"Mr. Bragg was here the other day to speak to me—on business—No, no; I don't want any water! Sit still, child. And I think you are a great favourite of his."
"It's quite mutual, granny. Often and often, in London, I used to prefer a quiet talk with Mr. Bragg to the foolish chatter of smart people."
"Ay, ay! But 'smart people' need not be foolish, May."
"N—no; theyneednot. Only so many of them—especially the young men—seem to think it part of their smartness to put on a kind of foolishness."
Mrs. Dobbs looked wistfully at her grand-daughter. In that process of "sounding" May, which Mr. Bragg had recommended, and which Mrs. Dobbs was endeavouring to carry out, there arose this difficulty: the chords gave forth a full response to every touch; but who should interpret the meaning of the notes? Mrs. Dobbs had been accustomed to read May's feelings by swift intuition. She was now afraid to trust to that. Her interview with Mr. Bragg had upset so many of her preconceived ideas as to what could be considered probable, or even possible, in the matter of her grandchild's marriage, that her judgment seemed paralyzed. And then to risk a mistake which should involve May's life-long unhappiness, would be too tremendous a responsibility!
Measured by Mrs. Dobbs's unquiet thoughts it seemed a long time, but in reality less than a minute elapsed between May's last words and her saying—
"Talking of smart people, granny, don't you think Aunt Pauline is sure to know the truth about papa?"
"I cannot tell. There might be reasons why she should not have heard it, May."
"Well, at all events, I have been thinking that I will write to her and ask. If she does know, and is keeping her knowledge back from me for any reason—some of Aunt Pauline's mysterious dancing before deaf people, you know—that will make her speak out."
"I don't see why you should not write to her, if you choose, May."
Mrs. Dobbs had little doubt that Mrs. Dormer-Smith would be annoyed and perturbed by May's writing to her on the subject, whether the story of the marriage were true or false, and whether she herself had or had not heard of it. But Mrs. Dobbs was in no mood to shield Pauline from annoyance or perturbation.
"She and her 'gentleman of princely fortune,' indeed!" said Mrs. Dobbs to herself. "Why couldn't she say old Joshua Bragg? and then one would have known where one was."
So it was settled that May should write to her aunt.
Theodore Bransby at first indignantly repudiated Valli's scandals about Captain Cheffington. He was quite unprepared for them, having, it may be remembered, heard nothing of Miss Piper's story, told at the dinner-party in his father's house; and having, moreover, loftily snubbed every one in Oldchester who ventured to hint anything to the disparagement of his distinguished friend. What could Oldchester know about such persons as the Cheffingtons?
But general testimony and public opinion were too strong for him, and he was forced to give up his distinguished friend. He fell back on mysterious hints of sympathy and intimacy with "the family," and allusions to what "poor dear Lucius" had said to him on the last occasion of their dining together at Mrs. Dormer-Smith's.
In his heart, Theodore was deeply annoyed. He considered that Captain Cheffington (supposing report to speak truly) had not only derogated from his proper place in the world, but had, in some sense, personally injured him (Theodore) by forming a connection so far beneath him. Nevertheless, it was very possible that Captain Cheffington might some day come to be Viscount Castlecombe, and much would be forgiven to a wealthy peer of the realm. Theodore was conscious that he himself could forgive much to such a one. He was not prone to indulge in idle fancies, yet he caught himself once or twice writing on a corner of his blotting-pad the words "Hon. Mrs. Theodore Bransby," with pensive sentiment. But let her father's fate and fortunes be what they might, Theodore felt that he must still desire to marry May Cheffington. The recognition of this feeling in himself gave him an agreeable sense of his own elevation of soul. That fellow Rivers talked a vast deal of flashy nonsense, which dazzled people; but it was possible to take a serious and sensible view of life without being commonplace. Theodore did not by any means wish to be, or to be thought, commonplace.
He had just been called to the Bar, and ought by this time to have begun his professional career on the Midland Circuit. But he lingered in Oldchester on the plea of delicate health. It was not so much the presence of May Cheffington as that of Owen Rivers which chained him there. If Rivers would but have left Oldchester, Theodore would have turned his back on it also with small reluctance. The dull, vague jealousy of Rivers, which he began to feel long ago, had become acute. Rivers would have been a distasteful personage to him under any circumstances; but viewed as a rival, he inspired something like loathing. And yet the desire to watch him—not to lose sight of him so long as May should be in Oldchester—was irresistible. Theodore had never come so near quarrelling with his step-mother as on the subject of Owen Rivers; but he had failed in causing the latter to be excluded, or even coldly received, by Mrs. Bransby.
There was a painful scene one day at luncheon, when Martin, Mrs. Bransby's eldest boy, vehemently took up the cudgels in defence of his absent friend, Owen, of whom Theodore had been speaking with sneering contempt. Martin was ordered away from the table for being impertinent to his half-brother. But general sympathy was with the culprit; and Mr. Bransby said when the boy had left the room—
"Of course, it would not do to allow Martin to be saucy; but you are too hard upon Rivers, Theodore. He may have his faults; but, if he be idle, he is not self-indulgent. Rivers has a Spartan disdain of personal luxuries; and although he doesn't work, no one suffers by that but himself. He is incapable of a mean thought, has a most noble truthfulness of nature, and is a gentleman to the core."
Theodore turned deadly white, and answered, "I am sorry not to be able to agree with you, sir. To be a lounging hanger-on, as Rivers is at the Hadlows', is not compatible with my conception of a gentleman."
He rose as he spoke, and left the room, so as to cut off any possibility of a reply.
Mrs. Bransby had sat by with downcast eyes, parted lips, and beating heart. She was divided between delight at hearing her husband assert his own opinion against Theodore and her constitutional timidity and dread of a quarrel. When Theodore was gone, she put her hand on her husband's shoulder, and said—
"It is like you, dear Martin, to stand up for the absent. We are all—the children and I—so fond of young Rivers."
"I hate priggishness, and I hate spitefulness," rejoined Martin Bransby, with a sparkle in his fine dark eyes.
The old man's face had flushed when he uttered his protest. It was an unusual outburst; for of late—whether from failing health, or from whatever cause—Mr. Bransby had more and more shrunk from opposing or contradicting Theodore. He seemed almost timidly anxious to conciliate him; and was evidently distressed by any symptom of ill-will between his eldest son and the rest of the family. After a while the flush died from his cheek, and the fire from his eye. He sat with bowed head, softly caressing the white jewelled hand which had slidden down from his shoulder. Presently he said—
"Don't let us cherish feuds, or blow up resentment, Loui. If there are subjects on which Theodore thinks differently from you—and me; and me, too, my dear—let us avoid them. He has his good points, though he has weak ones—as we all have. Let us spare them. Theodore may be very helpful to the boys when I am gone. And I have it very much at heart that there should be peace and goodwill between them."
In Theodore's mind, however, the little incident rankled. He was silent about it. But that was no indication that he had either forgiven or forgotten it.
He was also annoyed and disappointed at seeing May Cheffington so seldom during this sojourn at home. He had formerly met her constantly at College Quad; but he could not now frequent Canon Hadlow's house as he had done in old days, even had he wished it. And although it appeared that Mrs. Bransby had struck up a great friendship with May during his absence, May's visits to her were very brief and rare. Theodore half suspected that his step-mother perversely stinted her invitations to the girl, for the express purpose of vexing him, and at length he plainly asked her how it was that Miss Cheffington came to their house so seldom. Mrs. Bransby was tempted to give him her real opinion as to the reason, but she refrained. She would not vex Martin by saying sharp things to his son. So she answered vaguely that Miss Cheffington now passed a good deal of her time at Garnet Lodge with her friend, Clara Bertram.
"Excuse me," said Theodore, tilting his chair, and looking down as from the summit of Mont Blanc upon his step-mother. "The Dormer-Smiths were very kind to that little Bertram girl in town, and Mrs. Dormer-Smith launched her in some of the best houses; but—pardon me for setting you right—she is not quite on such a footing as to be afriendof Miss Cheffington's."
