Volume Two—Chapter One.Aunt Sophia Visits the City.Mr Fred. Saxby stopped in front of the Royal Exchange one morning to buy a rose, and spent some time in selecting it. Red ones would not do; yellow he despised. He wanted a delicate white rose, with a dash of blush pink upon its petals; and when he had discovered one, he made no scruple about paying the flower-girl sixpence and carrying it off with the greatest care to deposit in a glass upon his desk, for reasons known only to himself.He had rather a busy morning in his close, cool, dark office, in a court out of Throgmorton Street—an office where the light of day had a struggle every morning to get down between two tall piles of building, and illumine the room, failing dismally seven or eight months out of the twelve, and leaving the stockbroker to the tender mercies of his gas company and the yellow flame that danced within a globe.Mr Saxby’s room was “as clean as hands could make it,”—the housekeeper’s words—but all the same it did not seem clean. There was a dingy look about everything, excepting the rose he bought every morning, and himself. In one part of the room was a tiny machine, untouched save by electricity, which went on, unwinding, inking its letters and stamping mile after mile of tape-like paper, informing the reader the while that the shares of this railway were up, of that down; that foreign stocks had made this change, consols were at that, and so on, and so on, while the occupant of the office paid not the slightest heed, but divided his attention between theTimesand the rose.Just in the midst of one of his most earnest inspections of the flower, during which he took a long soft inhalation of its odorous breath, a clerk entered with a card. “Miss Raleigh, sir.”“Bless my heart!” ejaculated the stockbroker, hastily setting down the rose, for the act of smelling it had taken him down to a velvet lawn, sloping to the riverside; and upon that lawn he had seemed to see some one walking, wearing a similar rose; but it was not the lady who now entered, and of whom he had heard nothing since he warned her not to venture in the Cornish mine.“Good-morning, Miss Raleigh,” he exclaimed, placing a chair. “I hardly expected to see you.”“Why not?” said Aunt Sophia shortly. “Where did you expect I should go?”“I hope you are well, ma’am, and—Sir James and Lady Scarlett?”“No; I’m not well; I’m worried,” said the lady. “Sir James and Lady Scarlett are both ill. Has—But never mind that now. Look here, Mr Saxby; you always give me very bad advice, and you seem determined not to let me get good interest for my money. Now, tell me this, sir. I have been receiving a great many circulars lately about different excellent investments; above all, several about gold mines in the north of India.”“So I suppose, ma’am,” said Mr Saxby rubbing his hands softly.“And I suppose you will say that they are not good; but here is one that I received yesterday which cannot fail to be right. I want some shares in that.”“And you won’t have one, ma’am,” said Mr Saxby, who was far more autocratic in his own office than at a friend’s house.“What! are they all sold?”“Sold? Pooh! ma’am, hardly any. There are not many people lunatics enough to throw their money into an Indian gold mine.”“Saxby, you are the most obstinate, aggravating man I everdidknow. Look here; will not these figures convince you?”“No, ma’am; only make me more obstinate—more aggravating still.”“Then what do these figures mean?”“Mean, madam? To trap spinster ladies with small incomes, half-pay officers, poor clergymen with miserable livings—the whole lot of poor genteel people, and those who like to dabble in investments—people who can’t afford to lose, and people who can. Why, my dear madam, use your own judgment. If there were a safe fifteen per cent, there, the shares would be gone in one hour, and at a heavy premium the next.”“Humph!” said Aunt Sophia. “Of course you do all my nephew’s business?”“Yes, madam; it all comes here.”“You know what shares he holds?”“I think so. Of course, he may have been to other brokers; but he would not have done so without good reason.”“As far as you can, then,” said Aunt Sophia, “keep an eye upon what are sold, and I should like to be made acquainted with any sales that may take place.”“Well, really, my dear Miss Raleigh, such a proceeding—”“Yes, yes, man; I know all about that; but you know to what a state he has been reduced. I love him like a son, and I—Now look here, Saxby; I’m telling you this, because I think you are an honest man.”“Well, I hope I am, ma’am.”“Then look here; I will speak out. I won’t mention any names; but I am afraid that designing people are at work to get possession of some of his property, and I want it watched.”“Rather a serious charge, Miss Raleigh.”“Stuff and nonsense, man! Not half serious enough. Just look at this prospectus for a moment. There are some good names to it. I’ll talk about those other matters afterwards.”Aunt Sophia fixed her double glasses upon her nose, and stared through them upon the neat and dapper stockbroker, who stared in return, and frowned, otherwise he would have laughed, for the spring of Aunt Sophia’spince-nezwas very strong, and its effect was to compress the organ upon which it rested, so that the ordinarily thin sharp point of the lady’s nose was turned into a sickly-looking bulb, that was, to say the least, grotesque.“Halt!” said Mr Saxby, reading quickly: “Society for the Elevation of the Human Race in large and Crowded Towns; patrons, the Right Hon.—hum-ha-hum; his Grace the—hum-ha-hum; the Lord Bishop of—hum-ha-hum; directors—hum-ha-hum; M.P.—hum—Mr—hum,”—Mr Saxby’s voice grew less and less distinct, becoming at last a continuance of the sound expressed in letters byhum, but he finished off sharply with: “Secretary, Mr Arthur Prayle!—Well, ma’am, and what of this?”“What of it, Saxby? Why, wouldn’t it be a most admirable thing to invest in a Society which will benefit my fellow-creatures and bring in a large percentage as well?”“Admirable, my dear madam,” said Saxby; “but you don’t quite express the result.”“Whatdoyou mean?”“Singular, ma’am, not plural, and no percentage.”“Now, look here, Saxby: I have come here on business, if you please, not to hear you discuss points of grammar. What do you mean by your singular and plural?”“I mean, my dear madam,” said Saxby, with a chuckle, “that this Society,”—he flipped the prospectus with his finger as he spoke—“would benefit one fellow-creature only, and give no percentage at all. What is more, you would never see your money back.”“Ho!” ejaculated Aunt Sophia. “And pray, who would be the fellow-creature?”“Well, ma’am, it is being rather hard upon a gentleman whom I have had the pleasure of meeting, and who is no doubt acting in the best of faith; but the secretary is the only fellow-creature who will get anything out of that affair. He will of course take care that the office expenses are paid, he is an office expense. There will be nothing for a soul beside.”“Oh, this is prejudice, Mr Saxby.”“Business prejudice, perhaps, ma’am; but, to my mind, this is only one of many Societies that are constantly springing up like toadstools—that kind that comes up fair and white, looks very much like a good mushroom for a time, and then dissolves into a nasty black inky fluid, and is gone.”“Itisprejudice,” said Aunt Sophia.“Maybe, ma’am; but there are numbers of silly Societies got up, such as appeal to weak sensitive people; the secretary gets a few letters in the daily papers, and plenty of ladies like yourself subscribe their money, say, for the Suppression of Sunday Labour amongst Cabhorses, the Society for Dieting Destitute Blackbeetles, and the Provident Home for Canaries whose Patrons are out of Town. These, my dear madam, are exaggerations, but only slight ones, of many Societies got up by ingenious secretaries, who turn a bottle of ink, a ream of neatly headed note-paper, and some cleverly monogrammed envelopes, into a comfortable income.”“That will do,” said Aunt Sophia shortly as she took off herpince-nezand allowed the blood to resume its circulation—“that will do, Mr Saxby.—Then you will not buy the shares for me?”“No, ma’am, not a share. I should deserve to be kicked out of the Stock Exchange, if I did.”“Very well, sir—very well, sir,” said the lady, rising and tightening her lips. “That will do.”“And now, as business is over, my dear madam, may I ask for the latest report concerning our friend Scarlett’s health?”“Yes, sir, you may,” said Aunt Sophia shortly. “It is very bad. His nerve is completely gone.”“Ah, but I hope it will return,” said Saxby. “Patience, ma’am, patience. When stocks in a good thing, mind, I say a good thing, are at their lowest, they take a turn, and become often enough better than ever. And—er—may I ask how—how Miss Raleigh junior is?”“No, sir; you may not,” said Aunt Sophia shortly. “Good-morning!”“Phe-ew! What an old she-dragon it is!” said Mr Saxby to himself as the door closed upon Aunt Sophia’s angular form.“I am right!” said Aunt Sophia to herself as she got into the hansom cab that she had waiting. “Here!—hi!” she cried, poking at the little trapdoor in the roof with her parasol. “Waterloo Station.”Then, as the cab rattled along: “Arthur Prayle is a smooth-looking, smooth-tongued scoundrel; I know he is, and I’ve a good mind to let him have a few hundreds, so as to take off his mask. I won’t mistrust Saxby any more. He’s as honest as the day, and I’m glad I’ve put him on his guard. But he must be snubbed, very hard, and I must speak to Naomi. I do believe the hard, money-grubbing, fog-breathing creature thinks that he is in love!”
Mr Fred. Saxby stopped in front of the Royal Exchange one morning to buy a rose, and spent some time in selecting it. Red ones would not do; yellow he despised. He wanted a delicate white rose, with a dash of blush pink upon its petals; and when he had discovered one, he made no scruple about paying the flower-girl sixpence and carrying it off with the greatest care to deposit in a glass upon his desk, for reasons known only to himself.
He had rather a busy morning in his close, cool, dark office, in a court out of Throgmorton Street—an office where the light of day had a struggle every morning to get down between two tall piles of building, and illumine the room, failing dismally seven or eight months out of the twelve, and leaving the stockbroker to the tender mercies of his gas company and the yellow flame that danced within a globe.
Mr Saxby’s room was “as clean as hands could make it,”—the housekeeper’s words—but all the same it did not seem clean. There was a dingy look about everything, excepting the rose he bought every morning, and himself. In one part of the room was a tiny machine, untouched save by electricity, which went on, unwinding, inking its letters and stamping mile after mile of tape-like paper, informing the reader the while that the shares of this railway were up, of that down; that foreign stocks had made this change, consols were at that, and so on, and so on, while the occupant of the office paid not the slightest heed, but divided his attention between theTimesand the rose.
Just in the midst of one of his most earnest inspections of the flower, during which he took a long soft inhalation of its odorous breath, a clerk entered with a card. “Miss Raleigh, sir.”
“Bless my heart!” ejaculated the stockbroker, hastily setting down the rose, for the act of smelling it had taken him down to a velvet lawn, sloping to the riverside; and upon that lawn he had seemed to see some one walking, wearing a similar rose; but it was not the lady who now entered, and of whom he had heard nothing since he warned her not to venture in the Cornish mine.
“Good-morning, Miss Raleigh,” he exclaimed, placing a chair. “I hardly expected to see you.”
“Why not?” said Aunt Sophia shortly. “Where did you expect I should go?”
“I hope you are well, ma’am, and—Sir James and Lady Scarlett?”
