CHAPTER XXI.
THE GREEN PARK.
He asked whether Mr John Gordon was within, and in two minutesfound himself standing in the hall with that hero of romance. MrWhittlestaff told himself, as he looked at the man, that he was sucha hero as ought to be happy in his love. Whereas of himself, he wasconscious of a personal appearance which no girl could be expectedto adore. He thought too much of his personal appearance generally,complaining to himself that it was mean; whereas in regard to MaryLawrie, it may be said that no such idea had ever entered her mind."It was just because he had come first," she would have said ifasked. And the "he" alluded to would have been John Gordon. "Hehad come first, and therefore I had learned to love him." It wasthus that Mary Lawrie would have spoken. But Mr Whittlestaff, as helooked up into John Gordon's face, felt that he himself was mean.
"You got my letter, Mr Gordon?"
"Yes; I got it last night."
"I have come up to London, because there is something that I wantto say to you. It is something that I can't very well put up into aletter, and therefore I have taken the trouble to come to town." Ashe said this he endeavoured, no doubt, to assert his own dignity bythe look which he assumed. Nor did he intend that Mr Gordon shouldknow anything of the struggle which he had endured.
But Mr Gordon knew as well what Mr Whittlestaff had to say as didMr Whittlestaff himself. He had turned the matter over in his ownmind since the letter had reached him, and was aware that there couldbe no other cause for seeing him which could bring Mr Whittlestaffup to London. But a few days since he had made an appeal to MrWhittlestaff--an appeal which certainly might require much thoughtfor its answer--and here was Mr Whittlestaff with his reply. Itcould not have been made quicker. It was thus that John Gordon hadthought of it as he had turned Mr Whittlestaff's letter over in hismind. The appeal had been made readily enough. The making of it hadbeen easy; the words to be spoken had come quickly, and without thenecessity for a moment's premeditation. He had known it all, and froma full heart the mouth speaks. But was it to have been expected thata man so placed as had been Mr Whittlestaff, should be able to givehis reply with equal celerity? He, John Gordon, had seen at onceon reaching Croker's Hall the state in which things were. Almosthopelessly he had made his appeal to the man who had her promise.Then he had met the man at Mr Hall's house, and hardly a word hadpassed between them. What word could have been expected? MontaguBlake, with all his folly, had judged rightly in bringing themtogether. When he received the letter, John Gordon had rememberedthat last word which Mr Whittlestaff had spoken to him in thesquire's hall. He had thought of the appeal, and had resolved togive an answer to it. It was an appeal which required an answer. Hehad turned it over in his mind, and had at last told himself whatthe answer should be. John Gordon had discovered all that when hereceived the letter, and it need hardly be said that his feelingsin regard to Mr Whittlestaff were very much kinder than those of MrWhittlestaff to him.
"Perhaps you wouldn't mind coming out into the street," said MrWhittlestaff. "I can't say very well what I've got to say in here."
"Certainly," said Gordon; "I will go anywhere."
"Let us go into the Park. It is green there, and there is some shadeamong the trees." Then they went out of the club into Pall Mall, andMr Whittlestaff walked on ahead without a word. "No; we will not godown there," he said, as he passed the entrance into St. James's Parkby Marlborough House, and led the way through St. James's Palace intothe Green Park. "We'll go on till we come to the trees; there areseats there, unless the people have occupied them all. One can't talkhere under the blazing sun;--at least I can't." Then he walked onat a rapid pace, wiping his brow as he did so. "Yes, there's a seat.I'll be hanged if that man isn't going to sit down upon it! Whata beast he is! No, I can't sit down on a seat that another man isoccupying. I don't want any one to hear what I've got to say. There!Two women have gone a little farther on." Then he hurried to thevacant bench and took possession of it. It was placed among the thicktrees which give a perfect shade on the north side of the Park, andhad Mr Whittlestaff searched all London through, he could not havefound a more pleasant spot in which to make his communication. "Thiswill do," said he.
"Very nicely indeed," said John Gordon.
"I couldn't talk about absolutely private business in the hall of theclub, you know."
"I could have taken you into a private room, Mr Whittlestaff, hadyou wished it."
"With everybody coming in and out, just as they pleased. I don'tbelieve in private rooms in London clubs. What I've got to say can besaid better _sub dio_. I suppose you know what it is that I've got totalk about."
"Hardly," said John Gordon. "But that is not exactly true. I think Iknow, but I am not quite sure of it. On such a subject I should notlike to make a surmise unless I were confident."
"It's about Miss Lawrie."
"I suppose so."
"What makes you suppose that?" said Whittlestaff, sharply.