However, he acted on the hint accidentally given, and began to honour the Miss Pipers with frequent visits.
The good-natured old maids received him very kindly; but it may be doubted whether he were particularly welcome to any of the persons who had taken the habit of dropping in nearly every evening at Garnet Lodge.
Major Mitton and Dr. Hatch were oldhabitués; but the circle now included some new ones. Mr. Bragg was often there. (Theodore considered it a striking proof of the incurable commonness of Mr. Bragg's tastes—already illustrated, to Theodore's apprehension, by a memorable instance—that he, to whom some of the best county society was accessible, and who had even been invited to Glengowrie, should prefer the middle-class sitting-room, and the middle-class gossip of Polly and Patty Piper.) There was, too, the inevitable Owen Rivers, and occasionally Mr. Sweeting and Cleveland Turner would drive over from the country-house which the former had hired in the neighbourhood. Miss Bertram's visit was prolonged; in Theodore's opinion very unduly. It might be all very well to invite her for professional purposes; but, once the musical party was over, it was absurd to keep the girl as a visitor in the house. Altogether, there was much that Theodore disapproved of at Garnet Lodge; but, as he told himself, he went there for a purpose totally disconnected with its owners. And if he did some violence to his social principles by condescending to frequent such an undistinguished andbourgeoisset of people, he was resolved to make amends by totally dropping their acquaintance in the, not distant, future.
As to May, although he genuinely believed that the Dormer-Smiths had influenced her against him, he was not so foolish as to think that she had been coerced, or that she was at all in love with him. Nevertheless, a vast deal might depend on the influence of those around her, in the case of a girl so young, so fresh-hearted, and so inexperienced. He had faith in his own perseverance and constancy. The main point—the only vital point—was to prevent any rival from succeeding. So long as May were free he had good hope. It was quite certain that the Cheffington family would never sanction her marrying Owen Rivers.Thatmust be taken as absolutely sure. And, indeed, Miss Cheffington herself would probably scout the idea. But with regard to what Rivers hoped and intended Theodore could not be mistaken. There, at least, he was clear-sighted. It was disgraceful on the part of a fellow like Rivers, subsisting in idleness on a beggarly pittance, and without prospects for the future, or advantages in the present, to aspire to such a girl as May Cheffington. Of course, Rivers knew very well that it would prove a good speculation. May might prove to be the sole heiress of a rich nobleman. At any rate, she would certainly inherit her grandmother's money. Mrs. Dobbs's savings, however paltry, would be a sufficient bait for Rivers, who had none of that ambition for fine tailoring, upholstery, and the paraphernalia of fashionable life which becomes a gentleman. Jealousy apart, perhaps that which made Owen peculiarly offensive to him was to see a man at once so poor, so contented, and so free from any misgivings as to his right to be generally respected.
On his side, it must be owned that Owen wasted no cordiality on Theodore. To see May speaking civilly to that correctly dressed and dignified young man caused Mr. Rivers a certain irritation which occasionally manifested itself in the most unreasonable ill-humour towards her.
"I really believe youlikehis empty arrogance," he said to her once. "Why else you should sit and listen to him with that complacent air, I cannot conceive."
"Oh, I enjoy it of all things," answered May mischievously; "otherwise I should, of course, cut him short by remarking, in a loud voice, and with a ferocious glare, 'Mr. Bransby, I look upon you as a tedious prig.' How delightful social intercourse would become if we had all reached that fine point of sincerity!"
But there were other causes of dislike between the young men unconnected with May Cheffington. Owen felt not only admiration, but regard, for Mrs. Bransby, and resented her stepson's demeanour towards her, while Theodore was embittered by hearing Owen's praises in his own family.
The perception of this lurking enmity between them made May anxious to smoothe asperities and prevent a rupture. In her heart, although she admitted he had done nothing to startle or offend her of late, she intensely disliked Theodore Bransby; yet she found herself in a position of taking his part against Owen. Owen was too absolute, too inflexible, too implacable, she said. After all, Theodore had always conducted himself irreproachably. He might not be agreeable tothem(May had innocently come to join herself with Owen in this kind of partnership in sentiment), but probablytheywere not always agreeable to other people; they ought to be tolerant if they wished to be tolerated—and the like sage reflections. All which pretty lectures, though they made Owen no whit less obdurate towards Theodore, melted his heart into ever softer tenderness for May.
She had not gone to Glengowrie. The reprieve he had allowed himself, after which she was to depart, and he must steel himself to endure her absence for, probably, the remainder of his life, had expired. But May was still there. And there, too, was he. He was free to go away at any moment. But he lingered. He began to suffer sharp pangs of regret when he thought of the lost opportunities which lay behind him; for now sometimes it seemed to him as if this sweet, pure girl might come to love him. And what had he to offer her? How could he ask her to share such a life as his? Owen had held certain uncompromising theories: such as that a woman who hesitated to partake poverty with the man she professed to love was not worth winning; and that a man must be but a poor creature who should weigh a woman's fortune against himself, and fear to woo a well-dowered girl lest he might be thought to love her money bags and not her. And he had long ago decided that withhismarriage, at least (supposing that unlikely event ever took place), considerations of money should have nothing to do on either side. But theories—even true theories—are apt to find themselves a little out of breath when suddenly confronted with the fact.
The advice so vigorously given by Mrs. Dobbs to do some honest work, if it were but breaking stones upon the road, took a new significance when he thought of May. That on this point May agreed with her grandmother's view he had ascertained, although a shy consciousness restrained her from urging him to change his course of life. He began to cast about in his mind for some possible employment; but he found, as so many others had found before him, how difficult it is to turn "general acquirements" into a definite channel.
A chance word of Mr. Bragg's at length suddenly suggested a hope to him.
Mr. Bragg mentioned one evening at Garnet Lodge that he purposed making a journey into Spain, partly on matters connected with his son's business; and said that he should like to find some trustworthy person to accompany him as secretary and interpreter.
"I don't speak any foreign language myself," said Mr. Bragg. "Of course, there's always somebody that knows English; and pounds sterling are a pretty universal language, I find, and make themselves understood everywhere. But still, you're at a disadvantage with people who can talk your tongue while you can't talk theirs."
"But you could send somebody, couldn't you?" suggested Miss Patty. "Spain, I've heard, is such a horrid country."
"Horrid!" cried Major Mitton indignantly. (He was strong in recollections of sundry youthful escapades and excursions from "Gib.") "Most delightful country! Most picturesque, poetical, and——"
"Oh yes; but I meant the cooking," explained Miss Patty.
Mr. Bragg, however, valorously declared himself ready to face the perils of Spanish cookery. His son was not satisfied with his correspondent at Barcelona. Mr. Bragg wanted change of air; and since he had given up the idea of visiting the Highlands this autumn, he would take this opportunity of seeing foreign parts, and at the same time looking into matters at Barcelona for his son.
Owen's heart beat fast as the thought occurred to him of offering himself to Mr. Bragg as secretary for this journey. He hurried after Mr. Bragg when the latter's carriage was announced, and stopped him in the hall to ask when and where he could have a private interview with him. Mr. Bragg answered in his slow, ruminating way, as he took his coat from the servant—
"An interview with me? Oh, well, why not come over to lunch? My house ain't beyond a pleasant walk for your young legs."
"No, thank you; I won't come to luncheon. But I want an appointment—I shall not take up much of your time—on business."
"Oh, on business, is it?" said Mr. Bragg. It was curious to note how evidently the sound of the word made him bring his mind to bear on what was said to him, with a new and keener attention. "On business! It's nothing you could write, I suppose."
"Yes; I could write it. Shall I?"
"I think it would be the best plan, if you don't mind. You see I find, in a general way, that talk—what you might call, branches out so. Now a letter limits a man. I don't mean this for your partic'lar case, you know, but speaking in a general way. Perhaps, if we find afterwards that there is anything to talk over, you might look me up at my office in Friar's Row. It'll be easier to settle all that when I know what the business is. Good night. My respects to your aunt."