“No; I’m not well; I’m worried,” said the lady. “Sir James and Lady Scarlett are both ill. Has—But never mind that now. Look here, Mr Saxby; you always give me very bad advice, and you seem determined not to let me get good interest for my money. Now, tell me this, sir. I have been receiving a great many circulars lately about different excellent investments; above all, several about gold mines in the north of India.”
“So I suppose, ma’am,” said Mr Saxby rubbing his hands softly.
“And I suppose you will say that they are not good; but here is one that I received yesterday which cannot fail to be right. I want some shares in that.”
“And you won’t have one, ma’am,” said Mr Saxby, who was far more autocratic in his own office than at a friend’s house.
“What! are they all sold?”
“Sold? Pooh! ma’am, hardly any. There are not many people lunatics enough to throw their money into an Indian gold mine.”
“Saxby, you are the most obstinate, aggravating man I everdidknow. Look here; will not these figures convince you?”
“No, ma’am; only make me more obstinate—more aggravating still.”
“Then what do these figures mean?”
“Mean, madam? To trap spinster ladies with small incomes, half-pay officers, poor clergymen with miserable livings—the whole lot of poor genteel people, and those who like to dabble in investments—people who can’t afford to lose, and people who can. Why, my dear madam, use your own judgment. If there were a safe fifteen per cent, there, the shares would be gone in one hour, and at a heavy premium the next.”
“Humph!” said Aunt Sophia. “Of course you do all my nephew’s business?”
“Yes, madam; it all comes here.”
“You know what shares he holds?”
“I think so. Of course, he may have been to other brokers; but he would not have done so without good reason.”
“As far as you can, then,” said Aunt Sophia, “keep an eye upon what are sold, and I should like to be made acquainted with any sales that may take place.”
“Well, really, my dear Miss Raleigh, such a proceeding—”
“Yes, yes, man; I know all about that; but you know to what a state he has been reduced. I love him like a son, and I—Now look here, Saxby; I’m telling you this, because I think you are an honest man.”
“Well, I hope I am, ma’am.”
“Then look here; I will speak out. I won’t mention any names; but I am afraid that designing people are at work to get possession of some of his property, and I want it watched.”
“Rather a serious charge, Miss Raleigh.”
“Stuff and nonsense, man! Not half serious enough. Just look at this prospectus for a moment. There are some good names to it. I’ll talk about those other matters afterwards.”
Aunt Sophia fixed her double glasses upon her nose, and stared through them upon the neat and dapper stockbroker, who stared in return, and frowned, otherwise he would have laughed, for the spring of Aunt Sophia’spince-nezwas very strong, and its effect was to compress the organ upon which it rested, so that the ordinarily thin sharp point of the lady’s nose was turned into a sickly-looking bulb, that was, to say the least, grotesque.
“Halt!” said Mr Saxby, reading quickly: “Society for the Elevation of the Human Race in large and Crowded Towns; patrons, the Right Hon.—hum-ha-hum; his Grace the—hum-ha-hum; the Lord Bishop of—hum-ha-hum; directors—hum-ha-hum; M.P.—hum—Mr—hum,”—Mr Saxby’s voice grew less and less distinct, becoming at last a continuance of the sound expressed in letters byhum, but he finished off sharply with: “Secretary, Mr Arthur Prayle!—Well, ma’am, and what of this?”
“What of it, Saxby? Why, wouldn’t it be a most admirable thing to invest in a Society which will benefit my fellow-creatures and bring in a large percentage as well?”
“Admirable, my dear madam,” said Saxby; “but you don’t quite express the result.”
“Whatdoyou mean?”
“Singular, ma’am, not plural, and no percentage.”
“Now, look here, Saxby: I have come here on business, if you please, not to hear you discuss points of grammar. What do you mean by your singular and plural?”
“I mean, my dear madam,” said Saxby, with a chuckle, “that this Society,”—he flipped the prospectus with his finger as he spoke—“would benefit one fellow-creature only, and give no percentage at all. What is more, you would never see your money back.”
“Ho!” ejaculated Aunt Sophia. “And pray, who would be the fellow-creature?”
“Well, ma’am, it is being rather hard upon a gentleman whom I have had the pleasure of meeting, and who is no doubt acting in the best of faith; but the secretary is the only fellow-creature who will get anything out of that affair. He will of course take care that the office expenses are paid, he is an office expense. There will be nothing for a soul beside.”
“Oh, this is prejudice, Mr Saxby.”
“Business prejudice, perhaps, ma’am; but, to my mind, this is only one of many Societies that are constantly springing up like toadstools—that kind that comes up fair and white, looks very much like a good mushroom for a time, and then dissolves into a nasty black inky fluid, and is gone.”
“Itisprejudice,” said Aunt Sophia.
“Maybe, ma’am; but there are numbers of silly Societies got up, such as appeal to weak sensitive people; the secretary gets a few letters in the daily papers, and plenty of ladies like yourself subscribe their money, say, for the Suppression of Sunday Labour amongst Cabhorses, the Society for Dieting Destitute Blackbeetles, and the Provident Home for Canaries whose Patrons are out of Town. These, my dear madam, are exaggerations, but only slight ones, of many Societies got up by ingenious secretaries, who turn a bottle of ink, a ream of neatly headed note-paper, and some cleverly monogrammed envelopes, into a comfortable income.”
“That will do,” said Aunt Sophia shortly as she took off herpince-nezand allowed the blood to resume its circulation—“that will do, Mr Saxby.—Then you will not buy the shares for me?”
“No, ma’am, not a share. I should deserve to be kicked out of the Stock Exchange, if I did.”
“Very well, sir—very well, sir,” said the lady, rising and tightening her lips. “That will do.”
“And now, as business is over, my dear madam, may I ask for the latest report concerning our friend Scarlett’s health?”
“Yes, sir, you may,” said Aunt Sophia shortly. “It is very bad. His nerve is completely gone.”
“Ah, but I hope it will return,” said Saxby. “Patience, ma’am, patience. When stocks in a good thing, mind, I say a good thing, are at their lowest, they take a turn, and become often enough better than ever. And—er—may I ask how—how Miss Raleigh junior is?”
“No, sir; you may not,” said Aunt Sophia shortly. “Good-morning!”
“Phe-ew! What an old she-dragon it is!” said Mr Saxby to himself as the door closed upon Aunt Sophia’s angular form.
“I am right!” said Aunt Sophia to herself as she got into the hansom cab that she had waiting. “Here!—hi!” she cried, poking at the little trapdoor in the roof with her parasol. “Waterloo Station.”
Then, as the cab rattled along: “Arthur Prayle is a smooth-looking, smooth-tongued scoundrel; I know he is, and I’ve a good mind to let him have a few hundreds, so as to take off his mask. I won’t mistrust Saxby any more. He’s as honest as the day, and I’m glad I’ve put him on his guard. But he must be snubbed, very hard, and I must speak to Naomi. I do believe the hard, money-grubbing, fog-breathing creature thinks that he is in love!”
Volume Two—Chapter Two.Sir James Scarlett’s Nerves.“Come, old fellow; I think you are better now,” said the doctor, as he took Scarlett’s arm and walked with him down the garden. They had just been standing upon the lawn, where, in a group, Lady Scarlett, Lady Martlett, Naomi, and Aunt Sophia were with Arthur Prayle. The doctor had been irritated, though he would not own it, by the cool, haughty indifference of Lady Martlett, and it had cost him an effort to tear his thoughts from his own affairs to the troubles of his friend; but upon twice waking up to the fact that Scarlett was growing excited, and that he had displayed a disposition to what the doctor called “break out,” he suggested a stroll down the grounds.Scarlett eagerly agreed; and after a solemn exchange of courtesies with Lady Martlett, the doctor took his friend away.“Confound her!” muttered the doctor; “the others must have wondered whether I was going to hand her out for a minuet. I wish the woman would keep away.”They strolled about for some few minutes, and twice came to a halt; but the first time, as they seated themselves in a couple of garden-chairs, the voice of Arthur Prayle came in a low deep murmur from the lawn as he was saying something earnestly, and the doctor saw his patient’s eyes flash, and then, us he watched him curiously, contract in an unpleasant way.“Prayle seems to be working very hard for you, old fellow.”“Yes.”“You trust him, I suppose, with all the settlement of your London affairs?”“Yes: everything.”“Thoroughly trustworthy fellow, of course?”“Yes, yes, I tell you,” cried Scarlett angrily. “He is my cousin.”“Yes, of course,” said the doctor, quietly noting every change in his friend the while.“Come somewhere else,” said Scarlett, leaping up in an excited manner. “I can’t bear to sit here.”“All right—all right,” said the doctor cheerily. “Let’s go down to the waterside.”“No, no!” exclaimed Scarlett, with a shudder. “Come to the rhododendrons.”“By all means. But I say, old fellow, you must fight down this weakness.”“Weakness? What weakness? Is it a weakness to prefer one part of the garden to the other?”“O no; of course not. Let’s go down there.”They strolled down between two great banks of the grand flowering shrubs, now rich with the glossy green of their summer growth, and sat down, when a new trouble assailed Scarlett, and he sprang up impatiently. “Hah!” he exclaimed. “I can’t bear it.”“Why, what’s the matter now?”“Those blue-bottles buzzing about me like that; just as if they expected I should soon be carrion.”“Pooh! What an absurd idea! But you are wrong, old fellow, as usual. I am the more fleshy subject, and they would be after me. Let’s go down yonder under the firs.”“Why? What is there there, that you should choose that part?” said Scarlett, with a quick suspicious glance.“Fir-trees, shade, seats to sit down,” said the doctor quietly.“Yes, yes, of course; that will do,” said Scarlett hastily. “Let’s go there.”They strolled along a sun-burned path; and the doctor had just made the remark that commences this chapter, when there was a rustling noise among the shrubs, a whining yelp, and Scarlett’s favourite dog, a little white fox-terrier, rushed out at them, to leap up at its master, barking with delight. It came upon them so suddenly, that Scarlett uttered a wild cry, caught at the doctor’s arm, screened himself behind his sturdy body, and stood there trembling like a leaf.“Why, it’s only Fritz!” cried the doctor, smiling.“He startled me so—so sudden,” panted Scarlett. “Drive the brute away.”“Ist! Go home; go back!” cried the doctor; and, as if understanding the state of affairs, and dejected and wretched at being treated like this, where he had expected to be patted and caressed, the dog drooped his head and tail, looked wistfully up at his master, and slowly trotted away. He turned at the end of the path, and looked back at them, as if half expecting to be recalled, and then went on out of sight.“I’ll sell that dog, Jack; he’s growing vicious,” said Scarlett, speaking in an excited tone. “I’ve watched him a good deal lately. What are the first signs of hydrophobia?”“Hydrophobia,” said the doctor smiling—“water-hating; but I have never studied the diseases of dogs—only sad dogs.”“I wish you would not be so flippant, Jack, I’m sure that dog is going mad. He hates water now.”“Don’t agree with you, old fellow,” said the doctor, throwing himself upon a great rustic seal beneath some pines; “the dog was quite wet, and I saw him, an hour ago, plashing about after the rats.”