"You told me that you were sure I should know."
"So I am, quite sure. You came all the way down to Alresford to seeher. If you spoke the truth, you came all the way home from thediamond-fields with the same object."
"I certainly spoke the truth, Mr Whittlestaff."
"Then what's the good of your pretending not to know?"
"I have not pretended. I merely said that I could not presume toput the young lady's name into your mouth until you had uttered ityourself. There could be no other subject of conversation between youand me of which I was aware."
"You had spoken to me about her," said Mr Whittlestaff.
"No doubt I had. When I found that you had given her a home, and hadmade yourself, as it were, a father to her--"
"I had not made myself her father,--nor yet her mother. I had lovedher, as you profess to do."
"My profession is at any rate true."
"I daresay. You may or you mayn't; I at any rate know nothing aboutit."
"Why otherwise should I have come home and left my business in SouthAfrica? I think you may take it for granted that I love her."
"I don't care twopence whether you do or don't," said MrWhittlestaff. "It's nothing to me whom you love. I should have beeninclined to say at first sight that a man groping in the dirt fordiamonds wouldn't love any one. And even if you did, though you mightbreak your heart and die, it would be nothing to me. Had you done so,I should not have heard of you, nor should I have wished to hear ofyou."
There was an incivility in all this of which John Gordon felt that hewas obliged to take some notice. There was a want of courtesy in theman's manner rather than his words, which he could not quite pass by,although he was most anxious to do so. "I daresay not," said he; "buthere I am and here also is Miss Lawrie. I had said what I had to saydown at Alresford, and of course it is for you now to decide what isto be done. I have never supposed that you would care personally forme."
"You needn't be so conceited about yourself."
"I don't know that I am," said Gordon;--"except that a man cannot butbe a little conceited who has won the love of Mary Lawrie."
"You think it impossible that I should have done so."
"At any rate I did it before you had seen her. Though I may beconceited, I am not more conceited for myself than you are foryourself. Had I not known her, you would probably have engaged heraffections. I had known her, and you are aware of the result. But itis for you to decide. Miss Lawrie thinks that she owes you a debtwhich she is bound to pay if you exact it."
"Exact it!" exclaimed Mr Whittlestaff. "There is no question ofexacting!" John Gordon shrugged his shoulders. "I say there is noquestion of exacting. The words should not have been used. She has myfull permission to choose as she may think fit, and she knows thatshe has it. What right have you to speak to me of exacting?"
Mr Whittlestaff had now talked himself into such a passion, and wasapparently so angry at the word which his companion had used, thatJohn Gordon began to doubt whether he did in truth know the purposefor which the man had c
ome to London. Could it be that he had madethe journey merely with the object of asserting that he had the powerof making this girl his wife, and of proving his power by marryingher. "What is it that you wish, Mr Whittlestaff?" he asked.
"Wish! What business have you to ask after my wishes? But you knowwhat my wishes are very well. I will not pretend to keep them in thedark. She came to my house, and I soon learned to desire that sheshould be my wife. If I know what love is, I loved her. If I knowwhat love is, I do love her still. She is all the world to me. I haveno diamonds to care for; I have no rich mines to occupy my heart;I am not eager in the pursuit of wealth. I had lived a melancholy,lonely life till this young woman had come to my table,--till Ihad felt her sweet hand upon mine,--till she had hovered around me,covering everything with bright sunshine. Then I asked her to be mywife;--and she told me of you."
"She told you of me?"
"Yes; she told me of you--of you who might then have been dead, foraught she knew. And when I pressed her, she said that she would thinkof you always."
"She said so?"
"Yes; that she would think of you always. But she did not say thatshe would always love you. And in the same breath she promised to bemy wife. I was contented,--and yet not quite contented. Why shouldshe think of you always? But I believed that it would not be so. Ithought that if I were good to her, I should overcome her. I knewthat I should be better to her than you would be."
"Why should I not be good to her?"
"There is an old saying of a young man's slave and an old man'sdarling. She would at any rate have been my darling. It might be thatshe would have been your slave."
"My fellow-workman in all things."
"You think so now; but the man always becomes the master. If yougrovelled in the earth for diamonds, she would have to look for themamidst the mud and slime."
"I have never dreamed of taking her to the diamond-fields."
"It would have been so in all other pursuits."
"She would have had none that she had not chosen," said John Gordon.
"How am I to know that? How am I to rest assured that the world wouldbe smooth to her if she were your creature? I am not assured--I donot know."
"Who can tell, as you say? Can I promise her a succession of joys ifshe be my wife? She is not one who will be likely to look for such alife as that. She will know that she must take the rough and smoothtogether."