Owen hastened to his lodgings, and set himself at once to compose a letter to Mr. Bragg. Seeing that it was then past eleven o'clock at night, and that Mr. Bragg had set out for his country-house, it was scarcely probable that he should have found a secretary between that hour and the following morning. But Owen felt as if every moment's delay might be fatal. Oldchester persons, who had seen him lounging on Canon Hadlow's lawn, and merely knew him as a young man fond of smoking, and reading, and such unprofitable employments, would have been amazed at the impetuous energy he threw into the writing of this letter. But the same weight of character which gives massiveness to repose adds a formidable momentum to action.
The main difficulty, he soon found, was to make his letter short. This, after several failures, and the tearing up of three copies, he accomplished to a fair extent, if not wholly to his own satisfaction. When he had finished the letter, he put it into a cover, stamped and addressed it, and went out to post it with his own hand. By that time it was considerably past midnight. The letter could have been delivered by hand in Friar's Row next morning, and would probably have reached Mr. Bragg equally soon. But it was a relief to Owen in his restless, impetuous mood to have done something irrevocable. And there are few actions in life so obviously irrevocable as posting a letter. This is what he had written—
"Dear Sir,"I venture to offer myself for the post of your secretary during the journey you propose making to Spain."My qualifications are—Honesty; a fair knowledge of the Spanish language; and considerable experience of travelling in Spain, where I have made two long tours on foot. Perhaps I ought to add to these good health, and willingness to be useful. My disadvantages are—Ignorance of the forms of mercantile correspondence, and inexperience of the duties of a secretary. I believe I could learn both very quickly."I have hitherto been a man without occupation. I am now anxious to have one by which I can earn money. Should you, on inquiry and consideration, think I could honestly earn some as your secretary, I should be grateful if you would give me a trial."I am ready to wait on you at your office, or elsewhere, in case you wish for an interview, and remain,"Dear Sir,"Yours truly,"Owen Rivers."
"Dear Sir,
"I venture to offer myself for the post of your secretary during the journey you propose making to Spain.
"My qualifications are—Honesty; a fair knowledge of the Spanish language; and considerable experience of travelling in Spain, where I have made two long tours on foot. Perhaps I ought to add to these good health, and willingness to be useful. My disadvantages are—Ignorance of the forms of mercantile correspondence, and inexperience of the duties of a secretary. I believe I could learn both very quickly.
"I have hitherto been a man without occupation. I am now anxious to have one by which I can earn money. Should you, on inquiry and consideration, think I could honestly earn some as your secretary, I should be grateful if you would give me a trial.
"I am ready to wait on you at your office, or elsewhere, in case you wish for an interview, and remain,
"Dear Sir,
"Yours truly,
"Owen Rivers."
The following afternoon Owen was summoned to see Mr. Bragg at his office. The old house in Friar's Row had been painted and varnished inside and out. Plate glass glittered in the window panes, and elaborate brass handles shone on the doors. Owen had never been in the house during the days of Mrs. Dobbs's occupation. But he knew that May had spent much of her childhood there; and he looked round the private room into which he was shown with a tender glance such as probably never before rested on those mahogany office fittings, morocco-covered chairs, and neatly ranged account-books.
Mr. Bragg was sitting at a writing-table, and held out his hand without rising, when Owen entered.
"Sit down, Mr. Rivers," he said, pointing to a chair opposite to his own, on the other side of the table.
Owen sat down, and remained waiting in silence.
"Well, so you think you'd like to go to Spain with me?" said Mr. Bragg, slowly rubbing his chin, and looking thoughtfully at the young man.
"I should like to get work to do, Mr. Bragg. I don't care much where it is. But it struck me that I might be useful to you in Spain."
"Ah! Well, I was surprised at your letter."
"Nothing in it that you object to, I hope?"
"Oh no. Oh dear, no. Only I didn't know you was in want of employment. And I should have thought——"
"Yes?"
"I should have thought you'd ha' liked some more—what you might call professional employment."
"A man can't step into a profession from one day to another. And besides, the professions are overstocked. There's no elbow-room in any of them—especially for a poor man."
"Ah! Yes; I hear that sort of thing is said a great deal; but it seems to me that might be a reason for giving up living altogether. There's a good many of us in all classes, one way and another; but a man has got tomakeroom for himself."
"You have a right to say so, Mr. Bragg, and I have no right to dispute it: for you have tried and succeeded, and I have not even tried."
"Ah! That seems a pity—with your education, and all. However, I didn't intend to branch out, as I said to you last night. With regard to the point in hand, I would just say at once that this situation would be strictly tempor'y, you understand. It couldn't be looked on in the light of what you might call an opening."
"I understand."
"At the same time it might—I don't say it would—leadtoan opening," continued Mr. Bragg, indenting the paper before him by drawing his thumb-nail along it with a strong, steady movement, as though he mentally saw the opening in question, and were mapping out the way to it.
"I quite understand that if you engaged me as secretary for this journey, you would not bind yourself to anything beyond. Whether anything further came of it, or not, would depend, first, on my suitableness; and next, on circumstances."
"That's it," said Mr. Bragg, leaning back in his chair, and nodding slowly.
"Well, Mr. Bragg, I can only say I would do my best. As to my knowledge of Spanish, I'm not afraid. I began to learn the language first for the sake of reading Cervantes, as so many people have done before me; but since then I have acquired a colloquial knowledge of it by talking with all sorts of Spaniards when I was tramping about their country."
"Ihaveheard," said Mr. Bragg, not displeased to show himself acquainted with the literary aspect of the matter, "of a man that learned Spanish in order to read a book called 'Don Quixote.'"
"Just as I did."
"Oh!Didyou? I thought you mentioned a different name. And can you write it?"
"Fairly well; but I should have to learn the commercial style."
"There'd be more need, perhaps, for you to understand it than to write it yourself. All communications with my son in Buenos Ayres could, of course, be written in English."
Mr. Bragg here made a long, thoughtful pause. It was so long a pause that Owen at length broke it by saying with a smile, though the colour rose to his brow—
"As to my character, I can't give you one from my last place, because I never had a place; but my uncle, Canon Hadlow, will, I believe, guarantee my trustworthiness."
He felt a queer little shock when Mr. Bragg, instead of protesting himself fully satisfied on that score, answered in a matter-of-fact tone—
"Ah! yes, I dare say he will. I make no doubt but what that'll be all right." Then, after a second, shorter pause, he continued, "There's one point, Mr. Rivers, that I must put quite plain. I expect everybody in my employment to obey orders. Now, you see, you, having been what you might call brought up a gentleman, might not——"
"Oh, I hope you don't think that insubordination is part of a gentleman's bringing up?"
"It hadn't ought to be; but it's best to be clear."
"Clearly, then, I can undertake to obey your orders; and I would only warn you to give them carefully, because I shall carry them out to the letter. If you ordered me to make a bonfire of your bank-notes, I should burn 'em all without mercy."
Mr. Bragg laughed his quiet, inward laugh. There was something in the conception of himself ordering bank-notes to be burned, which keenly touched his not very lively sense of the ludicrous.
"All right," said he. "I'll takethatrisk."
"Then am I to conclude—may I hope that you will engage me?" asked Owen, with nervous eagerness.
"Why, I shall ask leave to turn it over in my mind a little longer. But I'll undertake not to keep you waiting beyond to-morrow morning. You see, if I do make an offer, it's best you should have it in writing. And sim'larly, if you accept it, I ought to have that in writing."
"Thank you. Then I need not intrude longer on your time."
"No intrusion at all, Mr. Rivers. Good morning to you."
Owen turned round at the door, and coming back to the writing-table, said, "May I ask you to keep my application to yourself for the present?"
"Certainly," answered Mr. Bragg. But he looked slightly surprised.
"Of course, I don't mean the thing to be secret so far as I am concerned."
"Why, no; we couldn't hardly keep it secret," said Mr. Bragg gravely.
"Of course not. But if your answer should be favourable, I should like to be the first to tell—a—a person—the one or two persons who take any interest in me."
"But I shall have to say a word to your uncle; and that's pretty well the same thing as saying it to your aunt, I take it."