“Ah, but he avoids it sometimes. I have a horror of mad dogs.”Scarlett settled himself down in the seat in a moody, excitable way, looking uneasily round; and the doctor offered him a cigar, which he took and lit, Scales also lighting one, and the friends sat smoking in the delicious pine-scented shade.“I wish that woman would not be so fond of coming over here,” said Scarlett suddenly.“What woman?”“That Lady Martlett. Coarse, masculine, horsy creature. She is spoiling Kate.”The doctor’s countenance grew lowering, and there was a red spot on either cheek, but he only said quietly: “Think so?”“Yes. I shall put a stop to the intimacy.”“I’m not going to have my home-life spoiled. Her coming makes me nervous.”“Does it?” said the doctor cheerfully. “I’ll soon put that right for you.”“How?” said Scarlett suspiciously.“You shall have a shower-bath every morning, old fellow.”“Water? ah!” The poor fellow shuddered, and started up. “Here, let’s have a stroll down by the meadow-side.”“All right!” cried the doctor with alacrity, “What a glorious day it is!”“Glorious? Ah, yes. Not breeze enough though. Now, let’s go back to the lawn.”“As you like, old fellow; but I don’t think Lady Martlett has gone.”“Why, what a dislike you seem to have taken to Lady Martlett, Jack!”“Well, you know what a woman-hater I am.”“Yes, of course. Let’s go on down by the meadow. Perhaps it will be best.”They strolled down a green path separated from the meadow, where the cows were placidly grazing, by an iron fence; and as they went slowly on, two of the soft mousy-coloured creatures came slowly from the middle of the field, blinking their eyes to get rid of the clustering black flies, and giving a pendulum-like swing to their long tails. They timed their approach so accurately, that as the doctor and his patient reached the corner, they were there, with their heads stretched over the railings, ready for the caress and scrap of oilcake which they expected to receive.Scarlett’s attention was so taken up by his thoughts, that he came upon the two patient animals quite suddenly, stopping as if paralysed, and trembling like one afflicted with the palsy. He did not speak, but stood staring, fascinated as it were by the great soft eyes gazing at him; but he stretched out one hand slowly and cautiously behind him, feeling about for his friend, till Scales placed his hand within. Then the poor fellow clasped the fingers with a sob of relief, shuddering as he tore himself away from the inoffensive beasts, and suffering himself to be led back to the seat they had quitted, where he sank down shivering, and covered his face with his hands, sobbing like a child.The doctor sat gazing at him gravely thinking it better to let him give free vent to his emotion; but, as it grew more and more intense, he laid his hand upon his friend’s shoulder, saying nothing, but firmly pressing it; the effect of which was to make Scarlett snatch at his hand and grasp it passionately, as he panted out in a voice choked with sobs: “It’s a judgment on me, Jack. I’ve been living here in wealth and idleness, thinking of nothing but self and my own enjoyment. I have not had a thought of anything but pleasure, and I felt so strong and well, that it did not seem possible for a cloud to come across my life. Now, look at me! One stroke, and I have been taught what a poor frail helpless worm I am. Jack, Jack! my nerve is gone. I hate everything. I mistrust every one, even my poor wife, and I see danger everywhere. I daren’t stir a step. You pretend not to see it; but you are always reading me. Jack, old man, I’m afraid of you sometimes, but I do believe in and trust you. I’ll obey you; I’ll do every thing you want, even if it kills me with fear. I will—I will indeed; but, for God’s sake, don’t let them take me away. Don’t leave me. Don’t trust anybody. Don’t get any other advice. Go by your own judgment, old fellow, and no matter what I say or do, don’t let me drive you away. You are the only one I can trust.”“My dear Scarlett, be calm.”“I can’t—I can’t!” cried the wretched man passionately, “knowing what I do—knowing what I am; but I will—I will try so—so hard.”“Of course; and you’ll succeed.”“No—no! I’m getting worse—much worse, and I can see what everybody thinks. Kate sees it, and has turned from me in horror. You see it; I can read it in your eyes. You wouldn’t say so, but you know it as well as can be. Tell me; isn’t it true?”“What, that the shock of that half-drowning has upset your nerves, so that you are weak, and have developed a temper that would try an angel? Yes; that’s true enough.”“No—no! I mean the other—that horror—that dreadful thought that makes me lie and shudder, and ask myself whether I had not better,”—He stopped short and crouched away in the corner of the seat, his face ghastly, his eyes wild and staring, till the doctor spoke in a firm imperious voice, that made him reply, as it were, in spite of himself. “Better what?”“End it all, and be at rest.”“Why?” said the doctor, bending towards him as if about to drag forth an answer.“Because—”“Well? Speak. I know what you are going to say, but speak out.”“Because,” said Scarlett, in a low hoarse whisper, as if he dreaded that the very breeze might bear away his confession—“I know it—I feel it—I can tell as well as can be, without something always seeming to whisper it in my ears—I am going mad!” He covered his face with his hands, and sank lower in his seat, panting heavily, and his breath coming and going each minute in a piteous sigh; while, after watching him intently for a few moments, the doctor rose and stood by his side.
“Come, old fellow; I think you are better now,” said the doctor, as he took Scarlett’s arm and walked with him down the garden. They had just been standing upon the lawn, where, in a group, Lady Scarlett, Lady Martlett, Naomi, and Aunt Sophia were with Arthur Prayle. The doctor had been irritated, though he would not own it, by the cool, haughty indifference of Lady Martlett, and it had cost him an effort to tear his thoughts from his own affairs to the troubles of his friend; but upon twice waking up to the fact that Scarlett was growing excited, and that he had displayed a disposition to what the doctor called “break out,” he suggested a stroll down the grounds.
Scarlett eagerly agreed; and after a solemn exchange of courtesies with Lady Martlett, the doctor took his friend away.
“Confound her!” muttered the doctor; “the others must have wondered whether I was going to hand her out for a minuet. I wish the woman would keep away.”
They strolled about for some few minutes, and twice came to a halt; but the first time, as they seated themselves in a couple of garden-chairs, the voice of Arthur Prayle came in a low deep murmur from the lawn as he was saying something earnestly, and the doctor saw his patient’s eyes flash, and then, us he watched him curiously, contract in an unpleasant way.
“Prayle seems to be working very hard for you, old fellow.”
“Yes.”
“You trust him, I suppose, with all the settlement of your London affairs?”
“Yes: everything.”
“Thoroughly trustworthy fellow, of course?”
“Yes, yes, I tell you,” cried Scarlett angrily. “He is my cousin.”
“Yes, of course,” said the doctor, quietly noting every change in his friend the while.
“Come somewhere else,” said Scarlett, leaping up in an excited manner. “I can’t bear to sit here.”
“All right—all right,” said the doctor cheerily. “Let’s go down to the waterside.”
“No, no!” exclaimed Scarlett, with a shudder. “Come to the rhododendrons.”
“By all means. But I say, old fellow, you must fight down this weakness.”
“Weakness? What weakness? Is it a weakness to prefer one part of the garden to the other?”
“O no; of course not. Let’s go down there.”
They strolled down between two great banks of the grand flowering shrubs, now rich with the glossy green of their summer growth, and sat down, when a new trouble assailed Scarlett, and he sprang up impatiently. “Hah!” he exclaimed. “I can’t bear it.”
“Why, what’s the matter now?”
“Those blue-bottles buzzing about me like that; just as if they expected I should soon be carrion.”
“Pooh! What an absurd idea! But you are wrong, old fellow, as usual. I am the more fleshy subject, and they would be after me. Let’s go down yonder under the firs.”
“Why? What is there there, that you should choose that part?” said Scarlett, with a quick suspicious glance.
“Fir-trees, shade, seats to sit down,” said the doctor quietly.
“Yes, yes, of course; that will do,” said Scarlett hastily. “Let’s go there.”
They strolled along a sun-burned path; and the doctor had just made the remark that commences this chapter, when there was a rustling noise among the shrubs, a whining yelp, and Scarlett’s favourite dog, a little white fox-terrier, rushed out at them, to leap up at its master, barking with delight. It came upon them so suddenly, that Scarlett uttered a wild cry, caught at the doctor’s arm, screened himself behind his sturdy body, and stood there trembling like a leaf.
“Why, it’s only Fritz!” cried the doctor, smiling.
“He startled me so—so sudden,” panted Scarlett. “Drive the brute away.”
“Ist! Go home; go back!” cried the doctor; and, as if understanding the state of affairs, and dejected and wretched at being treated like this, where he had expected to be patted and caressed, the dog drooped his head and tail, looked wistfully up at his master, and slowly trotted away. He turned at the end of the path, and looked back at them, as if half expecting to be recalled, and then went on out of sight.
“I’ll sell that dog, Jack; he’s growing vicious,” said Scarlett, speaking in an excited tone. “I’ve watched him a good deal lately. What are the first signs of hydrophobia?”
“Hydrophobia,” said the doctor smiling—“water-hating; but I have never studied the diseases of dogs—only sad dogs.”
“I wish you would not be so flippant, Jack, I’m sure that dog is going mad. He hates water now.”
“Don’t agree with you, old fellow,” said the doctor, throwing himself upon a great rustic seal beneath some pines; “the dog was quite wet, and I saw him, an hour ago, plashing about after the rats.”
“Ah, but he avoids it sometimes. I have a horror of mad dogs.”
Scarlett settled himself down in the seat in a moody, excitable way, looking uneasily round; and the doctor offered him a cigar, which he took and lit, Scales also lighting one, and the friends sat smoking in the delicious pine-scented shade.
“I wish that woman would not be so fond of coming over here,” said Scarlett suddenly.
“What woman?”
“That Lady Martlett. Coarse, masculine, horsy creature. She is spoiling Kate.”
The doctor’s countenance grew lowering, and there was a red spot on either cheek, but he only said quietly: “Think so?”
“Yes. I shall put a stop to the intimacy.”
“I’m not going to have my home-life spoiled. Her coming makes me nervous.”
“Does it?” said the doctor cheerfully. “I’ll soon put that right for you.”
“How?” said Scarlett suspiciously.
“You shall have a shower-bath every morning, old fellow.”
“Water? ah!” The poor fellow shuddered, and started up. “Here, let’s have a stroll down by the meadow-side.”
“All right!” cried the doctor with alacrity, “What a glorious day it is!”
“Glorious? Ah, yes. Not breeze enough though. Now, let’s go back to the lawn.”
“As you like, old fellow; but I don’t think Lady Martlett has gone.”
“Why, what a dislike you seem to have taken to Lady Martlett, Jack!”
“Well, you know what a woman-hater I am.”
“Yes, of course. Let’s go on down by the meadow. Perhaps it will be best.”
They strolled down a green path separated from the meadow, where the cows were placidly grazing, by an iron fence; and as they went slowly on, two of the soft mousy-coloured creatures came slowly from the middle of the field, blinking their eyes to get rid of the clustering black flies, and giving a pendulum-like swing to their long tails. They timed their approach so accurately, that as the doctor and his patient reached the corner, they were there, with their heads stretched over the railings, ready for the caress and scrap of oilcake which they expected to receive.
