CHAPTER XXIXJIM LASCELLES WRITES HIS NAME IN THE VISITORS’ BOOK
THE husband-elect felt a perfectly legitimate curiosity concerning the course to be adopted in this crisis by this eminently worldly wise, hard-headed, and matter-of-fact diplomatist.
“Do you assure me positively that the man is a gentleman?” said Caroline Crewkerne.
Cheriton ruminated. The term, as he understood it and as Caroline interpreted it, was of a somewhat baffling complexity.
“Ye-es,” said he, after an interval of unusually weighty reflection; “I should be inclined to say the young chap was by way of being one.”
“As that is your opinion,” said Caroline, grimly, “I shall speak a few words to him myself upon the subject.”
Cheriton gave this determination the benefit of an ample measure of his consideration.
“My dear Caroline,” said he, “it is either the worst thing you can do, or it is the best.”
“I agree with you, Cheriton,” said Caroline Crewkerne. “And it all depends upon the man himself. Tell Burden to look him up in Walford.”
Walford preserved so much discretion upon the subject of Jim Lascelles that, although several of his name were mentioned, neither he nor his forbears were singled out for special notice. The practical Caroline, having duly recorded the fact that “it was as she feared,” desired to know whether Walford had anything to say upon the subject of his mother. However, as no one at Pen-y-Gros Castle was acquainted with the maiden name of Jim’s mother, Caroline’s curiosity in regard to her also had to go unsatisfied. Nevertheless, she had fully decided to speak to the presumptuous young man upon the subject.
To that end John was dispatched after dinner that evening to the lodgings of Mr. James Lascelles in Pen-y-Gros hamlet with the compliments of his mistress and the request that Mr. Lascelles would call at the Castle at noon on the morrow.
Mr. Lascelles sent back the information that he would be pleased to do so. Yet no sooner had the gate of the cottage clicked behind the emissary from the Castle than he repented, and it was only in deference to the wisdom of his mother that John was not recalled.
Jim’s mother shook her head over him with sage indulgence.
“When will you learn, my son,” said she, “that old ladies who live in Hill Street must be treatedau grand sérieuxby rising young painters who live at Balham?”
“Yes, old lady, I suppose so,” said Jim, ruefully.“And if one James Lascelles is ever to find the wherewithal to get back the Red House at Widdiford, he will have to learn to keep his tongue in his cheek and his back supple; and also learn how to stroke the fur of every old cat that ever stuck somebody else’s coronet upon the panel of her carriage.”
“For shame, my son!” said Jim’s mother.
And she bestowed an embrace upon James which he really did not deserve.
Jim’s powers of resentment were unchristian and did him no credit, but perhaps he would have shown less promise in his art had he been less susceptible to the rubs of the world. That is the best that can be said for him.
However, as the morning was wet, he did not mind so much that he was due at Pen-y-Gros Castle at noon. He put on his carefully brushed blue suit and the black silk tie that his mother had knitted for him recently with her own fair hands, and at twelve o’clock precisely he was seeking admittance at the gloomy portals. As he did so he looked in vain for signs of the Goose Girl and the Muffin Girl. He could not help speculating as to what the old heathen wanted him for. Nothing pleasant, he would take his oath. Doubtless the Goose had blabbed. If so, a warm quarter of an hour was before him. Yet he felt that he should not mind that particularly. After all, the old beldame was quite likely to receive as good as she gave.
John received him, and handed him over to Mr. Marchbanks himself, who said, “Will you kindlycome this way, sir?” in the manner that he alone could say it.
Jim followed Mr. Marchbanks, after bestowing a somewhat contemptuous glance at a daub in the entrance-hall which purported to be the work of one Tintoret. A little further along, however, was a Cavalier by Vandyck, which was more to his taste. He glanced at the furniture also, which in its way was magnificent. It was of embossed Spanish leather. At the head of the wide stone-flagged staircase up which he was conducted, was aportièreof Gobelin tapestry. Passing through this, he was taken along a corridor containing good pictures and bad, and mediæval weapons and suits of armor, until at last he found himself in an extremely cozy room containing seductive lounges and strewn with Turkish mats. And there, seated alone and singularly upright in a high-backed chair, with a perfectly revolting little dog sleeping at her footstool, was the old woman Jim Lascelles so cordially disliked.
Jim was a little surprised that the old woman deigned to offer not two fingers only, but the whole of her hand.
“What is in the wind, I wonder?” mused Jim, as he accepted it with his best bow.
“It is good of you to come, Mr. Lascelles,” said the old woman, by no means ungraciously. Remember there never was an old woman yet who could not contrive to be agreeable if she really made up her mind to be so. And Caroline Crewkerne was no exception to the universal rule. “Pray be seated,” said she.