"Oh yes; to be sure. I didn't mean you not to mention it tothem."
"All right. I certainly shall not mention it to anybody else," returned Mr. Bragg.
And when the young man was gone, he said to himself, "I wonder who else there is Icouldmention it to that would care two straws one way or the other. I like his way. He don't jaw like that young Bransby. And he didn't try to soap me."
The next day Owen Rivers was formally engaged as travelling secretary to Mr. Bragg for three months, beginning from October, which was now near at hand.
Mrs. Dobbs had judged rightly as to the effect of May's letter on her Aunt Pauline. That sorely tried lady was overwhelmed at this time by various troubles. She did not write to May, but addressed a very long and somewhat rambling letter to Mrs. Dobbs. After the strongest expressions of dismay and horror at the rumour of her brother's marriage, Pauline proceeded—
"I really cannot answer May's letter—at all events, not at present. I am deeply distressed that she should have addressed me on the subject at all. It is such terribly bad form in a girl of her age to appear cognisant ofanythingnot brought to her knowledge by the proper channels. I had heard a vague report of the connection—which was bad enough. But who could have supposed that Augustus would have degraded himself to the point ofmarryingsuch a person! But I ought not to trouble you with my feelings on this matter, for I am very sure you cannot imagine one tithe of the various distressing results to the family which will flow from it. It is much to be regretted that May so precipitately decided not to go to Glengowrie; particularly under recent untoward circumstances. I learn from a friend in town that my cousin, Mr. Lucius Cheffington, is much better. I do not mean, of course, that this is an untoward circumstance; but it alters the position of affairs. I scarcely know what I write. You may not be aware—few persons are aware—of the delicate state of my nervous system. I suffer keenly from any mental pressure. And of late I seem to have had nothing else! My cure at this place has been sadly interfered with by anxiety for others. But, really whether poor dear Lucius recover or not, if this story from Belgium is true, my niece's position will be a most painful one. From the tone of her letter to me, I can see that she does not at all take in the situation. You can tell her one thing from me: If my brother were to succeed to the title to-morrow, he would have nothing but what the entail gives him. So if she imagines otherwise it would be well to undeceive her. You won't mind my saying that in this respect the circumstances of my brother's first marriage were peculiarly unfortunate, since they prevented any settlement being made for the children."
"I really cannot answer May's letter—at all events, not at present. I am deeply distressed that she should have addressed me on the subject at all. It is such terribly bad form in a girl of her age to appear cognisant ofanythingnot brought to her knowledge by the proper channels. I had heard a vague report of the connection—which was bad enough. But who could have supposed that Augustus would have degraded himself to the point ofmarryingsuch a person! But I ought not to trouble you with my feelings on this matter, for I am very sure you cannot imagine one tithe of the various distressing results to the family which will flow from it. It is much to be regretted that May so precipitately decided not to go to Glengowrie; particularly under recent untoward circumstances. I learn from a friend in town that my cousin, Mr. Lucius Cheffington, is much better. I do not mean, of course, that this is an untoward circumstance; but it alters the position of affairs. I scarcely know what I write. You may not be aware—few persons are aware—of the delicate state of my nervous system. I suffer keenly from any mental pressure. And of late I seem to have had nothing else! My cure at this place has been sadly interfered with by anxiety for others. But, really whether poor dear Lucius recover or not, if this story from Belgium is true, my niece's position will be a most painful one. From the tone of her letter to me, I can see that she does not at all take in the situation. You can tell her one thing from me: If my brother were to succeed to the title to-morrow, he would have nothing but what the entail gives him. So if she imagines otherwise it would be well to undeceive her. You won't mind my saying that in this respect the circumstances of my brother's first marriage were peculiarly unfortunate, since they prevented any settlement being made for the children."
"Ay," said Mrs. Dobbs, interrupting her reading at this point, "not to mention that by that time Augustus had nothing left to settle!"
Then she resumed the letter—
"You and I, my dear Mrs. Dobbs, must join our forces in face of these new and trying circumstances. The more I think of it the more I regret that my niece has missed the opportunity of going to Glengowrie, especially since I have learned that Mrs. Griffin is going to chaperon another young lady in her stead. In society it is fatal to drop out of sight—you are forgotten immediately—and I cannot expect Mrs. Griffin to do more than she has done. Indeed, both she and the dear duchess have been extraordinarily kind—I fear May scarcely appreciateshowkind; but the truth is that she is singularly—I scarcely know what word to use—not dull, but indifferent on certain points. There is an apathy about her sometimes which has caused her uncle and myself a great deal of distress. But really shemustrouse herself from it now. It is a great comfort to us to know that you, my dear Mrs. Dobbs, take a sound view of my niece's position, and have her best interests at heart."Believe me,"Very truly yours,"P. Dormer-Smith."P.S.—I havethis momentreceived a letter from Miss Hadlow, in which she mentions, amongst other items of news, that the gentleman whom I wrote of as being interested in May has declined his invitation to Glengowrie, and is now in Oldchester! There appears to be something absolutely providential in this. I know you have great influence over May. Pray exert it to make her see what is right. I have never been able to get her to look on her social position as involving certainduties. But, indeed, in her case, the duty immediately before her of obtaining a splendid settlement and a fine position is an easy one. I have seen cases of realsacrificeto this social obligation endured without murmur. Since they are both in Oldchester, it must surely be easy to give the gentleman every opportunity of presenting his suit. Indeed, there may be better opportunities than at Glengowrie. The longer we live the more we realize how everything is overruled for good."P. D. S.""I reopen this to write an essential word:—The name of the gentleman I have alluded to! You may form some conception of the pressure on my brain from my having omitted to do so before. He is a Mr. Bragg—a man of very large wealth, and received everywhere. I know that my uncle has more than once received him at Combe Park. And he would, I dare say, have got some chaperon there, and had May down for a time; but, of course, under the bereavement we have all just suffered in the death of my cousin George, this cannot be at present. But there surely must be, among the better families in Oldchester, some whom Mr. Bragg visits? Possibly the bishop, if he is there; or, perhaps the dean? I know Lady Mary slightly. Pray lose no time, my dear Mrs. Dobbs, in ascertaining this."
"You and I, my dear Mrs. Dobbs, must join our forces in face of these new and trying circumstances. The more I think of it the more I regret that my niece has missed the opportunity of going to Glengowrie, especially since I have learned that Mrs. Griffin is going to chaperon another young lady in her stead. In society it is fatal to drop out of sight—you are forgotten immediately—and I cannot expect Mrs. Griffin to do more than she has done. Indeed, both she and the dear duchess have been extraordinarily kind—I fear May scarcely appreciateshowkind; but the truth is that she is singularly—I scarcely know what word to use—not dull, but indifferent on certain points. There is an apathy about her sometimes which has caused her uncle and myself a great deal of distress. But really shemustrouse herself from it now. It is a great comfort to us to know that you, my dear Mrs. Dobbs, take a sound view of my niece's position, and have her best interests at heart.
"Believe me,
"Very truly yours,
"P. Dormer-Smith.
"P.S.—I havethis momentreceived a letter from Miss Hadlow, in which she mentions, amongst other items of news, that the gentleman whom I wrote of as being interested in May has declined his invitation to Glengowrie, and is now in Oldchester! There appears to be something absolutely providential in this. I know you have great influence over May. Pray exert it to make her see what is right. I have never been able to get her to look on her social position as involving certainduties. But, indeed, in her case, the duty immediately before her of obtaining a splendid settlement and a fine position is an easy one. I have seen cases of realsacrificeto this social obligation endured without murmur. Since they are both in Oldchester, it must surely be easy to give the gentleman every opportunity of presenting his suit. Indeed, there may be better opportunities than at Glengowrie. The longer we live the more we realize how everything is overruled for good.
"P. D. S."
