CHAPTER XI.
VALE VALETE.
Miss Baker was a little querulous at being left so long sitting withMiss Todd at the corner of the garden wall; but Miss Todd was neverquerulous: she was one of those good-humoured persons who nevercomplain, and find some antidote to every ill in life, even in theill itself. True, she had been kept a couple of hours and moresitting on a stone by the brook Cedron; but then she had acquiredthe privilege of telling how Mr. George Bertram and Miss CarolineWaddington had passed those hours, _tete-a-tete_ together, on themountain-side.
"Why, Caroline, we thought you were never coming down again," saidMiss Baker.
"It was Mr. Bertram's fault, aunt; he is immoveable when he getsto a certain rock up there. He has an idea of turning hermit, andconstructing a cell for himself in that spot."
"If I did turn hermit, it should certainly be for the sake of livingthere," said he. "But I fear I want the proper spirit for so holy alife."
"I hope you have not kept us all this time for nothing: you have hadsome success, I trust?" said Miss Todd to Bertram, in a laughingwhisper. Miss Todd's face was quite joyous as she whispered; but thenher face was always joyous.
"I certainly have not done that which I intended to do," saidBertram, with mock sententiousness. "And so far I have beenunsuccessful."
"Then she has rejected him," said Miss Todd to herself. "What a foolthe girl must be!" but it was a great comfort to Miss Todd that sheknew all about it.
That evening their plans were decided on as to leaving Jerusalem--theplans, that is, of those whose fortunes we must follow;--Miss Baker,namely, and her niece; Sir Lionel and his son. Of Miss Todd we mayhere take our leave for awhile. She did not on this occasion marrySir Lionel, nor did she even have the satisfaction of knowing thather friends accused her of wishing to do so. Miss Todd had her weakpoints, but taking her as a whole, and striking the balance betweengood and bad, I do not care how soon we may meet her again. To herfriends also we may bid adieu. Mr. M'Gabbery did not die of love. Mr.Pott did propose to and was accepted by Miss Jones; but the matchwas broken off by the parental Potts who on the occasion nearlyfrightened poor Mrs. Jones out of her life. The Hunters sojournedfor awhile on the sides of Lebanon, but did at last return to thediscomforts of European life. Mrs. Hunter tried the effect of herfavourite costume at Tenby, but it was not found to answer. Of Mr.Cruse, I can only say that he was dreadfully scolded by Mrs. Pott,in that he had allowed her son to fall in love; and that Mr. Pottthreatened to stop his salary. An attorney's letter, however, settledthat.
It must be confessed that Miss Baker had allowed her plans to bealtered by the arrival of the Bertrams at Jerusalem; and confessedalso that Miss Baker's complaisance in this respect had been broughtabout by her niece's persuasion. Their original intention had beento go on to Damascus. Then Miss Baker had begged off this furtherjourney, alleging that her clothes as well as her strength wereworn out; and Caroline had consented to return home by the shortestroute. Then came the temptation of going as far as Beyrout with theBertrams, and Miss Baker had been enjoined to have herself patchedup externally and internally. She was accordingly being patched up;but now things were altered again. Caroline knew that she could nottravel with George Bertram without engaging herself to be his wife;or that if she did, their journey would not be a happy one. Andshe did not wish so to engage herself without further thought. Shedetermined, therefore, that they would fall back upon her aunt'splan, and return home by the easier route, by Jaffa, that is, andAlexandria.
Her altered mind had to be explained, not only to her aunt, butto the Bertrams; and she came to the somewhat singular resolve toexplain it in both cases by the simple truth. She would tell heraunt what had happened; and she would make George Bertram understandin a few and as kind words as might be, that under the presentcircumstances it would be better that they should not be thrown intothe very close intercourse necessary for fellow-travellers in theEast. She was very prudent, was Miss Waddington; and having freedherself of one lover because she did not like him, she prepared torid herself of another because she did.
The Bertrams were to leave Jerusalem together in a couple of days'time. George was to go with his father as far as Constantinople, and,having seen something of real Turks in real Turkey, was to return atonce to England. After his last visit to the Mount of Olives, he saidnothing further about the church as a profession.
That evening Caroline settled it all with her aunt. "Aunt," said she,as they sat together brushing their hair before they went to bed,"you will think me very fanciful; but after all, I believe we hadbetter go back by Alexandria."