Scarlett’s attention was so taken up by his thoughts, that he came upon the two patient animals quite suddenly, stopping as if paralysed, and trembling like one afflicted with the palsy. He did not speak, but stood staring, fascinated as it were by the great soft eyes gazing at him; but he stretched out one hand slowly and cautiously behind him, feeling about for his friend, till Scales placed his hand within. Then the poor fellow clasped the fingers with a sob of relief, shuddering as he tore himself away from the inoffensive beasts, and suffering himself to be led back to the seat they had quitted, where he sank down shivering, and covered his face with his hands, sobbing like a child.
The doctor sat gazing at him gravely thinking it better to let him give free vent to his emotion; but, as it grew more and more intense, he laid his hand upon his friend’s shoulder, saying nothing, but firmly pressing it; the effect of which was to make Scarlett snatch at his hand and grasp it passionately, as he panted out in a voice choked with sobs: “It’s a judgment on me, Jack. I’ve been living here in wealth and idleness, thinking of nothing but self and my own enjoyment. I have not had a thought of anything but pleasure, and I felt so strong and well, that it did not seem possible for a cloud to come across my life. Now, look at me! One stroke, and I have been taught what a poor frail helpless worm I am. Jack, Jack! my nerve is gone. I hate everything. I mistrust every one, even my poor wife, and I see danger everywhere. I daren’t stir a step. You pretend not to see it; but you are always reading me. Jack, old man, I’m afraid of you sometimes, but I do believe in and trust you. I’ll obey you; I’ll do every thing you want, even if it kills me with fear. I will—I will indeed; but, for God’s sake, don’t let them take me away. Don’t leave me. Don’t trust anybody. Don’t get any other advice. Go by your own judgment, old fellow, and no matter what I say or do, don’t let me drive you away. You are the only one I can trust.”
“My dear Scarlett, be calm.”
“I can’t—I can’t!” cried the wretched man passionately, “knowing what I do—knowing what I am; but I will—I will try so—so hard.”
“Of course; and you’ll succeed.”
“No—no! I’m getting worse—much worse, and I can see what everybody thinks. Kate sees it, and has turned from me in horror. You see it; I can read it in your eyes. You wouldn’t say so, but you know it as well as can be. Tell me; isn’t it true?”
“What, that the shock of that half-drowning has upset your nerves, so that you are weak, and have developed a temper that would try an angel? Yes; that’s true enough.”
“No—no! I mean the other—that horror—that dreadful thought that makes me lie and shudder, and ask myself whether I had not better,”—He stopped short and crouched away in the corner of the seat, his face ghastly, his eyes wild and staring, till the doctor spoke in a firm imperious voice, that made him reply, as it were, in spite of himself. “Better what?”
“End it all, and be at rest.”
“Why?” said the doctor, bending towards him as if about to drag forth an answer.
“Because—”
“Well? Speak. I know what you are going to say, but speak out.”
“Because,” said Scarlett, in a low hoarse whisper, as if he dreaded that the very breeze might bear away his confession—“I know it—I feel it—I can tell as well as can be, without something always seeming to whisper it in my ears—I am going mad!” He covered his face with his hands, and sank lower in his seat, panting heavily, and his breath coming and going each minute in a piteous sigh; while, after watching him intently for a few moments, the doctor rose and stood by his side.
Volume Two—Chapter Three.Doctor and Friend.A wonderful stillness seemed to have fallen, and not even a bird twittered or uttered a note in the hot midsummer sunshine. Once from the distance came the low soft murmur of the weir, but that died away, and scarcely a leaf rustled, so that when the doctor spoke, his firm deep tones sounded as if all nature in that lovely country-home were listening for the verdict he was about to deliver to the stricken man.“James Scarlett,” he said firmly, “I hold a double position here: I am your old friend—I am your doctor.”“Yes,” said Scarlett in a whisper, but without changing his position.“I am going to speak the simple truth; I am going to hide nothing. I am about to give you plain facts. Will you trust me?”“Yes. I have always trusted you.”“Will you believe me? I need not swear?”“No, Jack, no,” said Scarlett, letting his hands fall from his haggard face. “I believe your word: I do indeed.”“You asked me not to leave you.”“Yes: for heaven’s sake, stay.”“I will not leave you; and if I can, I’ll bring you back to health.”“Yes,” said Scarlett, shuddering. “And you will not let them drag me away. Jack!—Kate has been planning it with Arthur—an asylum—and I dare not speak, I should be so violent, and make it worse.”“You shan’t be dragged away, old man, and you need not fancy that any such plans are being made.”“Even if it came to the worst,” said Scarlett pitifully, “you could keep me down. O Jack, I could not bear it; I’d sooner die!”“Let me speak out at once, my dear boy,” said the doctor. “The terrible shock to your nerves has made you so weak that you fancy all these things. It is the natural outcome of such a state as yours. Now, listen: you said you would believe me.”“Yes, yes; and I will.”“I am glad you have spoken. I knew all this; but I am not sorry you indorsed it. You are haunted by a horrible dread that you are about to lose your reason.”“Yes,” moaned Scarlett; “and it is so hard—so hard!”“Then you may take this comfort to your heart: you are not in the slightest degree likely to become insane; and, what is more, I am as good as certain that, sooner or later, you will recover your health.”“Jack!”“You said that you would trust in me.”“Yes—I did—and I will try—so hard. There, I am trying—you see how I am trying. Stand by me, Jack, and help me. Tell me what to do—do you hear! Tell me what todo!”“I will,” cried Scales. “Give me your hand. Stand up—like a man. Now, grasp it firmly. Firmly, man; a good grip.—That’s better. Now, listen! What are you to do?”“Yes: tell me quickly. My own strength is gone.”“I’ll tell you, then,” said the doctor. “Give yourself up to me as if you were a man who could not swim.”“Don’t talk about the water, Jack. For God’s sake, don’t!”“Iwilltalk about the water, and you shall listen. Now, then, you must act as if you were helpless and I a strong swimmer. You must trust to me. Recollect, if you struggle and fight against me, you must drown—morally drown: the black waters will close over your spirit, and nothing that I can do will save you. Now, then, drowning man, is it to be trust in the swimmer?—That’s right!” he cried, as Scarlett placed his hands upon his arm—“that’s well. I won’t leave you, James Scarlett, till you are sound and strong as I am now!”The stricken man made an effort to speak, but the words would not come. He could only gaze wistfully in his friend’s face, his wild eyes looking his gratitude, while they seemed to promise the fidelity of a dog.“That’s right, old fellow. Now, we pretty well understand each other, only I’ve got to preach at you a little. First of all, I must have full confidence, you know. You must come to me with every symptom and sensation.”“I will tell you everything,” said Scarlett humbly.“And I would just make up my mind to meet my troubles like a man. You have yours now; and they come the more painfully after a long course of prosperity and happiness; but even then, old fellow, life is too good a gift to talk of throwing it away.”Scarlett shuddered, and the doctor watched him narrowly.“Existence accompanied by a most awful fit of neuralgia would not be pleasant; but all the same I would not refuse it, even with those conditions, for the intervals when the neuralgia is not stinging you are about the most delicious moments by contrast that can be imagined.”“Yes, yes; of course.”“Well, then, now let us go and join them on the lawn. What do you say to beginning to fight the nervous foe at once?”“Yes, at once,” said Scarlett, speaking as if under the influence of the doctor.“Come along, then; and we shall master yet.”Scarlett hesitated and hung back; but the doctor did not speak. He could see that his patient was trying to avoid his eye. Once Scarlett glanced up, but the look was rapid as lightning. He saw that the doctor was watching him, and he avoided his look again instantly, like a schoolboy who had committed some fault. At the end of a minute, though, he gradually raised his eyes again, slowly and furtively, and in a way that troubled the doctor more than he would have cared to own; but he had his consolation directly in finding his patient gazing fully at him while Scarlett uttered a low sigh of satisfaction, as if he rejoiced at being in charge of a stronger will than his own; and then, without a word, they moved towards the lawn.“I must do my bit of fighting too,” said the doctor to himself, as his eyes fell upon Lady Martlett. “She’s very handsome; she knows it; and she wants to make me feel it; but she shall not.—Humph! How that fellow Prayle hangs about Lady Scarlett’s side. They can’t always be wanting to talk over business matters.”“Well, James, have you had a pleasant stroll?” said Aunt Sophia, as the two men joined the group.“Yes—very,” he answered quietly.“Have you seen how the peaches are getting on upon the little bush?” she continued.“I? No. I have not been in the peach-house for days.”“You don’t go half often enough. Let’s go now.”“What, I? N—” The poor fellow met the doctor’s eye, and said hastily: “Well, yes; I will, aunt.—Will you come too, Naomi?”“O yes,” cried the girl eagerly.“Perhaps Lady Martlett will come and see the rosy-cheeked beauties of the peach-house?” said the doctor half-mockingly.—“She’ll give me such a snub,” he added to himself.“Yes; I should like to see them,” said her Ladyship quietly; “my gardener tells me that they are far more beautiful than mine.”“I should have thought it impossible,” cried the doctor. “Your Ladyship’s wealth and position ought to be able to secure for you everything.”“But it does not,” said Lady Martlett; “not even such a simple thing as deference or respect.”“Ah, but money could not buy those—at least not genuine, sterling qualities of that kind, Lady Martlett,” said the doctor, as they moved towards the end of the garden.“So it seems, Doctor Scales.”“There are some people who even have the impertinence to look down upon the rich who do not carry their honours with graceful humility.”“How dares he speak to me like this!” thought Lady Martlett; “but I’ll humble him yet.”“Let me see,” she replied coolly; “what do you cull that class of person—a radical, is it not?”“Yes; I suppose that is the term.”“And I understand that there are radicals of all kinds: in politics; in those who pass judgment on social behaviour; and even in medicine.”“That’s a clever thrust,” thought the doctor.—“Just so, Lady Martlett; and I am one of the radicals in medicine.”“Of course, then, not in social matters, Doctor Scales?”“Will your Ladyship deign to notice the tints upon these peaches?” said the doctor evasively.—“Here is one,” he said, lowering his voice, “that seems as if it had been mocking you, when your cheek is flushed with the exercise of riding, and you imperiously command the first poor wretch who passes your way to open the gate.”“The peaches look very fine,” said her Ladyship, refusing to notice the remark—“much finer than mine, dear Lady Scarlett. My head-gardener says that some disease has attacked the leaves.”“You should invite Doctor Scales over to treat the ailment,” said Aunt Sophia archly.—“My dear James, what is the matter?”“It is too bad—it is disgraceful!” cried Scarlett, stamping his foot. “Because I am weak and ill, every one imposes on me. That old scoundrel has been neglecting everything.”“What! Monnick?” cried Aunt Sophia.“Yes. No one else has the key. Ah! here you are,” he said more angrily, “look, Kate, you ought to be more particular. These keys should be brought to you.”“What is wrong, dear?” said Lady Scarlett anxiously, as she came down that side of the peach-house, closely followed by Prayle.“Everything is wrong,” cried the unhappy man, gazing at her wildly. “I cannot bear it.” He hurried from the peach-house, followed by the doctor, who calmed him by degrees.“Some of the best peaches stolen,” he cried. “It is too bad; I set such a store by them.”“And I set such store by your recovery, old fellow,” said the doctor. “That was a wretched fit of temper; but it’s over now. Don’t worry about it, man; and now go and lie down till dinner-time.”“No—no: I have no wish to—”“Mind what I say.—Yes, you have, my dear boy. Come: a quiet nap till dinner-time, and then you will have forgotten this petty trouble, and be fresh and cool.”Scarlett sighed and walked slowly to the house, his companion seeing him lie down before going to his own room, and taking up a book which he read till it was time to get ready for the evening meal. Then he made his few simple preparations and strolled out into the garden again, to think out his plans and go over the events of the day and the possibility of his effecting a permanent cure. Item: to think a little about his own sore place, and how long it would take to heal up so thoroughly that he could always with impunity look Lady Martlett in the face.