"I reopen this to write an essential word:—The name of the gentleman I have alluded to! You may form some conception of the pressure on my brain from my having omitted to do so before. He is a Mr. Bragg—a man of very large wealth, and received everywhere. I know that my uncle has more than once received him at Combe Park. And he would, I dare say, have got some chaperon there, and had May down for a time; but, of course, under the bereavement we have all just suffered in the death of my cousin George, this cannot be at present. But there surely must be, among the better families in Oldchester, some whom Mr. Bragg visits? Possibly the bishop, if he is there; or, perhaps the dean? I know Lady Mary slightly. Pray lose no time, my dear Mrs. Dobbs, in ascertaining this."
Mrs. Dobbs pondered long after reading this epistle. In May's absence she often turned over in her mind the advantages of an alliance with Mr. Bragg; remembered favourable precedents; and taught herself to think that it might be. The sight of the girl's face, and the sound of her voice, were apt to scatter these fancies as sunrise scatters the mists. But they returned when May disappeared again, and haunted all the old woman's lonely hours.
One morning, after an evening spent at Garnet Lodge, when Mrs. Dobbs was alone with her grandchild, and was meditating how she should approach the subject chiefly in her thoughts, May unexpectedly began—
"Granny, do you know I have something to say that will surprise you."
"Have you, May? Nothing ought to surprise me at seventy odd. But, somehow, things do surprise me still."
"Of course they do, granny! I think it is only blockheads who are never astonished, because one thing is much the same to them as another."
"Well, I'm glad I can prove myself no blockhead at such an easy rate. What is your surprise about, May?"
"It's about—Mr. Bragg."
The colour came into May's cheeks as she looked up with a bright, shy glance from her favourite low seat beside granny's knee. But it was nothing to the deep, sudden flush which dyed Mrs. Dobbs's face. She looked at her grandchild almost vacantly for a moment, and then grew paler than before. But May did not observe all this. She sat smiling to herself, with the colour varying in her face, as it so easily did on the very slightest emotion, her hands clasped round her knees, and her bright head bent down, as she continued—
"I have had my suspicions for some time past; but I said nothing until last night. Then, when I went into Clara's room to put my hat on, I just gave her a tiny hint; and she said very likely I was right, and did not laugh at me a bit. But I dare say you will laugh at me, granny."
"Let us hear, my lass," said Mrs. Dobbs, moistening her lips, which felt parched.
"Well—Ithink that Mr. Bragg has a motive in coming so often to Garnet Lodge."
"I suppose he has."
"Ah, but a very special motive—amatrimonialmotive. There, granny!"
Mrs. Dobbs looked down with a singular expression at the shining brown hair so near to her hand which rested on the elbow of her easy-chair. But she did not caress it as she habitually did when within reach. She sat quite still, and merely said—
"So you think it surprising that Mr. Bragg should have matrimonial intentions, do you?"
"Oh no. It isn'tthat. Mr. Bragg is a very kind-hearted man, and would be sure to make a good husband. And, do you know, he is very far from stupid, granny."
"I dare say. Joshua Bragg always had his head screwed on the right way."
"His manner is against him. Of course, he is uneducated; and rather slow. But, after all, that doesn't matter so very much."
"And he's rich," added Mrs. Dobbs in a dry tone.
"Ever so rich! I am sure he must have heaps and heaps of money, or else Aunt Pauline would not approve of him so highly."
"And not quite decrepit."
"Decrepit! What a word to use, granny! No; I should think not, indeed!"
"H'm! Neither a brute, nor in his dotage; and immensely rich—I don't know what a woman can wish for more!" said Mrs. Dobbs, with increasing bitterness.
"Why, granny!" exclaimed May, looking up. "I thought you rather liked Mr. Bragg! I have always heard you speak well of him."
The hand on the chair-arm clenched and unclenched itself nervously, as Mrs. Dobbs answered in short, jerky sentences, and as though she were forcing herself with an effort to utter them, "Oh, so I do. Joshua Bragg is an honest kind of man. I've nothing against him. Don't think that, my lass."
"Well, granny, but now for the surprise. I wonder you have not guessed it by this time. Who do you think is the lady?"
"I can't guess. Tell it out, May, and have done with it."
"To be sure there is not much choice. If it were not one, itmustbe the other! But I have made up my mind that Mr. Bragg and Miss Patty will make a match of it! What do you say tothat, granny?"
Mrs. Dobbs said nothing; but gasped, and laid her head back on the cushion of her chair.
"I thought you would be surprised! But when one comes to think of it, it seems very suitable, doesn't it? Mr. Bragg admires Miss Patty's cookery above everything. And she is such a kind, charitable soul, she would do worlds of good with riches. And they agree on so many points—even their crotchets. And, do you know, Miss Patty would look ten years younger if she would leave off that yellow wig. She has such nice soft grey hair that she brushes back! I have settled that she is to leave off the wig when she marries Mr. Bragg, and take to picturesque mob caps. I have been arranging all sorts of things in my own mind. I'm quite coming out in the character of a matchmaker, granny!"
In the midst of her chatter the girl looked up, and uttered an exclamation of dismay. Her grandmother's head still lay back against the cushion of the chair; her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be laughing to herself. But the tears were pouring down her cheeks. At May's exclamation she opened her arms wide, and then pressed the girl's bright brown head against her breast, saying brokenly—
"Don't be feared, child! I'm all right. I couldn't help laughing a bit. It's so—so funny to think of old Joshua and—and Miss Patty!"
"But you are crying, too, granny! Is anything the matter? Do tell me."
"Nothing, child; I'm all right. Poor Joshua! He was a good lad when he worked for your grandfather. And—and—I rememberhera little miss in a white frock and blue sash. It brings up old times, that's all, May. Lord, what fools we are when we try to be cunning!" and Mrs. Dobbs went off again into a fit of laughter, interspersed with sobs.
"I didn't try to be cunning!" said May indignantly.
"You, my lamb! Whoever thought you did?" returned her grandmother, wiping her eyes and kissing May's forehead.
By and by she resumed her usual solid self-possession. She told May that she did not agree in her view of the state of the case, and advised her not to hint her matchmaking project to any one. "You have said a word to Miss Bertram, and that can't be taken back; but she is wise beyond her years, and will not chatter."
"But there's nothing wrong in the idea, granny," protested May, who was considerably puzzled by her grandmother's unusual demeanour.
"No, no, nothing wrong; only Mr. Bragg might not like it—he might be looking after a young wife, who knows? Anyway, we will keep our ideas to ourselves."
As she spoke, the latch of the garden-gate clicked, and, following May's glance, Mrs. Dobbs saw from the open window Owen Rivers advancing up the path towards the house.
The "gentleman of princely fortune," whose image had interposed between her shrewd apprehension and the facts before her, having melted away like a phantom, she perceived that here was a new influence to be reckoned with—a new force which, whether for good or ill, might help to shape her grandchild's future.
"May I come in?" asked Owen.
"Come in, Mr. Rivers."
Mrs. Dobbs felt as though she had invited embodied Destiny to cross her threshold—Destiny, in the prosaic guise of a blue-eyed, square-built young man, in a shooting-jacket and a wide-awake hat. But that Power does not often appear to mortals with much outward pomp and circumstance. We are like children who think a king must needs go about in royal robes, crowned and sceptred. But the decree which changes our lives is mostly signed by some plain figure in everyday clothes, whom we should not turn our heads to look upon.
Owen entered the little parlour, and came and stood opposite to Mrs. Dobbs's chair, without any of the customary salutations. "Well," said he eagerly; "I have some news for you."
"Lord, ha' mercy! This is a day of news," muttered Mrs. Dobbs under her breath. Then she said aloud, "I hope it's good news?"
"I have found some work to do. Is that good?"
Mrs. Dobbs clapped her hands softly. "Very good," she said. Half an hour ago her approbation would have been more heartily expressed; but she was looking at him now with different eyes, and considering his prospects with a new and serious interest.
"You haven't asked me what the work is," said Owen, just a little disappointed by her quietude.
"I suppose it isnotstone-breaking? But if it is, I stick to my colours. Better that than nothing."
"You will say, Mrs. Dobbs, that I am luckier than I deserve to be. I am engaged as secretary to a man who is about to travel in Spain. I happen to know Spanish. Luck again; for I learnt it merely to amuse myself."