"Oh dear, I shall be so glad, my dear. Jane says that I could notpossibly get a travelling dress made here that I could wear."
"You could get a dress in Damascus, I don't doubt, aunt. But--"
"And I really am not fit for much more riding. I don't like todisappoint you; but if you really wouldn't mind it--"
"Well, I should mind it,--and I should not. But let me tell you. Youmust not think that I am so very changeable, first pressing you to goone way, and then begging you to go another, without a reason."
"No; I know you do it for my sake."
"Not that either, aunt--quite; but do listen. Mr. Bertram to-daymade--"
"He has not offered to you, has he?"
"Yes, aunt; that is just what he has done. And, therefore, perhaps itwill not be quite so well that we should travel together."
"But, Caroline, tell me--pray do tell me; what did he say, and whathave you said? Oh dear me, this is very sudden." And Miss Bakersat back in her chair, with her now grayish hair hanging over hershoulders, with her hair-brush still held in one hand, and with theother resting on the toilet-table.
"As for what he said, I may skip that, aunt. It was the old story, Isuppose, merely signifying that he wanted me to marry him."
"Well, well."
"As you truly say, aunt; it was too sudden. Mr. Bertram has a greatdeal to recommend him; a very great deal; one cannot but like him. Heis very clever too."
"Yes, Caroline; and will be his uncle's heir--doubtless."
"I know nothing of that; to tell the truth, indeed, I never thoughtof that. But it would have made no difference."
"And you refused him."
"Well, I hardly know. I do know this--that I did more towardsrefusing him than accepting him; that I must have much more love forany man I do marry than I have for him at present; and that afterwhat has passed, I think we had better not go to Damascus together."
To this latter proposition aunt Mary fully agreed; and thus it wasdecided that the extra patching for the longer journey need not beaccomplished. Miss Baker would explain the matter to Sir Lionel inher way; and Caroline would do the same to George Bertram in hers. Onone other point, also, Miss Baker made up her mind fully; though onthis matter she did not think it prudent to make her mind known toher niece. She was very confident that the marriage would take place,and resolved to do all in her power to bring it about. Personally,she was fond of George Bertram; she admired his talents, she likedhis father, and felt very favourably inclined towards his uncle'swealth. She finished her toilet therefore in calm happiness. She hadan excellent match in view for her niece--and, after all, she wouldescape that dreadful horseback journey to Damascus.
During the next day Caroline and George Bertram were not together fora moment--that is, they were not together alone; for they breakfastedand dined at the same table, and he sat between the aunt and herniece as he had done continually since he had been at Jerusalem.Sir Lionel told him in the forenoon that they were not to have thepleasure of the ladies' company on their journey, and rallied him asto the heart-breaking tendency of these tidings. But George showed,in his countenance at least, no symptoms of heart-breaking.
That evening, as they all parted for the night, George did pressMiss Waddington's hand more warmly than was usual with him; and,as he did so, he did look into her face for one moment to see whatencouragement he might find there. I cannot say
that there was noencouragement. The pressure was perhaps not met by any similar warmthon her part, but it was submitted to without any touch of resentment:the love which shot from his eye was not returned to him from hers,but hers were soft beneath his glance, softer than was usual withCaroline Waddington.
But on the next morning they did come together. It was the day beforethe departure of the Bertrams, and whatever was to be said must besaid then. Caroline watched her opportunity, and as soon as breakfastwas over--they all breakfasted in the public salon--asked him to comeinto her aunt's sitting-room. She was quite collected, had fullymade up her mind what to say, and was able also to say it withouthesitation, and with perfect self-possession. This was more thancould be boasted of on the gentleman's behalf.
"You know, Mr. Bertram, that we are not going to travel together?"
"Yes; my father told me so yesterday."
"And you will understand the reason of it, I am sure?"
"Not exactly, Miss Waddington. I cannot say I do understand it. Imay have been presumptuous in what I said to you the other day; butI do not see why on that account your aunt should be put to theinconvenience of altering her plans. You fear, I suppose, that Ishould annoy you; but you might trust me--and still may if you willdo so."
