CHAPTER XIV.
MR WHITTLESTAFF IS GOING OUT TO DINNER.
"There's an invitation come, asking us to dine at Little Alresfordto-day." This was said, soon after breakfast, by Mr Whittlestaff toMary Lawrie, on the day after Mr Gordon's coming. "I think we'llgo."
"Could you not leave me behind?"
"By no means. I want you to become intimate with the girls, who aregood girls."
"But Mr Gordon is there."
"Exactly. That is just what I want. It will be better that you andhe should meet each other, without the necessity of making a scene."From this it may be understood that Mr Whittlestaff had explained toMary as much as he had thought necessary of what had occurred betweenhim and John Gordon, and that Mary's answers had been satisfactoryto his feelings. Mary had told him that she was contented with herlot in life, as Mr Whittlestaff had proposed it for her. She hadnot been enthusiastic; but then he had not expected it. She had notassured him that she would forget John Gordon. He had not asked her.She had simply said that if he were satisfied,--so was she. "I thinkthat with me, dearest, at any rate, you will be safe." "I am quitesure that I shall be safe," she had answered. And that had beensufficient.
But the reader will also understand from this that he had sought forno answer to those burning questions which John Gordon had put tohim. Had she loved John Gordon the longest? Did she love him thebest? There was no doubt a certain cautious selfishness in the wayin which he had gone to work. And yet of general selfishness it wasimpossible to accuse him. He was willing to give her everything,--todo all for her. And he had first asked her to be his wife, with everyobservance. And then he could always protect himself on the plea thathe was doing the best he could for her. His property was assured,--inthe three per cents, as Mrs Baggett had suggested; whereas JohnGordon's was all in diamonds. How frequently do diamonds melt andcome to nothing? They are things which a man can carry in his pocket,and lose or give away. They cannot,--so thought Mr Whittlestaff,--besettled in the hands of trustees, or left to the charge of anexecutor. They cannot be substantiated. Who can say that, whenlooking to a lady's interest, this bit of glass may not come upinstead of that precious stone? "John Gordon might be a very steadyfellow; but we have only his own word for that,"--as Mr Whittlestaffobserved to himself. There could not be a doubt but that MrWhittlestaff himself was the safer staff of the two on which a younglady might lean. He did make all these excuses for himself, anddetermined that they were of such a nature that he might rely uponthem with safety. But still there was a pang in his bosom--a silentsecret--which kept on whispering to him that he was not the bestbeloved. He had, however, resolved steadfastly that he would notput that question to Mary. If she did not wish to declare her love,neither did he. It was a pity, a thousand pities, that it should beso. A change in her heart might, however, take place. It would cometo pass that she would learn that he was the superior staff on whichto lean. John Gordon might disappear among the diamond-fields, and nomore be heard of. He, at any rate, would do his best for her, so thatshe should not repent her bargain. But he was determined that thebargain, as it had been struck, should be carried out. Therefore,in communicating to Mary the invitation which he had received fromLittle Alresford, he did not find it necessary to make any specialspeech in answer to her inquiry about John Gordon.
She understood it all, and could not in her very heart pronouncea judgment against him. She knew that he was doing that which hebelieved would be the best for her welfare. She, overwhelmed by thedebt of her gratitude, had acceded to his request, and had beenunable afterwards to depart from her word. She had said that itshould be so, and she could not then turn upon him and declare thatwhen she had given him her hand, she had been unaware of the presenceof her other lover. There was an injustice, an unkindness, aningratitude, a selfishness in this, which forbade her to think ofit as being done by herself. It was better for her that she shouldsuffer, though the suffering should be through her whole life,than that he should be disappointed. No doubt the man would suffertoo,--her hero, her lover,--he with whom she would so willingly haverisked everything, either with or without the diamonds. She couldnot, however, bear to think that Mr Whittlestaff should be so veryprudent and so very wise solely on her behalf. She would go to him,but for other reasons than that. As she walked about the place halfthe day, up and down the long walk, she told herself that it wasuseless to contend with her love. She did love John Gordon; she knewthat she loved him with her whole heart; she knew that she must betrue to him;--but still she would marry Mr Whittlestaff, and do herduty in that state of life to which it had pleased God to call her.There would be a sacrifice--a sacrifice of two--but still it wasjustice.
