CHAPTER XV.
Lewis Pryorwas in the greatest distress over the result of the match, and in riding back to Deerchase, by Skelton’s side, he was the most doleful boy that ever was seen. Skelton was in a violent fury over the treatment accorded the boy, and felt like marrying Sylvia Shapleigh out of hand and establishing her at Deerchase for the purpose of spiting the other women in the county.
Next morning Lewis asked Bulstrode if he might ride over to Newington to inquire after Hilary and Mrs. Blair.
“Deuced if I know,� answered Bulstrode. “I haven’t the least objection; but you’d better ask Mr. Skelton.�
Lewis, without saying a word to Skelton, got on his pony and rode to Newington. Blair met him at the door, and for the first time he laid aside the freezing air he had always maintained towards the boy and was extremely cordial. Hilary was far from all right; the horse had rolled on him, and it would be some time yet before they could tell how badly hurt he was. Mrs. Blair felt better, but was a good deal shaken by the shock. Lewis was so overcome at this that Blair felt sorry for the boy, and said:
“However, come in the house. Mrs. Blair would like to see you; and Hilary, too, if he is able.�
Lewis walked into the house for the first time in his life, and sat down alone in the drawing-room. In a few moments Blair came to fetch him, and conducted him to Hilary’s room. Mrs. Blair sat by the bed on which Hilary lay, and as soon as Lewis entered she rose and went towards him with much sweetness of manner. Hilary, too, welcomed him feebly. Poor Lewis could hardly refrain from tears. He felt himself the author of more grief and pain to other people than anybody in the whole world. And he even envied Hilary, lying helplessly in the bed. His mother watched him fondly; his father sat by him—and it was always a pretty sight to see Blair with his children; while little Mary promised Hilary that, if he should be a cripple for life, she would abandon all ideas of matrimony and devote her life to him. The little girl, who was uncommonly pretty, was disposed to regard Lewis as an enemy, but was finally coaxed into magnanimity, and even condescended to sit on his knee.
When Lewis rose to go, Mrs. Blair accompanied him to the door. He made her a thousand earnest apologies, to which Mrs. Blair replied generously. Even Blair himself was kind to the boy, who left them with an overflowing heart. Hilary had asked him to come again, and both Mr. and Mrs. Blair had repeated the invitation.
Skelton, sitting at Deerchase in the library, was triumphant, but far from happy. Towards noon he missed Lewis, and happening across Bulstrode in the stone porch, he inquired for the boy.
“Don’t know,� answered Bulstrode, adding, with a grin: “He asked me about going to Newington. I told him I had no objection, and advised him to ask you—and by the Lord Harry! I shouldn’t be surprised if he had gone.�
A very little inquiry showed that Newington was precisely where Lewis had gone. Bulstrode was secretly much amused.
“Birds of a feather—Skelton and Lewis. The boy is giving him a dose of his own medicine.�
All Skelton said was to direct the servants immediately upon Lewis’s arrival to let him know.
When Lewis appeared he was met by Bob Skinny, who directed him mysteriously to “de libery. An’ Mr. Skelton, he f’yarly sizzlin’, he so mad.�
Lewis walked into the library quite coolly. Skelton wheeled around and said, in a voice very unlike his usual almost caressing tone:
“Have you been to Newington, Lewis?�
“Yes, sir,� answered Lewis calmly.
“I considered it unnecessary to tell you not to go, as you know, of course, the relations between Mr. Blair and myself are not cordial; and it never occurred to me that you would go off in this manner, in direct defiance of what you know must be my wishes.�
“I asked Mr. Bulstrode, sir,� answered Lewis in a very soft, composed voice. “He told me he had no objection. It’s true he advised me to ask you; but Mr. Bulstrode is my guardian, and when I have his permission I don’t need anybody else’s, sir.�
Lewis had in perfection Skelton’s trick of expressing the utmost defiance in the most moderate tone.There was nothing approaching insolence in his manner, but a perfect knowledge of his rights and a determination to stand upon them. Skelton was entirely at a loss for a moment or two. He had not the slightest means of enforcing obedience from the boy, except a threat of sending him away from Deerchase, and he suspected that was just what would have pleased Lewis best. But he spoke in a tone of stern command that he had never used towards the boy before.