A wonderful stillness seemed to have fallen, and not even a bird twittered or uttered a note in the hot midsummer sunshine. Once from the distance came the low soft murmur of the weir, but that died away, and scarcely a leaf rustled, so that when the doctor spoke, his firm deep tones sounded as if all nature in that lovely country-home were listening for the verdict he was about to deliver to the stricken man.
“James Scarlett,” he said firmly, “I hold a double position here: I am your old friend—I am your doctor.”
“Yes,” said Scarlett in a whisper, but without changing his position.
“I am going to speak the simple truth; I am going to hide nothing. I am about to give you plain facts. Will you trust me?”
“Yes. I have always trusted you.”
“Will you believe me? I need not swear?”
“No, Jack, no,” said Scarlett, letting his hands fall from his haggard face. “I believe your word: I do indeed.”
“You asked me not to leave you.”
“Yes: for heaven’s sake, stay.”
“I will not leave you; and if I can, I’ll bring you back to health.”
“Yes,” said Scarlett, shuddering. “And you will not let them drag me away. Jack!—Kate has been planning it with Arthur—an asylum—and I dare not speak, I should be so violent, and make it worse.”
“You shan’t be dragged away, old man, and you need not fancy that any such plans are being made.”
“Even if it came to the worst,” said Scarlett pitifully, “you could keep me down. O Jack, I could not bear it; I’d sooner die!”
“Let me speak out at once, my dear boy,” said the doctor. “The terrible shock to your nerves has made you so weak that you fancy all these things. It is the natural outcome of such a state as yours. Now, listen: you said you would believe me.”
“Yes, yes; and I will.”
“I am glad you have spoken. I knew all this; but I am not sorry you indorsed it. You are haunted by a horrible dread that you are about to lose your reason.”
“Yes,” moaned Scarlett; “and it is so hard—so hard!”
“Then you may take this comfort to your heart: you are not in the slightest degree likely to become insane; and, what is more, I am as good as certain that, sooner or later, you will recover your health.”
“Jack!”
“You said that you would trust in me.”
“Yes—I did—and I will try—so hard. There, I am trying—you see how I am trying. Stand by me, Jack, and help me. Tell me what to do—do you hear! Tell me what todo!”
“I will,” cried Scales. “Give me your hand. Stand up—like a man. Now, grasp it firmly. Firmly, man; a good grip.—That’s better. Now, listen! What are you to do?”
“Yes: tell me quickly. My own strength is gone.”
“I’ll tell you, then,” said the doctor. “Give yourself up to me as if you were a man who could not swim.”
“Don’t talk about the water, Jack. For God’s sake, don’t!”
“Iwilltalk about the water, and you shall listen. Now, then, you must act as if you were helpless and I a strong swimmer. You must trust to me. Recollect, if you struggle and fight against me, you must drown—morally drown: the black waters will close over your spirit, and nothing that I can do will save you. Now, then, drowning man, is it to be trust in the swimmer?—That’s right!” he cried, as Scarlett placed his hands upon his arm—“that’s well. I won’t leave you, James Scarlett, till you are sound and strong as I am now!”
The stricken man made an effort to speak, but the words would not come. He could only gaze wistfully in his friend’s face, his wild eyes looking his gratitude, while they seemed to promise the fidelity of a dog.
“That’s right, old fellow. Now, we pretty well understand each other, only I’ve got to preach at you a little. First of all, I must have full confidence, you know. You must come to me with every symptom and sensation.”
“I will tell you everything,” said Scarlett humbly.
“And I would just make up my mind to meet my troubles like a man. You have yours now; and they come the more painfully after a long course of prosperity and happiness; but even then, old fellow, life is too good a gift to talk of throwing it away.”
Scarlett shuddered, and the doctor watched him narrowly.
“Existence accompanied by a most awful fit of neuralgia would not be pleasant; but all the same I would not refuse it, even with those conditions, for the intervals when the neuralgia is not stinging you are about the most delicious moments by contrast that can be imagined.”
“Yes, yes; of course.”
“Well, then, now let us go and join them on the lawn. What do you say to beginning to fight the nervous foe at once?”
“Yes, at once,” said Scarlett, speaking as if under the influence of the doctor.
“Come along, then; and we shall master yet.”
Scarlett hesitated and hung back; but the doctor did not speak. He could see that his patient was trying to avoid his eye. Once Scarlett glanced up, but the look was rapid as lightning. He saw that the doctor was watching him, and he avoided his look again instantly, like a schoolboy who had committed some fault. At the end of a minute, though, he gradually raised his eyes again, slowly and furtively, and in a way that troubled the doctor more than he would have cared to own; but he had his consolation directly in finding his patient gazing fully at him while Scarlett uttered a low sigh of satisfaction, as if he rejoiced at being in charge of a stronger will than his own; and then, without a word, they moved towards the lawn.
“I must do my bit of fighting too,” said the doctor to himself, as his eyes fell upon Lady Martlett. “She’s very handsome; she knows it; and she wants to make me feel it; but she shall not.—Humph! How that fellow Prayle hangs about Lady Scarlett’s side. They can’t always be wanting to talk over business matters.”
“Well, James, have you had a pleasant stroll?” said Aunt Sophia, as the two men joined the group.
“Yes—very,” he answered quietly.
“Have you seen how the peaches are getting on upon the little bush?” she continued.
“I? No. I have not been in the peach-house for days.”
“You don’t go half often enough. Let’s go now.”
“What, I? N—” The poor fellow met the doctor’s eye, and said hastily: “Well, yes; I will, aunt.—Will you come too, Naomi?”
“O yes,” cried the girl eagerly.
“Perhaps Lady Martlett will come and see the rosy-cheeked beauties of the peach-house?” said the doctor half-mockingly.—“She’ll give me such a snub,” he added to himself.
“Yes; I should like to see them,” said her Ladyship quietly; “my gardener tells me that they are far more beautiful than mine.”
“I should have thought it impossible,” cried the doctor. “Your Ladyship’s wealth and position ought to be able to secure for you everything.”
“But it does not,” said Lady Martlett; “not even such a simple thing as deference or respect.”
“Ah, but money could not buy those—at least not genuine, sterling qualities of that kind, Lady Martlett,” said the doctor, as they moved towards the end of the garden.
“So it seems, Doctor Scales.”
“There are some people who even have the impertinence to look down upon the rich who do not carry their honours with graceful humility.”
“How dares he speak to me like this!” thought Lady Martlett; “but I’ll humble him yet.”
“Let me see,” she replied coolly; “what do you cull that class of person—a radical, is it not?”
“Yes; I suppose that is the term.”
“And I understand that there are radicals of all kinds: in politics; in those who pass judgment on social behaviour; and even in medicine.”
“That’s a clever thrust,” thought the doctor.—“Just so, Lady Martlett; and I am one of the radicals in medicine.”
“Of course, then, not in social matters, Doctor Scales?”
“Will your Ladyship deign to notice the tints upon these peaches?” said the doctor evasively.—“Here is one,” he said, lowering his voice, “that seems as if it had been mocking you, when your cheek is flushed with the exercise of riding, and you imperiously command the first poor wretch who passes your way to open the gate.”
“The peaches look very fine,” said her Ladyship, refusing to notice the remark—“much finer than mine, dear Lady Scarlett. My head-gardener says that some disease has attacked the leaves.”
“You should invite Doctor Scales over to treat the ailment,” said Aunt Sophia archly.—“My dear James, what is the matter?”
“It is too bad—it is disgraceful!” cried Scarlett, stamping his foot. “Because I am weak and ill, every one imposes on me. That old scoundrel has been neglecting everything.”
“What! Monnick?” cried Aunt Sophia.
“Yes. No one else has the key. Ah! here you are,” he said more angrily, “look, Kate, you ought to be more particular. These keys should be brought to you.”
“What is wrong, dear?” said Lady Scarlett anxiously, as she came down that side of the peach-house, closely followed by Prayle.
“Everything is wrong,” cried the unhappy man, gazing at her wildly. “I cannot bear it.” He hurried from the peach-house, followed by the doctor, who calmed him by degrees.
“Some of the best peaches stolen,” he cried. “It is too bad; I set such a store by them.”
“And I set such store by your recovery, old fellow,” said the doctor. “That was a wretched fit of temper; but it’s over now. Don’t worry about it, man; and now go and lie down till dinner-time.”
“No—no: I have no wish to—”
“Mind what I say.—Yes, you have, my dear boy. Come: a quiet nap till dinner-time, and then you will have forgotten this petty trouble, and be fresh and cool.”
Scarlett sighed and walked slowly to the house, his companion seeing him lie down before going to his own room, and taking up a book which he read till it was time to get ready for the evening meal. Then he made his few simple preparations and strolled out into the garden again, to think out his plans and go over the events of the day and the possibility of his effecting a permanent cure. Item: to think a little about his own sore place, and how long it would take to heal up so thoroughly that he could always with impunity look Lady Martlett in the face.