"Yes; I do think that isn't bad for a beginning, and I hope it will lead to something more. Who is the gentleman, if I may ask?"
Before Owen could answer, May, who had perched herself on the elbow of Jo Weatherhead's vacant chair, said, "I think I can guess. It's Mr. Bragg."
"Mr. Bragg!" echoed her grandmother, as if doubtful of having heard aright.
"I remember hearing him talk of a journey into Spain, and of wanting to find a gentleman to go with him. Am I not right?"
"Quite right," answered Owen.
"Mr. Bragg! Well, thatisstrange!" whispered Mrs. Dobbs to herself.
Owen had taken a chair, and sat bending forward, with his elbows on his knees, pleating and puckering in his fingers the brim of his soft felt hat. He had not hitherto so much as looked towards May; now he straightened himself in his chair, and, fixing his eyes on her earnestly, asked—
"And what doyousay to my news, Miss Cheffington?"
"I say, as granny says, that I am very glad," she answered, smiling, but speaking in a subdued tone.
"It's more to the purpose to ask what Canon and Mrs. Hadlow say to it," put in Mrs. Dobbs. "I hope they are pleased?"
"I dare say—I have no doubt—I—I have not seen Aunt Jane yet. The fact is, I am on my way to College Quad; but I thought I would look in here as I passed, and tell you that I have followed your advice, Mrs. Dobbs."
The direct road from Owen's lodgings to College Quad was a short, and nearly straight, line. To visit Jessamine Cottage "on the way" from one to the other was analogous to going round by Edinburgh on a journey from London to Leeds.
"I wanted a little patting on the back and cheering up, you see," continued Owen.
"Cheering up!" cried May. "Oh! but I remember that Mrs. Hadlow said you always liked to be pitied for having your own way. You must require a great deal of consolation, truly, for the prospect of travelling in that delightful country!"
Owen nodded, and carefully fitted one pleat of his hat-brim into another, as he answered, "I dare say my appetite for consolation is bigger than you imagine."
"I think it is Mr. Bragg who needs cheering up. Poor man, he little knows what a peremptory, protestant, and positive secretary he will have!" retorted May, with a half shy, half saucy, wholly mischievous, glance.
"Not at all! Now, that is just the kind of mistake which Aunt Jane so often makes. But if I serve, I mean to serve honestly, and to be thoroughly obedient; I have told Mr. Bragg so." And Owen proceeded to justify himself, and to develop his views as to the duties of a secretary, with superfluous energy and earnestness.
The old woman sat watching them, and, as she looked, she was amazed at her own previous blindness. How could she—how could any one—have seen them together without perceiving that they were falling over head and ears in love with each other? These two young creatures seemed, in her old eyes, like a couple of children playing in a pleasure-boat. But she knew that the river was running towards the sea—widening and deepening with an irrevocable current. There was room for anxiety about the future, no doubt. Yet a sense of relief in her mind—as if she had escaped out of some oppressive atmosphere—revealed more and more distinctly how repugnant the idea of May's marrying Mr. Bragg had really been to her.
"Sarah Dobbs," said she to herself severely, "you're a worldly, false old woman! You're a nice one to find fault with that poor creature Pauline! What wereyoudoing, pray, but sacrificing your conscience to the mammon of unrighteousness? The Lord be praised, the dear child is better, and purer, and honester than either of us old harridans!"
Then she broke into the conversation between May and Owen, which by this time had sunk into a low murmur, and asked abruptly whether the engagement with Mr. Bragg was to lead to any further employment.
Owen repeated what Mr. Bragg had said to him, as nearly as he could remember it; and Mrs. Dobbs thought it hopeful.
"Joshua Bragg is an honest man—a man to be relied on: one of the few who generally means what he says, all that he says, and nothing but what he says," said she, nodding thoughtfully.
May was glad to find granny doing justice to Mr. Bragg; and remarked to herself that, if it were possible to conceive granny's ever being capricious, she would have called her capricious to-day in her varying tone about that worthy man.
"I shouldn't wonder," pursued Mrs. Dobbs, "if he put you in the way of getting permanent employment—supposing you please him. He might get you a place out in South America with his son. Young Joshua is in a great way of business there, I'm told. Would you go if you had the chance?" she asked suddenly, looking at Owen with a searching gaze.
"Undoubtedly," he replied at once.
"And you wouldn't mind being—being banished like from England?"
"Mind? Oh, well, of course I should prefer a thousand a year and a villa on the Thames; but a fellow who has been an idler up to four and twenty must take any chance of earning something, and be thankful for it."
"That'sright." Mrs. Dobbs drew a long breath of relief.
"It would only be for a year or two; I should come back," added Owen wistfully.
Then he shook hands and went away, and Mrs. Dobbs and her grand-daughter were left to discuss the news he had told them. May chatted away cheerfully, even gaily. When Mr. Weatherhead arrived the subject was talked over again. Jo's pleasure in the prospect opening before Mr. Rivers was somewhat tempered by his sense of the incongruity involved in "a gentleman like that, brimful of learning, and belonging to the old landed gentry," being under the orders of Joshua Bragg!
"There's no contradiction at all, Jo, if you look at it fairly," said Mrs. Dobbs. "Mr. Bragg will command where he has a right to—that is, in matters that he knows better than Mr. Rivers, for all his book-learning. It isn't as if Joshua wanted to teach the young man how to be a gentleman. I don't say it's not a good thing to be a gentleman, but it ain't exactly a paying business nowadays, if ever it was, which I doubt."
"Ah, more's the pity!" said Jo, shaking his head.
"Why, if I was a gentleman—or a lady—I shouldn't agree with you there, Jo. If gentlehood don't mean something above and beyond what can be paid for, 'tis a poor business. It seems to me just as pitiful for gentry to expect money's worth for their old family, high breeding, and fine manners, as it is for the grand workers of the world to grumble because they can't have power over the past, as well as the present and the future. Mr. Bragg ain't one of that sort. You'll never catchhiminventing a family crest, or painting wild beasts on his carriage."
Jo took his pipe out of his mouth, and looked with solemn approbation at his old friend. "Sarah," said he, "you're right; and I believe you're a better Conservative than me, when all's said and done."
May had been silent during this discussion. She held some needlework in her hands; but they were lying idly on her lap, and she was gazing out of the window as intently as though the small suburban garden offered a prospect of inexhaustible interest. The cessation of the voices roused her. She looked round, and said softly—
"It's a good climate, isn't it, granny? Where Mr. Bragg's son lives, I mean."
Before going to bed that night Mrs. Dobbs sat down and wrote a letter, marked "private and confidential," to Mr. Bragg.
"Dear Mr. Bragg" (she wrote),"I think it my duty to let you know at once that the idea mentioned in your conversation with me must be given up. I have made quite sure in my own mind that there is no chance of its coming to anything. I feel very much how right you were to speak to me first. You have spared other people's feelings as well as your own. When you asked me the question, I answered you truly, to the best of my belief, that there was nobody else in the field. But since our talk together I have found out that I was wrong there. Thereisanother attachment. It may come to something, or it may not. And you will understand that I am putting a great confidence in you. But I know I can trust to your honour as you trusted to mine. Not a word has passed my lips of what you said to me, and never will. Of course, you may think me mistaken, and choose to find out the state of the case for yourself at first-hand. If you do so I shall not have a word to say against it. Anyway, I know you will act upright according to your conscience, as I have tried to act according to mine. I want to tell you that I appreciate how generous your intentions were, though I'm afraid I did not show it at the time, being surprised and upset."Believe me,"With sincere respect,"Yours truly,"Sarah Dobbs."