"Now, Mr. Bertram, you are hardly so sincere as you asserted yourselfto be, and required me to be on the mount. You are yourself quiteaware that nobody has thought you presumptuous. I have nothing tocomplain of, and much to thank you for--independently of the honouryou have now done me;--for from you it is an honour. But I cannot saythat I love you. It would not be natural that I should do so."
"Good heavens! not natural. I love you with the whole strength of myheart. Is that unnatural?"
"It is the province of men to take the initiative in such matters,"said Caroline, smiling.
"I know nothing as to man's province, or of woman's province either.By province, you mean custom and conventional rule; and conventionalrule means falsehood. I have known you but a week or two, and I loveyou dearly. You, of course, have known me as long, and are at anyrate as capable of loving as I am. There would be nothing unnaturalin you loving me--though, indeed, it may be very unlikely that youshould do so."
"Well; I will not contradict you in anything if I can help it, exceptperhaps as to that last little would-be-proud, petulant protest. Butputting out of sight all question of likelihood, what ought I todo if I do not love you? What in such a case would you recommend asister to do? Is it not better that we should not be immediatelythrown together, as must so certainly be the case in travelling?"
"Then I am to understand that you positively can never love me?"
"I have not said so: but you press me unfairly, Mr. Bertram."
"Unfairly. No, by heavens! no pressure in such case can be unfair. Iwould press the truth out from you--the real truth; the truth that sovitally concerns myself. You will not say that you have an aversionto me?"
"Aversion! No, certainly not."
"Or that you cannot love me? Then why not let us remain together? Youargue that you do not yet know me well enough; will not that be theway to know me better?"
"If I were to travel with you now, Mr. Bertram, it would betantamount to accepting you. Your own sense will certainly tell youthat. Were I to do so, I should give you the privilege of coming withme as my lover. Forgive me for saying that I cannot give you thatprivilege. I grieve to hurt your feelings for a day even; but I amsure you will ultimately approve of what I am doing."
"And are we to meet no more, then?"
"Of course we shall meet again; at least, in all human probability.My guardian is your uncle."
"I never even knew that till I met you the other day."
"Because you have always been at school or at college; but you knowit now. I, at least, shall look forward to meeting you--and so willmy aunt."
"Yes; as acquaintances. It would be impossible for me to meet youin that way. I hardly think you know or realize what my feelings toyou are. I can only meet you to tell you again and again that I loveyou. You are so cold yourself that you cannot understand my--my--myimpetuosity, if you choose to call it so."
"In three or four months, Mr. Bertram, you will be laughing atyour own impetuosity--when I perhaps shall be grieving over my owncoldness." These last words she said with a smile in which there wasmuch archness, and perhaps also a little encouragement.
"You will tell me at any rate that I may hope?"
"No; certainly not. You will hope enough for anything you reallydesire without my telling you. But I will not joke, as I believe thatyou are serious."
"Oh, you believe so, do you?"
"Yes; I suppose I must believe so. Your declaration the other daytook me very much by surprise. I had no conception that you had anyfeelings towards me of that sort. I certainly had entertained nonesuch towards you. Love with me cannot be the birth of a moment. Icannot say that I will love merely because I am asked. You would notwish me to be false even in your own favour. We will part now, Mr.Bertram; and being apart we shall better learn to know, each of us,how we value the other. On my part I can truly say that I hope weshall meet again--at any rate, as friends." And then she held out herhand to him.
"Is this to be our farewell?" said he, without at once taking it.
"It shall be if you so please. We shall meet again only at the publictable."
"And you will not tell me that I may hope?"
"I will tell you nothing further, Mr. Bertram. You will shake handswith me as with a friend, will you not?"
He then took her hand, and, holding it in his own, gazed for a momentinto her face. She bore the weight of his eyes with unabashed front.She showed neither anger nor pleasure; neither disdain nor pride; thesame sweet smile was still upon her face, somewhat playful, somewhathopeful, but capable of no definite construction either for making ormarring a man's comfort.
"Caroline!" he said at last.
"Good-bye, Mr. Bertram. I thoroughly hope you may enjoy yourjourney."
"Caroline!"
She essayed to withdraw her hand from his. Feeling this, he raised itto his lips and kissed it, and then left the room. As he closed thedoor the same smile was on her face.