“Mr. Bulstrode seems to have had the right conception of the respect you owe me,� he said, after a pause, “but I find you did not heed his very rational advice. Now, understand me distinctly: I do not intend that you shall go to Newington, and I shall find means to enforce my wishes.�
Lewis bowed and went out. He could not disregard anything so positive as that.
But after Lewis had gone out and Skelton was left alone with his anger, he could not but feel proud of the boy’s spirit and independence, as well as his shrewdness in getting Bulstrode’s half permission. It was no ordinary boy that could coolly go against Skelton’s wishes and then so aptly justify himself. Skelton felt proud of Lewis’s spirit even when it was directed against himself.
Hilary Blair did not get well at once—indeed, it looked at one time as if he would never get well at all. Then, there was an execution out against Blair, and, altogether, the affairs of the family seemed to be about as desperate as could be. Conyers need no longer preach sermons against horse racing. Jack Blair’s case was an object lesson that was worth allthe sermons ever preached. Still Conyers felt it his duty to add warning to warning, and he gave his congregation another discourse against gambling and betting of all sorts that was received much more respectfully than the former one. Even old Tom Shapleigh forgot to scoff. It is true that remorse, or rather regret, had much to do with old Tom’s feelings. But for that unlucky horse, which he had so proudly exhibited to Blair, and that equally unlucky agreement to leave the matter to Sylvia, when Blair could always talk the women around, he would not have been minus a considerable sum of money. Sylvia herself endured all the distress that a tender and sensitive soul would suffer who had, however innocently, become a contributor to such a tragedy.
“I wish I had poisoned the horse,� groaned old Tom.
“I wish so, too,� devoutly added Sylvia.
“I’m sure I’m sorry Mr. Blair lost his money; but you know, Mr. Shapleigh, poisoning horses is a great sin,� remarked Mrs. Shapleigh.
Old Tom reformed so far as to again attend the vestry meetings, and to lower his voice while he talked horse to his fellow-vestrymen.
The consideration with which Skelton and Bulstrode treated the poor harassed clergyman sensibly improved his relations with the congregation, which did not like him any better, but who treated him more respectfully. But they were all just as fond of morality and shy of religion as ever, except Sylvia Shapleigh. She and Conyers occasionally talked together on the great subject, but neither could enlighten the other. They were like two travellersmeeting in the desert without map or compass—they could only tell of their loneliness, their struggles, their terrible ignorance of which way lay the road to light.
Bulstrode, upon whose movements Skelton never attempted to place any restrictions, went over to Newington occasionally, and was nearly broken-hearted by all he saw. He came back, and his mind dwelt constantly on Mrs. Blair and her troubles. He began to long that he might tell her not to despair—that there was still a great chance in store for her—that one day she, or perhaps her children after her, might have a fortune that would make them the richest people in the county; for Bulstrode had spoken truly when he said that he had very grave doubts whether Skelton himself could unravel the web he had so carefully woven about Lewis Pryor’s identity. And his object in so doing—to deprive the Blairs of what might come to them, by an extraordinary conjunction of circumstances—was of itself open to suspicion. Bulstrode knew that in England the Blairs’ expectations, even though saddled with uncertainties, would be worth something in ready money, where ready money was plentiful; but in this new country, where money was the dearest and scarcest of all products, he doubted if a penny could be realised upon even a very great fortune in perspective. He thought over these things until his brain was nearly addled.