Volume Two—Chapter Four.Mr Saxby has Aspirations.A couple of months had passed.“Mr Saxby wants to speak to you, ma’am,” said Fanny; and Aunt Sophia jumped up in a pet. “What does he want now? This is four times he has been down this month. Where is he?”“In the study, ma’am. He wouldn’t come in here.”Aunt Sophia entered the study to find quite a strong odour in the room. It was something between lemon-scented verbena and magnolia; and as soon as she noticed it, she began to sniff, with the result that the busy City man, so strong in his office, so weak outside, began to turn red.“Well, Mr Saxby,” said Aunt Sophia, “have you sold those consols for me?”“Yes, ma’am, as you insisted; but you’ll excuse me, I’m sure, when I tell you that—”“There, there, there, man! I know what you are going to say; but it is my own money, and I shall do with it what I please, and—” Sniff, sniff, sniff. “Whatever is it smells so strong?”“Strong, ma’am, strong?” said Mr Saxby, wiping his brow, for Aunt Sophia had a peculiar effect upon him, causing him to grow moist about the palms of his hands and dew to form upon his temples.“Why, it’s that handkerchief, man: and you’ve been putting scent upon your hair!”“Well, a little, ma’am, just a little,” said Saxby, with a smile that was more indicative of feebleness than strength. “I was coming into the country, you see, and, ahem!—sweets to the sweet.”“Stuff!—How about that money.”“There’s the cheque, ma’am,” said Mr Saxby, taking out his pocket-book; “but I give it to you with regret; and—let me beg of you, my dear madam, to be guided by me.”“That will do, Saxby. I know what I am about; and now, I suppose, you have some eligible investment to propose?”“Well, no, my dear madam; no. Things are very quiet. Money’s cheap as dirt.”“May I ask, then, why you have come down?”“The—er—the cheque, my dear madam.”“Might very well have come by post, Mr Saxby.”“Yes, but I was anxious to see and hear about how poor Sir James is getting on; to say a few words of condolence to Lady Scarlett. I esteem them both very highly, Miss Raleigh; I do indeed.”“Dear me! Ah!” said Aunt Sophia; “and—Shall I finish for you, Saxby?”“Finish for me, my dear madam? I do not understand.”“Then I will, Saxby: you thought that if you came down and brought the cheque, you might perhaps see my niece.”“My dear madam! My dear Miss Raleigh! Really, my dear madam!”“Don’t be a sham, Saxby. Own it like a man.”Mr Saxby looked helplessly round the room, as if in search of help, even of an open door through which he could escape; but there was none; and whenever he looked straight before him, there was the unrelenting eye of the elderly maiden lady fixed upon him, and seeming to read him through and through. He wished that he had not come; he wished that he could bring his office effrontery down with him; he wished that he could make Aunt Sophia quail, as he could his clerks; but all in vain. Aunt Sophia, to use her own words, could turn him round her finger when she had him there, and at last he gasped out:“Well, there, I’ll be honest about it—I did.”“I didn’t need telling,” said Aunt Sophia. “I believe, Saxby, I could even tell you what you are thinking now.”“Oh nonsense, ma’am—nonsense!”“Oh yes, I could,” said Aunt Sophia sharply. “You were thinking that I was a wretched old griffin, and you wished I was dead.”“Wrong!” cried Saxby triumphantly, and speaking more like himself. “I’ll own to the griffin; but hang me if I will to the wishing you dead!”“Why, you know you think she’ll have my money, Saxby.”“Hang your money, ma’am!” cried the stockbroker sharply. “I’ve got plenty of my own, and can make more; and as to yours—why, if it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t have a penny. It would be all gone in some swindling company. I—I beg your pardon, Miss Raleigh; I—ah—really—ah—I’m afraid I rather forgot myself—I—”“You’re quite right, Saxby, quite right,” said Aunt Sophia quietly. “I’m afraid I am a very stupid, sanguine old woman over money matters, and you have saved me several times. But now about Naomi. Whatever is it you want?”“What do I want?” said Saxby.“Yes. Why do you come hanging about here like this? Do you want to marry the girl?”“Well—er—yes, my dear madam; to be candid, that is what I thought. For ever since the day when I first set—”“Thank you: that will do, Saxby. Rhapsodies do sound such silly stuff to people at my age. Really, if you talk like that, I shall feel as if it would be madness to come to consult you again on business.”“But really, my dear madam—”“Yes,” said Aunt Sophia, interrupting; “I know. Well, then, we’ll grant that you like her.”“Like her, madam? I worship her?”“No: don’t, my good man. Let’s be sensible, if we can. My niece Naomi is a very nice, amiable, good girl.”“She’s an angel, ma’am!”“No; she is not,” said Aunt Sophia stiffly; “and so the man who marries her will find. She’s only a nice English girl, and I don’t want her feelings hurt by any one.”“Miss Raleigh, it would be my study to spare her feelings in every way.”“If you had the opportunity, my good man. As it happens, I must speak plainly to you, and tell you that I am afraid she has formed an attachment to Mr Prayle.”“To him!” groaned Saxby.“Now, look here, Mr Saxby; if you are going to act sensibly, I’ll talk to you; if you are going on like that, I’ve done. This is not part of a play.”“Yes, ma’am, it is,” said Saxby dolefully; “the tragedy of my life.”“Now, don’t be a goose, Saxby. If the girl likes somebody else better than you, don’t go making yourself miserable about it. Have some common-sense.”Saxby shook his head.“There’s no common-sense in love.”Aunt Sophia looked at him in a half-pitying, half-contemptuous manner. “It isn’t very deep, is it?” she said good-humouredly.“I don’t know,” he said; “only, that somehow she’s seemed to me to be like the flowers; and when I’ve gone to my office every morning, I’ve bought a rose or something of that kind, and put it in water, and it’s been company to me, as if she were there all the time. And now, after what you’ve told me, ma’am, I don’t think I shall ever buy a rose again.” He got up, walked to the window and looked out, so that Aunt Sophia should not see his face.“Poor fellow!” she said softly to herself, and it was evident that her sympathies were touched.“Mr Prayle has not spoken to Naomi yet,” she said, and there was a smile in her eye as she saw the sudden start that Saxby gave, and the look of hope that came back into his countenance as he turned round and faced her.“Does he—does he—care for her very much?” said Saxby.Aunt Sophia hesitated for a few moments, and then seemed to make up her mind. “I don’t know,” she said; “but I’ll speak plainly to you, Saxby, for I like you.”“You—Miss Raleigh!—you—like—me?”“Yes. Why shouldn’t I?”“Because—because—”“Yes; I know. Because you opposed me sometimes. Well, a woman likes to be opposed. Some stupid people say that a woman likes to have her own way in everything. It isn’t true. She likes to find some one who will and who does master her. It’s her nature, Saxby, and whenever you find anyone who asserts the contrary, set him or her down as ignorant or an impostor.”“But don’t raise my hopes, Miss Raleigh, don’t, pray, if there’s no chance for me.”“I’m not going to raise your hopes—not much. I shall only say to you, that I am sorry about my niece’s leanings, and that, perhaps, after all, it is but a girlish fancy. If I were a man—”“Yes, Miss Raleigh, if you were a man?”“And cared for a woman, I should never give her up till I saw that my case was quite hopeless.”“Miss Raleigh,” cried the stockbroker excitedly, “your words are like fresh air in a hot office. One thinks more clearly; life seems better worth living for; and there’s a general rise of one’s natural stock all over a fellow’s market.—Might I kiss your hand?”“No,” cried Aunt Sophia; “but you may behave sensibly. Stop down a day or two, and see how the land lies.”“May I?”“Yes; I’ll answer for your welcome.—And now, mind this: I’m not going to interfere with my niece and her likes and dislikes; but let me give you a bit of advice.”“If you would!” exclaimed Saxby.“Then don’t go about sighing like a bull-goose. Women don’t care for such weak silly creatures. Naomi’s naturally weak, and what she looks for in a man is strength both in brain and body.”“Yes, I see,” said Saxby sadly. “I under stand stocks and shares, but I don’t understand women.”“Of course you don’t. No man yet ever did; not even Solomon, with all his experience; and no man ever will.”“But, I thought, Miss Raleigh—I hoped—”“Well, what did you think and hope?”“That you might help me—as an old and trustworthy friend—about Miss Naomi.”“Why, bless the boy—man, I mean—if I were to tell Naomi to love you, or that she was to be your wife, she’d do as all girls do.”“What’s that, Miss Raleigh?”“What’s that? Why, go off at a tangent, whatever that may be, and marry Prayle at once.”“Ah, yes, I suppose so,” faltered Saxby.“Well, well, pluck up your spirits, man, and be what you are at your office. I do trust you Saxby; and to show you my confidence, I’ll tell you frankly that I should be deeply grieved if anything came of her leanings towards that smooth, good-looking fellow.—There, what stuff I am talking. You ought to be able to get on without advice from me.”Then Aunt Sophia smiled and nodded her head at the stockbroker, after which she sailed out of the room, leaving him hopeful and ready to take heart of grace, even though just then he saw Arthur Prayle go by in company with the object of his aspirations. Certainly, though, Lady Scarlett, was with them; while directly after, Sir James Scarlett passed, hanging upon Scales’s arm; and the aspect of the baronet’s face startled Saxby, who was clever enough at reading countenances, possessing as he did all the shrewdness of the dealer in questions of the purse. For in that face he read, or fancied he read, hopeless misery, jealousy, and distrust mingled in one.“Why,” exclaimed Saxby, as they passed out of sight beyond the bushes, “the poor fellow looks worse than ever; and—everything—is drifting into the hands of that Prayle. I hope he’s honest. Hang him! I hate him.“Well, I must be civil to him while I’m here. But I’ll wager he hates me too; and knows that I have stood in his way just the same as he does in mine. No, not the same,” he added, as he opened the French window to go out on the lawn. “In my case it is a lady, in his money. Which of us will win?”
A couple of months had passed.
“Mr Saxby wants to speak to you, ma’am,” said Fanny; and Aunt Sophia jumped up in a pet. “What does he want now? This is four times he has been down this month. Where is he?”
“In the study, ma’am. He wouldn’t come in here.”
Aunt Sophia entered the study to find quite a strong odour in the room. It was something between lemon-scented verbena and magnolia; and as soon as she noticed it, she began to sniff, with the result that the busy City man, so strong in his office, so weak outside, began to turn red.
“Well, Mr Saxby,” said Aunt Sophia, “have you sold those consols for me?”
“Yes, ma’am, as you insisted; but you’ll excuse me, I’m sure, when I tell you that—”
“There, there, there, man! I know what you are going to say; but it is my own money, and I shall do with it what I please, and—” Sniff, sniff, sniff. “Whatever is it smells so strong?”
“Strong, ma’am, strong?” said Mr Saxby, wiping his brow, for Aunt Sophia had a peculiar effect upon him, causing him to grow moist about the palms of his hands and dew to form upon his temples.
“Why, it’s that handkerchief, man: and you’ve been putting scent upon your hair!”
“Well, a little, ma’am, just a little,” said Saxby, with a smile that was more indicative of feebleness than strength. “I was coming into the country, you see, and, ahem!—sweets to the sweet.”
“Stuff!—How about that money.”
“There’s the cheque, ma’am,” said Mr Saxby, taking out his pocket-book; “but I give it to you with regret; and—let me beg of you, my dear madam, to be guided by me.”
“That will do, Saxby. I know what I am about; and now, I suppose, you have some eligible investment to propose?”
“Well, no, my dear madam; no. Things are very quiet. Money’s cheap as dirt.”
“May I ask, then, why you have come down?”
“The—er—the cheque, my dear madam.”