"There would have been no rough with me," said Mr Whittlestaff.
"I do not believe in such a life," said John Gordon. "A woman shouldnot wear a stuff gown always; but the silk finery and the stuff gownshould follow each other. To my taste, the more there may be of thestuff gown and the less of the finery, the more it will be to mywishes."
"I am not speaking of her gowns. It is not of such things as thosethat I am thinking." Here Mr Whittlestaff got up from the bench, andbegan walking rapidly backwards and forwards under the imperfectshade on the path. "You will beat her."
"I think not."
"Beat her in the spirit. You will domineer over her, and desire tohave your own way. When she is toiling for you, you will frown ather. Because you have business on hand, or perhaps pleasure, you willleave her in solitude. There may a time come when the diamonds shallhave all gone."
"If she is to be mine, that time will have come already. The diamondswill be sold. Did you ever see a diamond in my possession? Why do youtwit me with diamonds? If I had been a coal-owner, should I have beenexpected to keep my coals?"
"These things stick to the very soul of a man. They are a poisonof which he cannot rid himself. They are like gambling. They makeeverything cheap that should be dear, and everything dear that shouldbe cheap. I trust them not at all,--and I do not trust you, becauseyou deal in them."
"I tell you that I shall not deal in them. But, Mr Whittlestaff, Imust tell you that you are unreasonable."
"No doubt. I am a poor miserable man who does not know the world. Ihave never been to the diamond-fields. Of course I understand nothingof the charms of speculation. A quiet life with my book is all that Icare for;--with just one other thing, one other thing. You begrudgeme that."
"Mr Whittlestaff, it does not signify a straw what I begrudge you."Mr Whittlestaff had now come close to him, and was listening to him."Nor, as I take it, what you begrudge me. Before I left England sheand I had learned to love each other. It is so still. For the sake ofher happiness, do you mean to let me have her?"
"I do."
"You do?"
"Of course I do. You have known it all along. Of course I do. Do youthink I would make her miserable? Would it be in my bosom to make hercome and live with a stupid, silly old man, to potter on from day today without any excitement? Would I force her into a groove in whichher days would be wretched to her? Had she come to me and wantedbread, and have seen before her all the misery of poverty, thestone-coldness of a governess's life; had she been left to earn herbread without any one to love her, it might then have been different.She would have looked out into another world, and have seen anotherprospect. A comfortable home with kindness, and her needs supplied,would have sufficed. She would then have thought herself happy inbecoming my wife. There would then have been no cruelty. But shehad seen you, and though it was but a dream, she thought that shecould endure to wait. Better that than surrender all the delight ofloving. So she told me that she would think of you. Poor dear! I canunderstand now the struggle which she intended to make. Then in thevery nick of time, in the absolute moment of the day--so that youmight have everything and I nothing--you came. You came, and wereallowed to see her, and told her all your story. You filled her heartfull with joy, but only to be crushed when she thought that the fatalpromise had been given to me. I saw it all, I knew it. I thought tomyself for a few hours that it might be so. But it cannot be so."
"Oh, Mr Whittlestaff!"
"It cannot be so," he said, with a firm determined voice, as thoughasserting a fact which admitted no doubt.
"Mr Whittlestaff, what am I to say to you?"
"You! What are you to say? Nothing. What should you say? Why shouldyou speak? It is not for love of you that I would do this thing; noryet altogether from love of her. Not that I would not do much for hersake. I almost think that I would do it entirely for her sake, ifthere were no other reason. But to shame myself by taking that whichbelongs to another, as though it were my own property! To live acoward in mine own esteem! Though I may be the laughing-stock andthe butt of all those around me, I would still be a man to myself. Iought to have felt that it was sufficient when she told me that someof her thoughts must still be given to you. She is yours, Mr Gordon;but I doubt much whether you care for the possession."
"Not care for her! Up to the moment when I received your note, I wasabout to start again for South Africa. South Africa is no place forher,--nor for me either, with such a wife. Mr Whittlestaff, will younot allow me to say one word to you in friendship?"
"Not a word."
"How am I to come and take her out of your house?"
"She must manage it as best she can. But no; I would not turn herfrom my door for all the world could do for me. This, too, will bepart of the punishment that I must bear. You can settle the daybetween you, I suppose, and then you can come down; and, after theaccustomed fashion, you can meet her at the church-door. Then you cancome to my house, and eat your breakfast there if you will. You willsee fine things prepared for you,--such as a woman wants on thoseoccasions,--and then you can carry her off wherever you please. Ineed know nothing of your whereabouts. Good morning now. Do not sayanything further, but let me go my way."