"Dear Mr. Bragg" (she wrote),
"I think it my duty to let you know at once that the idea mentioned in your conversation with me must be given up. I have made quite sure in my own mind that there is no chance of its coming to anything. I feel very much how right you were to speak to me first. You have spared other people's feelings as well as your own. When you asked me the question, I answered you truly, to the best of my belief, that there was nobody else in the field. But since our talk together I have found out that I was wrong there. Thereisanother attachment. It may come to something, or it may not. And you will understand that I am putting a great confidence in you. But I know I can trust to your honour as you trusted to mine. Not a word has passed my lips of what you said to me, and never will. Of course, you may think me mistaken, and choose to find out the state of the case for yourself at first-hand. If you do so I shall not have a word to say against it. Anyway, I know you will act upright according to your conscience, as I have tried to act according to mine. I want to tell you that I appreciate how generous your intentions were, though I'm afraid I did not show it at the time, being surprised and upset.
"Believe me,
"With sincere respect,
"Yours truly,
"Sarah Dobbs."
Shortly after that, Mr. Bragg came and called upon her. He thanked her for her letter, and spoke in a friendly tone. But he seemed indisposed to consider the matter as finished.
"Young people sometimes don't know their own minds," he said. He further declared that he had no present intention of speaking to May; but that, as he was going abroad, he might—if nothing were settled meanwhile—resume the subject on his return to England.
"I'm quite sure in my own mind that it's no use," said Mrs. Dobbs firmly. "And it's only fair to tell you so as strong as possible. However, of course, you must act according to your own judgment."
"There is one question I should like to ask if I might," said Mr. Bragg, lingering at the door on his way out. "You and me can trust each other. And, if you feel at liberty to tell me, I should like to know whether the—the party you alluded to in your letter is Mr. Theodore Bransby."
"Certainly not!"
"Well, I'm glad of it. There was a talk of his paying Miss C. a great deal of attention in town. In fact, I did hear she had refused him. Understand, I'm not fishing as to that. It's no matter to me one way or the other, so long as he isnotthe party. I can't say that I know any harm of the young man; but he's what you might call a poor sort of metal: not pleasant to handle, and, I should fear, brittle in the working. I really am relieved in my mind to know that he is not the party. Thank ye."
The news of Owen's engagement to Mr. Bragg was variously received by his various acquaintances in Oldchester. Some laughed good-naturedly, some ill-naturedly; some said it was a good thing the young man had at last seen the necessity for exerting himself; some wondered why on earth he had accepted such a position; and some—a good many those—wondered why Mr. Bragg had acceptedhim. Mrs. Hadlow did not feel unmixed satisfaction by any means.
"It's just like Owen," she said to her husband. "There is such a singular perversity about him! He has thrown away one straight stick after the other, and now all of a sudden he clutches at this crooked one, as eagerly as though his life depended on getting hold of it."
Canon Hadlow, for his part, was well pleased enough. The sentiment at the bottom of his wife's heart was that to employ a Rivers in any such base mechanic business as writing commercial letters was like harnessing a thoroughbred Arab to the dust-cart. But the canon could not, in the nature of things, fully share that feeling. Nevertheless, he had a strong regard for Owen, and spoke of him in high terms to Mr. Bragg.
But the testimony in Owen's favour which chiefly impressed Mr. Bragg was the testimony which Owen gave himself—by deeds, not words.
Being moved by a certain energetic simplicity which belonged to him, to perform the duties he had undertaken with the most complete thoroughness he could command, he got a clerk who conducted the foreign correspondence of a great Oldchester manufacturer to give him lessons after business hours. He worked away evening after evening at the composition of mercantile letters in Spanish until he succeeded in producing epistles so surprisingly technical that his instructor declared he went far beyond what was necessary in that line, and would do well to mitigate his business style with a little good Spanish! He studied, also, to improve his handwriting. It was a legible hand already, since he wrote with the single-minded aim of being read. But he strove to make it distinctly commercial in character, and succeeded.
All this became known to Mr. Bragg, who said nothing. But, when it got wind among the little circle of persons who frequented Garnet Lodge, it was the subject of some raillery from Owen's friends. So long as the raillery proceeded from such persons as Dr. Hatch or Major Mitten, there was no offence in it; but with Theodore Bransby the case was different.
Theodore was, in truth, delighted: first of all, because Rivers had, as he phrased it, "entered Mr. Bragg's service" (a step which must for ever disqualify him for aspiring to ally himself with the Cheffingtons, supposing he were not disqualified already); and, secondly, because his engagement would take him out of England for three months. So delighted was Theodore, that his spirits rose to the unwonted pitch of attempting some pleasantries. Now, there is nothing which more surely reveals the quality, if not the quantity, of a man's mind than his notion of a joke. Laughter, like wine, is a great betrayer of secrets; and for incurable coarseness of feeling a stout cloak of gravity is "your only wear."
Theodore would tilt his head, and say with a sneering smile, "Burton's clerk declares that Rivers is as thorough-going as the man who blacked himself all over to play Othello!Doyou write a page of round-hand copies every morning before breakfast, Rivers?" or, "I hear that Rivers has taken to frequent the commercial 'gents'' ordinary at the Bull in order to pick up the correct phraseology."
Owen paid very little attention to these sparkling sallies; but Mr. Bragg, after listening for some time, broke silence one evening by saying, in his quiet, ponderous way—
"You're rather hard on me, I think, Mr. Bransby."
Theodore looked at him with sudden gravity and unfeigned surprise. "Hard onyou?" he exclaimed.
"Oh, when a young gentleman is what you might call satirical, he's apt to be harder than he means. You needn't look so serious. I'm not offended."
The moment Mr. Bragg declared he was not offended, Theodore began to fear that hewas; and, whatever might be his private opinion of the millionaire, he had no intention of affronting him. So he protested that Mr. Bragg must be under some misapprehension, and that he (Theodore) could not even guess what he meant.
"Oh, come, Mr. Bransby! It's pretty clear. I am but a plain business man, but it isn't necessary to copy the company at the Bull in order to come down to my level."
"Good heavens, my dear sir! You can't suppose——! I was—ahem!—merely——" Theodore paused an instant, and then went on with a little disconcerted laugh. "Ha, ha, ha! I was merely paying my humble tribute of admiration to Rivers's energy!"
"Oh yes; I quite understandthat. You appreciate seeing how a honourable gentleman sets to work to keep his part of a bargain; whereas a half-and-half chap, like that little clerk of Burton's, don't see the highmindedness of it."
Theodore was so entirely taken by surprise, and so uncertain how far Mr. Bragg was in earnest, that he could but stammer out renewed assurances that he had been misunderstood. And after that, he subsided into a glum and dignified silence for the rest of the evening.
He would probably have cut short his visit and gone away early but for his persistent resolution never to leave Owen in possession of the field when May was present. There was no question of seeing her home now; for either old Martha was sent to fetch her, or one of Miss Piper's servants walked with her to Jessamine Cottage. But, nevertheless, Theodore made a point of outstaying Owen; or, at the very least, going away simultaneously with him. On this particular evening, however, Dr. Hatch interfered with this practice by requesting Theodore to accompany him when his carriage was announced.
"I want to have a word with you quietly," whispered the doctor, "and it is almost impossible to do so in your father's house without alarming Mrs. Bransby. Come along with me, and I'll give you a lift home."
There was no refusing this invitation. But Theodore withdrew, comforted by the conviction that his rival would have no chance of profiting by his absence.
Here, however, he reckoned without his hostess; for, Martha failing to appear at her accustomed hour, and the maid who usually supplied her place being ill, Miss Piper bustled into the drawing-room, after a brief absence, demanding which of the gentlemen present would volunteer to escort Miss Cheffington home.
Mr. Bragg, who kept early hours, had already departed; and only Mr. Sweeting, Major Mitton, and Owen remained. Mr. Sweeting begged to be allowed the honour of lending Miss Cheffington his carriage. But May declined the offer, saying that Mr. Sweeting's horses had a long enough journey before them, and that, moreover, it being a lovely moonlight night, she would prefer to walk. Upon this, Owen offered his services, and Miss Piper at once accepted them.
"It is a good deal out of your way," she said; "but I am sure you will not mind for once, Mr. Rivers. I am responsible to Mrs. Dobbs for sending her grand-daughter safely home."
Owen assured Miss Piper that he should not mind at all.