“Might very well have come by post, Mr Saxby.”
“Yes, but I was anxious to see and hear about how poor Sir James is getting on; to say a few words of condolence to Lady Scarlett. I esteem them both very highly, Miss Raleigh; I do indeed.”
“Dear me! Ah!” said Aunt Sophia; “and—Shall I finish for you, Saxby?”
“Finish for me, my dear madam? I do not understand.”
“Then I will, Saxby: you thought that if you came down and brought the cheque, you might perhaps see my niece.”
“My dear madam! My dear Miss Raleigh! Really, my dear madam!”
“Don’t be a sham, Saxby. Own it like a man.”
Mr Saxby looked helplessly round the room, as if in search of help, even of an open door through which he could escape; but there was none; and whenever he looked straight before him, there was the unrelenting eye of the elderly maiden lady fixed upon him, and seeming to read him through and through. He wished that he had not come; he wished that he could bring his office effrontery down with him; he wished that he could make Aunt Sophia quail, as he could his clerks; but all in vain. Aunt Sophia, to use her own words, could turn him round her finger when she had him there, and at last he gasped out:
“Well, there, I’ll be honest about it—I did.”
“I didn’t need telling,” said Aunt Sophia. “I believe, Saxby, I could even tell you what you are thinking now.”
“Oh nonsense, ma’am—nonsense!”
“Oh yes, I could,” said Aunt Sophia sharply. “You were thinking that I was a wretched old griffin, and you wished I was dead.”
“Wrong!” cried Saxby triumphantly, and speaking more like himself. “I’ll own to the griffin; but hang me if I will to the wishing you dead!”
“Why, you know you think she’ll have my money, Saxby.”
“Hang your money, ma’am!” cried the stockbroker sharply. “I’ve got plenty of my own, and can make more; and as to yours—why, if it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t have a penny. It would be all gone in some swindling company. I—I beg your pardon, Miss Raleigh; I—ah—really—ah—I’m afraid I rather forgot myself—I—”
“You’re quite right, Saxby, quite right,” said Aunt Sophia quietly. “I’m afraid I am a very stupid, sanguine old woman over money matters, and you have saved me several times. But now about Naomi. Whatever is it you want?”
“What do I want?” said Saxby.
“Yes. Why do you come hanging about here like this? Do you want to marry the girl?”
“Well—er—yes, my dear madam; to be candid, that is what I thought. For ever since the day when I first set—”
“Thank you: that will do, Saxby. Rhapsodies do sound such silly stuff to people at my age. Really, if you talk like that, I shall feel as if it would be madness to come to consult you again on business.”
“But really, my dear madam—”
“Yes,” said Aunt Sophia, interrupting; “I know. Well, then, we’ll grant that you like her.”
“Like her, madam? I worship her?”
“No: don’t, my good man. Let’s be sensible, if we can. My niece Naomi is a very nice, amiable, good girl.”
“She’s an angel, ma’am!”
“No; she is not,” said Aunt Sophia stiffly; “and so the man who marries her will find. She’s only a nice English girl, and I don’t want her feelings hurt by any one.”
“Miss Raleigh, it would be my study to spare her feelings in every way.”
“If you had the opportunity, my good man. As it happens, I must speak plainly to you, and tell you that I am afraid she has formed an attachment to Mr Prayle.”
“To him!” groaned Saxby.
“Now, look here, Mr Saxby; if you are going to act sensibly, I’ll talk to you; if you are going on like that, I’ve done. This is not part of a play.”
“Yes, ma’am, it is,” said Saxby dolefully; “the tragedy of my life.”
“Now, don’t be a goose, Saxby. If the girl likes somebody else better than you, don’t go making yourself miserable about it. Have some common-sense.”
Saxby shook his head.
“There’s no common-sense in love.”
Aunt Sophia looked at him in a half-pitying, half-contemptuous manner. “It isn’t very deep, is it?” she said good-humouredly.
“I don’t know,” he said; “only, that somehow she’s seemed to me to be like the flowers; and when I’ve gone to my office every morning, I’ve bought a rose or something of that kind, and put it in water, and it’s been company to me, as if she were there all the time. And now, after what you’ve told me, ma’am, I don’t think I shall ever buy a rose again.” He got up, walked to the window and looked out, so that Aunt Sophia should not see his face.
“Poor fellow!” she said softly to herself, and it was evident that her sympathies were touched.
“Mr Prayle has not spoken to Naomi yet,” she said, and there was a smile in her eye as she saw the sudden start that Saxby gave, and the look of hope that came back into his countenance as he turned round and faced her.
“Does he—does he—care for her very much?” said Saxby.
Aunt Sophia hesitated for a few moments, and then seemed to make up her mind. “I don’t know,” she said; “but I’ll speak plainly to you, Saxby, for I like you.”
“You—Miss Raleigh!—you—like—me?”
“Yes. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because—because—”
“Yes; I know. Because you opposed me sometimes. Well, a woman likes to be opposed. Some stupid people say that a woman likes to have her own way in everything. It isn’t true. She likes to find some one who will and who does master her. It’s her nature, Saxby, and whenever you find anyone who asserts the contrary, set him or her down as ignorant or an impostor.”
“But don’t raise my hopes, Miss Raleigh, don’t, pray, if there’s no chance for me.”
“I’m not going to raise your hopes—not much. I shall only say to you, that I am sorry about my niece’s leanings, and that, perhaps, after all, it is but a girlish fancy. If I were a man—”
“Yes, Miss Raleigh, if you were a man?”
“And cared for a woman, I should never give her up till I saw that my case was quite hopeless.”
“Miss Raleigh,” cried the stockbroker excitedly, “your words are like fresh air in a hot office. One thinks more clearly; life seems better worth living for; and there’s a general rise of one’s natural stock all over a fellow’s market.—Might I kiss your hand?”
“No,” cried Aunt Sophia; “but you may behave sensibly. Stop down a day or two, and see how the land lies.”
“May I?”
“Yes; I’ll answer for your welcome.—And now, mind this: I’m not going to interfere with my niece and her likes and dislikes; but let me give you a bit of advice.”
“If you would!” exclaimed Saxby.
“Then don’t go about sighing like a bull-goose. Women don’t care for such weak silly creatures. Naomi’s naturally weak, and what she looks for in a man is strength both in brain and body.”
“Yes, I see,” said Saxby sadly. “I under stand stocks and shares, but I don’t understand women.”
“Of course you don’t. No man yet ever did; not even Solomon, with all his experience; and no man ever will.”
“But, I thought, Miss Raleigh—I hoped—”
“Well, what did you think and hope?”
“That you might help me—as an old and trustworthy friend—about Miss Naomi.”
“Why, bless the boy—man, I mean—if I were to tell Naomi to love you, or that she was to be your wife, she’d do as all girls do.”
“What’s that, Miss Raleigh?”
“What’s that? Why, go off at a tangent, whatever that may be, and marry Prayle at once.”
“Ah, yes, I suppose so,” faltered Saxby.
“Well, well, pluck up your spirits, man, and be what you are at your office. I do trust you Saxby; and to show you my confidence, I’ll tell you frankly that I should be deeply grieved if anything came of her leanings towards that smooth, good-looking fellow.—There, what stuff I am talking. You ought to be able to get on without advice from me.”
Then Aunt Sophia smiled and nodded her head at the stockbroker, after which she sailed out of the room, leaving him hopeful and ready to take heart of grace, even though just then he saw Arthur Prayle go by in company with the object of his aspirations. Certainly, though, Lady Scarlett, was with them; while directly after, Sir James Scarlett passed, hanging upon Scales’s arm; and the aspect of the baronet’s face startled Saxby, who was clever enough at reading countenances, possessing as he did all the shrewdness of the dealer in questions of the purse. For in that face he read, or fancied he read, hopeless misery, jealousy, and distrust mingled in one.
“Why,” exclaimed Saxby, as they passed out of sight beyond the bushes, “the poor fellow looks worse than ever; and—everything—is drifting into the hands of that Prayle. I hope he’s honest. Hang him! I hate him.
“Well, I must be civil to him while I’m here. But I’ll wager he hates me too; and knows that I have stood in his way just the same as he does in mine. No, not the same,” he added, as he opened the French window to go out on the lawn. “In my case it is a lady, in his money. Which of us will win?”