Had she not consented to take everything from Mr Whittlestaff; herbread, her meat, her raiment, the shelter under which she lived, andthe position in the world which she now enjoyed? Had the man come buta day earlier, it would all have been well. She would have told herlove before Mr Whittlestaff had spoken of his wants. Circumstanceshad been arranged differently, and she must bear it. But she knewthat it would be better for her that she should see John Gordonno more. Had he started at once to London and gone thence to thediamond-fields without seeing her again there would be a feeling thatshe had become the creature of stern necessity; there would have beenno hope for her,--as also no fear. Had he started a second time forSouth Africa, she would have looked upon his further return withany reference to her own wants as a thing impossible. But now howwould it be with her? Mr Whittlestaff had told her with a sternindifference that she must again meet this man, sit at the table withhim as an old friend, and be again subject to his influence. "It willbe better that you and he should meet," he had said, "without thenecessity of making a scene." How could she assure him that therewould be no scene?
Then she thought that she would have recourse to that ordinaryfeminine excuse, a headache; but were she to do so she would own thewhole truth to her master; she would have declared that she so lovedthe man that she could not endure to be in his presence. She mustnow let the matter pass as he had intended. She must go to Mr Hall'shouse, and there encounter him she loved with what show of coldnessshe might be able to assume.
But the worst of it all lay in this,--that she could not but thinkthat he had been induced to remain in the neighbourhood in order thathe might again try to gain his point. She had told herself againand again that it was impossible, that she must decide as she haddecided, and that Mr Whittlestaff had decided so also. He had usedwhat eloquence was within his reach, and it had been all in vain.He could now appeal only to herself, and to such appeal there couldbe but one answer. And how was such appeal to be made in Mr Hall'sdrawing-room? Surely John Gordon had been foolish in remaining in theneighbourhood. Nothing but trouble could come of it.
"So you are going to see this young man again!" This came from MrsBaggett, who had been in great perturbation all the morning. TheSergeant had slept in the stables through the night, and had had hisbreakfast brought to him, warm, by his own wife; but he had sat upamong the straw, and had winked at her, and had asked her to give himthreepence of gin with the cat-lap. To this she had acceded, thinkingprobably that she could not altogether deprive him of the food towhich he was accustomed without injury. Then, under the influenceof the gin and the promise of a ticket to Portsmouth, which sheundertook to get for him at the station, he was induced to go downwith her, and was absolutely despatched. Her own box was still lockedup, and she had slept with one of the two maids. All this had nothappened without great disturbance in the household. She herself wasvery angry with her master because of the box; she was very angrywith Mary, because Mary was, she thought, averse to her old lover;she was very angry with Mr Gordon, because she well understood thatMr Gordon was anxious to disturb the arrangement which had been madefor the family. She was very angry with her husband, not because hewas generally a drunken old reprobate, but because he had especiallydisgraced her on the present occasion by the noise which he had madein the road. No doubt she had been treated unfair
ly in the matter ofthe box, and could have succeeded in getting the law of her master.But she could not turn against her master in that way. She could givehim a bit of her own mind, and that she did very freely; but shecould not bring herself to break the lock of his door. And then, asthings went now, she did think it well that she should remain a fewdays longer at Croker's Hall. The occasion of her master's marriagewas to be the cause of her going away. She could not endure not to beforemost among all the women at Croker's Hall. But it was intolerableto her feelings that any one should interfere with her master; andshe thought that, if need were, she could assist him by her tongue.Therefore she was disposed to remain yet a few days in her old place,and had come, after she had got the ticket for her husband,--whichhad been done before Mr Whittlestaff's breakfast,--to inform hermaster of her determination. "Don't be a fool," Mr Whittlestaff hadsaid.