One night in June, while Hilary was still ill, and the Blairs were liable to be dispossessed at any moment, Bulstrode went over to Newington. It had lately stormed, and the warm night air was full ofthe fragrance of the summer rain. The dripping trees along the road were odorous, and the wild honeysuckle and the great magnolia blossoms were lavish of perfume. The river and all the homesteads were perfectly still; and the only sound, as Bulstrode walked up the weedy drive to the Newington house, was the occasionally monotonous cry of a night bird or the soft flutter of bats’ wings through the darkness.
Mrs. Blair was sitting in the dimly lighted drawing-room with one of Scott’s novels on her lap. She heard Bulstrode’s step on the porch, and rose to meet him as he entered the room. She looked pale and depressed.
“Ah, romance, romance,� said Bulstrode, picking up the book. “You dear, sweet, innocent-minded creatures live on it.�
“Yes,� answered Mrs. Blair, smiling a little. “It helps us over the stony part of the road. I have been with my boy all day, and I found I wanted a tonic for my mind; so I took up this book, and actually forgot my poor Hilary for a few moments.�
“Is the boy improving, ma’am?�
“I am afraid not. He cannot yet leave his bed. His father and I are with him all the time, one or the other. Do you know, Mr. Bulstrode, I never realise what an admirable man my husband is until I see him with his children. If you but knew how tender and interesting and even fascinating he is to them! And if only Hilary—gets well—� Mrs. Blair’s voice broke. “Ah, Mr. Bulstrode, I fear so much—I fear—he will never be well—although—I try—�
Mrs. Blair burst unexpectedly into tears. This nearly distracted Bulstrode. He took out his handkerchief and fairly blubbered, saying between gasps:
“Now, pray don’t, my dear Mrs. Blair—my sweet, sweet creetur’—� Bulstrode’s grief was inexpressibly ludicrous.
But after a moment or two Mrs. Blair recovered herself and apologised for her sudden weakness.
“I have had much to try me,� she said, “and then the prospect of being turned out of this place—�
“Have you made any arrangements to go elsewhere?� asked Bulstrode.
Mrs. Blair shook her head. “My husband would not ask it of his creditors, but it would be to his advantage if he were allowed to remain at Newington. He has really done wonderfully well here, and has made crops that were much better than any his father ever made off the place. It has all gone, of course, on the Campdown track—but still the money was made; and now that my husband is done with the turf forever, I believe in a few years’ time he could be on his feet again.�
“I suppose you are attached to this place?� continued Bulstrode.
“Yes,� cried Mrs. Blair with tears in her voice. “I don’t know why especially, except that I am prone to become attached to places and people. And, remember, I have lived here ever since I began to think and feel. It seems to me that the troubles I have had tie me to it as much as the joys, and they have been many, Mr. Bulstrode. They were not the griefs you read about in books, but those plain every-day sorrows that come to women’s hearts.�
Mrs. Blair stopped; she had uttered no complaint heretofore, and the habit of forbearance was strong upon her. She went to the window and looked out. The clouds had melted away and a summer moon shone fitfully, flooding the river with its silver light. She was recalled by hearing her name uttered by Bulstrode in a curious voice. She resumed her chair and turned her delicate profile towards Bulstrode.
“Mrs. Blair,� said he hesitatingly, “have you never speculated upon what becomes of Skelton’s fortune from his wife if he should marry again, or at his death? for you know, of course, that it is only his until one of those things happens.�
“We have heard a great deal of talk, but, naturally, we feel a delicacy at making any enquiries about it.�
“Delicacy be hanged!� cried Bulstrode, rising. “Do you know, ma’am, that it’s quite possible—quite probable—that some day you and your children will have all that money?�
“I cannot think that,� answered Mrs. Blair, rising, too, and supposing that Bulstrode meant that Skelton might leave it to them. “Although I am Mr. Skelton’s nearest relative, there is no love lost between us—and my husband and he are at feud. I am sure Mr. Skelton would never wish us to benefit by anything he had.�
“But,� cried Bulstrode excitedly, “he can’t help it—he can’t help it! Don’t you suppose he would if he could?�
Mrs. Blair turned very pale. “What do you mean?� she asked.