I hope it will be admitted that Miss Waddington had played her partwith skill, and judgment, and good breeding; and not altogetherheartlessly either. She had thought much on the subject since Georgehad first thrown himself at her feet, and had concluded, putting thegood against the bad, and balancing the affair as accurately as factswould enable her, that the match would be one which she ought toregard as desirable. There were two valid reasons, however, why sheshould not at once accept his offer. Firstly, he might not know hisown mind, and it might be serviceable to him to have the option ofrenewing his proposal or retreating from it after a few months' trialof his own feelings. And secondly, she hardly knew her own mind. Shecould not in truth say yet whether she did love him, or whether shedid not. She was rather inclined to think she did; but it would bewell that she should try the matter before she committed herself.
The statement made by her aunt that George would doubtless be hisuncle's heir certainly had its weight with her. It would be wrongin her to engage herself to a man who was without the means ofmaintaining her in that rank of life in which she had resolved tolive; wrong both on his account and on her own. She felt that shecould not be a good poor man's wife. It was not the walk of life forwhich she had destined herself. She had made up her mind on thatpoint too, and having made it up was not weak enough to be drivenfrom her resolve by any little gust of feeling. She did likeBertram--much, very much, better then she had ever liked any otherman. He came up in many points to her idea of what a man should be.He was not sufficiently collected, not sufficiently thoughtful, andperhaps almost too enthusiastic: success in life would be easier toa man who put less heart into everything he said and did. But yearswould teach him much in this respect, and she also might perhapsteach him something. She did like Bertram; and what objection couldthere be to th
e match if, as appeared so probable, he was to inherithis uncle's money?
Prudent as she was, she was ready to run some risk in this respect.She did not wish to be a poor man's wife; but neither did she wishto be an idle man's wife. What she did desire was, that her husbandshould be an earnest, rising, successful man;--one whose name, as shehad herself said to Bertram, might be frequent in men's mouths, anddaily to be read in the columns of newspapers. She would not marrya fool, even though he were also a Croesus; she would not marry afool, even though he were also an earl. In choosing a master, herfirst necessity was that she should respect him, then that the worldshould do so also. She could respect talent--talent if needs bealone--but nothing without talent. The world's respect could not behad without wealth. As for love, that was necessary too; but it wasonly a third necessity.
Such being our heroine's mind about marriage, I make bold to saythat she had behaved with skill and judgment, and not altogetherheartlessly either.
On the following morning, Sir Lionel and George left Jerusalemtogether. The colonel had his own servant, as he always had; Georgewas followed by the dragoman, who had now been with him for sometime; and each had also an Arab groom. On quitting Jerusalem, SirLionel had made no objection to having the entire bill settled by hisson.
"Well, George," he had said with a smile, "I know you are in amplefunds, and I never am. You, moreover, have a milch cow that will notrun dry. The government is my cow, and she is apt to be very chary inher supply; she does run dry with uncommon quickness."
George smiled also, and paid the bill readily, protesting that ofcourse he ought to do so, as Sir Lionel had come there only to seehim. The colonel plumed himself at once upon having managed well; buthe was greatly mistaken. His calculation in this respect had beenmade on a false basis. "George," he said to himself, "is a young man;he will think nothing of this: a fellow at his age cares nothing formoney." George did care but little for the money, but he did careabout his father; and he understood the ways of the world well enoughto know that his father ought to have paid his own bill. He beganfor the first time to experience something of that feeling which hisuncle so often expressed.
They started, too, with somewhat different ideas as to the purportof their route. Sir Lionel wished to get to Constantinople, and wascontent, for George's sake, to go by Damascus and Beyrout; but Georgehad to visit Ramah, and Gibeon, and Luz; to see the well of the womanof Samaria at Sichem; to climb Mount Carmel, and to sleep at leastfor a night within its monastery. Mount Tabor also, and Bethsaida,and Capernaum, he must visit; he must bathe in the Sea of Galilee, ashe had already bathed in Jordan and the Dead Sea; Gadara he must see,and Gergesa, and Chorazin; and, above all, he must stand with nakedfeet in Nazareth, and feel within his heart that he was resting onholy ground.
