looked up quickly, and dried her eyes with a scrap of lace. "My idea is not as mad as it sounds. I have ten thousand pounds in the funds. It is my own, and yours. Let us pay your father's most pressing claims with this—always remember that it is yours as much as mine. I will leave the service, and we will all go to New Zealand, you and I—your father and mother—and the boys, if they like?"
Lola sat erect, and stared at him fixedly and gasped; but he was too full of his subject, and too profoundly in earnest, to notice her expression.
"You see," he resumed, "I am a really fair practical engineer, and I'll build our quarters; your father and I can farm. There is a splendid breed of horses, a fine climate, a fine country; we will make a fresh start in life; we shall all be together—whatdo you say, Lola? If you agree, I'll set about the move to-day," and he confronted her eagerly.
"What do I say to, emigrating to New Zealand?" she repeated, in a queer, choked voice, "to living in a back block, and—doing the washing?" Then, in a totally different key. "Of course, I'd be happy—anywhere withyou, Phil, in 'No Man's Land' or Timbuctoo—your offer is like yourself—it reminds me of the time you sold your watch to help Billy out of a hole. But this hole is too big—ten thousand would be a mere drop in the ocean. Philip," she continued, as she rose and came towards him, "it is no use trying to play hide-and-seek with fate. My fate is to redeem my father's name. You are the man I love—Mr. Waldershare is the man I shall marry. Can't you see it with my eyes? You know our home—you are one ofus—don't make it harder for me. I must go my own way."
"And I am to go to the devil," he said hoarsely.
"Oh, don't talk like that," she remonstrated; "it is not like you——"
"I don't know what I'm like—or where I am to-day. In one blow I lose everything."
"How?" she inquired.
"You were everything to me."
"And in future I must be nothing but a memory. Mr. Waldershare has had a hint—a girl told him—of our boy and girl attachment. He is desperately in love."
"So am I," cried her companion.
"Desperately jealous."
"So am I," he reiterated.
"I may never see you or write to you again, Phil;it will be the best," she urged piteously, and never had she looked so lovely. "It is terrible for you—it is ten times worse for me. Some day you will be sorry for me—not now, you are too sorry for yourself."
She was alarmingly pale and nervous, her eyes wandered anxiously to the clock; nothing that Philip could urge would shake her from her purpose. She remained as white and as immovable as marble; her decision was irrevocable—the step was irretrievable. She was sacrificing herself for others, and "it"—the announcement of the engagement—was already in the papers.
With urgent entreaties to leave her, an impassioned farewell, and a torrent of tears, Lola sent Philip from her presence—and, oh! the relief, when she saw him depart! As he stood on the doorstep, a hansom dashed up, and for a moment Gascoigne beheld his supplanter. The man descended heavily, a clumsy, elderly individual, with a big nose, bulging eyes, and a short grey beard. In a second the visitor recognised his rival, a well-set-up, gallant young fellow, whose handsome face looked white and haggard, a man of attractive personality, in short, a most formidable opponent. No, no, he and Lola were best apart; there would be no correspondence, no old playfellow nonsense, no sentiment. He was peculiarly alive to the disparity in his and Lola's age, and set his face as a flint against younger men. Mr. Waldershare was in the iron trade; his first wife had been a homely body, who had assisted him to lay the foundation of his colossal fortune. He might almost call himself "the Iron King;" now hewas in quest of an "Iron Queen," and that with the eye of a keen, practical man of business. She must be the very best article on the market; young, well-born, and an undeniable beauty. Lola Hargreaves answered these requirements; added to which she had a certain amount of indolent ambition, and a delicate appreciation of the good things of life.
It was true that her father was on the verge of bankruptcy, and mixed up with a sultry business connected with a mine, but his forebears had been crusaders, their monuments and deeds were extant in print and marble. Mr. Waldershare respected a fine pedigree—the one thing his thousands could not purchase—so he decided to marry Lola Hargreaves. That Lola had "a friend," he was aware; he had unexpectedly come face to face with him, a good-looking, manly young fellow, he did not propose to place himself in competition with a man of half his years, so he issued an edict—"Lola must drop young Gascoigne," and Lola obeyed. The interview in Mount Street had changed the whole course of Philip's life at one stroke; he had lost friends, sweetheart, home—for Earlsmead would be closed to him, and the boys naturally would avoid the man their sister had jilted. He exchanged immediately into the Indian service, with the stern resolve to woo the goddess of war, and to enlist under the standard of ambition. By-and-by, as she predicted, he became intensely sorry for Lola. He admired her lofty principles, her noble character, her unselfish devotion, and she was enshrined in his memory with the lustre of a treasure that is lost.