“I mean,� said Bulstrode, in his impressive voice,“I mean that by the fondness of a woman Skelton became possessed of a great fortune; and by her jealousy it is only his until his death or marriage; and by her folly it all descends to his heirs. He cannot control one shilling of his wife’s fortune—it goes to his heirs. And you—you—youand your children are Skelton’s heirs!�
Mrs. Blair was completely dazed by what she heard and by Bulstrode’s vehemence. His agitation, too, was contagious. She felt herself trembling, because she saw Bulstrode’s tremor.
“What do you mean?� she stammered.
“What I say,� replied Bulstrode, grasping her arm. “I’ve known it ever since Mrs. Skelton died. Of course, it wasn’t her intention that it should be so; she was actuated by two master passions, love and hate. She meant Skelton to have the property, and that her own relatives, in punishment for the stand they took at her marriage, should suffer for it. She had the will made soon after her marriage, when she hoped that Skelton’s heirs would be their children. It was the worst-made will ever seen in England. In her last illness she made additions to it, that only complicated matters more. It was such a muddle that Skelton was forced to apply to the courts to construe it, with a result that infuriated him. He is a bond slave in the midst of all that money. He has his choice of two things, one of which may be impossible; the other is, to hand over to you and yours three fourths of his money—and he must do it if he marries again, and his executors must do it if he dies. Just imagine this state of things upon a man of Skelton’s temperament! GreatGod! I wonder he hasn’t gone mad thinking over it!�
Mrs. Blair sat quite silent and still. Bulstrode began to march about the room, running his hand through his shaggy hair and exclaiming at intervals, “Great Cæsar!� “Immortal Jove!� “Gadzooks!� Then turning towards her, he cried: “But there is another factor in it—another complication�—he came close to Mrs. Blair, and whispered:
“Lewis Pryor.�
Mrs. Blair started, and a rosy blush succeeded her paleness.
“You know, the old Greeks had a word for such children as Lewis Pryor. They called them ‘the children of the soul.’ Now, the fool of a solicitor who drew Mrs. Skelton’s will, in securing the reversion of the property to the children of Richard Skelton, did not provide at all against any children that he might have had when he married Mrs. Skelton. Good God! madam, did you ever know such a concatenation of follies and misunderstandings and mistakes? Scarcely a single design of Mrs. Skelton’s is carried out; and either you must get the property, or Skelton must acknowledge Lewis Pryor. But,� continued Bulstrode, his voice rising to a shout, “the end of difficulties is not yet. Great Jupiter! all the ingenuity of man could not bring about such strange complications as blind Fate would have it. Skelton took such pains to make Lewis Pryor out to be the son of his old tutor and his wife, and they became so fond of the boy, that among them all they obliterated every proof that Lewis Pryor was anything but Lewis Pryor. There stands the testimony of thePryors in their wills leaving their little belongings to their ‘beloved son, Lewis’—not a word said about adoption. They lived in terror that Skelton would some time or other take the boy away from them, and they meant to make a fight for him. Skelton then was as anxious as they were that the secret should be kept. He made them a handsome allowance, but he was so astute about it that not eventhatcould be proved. Never man so overreached himself as Richard Skelton. The Pryors both died when Lewis was about five years old. Skelton sent for him—from an awakening sense of duty, I fancy—and immediately conceived such a passion of paternal love as you never saw in your life, and could never part with him afterwards. You love your boy; Skelton idolises his.�
Bulstrode had stopped his agitated walk while telling this, but he began it again, his lumbering figure making grotesque shadows on the wall. Mrs. Blair listened, overwhelmed as much by Bulstrode’s manner as by the strange things he was telling her. Presently he came, and, sitting down by the table, brought his fist down so hard that the candles jumped.