Jim Lascelles took the chair that was farthest from her ladyship.
The old woman was very concise, matter-of-fact, and businesslike. She spoke slowly, she enunciated her words with beautiful clearness; in short, she was a model of what you would expect her to be. She was all compact of hard-headed, clear-cut, practical sagacity.
“I wish to speak to you upon an important subject,” she began. “It has come to my knowledge that you have been paying your addresses to my niece, Miss Perry.”
Jim Lascelles was prepared for the speech in its substance, but its calm, matter-of-fact, non-committal air was baffling to him.
“In a sense, Lady Crewkerne, that is correct,” said Jim.
The old woman nodded, not unamiably, however.
“It is a matter of regret to me that you should have done so,” said she. “It is likely to be of grave prejudice to my niece.”
“I am indeed sorry to learn that,” said Jim, with excellent gravity.
“I will explain. My niece is a penniless girl, and I am given to understand, Mr. Lascelles, that you are yourself a young professional man with your way to make in the world.”
“Your information is correct, Lady Crewkerne,” said Jim, who was sufficiently impartial to admire the old woman’s statesmanlike plainness.
“That being the case,” she proceeded, “a unionbetween you is undesirable from my niece’s point of view, and also from your own.”
“I hope I am not entirely without prospects, Lady Crewkerne,” said Jim, who, however, did not mention his prospects with any great depth of conviction.
“They belong to the future,” said the old woman. “They will take time to materialize. I prefer to deal with the present.”
“Miss Perry and I had not contemplated marriage just at present,” said Jim.
“Quite so,” said the aunt of Miss Perry. “It is sensible of you both not to do so.”
The old woman’s tone was devoid of irony, but the absence of it merely seemed to heighten the amount there was in her aspect of that undesirable quality. Jim thought he had never seen a human countenance that he liked so little.
“What I wish to point out to you,” the old woman went on, “is that my niece has lately received an offer of marriage from a person who has excellent credentials.”
From the first Jim had been expecting some such thunderbolt. Therefore he contrived to maintain his pose of scrupulously polite attention.
“As far as Miss Perry’s well-being is concerned, I am glad to know that, Lady Crewkerne,” said Jim, with an urbanity that did him great credit. “As far as my own is concerned, I deplore it.”
“The offer of marriage my niece has received,” said the old woman, “is of such a character that those who have her welfare at heart feel very stronglythat she is bound to entertain it. Not only will it give her an assured position socially, but also it will establish the fortunes of her family, which, as you are doubtless aware, are at a low ebb.”
Jim gave a little nod to assure the old woman that he was not unacquainted with the fortunes of Miss Perry’s family.
“In these circumstances, Mr. Lascelles,” said she, briefly, “I think your course is clear.”
Jim, however, assumed an air of perplexity.
“I wish, Lady Crewkerne,” said he, “that I shared your opinion.”
The old woman showed no acerbity.
“Have the goodness, Mr. Lascelles,” said she, “to examine the matter in a rational light, from the point of view of a man of the world.”
A short period was conceded to Jim Lascelles for the purpose of doing so.
“I suppose, Lady Crewkerne,” said Jim, at the termination of the period, “you wish me to give her up?”
“I do,” said the old woman.
Jim pondered a little. It was not very easy to give up the Goose Girl. But this uncompromising old heathen in her great head-dress, and installed in her state chair of embossed Spanish leather, had shown him his duty. And she had used the fewest possible words in contriving it.
“Your duty is perfectly obvious to my mind, Mr. Lascelles,” said she, after a full minute of silence had passed.
“Ye-es,” said Jim, drawing in his breath; “doubtless that is so.”
Jim Lascelles took another minute to see if there was any way possible of circumventing his obvious duty. And then he rose from his chair.
“Lady Crewkerne,” said he, “to-morrow my mother and I will leave the neighborhood. We thank you very much for the hospitality you have shown us.”
Jim bowed gravely, and prepared to take his leave with the air of one who has performed a dignified action.
“Thank you, Mr. Lascelles,” said the old woman, upon a note of veiled sarcasm, which yet was not so unpleasant as it might have been. “I am obliged to you. I shall be glad if you will write your name in the visitors’ book.”
In this fashion the audience terminated with a display of dignity upon both sides. Of course it was proper and natural that it should be conducted in this manner, considering where it was held. So much was clearly demanded by every detail of its surroundings. And in the hall Mr. Lascelles wrote his name in the visitors’ book immediately below that of George Betterton, who had left Pen-y-Gros Castle the previous week.