"I'm always a fool, whether I go or stay, so that don't much matter."This had been her answer, and then she had gone in to scold themaids.
As soon as she had heard of the intended dinner-party, she attackedMary Lawrie. "So you're going to see this young man again?"
"Mr Whittlestaff is going to dine at Little Alresford, and intendsto take me with him."
"Oh yes; that's all very well. He'd have left you behind if he'dbeen of my way of thinking. Mr Gordon here, and Mr Gordon there! Iwonder what's Mr Gordon! He ain't no better than an ordinary miner.Coals and diamonds is all one to me;--I'd rather have the coals forchoice." But Mary was not in a humour to contest the matter with MrsBaggett, and left the old woman the mistress of the field.
When the time arrived for going to the dinner, Mr Whittlestaff tookMary in the pony carriage with him. "There is always a groom aboutthere," he said, "so we need not take the boy." His object was, asMary in part understood, that he should be able to speak what lastwords he might have to utter without having other ears than hers tolisten to them.
Mary would have been surprised had she known how much painful thoughtMr Whittlestaff gave to the matter. To her it seemed as though hehad made up his mind without any effort, and was determined to abideby it. He had thought it well to marry her; and having asked her,and having obtained her consent, he intended to take advantage ofher promise. That was her idea of Mr Whittlestaff, as to which shedid not at all blame him. But he was, in truth, changing his purposeevery quarter of an hour;--or not changing it, but thinking again andagain throughout the entire day whether he would not abandon himselfand all his happiness to the romantic idea of making this girlsupremely happy. Were he to do so, he must give up everything. Theworld would have nothing left for him as to which he could feel theslightest interest. There came upon him at such moments insane ideasas to the amount of sacrifice which would be demanded of him. Sheshould have everything--his house, his fortune; and he, John Gordon,as being a part of her, should have them also. He, Whittlestaff,would abolish himself as far as such abolition might be possible.The idea of suicide was abominable to him--was wicked, cowardly, andinhuman. But if this were to take place he could wish to cease tolive. Then he would comfort himself by assuring himself again andagain that of the two he would certainly make the better husband. Hewas older. Yes; it was a pity that he should be so much the elder.And he knew that he was old of his age,--such a one as a girl likeMary Lawrie could hardly be brought to love passionately. He broughtup against himself all the hard facts as sternly as could any youngerrival. He looked at himself in the glass over and over again, andalways gave the verdict against his own appearance. There was nothingto recommend him. So he told himself,--judging of himself mostunfairly. He set against himself as evils little points by whichMary's mind and Mary's judgment would never be affected. But in truththroughout it all he thought only of her welfare. But there came uponhim constantly an idea that he hardly knew how to be as good to heras he would have been had it not been for Catherine Bailey. To haveattempted twice, and twice to have failed so disastrously! He was aman to whom to have failed once in such a matter was almost death.How should he bear it twice and still live? Nevertheless he didendeavour to think only of her welfare. "You won't find it cold, mydear?" he said.
"Cold! Why, Mr Whittlestaff, it's quite hot."
"I meant hot. I did mean to say hot."
"I've got my parasol."
"Oh!--ah!--yes; so I perceive. Go on, Tommy. That foolish old womanwill settle down at last, I think." To this Mary could make noanswer, because, according to her ideas, Mrs Baggett's settling downmust depend on her master's marriage. "I think it very civil of MrHall asking us in this way."
"I suppose it is."
"Because you may be sure he had heard of your former acquaintancewith him."
"Do you think so?"
"Not a doubt about it. He said as much to me in his note. That youngclergyman of his will have told him everything. 'Percontatorem fugitonam garrulus idem est.' I've taught you Latin enough to understandthat. But, Mary, if you wish to change your mind, this will be yourlast opportunity." His heart at that moment had been very tendertowards her, and she had resolved that hers should be very firm tohim.