“But there is more—actually more. If Skelton ever tries to prove that Lewis is his son, mark my words, the boy will fight against it—he will fight against it. I can’t make out what he really thinks now, but he clings so hard to his Pryor parentage, he speaks of it so often, he treasures up every little thing that he inherited from the Pryors, that sometimes I fancy he has doubts. He is always anxious to disclaim any authority Skelton asserts over him.The Pryors and Skelton in the beginning, supposing I knew nothing about the boy, agreed in making me the boy’s guardian. Skelton knows that he has me under his thumb—and he has, by George! However, he can’t kick me out of the house, no matter how much he would like to, so long as I am Lewis Pryor’s guardian. But if I were called upon to-morrow in a court of law to say that Lewis is Skelton’s son, I would have no better proof than Skelton’s word; and the Pryors told me dozens of times that the boy was theirs. Pryor was an astute fellow, and, although both he and his wife knew they could not hoodwink me, they were careful never to admit to me that the boy was anything but theirs. You see, if Skelton had tried to get him away in their lifetime, he couldn’t have proved anything by me.� Bulstrode paused for breath and wiped his face.
“The boy has eyes like Richard Skelton’s,� said Mrs. Blair, after a pause.
“Exactly. But, although he is the same type, and one would use the same terms in describing Skelton and Lewis, they are not personally very much alike except their eyes. Strange to say, Lewis is not unlike Mrs. Pryor, who was a dark, slight woman. She always fancied him to be like a child she lost, and that was one reason she became so devoted to him. But to see Skelton and Lewis together in the same house—haw! haw!�
Bulstrode broke into a great, nervous laugh. “Thenyou’d know they were father and son. To see that little shaver stand up straight and eye the great Mr. Skelton as coolly as you please—odd’s my life, madam, the brat is a gentleman, if I eversaw one! You ought to see the positive air with which he disclaims any relationship to Skelton when strangers have asked him about it. That, too, makes me suspect that he dreads something of the sort. It would be more natural if he should show a boyish desire to be related to Skelton and to share his consequence. He has a few books of Pryor’s and a few trinkets of Mrs. Pryor’s, and I don’t believe all Skelton’s money could buy those trifling things from him. But this haughty, naturally self-respecting spirit of the boy only makes Skelton love him the more. I have predicted to Skelton that the boy will hate him forever if any disclosure is made about his birth. And Skelton dreads it, too. So you see, madam, in spite of all he can do—and he will do all that mortal man can do—you and yours may yet be rich through Skelton.�
Elizabeth sat, roused out of her sad patience into trembling excitement. Of course, it was far off and doubtful, but it was startling. Bulstrode had not asked her not to mention it to her husband, nor would she have made any such promise. Presently Bulstrode rose to go. Elizabeth realised, without his mentioning it, that if it ever came to Skelton’s ears what Bulstrode had that night told, Deerchase would never harbour him another hour, and she knew it was in pity for her griefs that he had told her at all. She tried to express this to Bulstrode, and he comprehended her.
He walked back to Deerchase oppressed with the reaction that follows excitement. Suddenly, as he trudged along the white and sandy road, under the pale splendour of the moon, he remembered Skelton’swords: “You will not do the boy any harm until your heedless tongue begins to wag, and then in pure idleness and wantonness you will tell all you know.� Yes, Skelton was right, as usual. He had not told it in idleness or wantonness, but he had told it. He could fancy Lewis’s face if he had heard what had passed in the Newington drawing-room that night—the shame, grief, reproach, indignation. Bulstrode sighed, and went heavily upon his road home.
Mrs. Blair remained sitting in the drawing-room for some hours just as Bulstrode had left her. The candles burned out and the moonlight streamed through the open windows and made patches on the polished floor. A servant went about after a while, shutting the house up, when Mrs. Blair rose and went to her own room. As she passed Hilary’s door everything was still, and she was afraid to open the door for fear it might wake him. She found herself unable to go to bed, though, and at midnight was sitting at her window looking out without seeing anything, although the moon was not yet gone.