While May was putting on her wraps, Miss Polly and Miss Patty jocosely reproached Major Mitton for not having displayed his usual gallantry in offering to escort the young lady.
"Major, Major, you are growing terribly lazy!" said Miss Polly.
"You will lose your reputation for being the most devoted Squire of Dames in Oldchester," added Miss Patty.
"I'm getting to be an old fellow," returned the Major quietly. Then, as they all three stood for a moment in the porch, watching the two young figures pass down the garden in a glory of moonlight, the good Major whispered to Miss Patty, "Do you think I was going to spoilthat? Lord bless me, one has been young one's self!"
As soon as May and her companion had got clear of Garnet Lodge, the girl said, "I find that I had never thoroughly done justice to Mr. Bragg. The more I know of him, the more highly I think of him."
"Lucky Mr. Bragg!"
"But, now, did he not administer an admirable rebuke to Theodore Bransby?"
"Never mind Theodore. Let us talk about more interesting things."
"Whatcanbe more interesting?" asked May, laughing.
"Ourselves." As she remained silent, he went on, "Do you know that we have not had one opportunity for a quiet talk together since I got this engagement?"
"Haven't we?"
"Ah! you don't remember so accurately as I do. But that was not to be expected. Take my arm."
She obeyed as simply as a child. She had been drawing on her gloves when they left Garnet Lodge, but the operation had not been completed, and it chanced that the hand next to Owen was ungloved. She laid her fingers, which gleamed snow-white in the moonlight, on his sleeve.
"You think I have done right in taking this employment?" he said.
"Quite right." She turned her young face, and looked at him with a sweet fervour of sympathy and approval.
Owen raised the white, slender fingers to his lips, and then, replacing them on his arm, laid his own warm, strong hand over them with a gentle pressure. "You know why I did so, don't you, darling?" he said.
"Yes, Owen," was the answer, given in a shy whisper, but with innocent frankness.
"My own dear love!" he exclaimed, pressing her arm strongly and suddenly to his side. "There is no one like you in the world. Look at me, May. Let me see your sweet, honest eyes."
He caught her two hands in both his, and they stood for a moment at arm's length, facing each other, and holding hands like two children. The moonlight shone full on the young girl's fair face, and glittered on the bright tear-drops in her eyes, as she raised them to Owen's.
"What can I do to deserve you?" he said. "But why do I talk of desert? You are God's gift, May, and no more to be earned than the blessed sunshine."
He put her arm under his once more, and they paced on again without speaking. But to them the silence was full of voices. It was the silence of a dream. They might have wandered Heaven knows whither had not their feet instinctively carried them along the right path, and they found themselves, almost with a start, arrived at the white palings in front of Jessamine Cottage.
"We must tell granny, mustn't we?" said May, looking up at Owen, with a delicious sense of implicit reliance on him.
"Yes; but I am terribly afraid. I hope she will not be angry."
"Angry! How can you think so? Granny is fond of you."
"But she is fonder ofyou, and she knows your value, although, thank God, you don't! If you did, what chance should I have had? You know how poor I am—not quite penniless, but very poor."
"Not so poor as I, since I am really and truly quite penniless; but I don't mind that, if you don't."
Owen felt a desperate temptation to fold her in his arms and beseech her to marry him to-morrow, throwing prudence and pounds sterling to the winds. But the ardour of a genuine passion purifies the nobler soul, as fire purifies the nobler metal, and burns away the dross of self. He answered gravely—
"Our positions are very different, darling. I hope I have not done wrong to tell you how dear you are to me?"
"I think it would have been unkind and cruel to go away without telling me," she answered bravely, though the sound of the words as she said them brought the hot colour into her cheeks.
"Thank you, dearest; that is the best comfort I could have, if I may dare to believe it. But it does seem so wonderful that you should care for me!"
The contemplation of this wonder might have occupied them both for an indefinite time but that they saw a light begin to shine through the fanlight of the little entrance-hall of Jessamine Cottage. In the stillness of the night the sound of their voices, subdued though they were, had reached the ears of Mrs. Dobbs. She presently opened the door, and stood looking at them as they hurried up the garden path.
"Oh, granny dear, I'm afraid I'm late!" said May. "I did not guess that you were sitting up for me."
"Martha had a touch of her rheumatism, so I sent her to bed. I did not mind waiting. I suppose Miss Piper's maid couldn't come with you? Was that it?" asked Mrs. Dobbs.
She lingered at the open door, expecting Owen to say "Good-night." But May took her grandmother's hand and pulled her into the house, while he followed them. When they reached the lamp-lighted parlour, May, still holding her grandmother's hand with her left hand, stretched out her right to Owen, and gently drew him forward. Then she flung her left arm round the old woman's neck, and kissed her. There was no need for words. Mrs. Dobbs sank down, white and tremulous, in her great chair, while May nestled beside her on her knees, and tried to place Owen's hand, which she still clasped, in that of her grandmother. But the old woman brusquely drew her hand away.
"You have done wrong," she said, turning to Owen, and scarcely able to control the trembling of her lips. "I didn't think it of you. But men are all alike; selfish, selfish, selfish!"
"Why, granny!" exclaimed the girl, breathless with dismay. Then she started up with a flash of impetuous indignation, and stood beside her lover. "He isnotselfish!" she said vehemently.
"Hush, May! Granny is right," said Owen in a low voice. "I told you that I feared I had done wrong."
Mrs. Dobbs still trembled, but she was struggling to regain her self-command. "You might have waited yet awhile," she said brokenly. "The child is young! You ought not to have bound her until you see your way more clear."
"Oh, believe me, I will not hold her bound," answered Owen. "I never meant that. I ought not to have spoken yet. I feared so before, and now that you say so, I know it. But I am not wholly selfish."
May had stood listening silently, looking, with wide eyes and parted lips, from one to the other. She now fell on her knees again beside her grandmother, and, clasping the old woman's hands in both her own, cried eagerly—
"But listen! If there was any fault, it was mine. I love him so much! And he's going away. Think of that, granny! Come here and kneel down beside me, Owen, and let her look you in the face. Think, if he had gone away and never told me! And I so fond of him! You didn't guess how I cried that night when I heard he was to leave England. He has made me so happy—so happy! And we can wait. We don't mind being poor. You said you were fond of him. And he is so good—and I love him so—and you to speak to him so cruelly! Oh, granny, granny!" The tears were pouring down her face, and dropping warm upon the wrinkled hands she held.
Suddenly Mrs. Dobbs opened her arms, and folding May in one of them, laid the other round Owen's shoulder as he knelt before her, and drew them both into her embrace.
"Come along, you two!" she said, sobbing and smiling. "I've got a precious pair of babies to look after in my old age. No more common sense between you than would lie on the point of a needle! No prudence, no worldly wisdom, no regard for society—nothing but love and truth; and what do you supposethey'llfetch in the market?"
After a few minutes she ordered Owen away. "I'm tired," she said. "And we have all had our feelings worked up enough for one while. Go home now, Mr. Rivers—well, well, Owen, then, if it must be!—go home, Owen, and sleep, and dream. And to-morrow, when you're quite awake—broad, staring, work-a-day-world awake, which you're not now, either of you,—come here, and we will talk rationally."
Owen obeyed heroically, and marched off without a word of remonstrance. But May kept her grandmother listening and talking, long after he had gone. She made Mrs. Dobbs go to bed, and sat by her bedside, pouring out her young heart, joyfully secure of granny's understanding and sympathy, until at length Mrs. Dobbs inexorably commanded her to go to rest.
"Good night, dear, dearest, good, goodest granny!" said May, leaning down to kiss her grandmother's broad, furrowed brow. "Only this one last—very last—word! Do you know, I am very hopeful about Owen's future, because I am sure that Mr. Bragg has taken a great fancy to him, and appreciates him. And Mr. Bragg can make Owen's fortune if he likes."
"Mr. Bragg," murmured Mrs. Dobbs, turning her head on her pillow. "Ah,there'sa nice kettle of fish! I'm as big a baby as the children, for up to this very instant I'd clean forgotten all about Mr. Bragg!"