Volume Two—Chapter Five.Although an Old Maid.“Well, doctor?”“Well, Miss Raleigh.”“You do not bring him round.”“I don’t. He is worried mentally, and I can’t get at his complaint.”“Why not take him away, and give him a complete change?”Doctor Scales injured John Monnick’s beautiful turf, that he had been at such trouble to make grow under the big mulberry tree, by suddenly screwing round his garden-seat, to stare in Aunt Sophia’s face. “I say,” he exclaimed, “are you a reader of thoughts or a prophetess?”“Neither. Why?”“Because you are proposing what I have planned.”“Indeed! Well, is it not a good proposal?”“Excellent; but he will not listen to it. He dare not go outside the place, he says; and I believe that at first he would suffer terribly, for it is quite shocking how weak his nerves have become. He has a horror of the most trivial things; and above all, there is something troubling the brain.”“What can it be?” said Aunt Sophia.“Well—I’m speaking very plainly to you, Miss Raleigh.”“Of course. We trust each other, doctor.”“Exactly. Well, in a case like this, it is only natural that the poor fellow should feel his position deeply, and be troubling himself about his wife.”“But she seems to be most attentive to him.”“O yes; she never neglects him,” replied the doctor, hurriedly going into another branch of his subject. “His money affairs, too, seem to worry him a great deal; and I know it causes him intense agony to be compelled by his weakness to leave so much to other hands.”“But his cousin—Mr Prayle—seems to be devoting himself heart and soul to their management.”“O yes; he seems indefatigable; and Lady Scarlett is always watching over his interests; but no man can find an adequate substitute for himself.”Aunt Sophia watched the doctor anxiously, asking herself what he really thought, and then half bitterly reflecting how very shallow after all their trust was of each other upon this delicate question of Sir James Scarlett’s health. As she looked, she could not help seeing that the doctor’s eyes were fixed upon hers with a close scrutiny; and it was with almost a malicious pleasure that she said quietly a few words, and watched the result: “You know, I suppose, that Lady Martlett is coming here to dinner this evening?”“Coming here? To dinner? This evening?”“Yes. Is there anything so wonderful in that?”“O no; of course not. Only—that is—I am a little surprised.”“I don’t see why you should be surprised. Lady Martlett always made a great friend of Lady Scarlett, from the time she first came down.”“Yes; I think I have heard so. Of course, there is nothing surprising, except in their great diversity of tastes.”“Extremes meet, doctor,” said Aunt Sophia, smiling; “and that will be the case when you take her Ladyship down to dinner.”“I? Take her down?—No, not I,” said Scales quickly. “In fact, I was thinking of running up to town to-day. There is an old friend of mine, who has studied nervous diseases a great deal in the Paris hospitals; he is over for a few weeks, and I thought I would consult him.”“At the expense of running away, and making it appear to be because Lady Martlett is coming to dinner.”“Oh; but that idea would be absurd.”“I don’t know that, doctor, because, you see, it would be so true. There, there: don’t look cross. I am not an obstinate patient. Why, doctor, are you afraid of her?”“No; I am more afraid of myself,” he said bitterly; “and I have some pride, Miss Raleigh.”“Too much—far too much.—Do you know, doctor, I am turning match-maker in my old age?”“A worthy pursuit, if you could make good matches.”“Well, would it not be a good one between you and Lady Martlett?”“Admirable!” he cried, in a bitterly ironical tone. “The union of a wealthy woman, who has a right to make a brilliant contract with some one of her own class, to a beggarly, penniless doctor, whose head is full of absurd crotchets.—Miss Raleigh, Miss Raleigh, where is your discrimination!”“In my brains, I suppose,” said Aunt Sophia; “though I do not see how that portion of our organisation can make plans and plots.”“Then you are plotting and planning to marry me to Lady Martlett.”“It needed neither,” said Aunt Sophia. “You worked out the union yourselves. She is very fond of you.”“Ha-ha-ha!” laughed the doctor harshly. “And you think her the most attractive woman you ever saw.”“Granted. But that does not prove that I love her. No; I love my profession. James Scarlett’s health is my idol, until I have cured him—if I ever do. Then I shall look out for another patient, Miss Raleigh.”“It is my turn now to laugh, doctor. Why, what a transparent man you are!”“I hope so,” he replied. “But you will stay to dinner this evening?”“No, madam; I shall go to town.”“You will not!” said Aunt Sophia, smiling. “It would be too cowardly for you.”“No, no; I must go,” he said. “She would make me her slave, and trample upon my best instincts. It would not do, Miss Raleigh. As it is, I am free. Poor enough, heaven knows! but independent, and—I hope—a gentleman.”“Of course,” said Aunt Sophia gravely.“Granting that I could win her—the idea seems contemptible presumption—what would follow? In her eyes, as well as in those of the whole world, I should have sacrificed my independence. I should have degraded myself; and in place of being spoken of in future as a slightly clever, eccentric doctor, I should sink into a successful fortune-hunter—a man admitted into the society that receives his wife, as her lapdog would be, at the end of a string. I couldn’t do it, my dear madam; I could not bear it; for the galling part would be that I deserved my fate.”“I hope you do not exaggerate your patients’ cases as you do your own, doctor.”“No exaggeration, my dear madam. Take another side of the question. Suppose I did sink my pride—suppose my lady did condescend from her high pedestal to put a collar round my neck—how then? What should I be worth, leading such a lapdog existence? What would become of my theories, my efforts to make discoveries in our grand profession? Oh, Miss Raleigh, Miss Raleigh, I did think I had won some little respect from you! What would you say if you saw me lower myself to such an extent as that?”Aunt Sophia smiled. “There would be something extremely droll to a bystander, if he heard all this. You talking of stooping!”“Well, would it not be?” he cried. “With some women, yes; but you don’t yet know Lady Martlett.—Oh, mostapropos: she has come early, so as to have a pleasant afternoon without form. Doctor Scales, you are too late; you will have to stay.”“Confound the woman!” cried the doctor, as he saw Lady Martlett, very simply dressed, coming towards the lawn in company with Scarlett and his wife.“I’ll tell her you said so.”“I’ll tell her myself.”“No; you will not,” said Aunt Sophia quietly. “At one time, I thought that you needed a rival to bring you to your senses, but I venture to say that it will not be necessary.” As she spoke, she advanced to meet the visitor, who embraced her cordially, and then bowed coldly to the doctor, as he raised his straw hat and then walked away.Lady Martlett bit her lip, but took no further notice, devoting herself to her hostess, and talking a great deal to Scarlett, who, however, met her advances only peevishly, and seemed as if he found some under-thought in everything that was said, watching Lady Scarlett suspiciously, and whenever he left the group, hanging about so as to be within hearing and then suddenly rejoining them. This went on for some time, and then they adjourned to the house, where Lady Scarlett was soon after called away, and the visitor was left alone.
“Well, doctor?”
“Well, Miss Raleigh.”
“You do not bring him round.”
“I don’t. He is worried mentally, and I can’t get at his complaint.”
“Why not take him away, and give him a complete change?”
Doctor Scales injured John Monnick’s beautiful turf, that he had been at such trouble to make grow under the big mulberry tree, by suddenly screwing round his garden-seat, to stare in Aunt Sophia’s face. “I say,” he exclaimed, “are you a reader of thoughts or a prophetess?”
“Neither. Why?”
“Because you are proposing what I have planned.”
“Indeed! Well, is it not a good proposal?”
“Excellent; but he will not listen to it. He dare not go outside the place, he says; and I believe that at first he would suffer terribly, for it is quite shocking how weak his nerves have become. He has a horror of the most trivial things; and above all, there is something troubling the brain.”
“What can it be?” said Aunt Sophia.
“Well—I’m speaking very plainly to you, Miss Raleigh.”
“Of course. We trust each other, doctor.”
“Exactly. Well, in a case like this, it is only natural that the poor fellow should feel his position deeply, and be troubling himself about his wife.”
“But she seems to be most attentive to him.”
“O yes; she never neglects him,” replied the doctor, hurriedly going into another branch of his subject. “His money affairs, too, seem to worry him a great deal; and I know it causes him intense agony to be compelled by his weakness to leave so much to other hands.”
“But his cousin—Mr Prayle—seems to be devoting himself heart and soul to their management.”
“O yes; he seems indefatigable; and Lady Scarlett is always watching over his interests; but no man can find an adequate substitute for himself.”
Aunt Sophia watched the doctor anxiously, asking herself what he really thought, and then half bitterly reflecting how very shallow after all their trust was of each other upon this delicate question of Sir James Scarlett’s health. As she looked, she could not help seeing that the doctor’s eyes were fixed upon hers with a close scrutiny; and it was with almost a malicious pleasure that she said quietly a few words, and watched the result: “You know, I suppose, that Lady Martlett is coming here to dinner this evening?”
“Coming here? To dinner? This evening?”
“Yes. Is there anything so wonderful in that?”
“O no; of course not. Only—that is—I am a little surprised.”
“I don’t see why you should be surprised. Lady Martlett always made a great friend of Lady Scarlett, from the time she first came down.”
“Yes; I think I have heard so. Of course, there is nothing surprising, except in their great diversity of tastes.”
“Extremes meet, doctor,” said Aunt Sophia, smiling; “and that will be the case when you take her Ladyship down to dinner.”
“I? Take her down?—No, not I,” said Scales quickly. “In fact, I was thinking of running up to town to-day. There is an old friend of mine, who has studied nervous diseases a great deal in the Paris hospitals; he is over for a few weeks, and I thought I would consult him.”
“At the expense of running away, and making it appear to be because Lady Martlett is coming to dinner.”
“Oh; but that idea would be absurd.”
“I don’t know that, doctor, because, you see, it would be so true. There, there: don’t look cross. I am not an obstinate patient. Why, doctor, are you afraid of her?”
“No; I am more afraid of myself,” he said bitterly; “and I have some pride, Miss Raleigh.”
“Too much—far too much.—Do you know, doctor, I am turning match-maker in my old age?”
“A worthy pursuit, if you could make good matches.”
“Well, would it not be a good one between you and Lady Martlett?”
“Admirable!” he cried, in a bitterly ironical tone. “The union of a wealthy woman, who has a right to make a brilliant contract with some one of her own class, to a beggarly, penniless doctor, whose head is full of absurd crotchets.—Miss Raleigh, Miss Raleigh, where is your discrimination!”
“In my brains, I suppose,” said Aunt Sophia; “though I do not see how that portion of our organisation can make plans and plots.”
“Then you are plotting and planning to marry me to Lady Martlett.”
“It needed neither,” said Aunt Sophia. “You worked out the union yourselves. She is very fond of you.”
“Ha-ha-ha!” laughed the doctor harshly. “And you think her the most attractive woman you ever saw.”
“Granted. But that does not prove that I love her. No; I love my profession. James Scarlett’s health is my idol, until I have cured him—if I ever do. Then I shall look out for another patient, Miss Raleigh.”
“It is my turn now to laugh, doctor. Why, what a transparent man you are!”
“I hope so,” he replied. “But you will stay to dinner this evening?”
“No, madam; I shall go to town.”
“You will not!” said Aunt Sophia, smiling. “It would be too cowardly for you.”
“No, no; I must go,” he said. “She would make me her slave, and trample upon my best instincts. It would not do, Miss Raleigh. As it is, I am free. Poor enough, heaven knows! but independent, and—I hope—a gentleman.”
“Of course,” said Aunt Sophia gravely.
“Granting that I could win her—the idea seems contemptible presumption—what would follow? In her eyes, as well as in those of the whole world, I should have sacrificed my independence. I should have degraded myself; and in place of being spoken of in future as a slightly clever, eccentric doctor, I should sink into a successful fortune-hunter—a man admitted into the society that receives his wife, as her lapdog would be, at the end of a string. I couldn’t do it, my dear madam; I could not bear it; for the galling part would be that I deserved my fate.”
“I hope you do not exaggerate your patients’ cases as you do your own, doctor.”
“No exaggeration, my dear madam. Take another side of the question. Suppose I did sink my pride—suppose my lady did condescend from her high pedestal to put a collar round my neck—how then? What should I be worth, leading such a lapdog existence? What would become of my theories, my efforts to make discoveries in our grand profession? Oh, Miss Raleigh, Miss Raleigh, I did think I had won some little respect from you! What would you say if you saw me lower myself to such an extent as that?”
Aunt Sophia smiled. “There would be something extremely droll to a bystander, if he heard all this. You talking of stooping!”
“Well, would it not be?” he cried. “With some women, yes; but you don’t yet know Lady Martlett.—Oh, mostapropos: she has come early, so as to have a pleasant afternoon without form. Doctor Scales, you are too late; you will have to stay.”
“Confound the woman!” cried the doctor, as he saw Lady Martlett, very simply dressed, coming towards the lawn in company with Scarlett and his wife.
“I’ll tell her you said so.”
“I’ll tell her myself.”
“No; you will not,” said Aunt Sophia quietly. “At one time, I thought that you needed a rival to bring you to your senses, but I venture to say that it will not be necessary.” As she spoke, she advanced to meet the visitor, who embraced her cordially, and then bowed coldly to the doctor, as he raised his straw hat and then walked away.
Lady Martlett bit her lip, but took no further notice, devoting herself to her hostess, and talking a great deal to Scarlett, who, however, met her advances only peevishly, and seemed as if he found some under-thought in everything that was said, watching Lady Scarlett suspiciously, and whenever he left the group, hanging about so as to be within hearing and then suddenly rejoining them. This went on for some time, and then they adjourned to the house, where Lady Scarlett was soon after called away, and the visitor was left alone.