Presently she heard Blair come softly out of Hilary’s room and go downstairs into his own den, which was called by courtesy a study, but which was littered up with all the impedimenta of a country gentleman. Sometimes during the night watches, when the boy was sleeping, he would slip down there for a smoke. Nothing could exceed Blair’s tenderness to his children, and when they were ill their exquisite fondness for him appeared to redouble.
He had just finished his first cigar when the door opened and Elizabeth entered with a candle in herhand. She had on a white dressing wrapper, and her long hair was plaited down her back. Blair knew in an instant from her face that something strange had happened.
She came forward and seated herself so that her head rested on his shoulder. Blair at once laid down the cigar he had just lighted. He did not hesitate to ask her to sign away her rights in everything they jointly possessed, but he was careful to treat her with every mark of the most perfect personal respect.
“Is Hilary asleep?� she asked.
“Soundly. He won’t wake up until morning. You had a visitor. I heard Bulstrode’s voice downstairs.�
“Yes,� answered Elizabeth.
Blair felt her begin to tremble, and asked her what was the matter.
“Only something Mr. Bulstrode told me,� she answered, and then rapidly and excitedly poured it all out. She could always express herself with remarkable clearness, and Blair had no difficulty in understanding just how things were.
“And, although it will probably never benefit us,� said Elizabeth finally, “for Richard Skelton is as likely to live as we are, yet it may some day benefit our children.�
“But I don’t see why it shouldn’t benefit us,� said Blair drily. “Nothing is easier than to get a copy of that will, and somebody can be found who will risk something upon such magnificent chances. I daresay Skelton himself would be glad to compromise with us for a handsome sum if we would convey all our interest in the property back to him.�
Elizabeth listened, startled and annoyed. She had felt some qualms at the idea that, even if Lewis Pryor should make a successful fight for his supposed parentage, her children should inherit money that was only theirs through accident and bungling. But there was nobody else with any better right to it, for the late Mrs. Skelton had fully determined that her own family should not have it. And besides, it would be after Skelton’s death—for she did not for a moment suppose that he would marry. But this way of setting up an immediate claim to it offended her. Being a singularly high-minded woman, she did not value money very greatly, and had many delicate scruples regarding it.
“But—but—you don’t mean that you would take any steps—� she asked hesitatingly.
“Just wait and see,� answered Blair promptly. “And Skelton may marry, remember. I think he admires Sylvia Shapleigh very much; and you may depend upon it, I sha’n’t refuse anything that is mine.�
Elizabeth for the first time in her life felt a little disgusted with him.
“I am afraid you are not as high-minded as I thought you,� she said after a moment.
Blair withdrew his arm from around her with displeasure written all over his strong, expressive face. He began to finger his cigar, which was a hint that she had better leave him. Usually Elizabeth never remained a moment after she found she was trespassing, but to-night she sat quite still. A quarrel between two extremely refined, courteous, and attached persons is none the less bitter because eachone is scrupulously polite. Blair said, after a few moments:
“Your remark is quite uncalled for, and let me tell you, Elizabeth, a man knows much more about these things than a woman. A man must be trusted to manage his own affairs; and if he is incapable, another man ought to be appointed his conservator.�
Blair had mismanaged his own affairs so beautifully that this sentiment was peculiarly absurd coming from him. He glanced at Elizabeth and saw something like a half-smile upon her face. She said nothing, but her silence was eloquent. Blair wished then for the thousandth time that Elizabeth would show her displeasure as other women did—with tears and unguarded words and reproaches, or even as Mrs. Shapleigh did.
“I believe,� she said, after a long and painful pause, “that if the dead woman had her choice she would be very willing for Lewis Pryor to have the money, because Richard Skelton loves him so, and because she loved Richard Skelton so. But I am afraid—I am afraid—it has just occurred to me—that she would detest the idea of our having it, because Richard Skelton hates us so. And there cannot be any blessing attached to money that comes in that way.�
“Damme!� cried Blair rudely.
Elizabeth rose at once. Like him, she was extremely dainty in her ideas of behaviour, and the only sort of henpecking she ever visited upon Blair was the strict account she held him to as regarded his manners to her, which, however, Blair was quiteready to accord usually. Even now he felt immediate remorse, and held out his hand.
“Forgive me,� he said; “but it seems to me, Elizabeth, that we are saying very odd and uncomfortable things to each other to-night.�
Elizabeth submitted to be drawn to him, and even to rest her head again upon his shoulder; but the quarrel between husband and wife had to be fought out as much as if they were a thousand miles apart. Blair tried some of his old flattery on her.
“You know I could not forbear any triumph over Skelton—and you know why. I want the money, but I want revenge, too; and revenge is a much more gentlemanly vice than avarice, as vices go. However, you never saw a man in your life who was indifferent to money.�
“Yes, I have—Mr. Conyers.�
“Pooh—a parson!�
“And Lewis Pryor. Mr. Bulstrode says he believes the boy will actually fight against being made Richard Skelton’s heir, so much more does he value respectable parentage than money.�
“Pooh—a boy!�
“And I assure you, that many things might makemeregret we have that money, if it comes.�
“Pshaw—a woman!�
“It may be that only parsons, boys, and women are indifferent to money; but if my son showed—as I hope he would—the same jealous solicitude for his honour and mine that Lewis Pryor does for his and his mother’s, I should indeed be proud of him. Fancy,� she said, raising herself and looking at Blair with luminous eyes, “the bribe of a greatfortune being offered to Hilary if he would cast shame on his mother! And would I not rather see him dead before my eyes than yielding?�
Blair mumbled something about not being parallel cases.
“Then imagine yourself—all Richard Skelton’s fortune yours�—Elizabeth waved her hands expressively—“all—all, if you will only agree that your mother was an unworthy woman.�
Blair remained silent. Elizabeth was too acute for him then.
“Of course,� he said after a moment, “I respect the boy for the spirit Bulstrode says he has shown, and I hope he’ll stick to it. I hope he’ll make a fight for it and come out ahead, and prosper, and have all the money that’s good for him. Skelton has got a very handsome estate of his own to give him; and he may be master of Deerchase yet.�
“And our little Mary may be mistress of Deerchase,� said Elizabeth, who had a truly feminine propensity for concocting marriages for her children from their cradles.
“Never!� Blair brought his fist down on the arm of his chair. “She shall marry respectably or not at all; and though I like money, my daughter shall never marry any man who has no name to give her.�
“Perhaps they may run away,� remarked Mrs. Blair demurely, at which they both laughed a little, and Blair kissed his wife. But there was still battle between them. Mrs. Blair wanted the matter to rest; Blair wanted to agitate it immediately.
“Mr. Bulstrode meant to make me happy,� shesaid bitterly, after a while; “but I doubt if he has. I even doubt, if that money comes to us, whether it may not do us more harm than good.�
“I understand quite well what you mean,� cried Blair, blazing up. “You think I will go back to horse racing, and gambling, and a few other vices. That is the confidence you have in my word. I tell you, Elizabeth, a man can’t have any confidence in himself unless somebody else has some confidence in him; and a man’s wife can make a scoundrel of him easier than anybody in the world.�
“I did not suspect that I was calculated to make a scoundrel of a man,� answered Elizabeth; and Blair taking out his watch ostentatiously and picking up his cigar again, she rose to go. Their voices had not risen beyond the most ordinary pitch, yet the first serious quarrel of their married life had come about. Blair relighted her candle for her, and held the door wide open until she had reached the top of the stair. He was very polite to her, but he was more angry with her than he supposed he ever could be. He was angry with her for the little she said, but more angry with her for the great deal she implied; and he meant to have some money on his expectations, if it were in the power of mortal man.