Sir Lionel did not care a straw for Bethsaida or Chorazin--not astraw even for Nazareth. For many reasons he wished to be well withhis son. In the first place, a man whose bill is paid for him alwaysmakes some concession to the man who pays it. He should do so, atany rate; and on this point Sir Lionel was willing to be just. Andthen he had ulterior views, which made it very necessary that Georgeshould like him. In this respect he had hitherto played his cardswell--well, with the exception of that Jerusalem bill. He had madehis society very pleasant to his son, had done much towards gainingthe young man's heart, and was well inclined to do more--anything,indeed, short of putting himself to real personal inconvenience. Wemay perhaps add, without doing too much violence to Sir Lionel'sestablished character, that he himself really liked his son.
All this for some days carried him hither and thither, if not withpatience, at any rate with perseverance. He went to spots whichhe was told had a world-wide celebrity, of the names of which hehad but a bare distant remembrance, and which he found to be arid,comfortless, and uninteresting. Gibeon he did endure, and Shiloh, andSichem; Gilgal, also, and Carmel. But there he broke down: he couldnot, he said, justify it to himself to be absent longer from hisofficial duties. He found that he was near Beyrout: he could ridethither in two days, avoiding Damascus altogether. The cookery atMount Carmel did not add to his love of the Holy Land. He foundhimself to be not very well. He laughingly reminded George thatthere was a difference between twenty-three and sixty; and ended bydeclining altogether to go backwards towards the Sea of Galilee. IfGeorge could only be induced to think that he had seen enough ofthese regions, his father would be so delighted to have his companydirect from Beyrout to Constantinople!
George, however, was inexorable about Nazareth: and so they parted,agreeing that they would meet again at Constantinople. We neednot closely follow either on his journey. Sir Lionel, having hadeverything paid for him up to the moment of their separation,arrived--let us hope with a full purse--at the Bosphorus. George,when left to himself, travelled more slowly, and thought much ofthese holy places--much also of his love. He could have found it inhis heart to rush back, and catch Miss Baker and Caroline at Jaffa.He would have done so as soon as he quitted Nazareth, only that hewas ashamed.
About a fortnight after his father's departure, he found himself atDamascus, and in another week, he was stepping on board the packetat Beyrout. When leaving Palestine, that land of such wondrousassociations, his feelings were not altogether consolatory. He had atone moment acknowledged what he believed to be a spiritual influencewithin him, and yielding himself to it, had spoken of devoting hislife to a high and holy purpose. He had, indeed, spoken only tohimself, and the wound to his pride was therefore the less. But hishigh and holy purpose had been blown to the winds by a few words froma pair of ruby lips, by one glance of scorn from a pair of brighteyes. And he had so yielded, even though those lips would acknowledgeno love for him; though those eyes would not look on him kindly. Hecould not be proud of his visit to the Holy Land; and yet he felt alonging to linger there. It might be, that if he would return oncemore to that mount, look once again on Sion and the temple, thespirit might yet get the better of the flesh. But, alas! he had toown to himself that he had now hardly a wish that the spirit shouldpredominate. The things of the world were too bright to be given up.The charms of the flesh were too strong for him. With a sigh, helooked back for the last time from Mount Hermon, stretched out hisarms once more towards Jerusalem, said one farewell in his heart ashis eye rested for a moment on the distant glassy waters of Galilee,and then set his horse's head towards Damascus.
When a traveller in these railroad days takes leave of Florence,or Vienna, or Munich, or Lucerne, he does so without much of thebitterness of a farewell. The places are now comparatively so nearthat he expects to see them again, or, at any rate, hopes that hemay do so. But Jerusalem is still distant from us no Sabbath-day'sjourney. A man who, having seen it once, takes his leave, then seesit probably for the last time. And a man's heart must be very coldwho can think of Palestine exactly as of any other land. It is nottherefore surprising that Bertram was rather sad as he rode down thefurther side of Mount Hermon.
At Constantinople, Sir Lionel and George again met, and our herospent a pleasant month there with his father. It was still spring,the summer heats had hardly commenced, and George was charmed, if notwith the city of the Sultan, at any rate with the scenery around it.Here his father appeared in a new light: they were more intimate witheach other than they had been at Jerusalem; they were not now livingin ladies' society, and Sir Lionel by degrees threw off what littlerestraint of governorship, what small amount of parental authority hehad hitherto assumed. He seemed anxious to live with his son on termsof perfect equality; began to talk to him rather as young men talk toeach other than men of ages so very different, and appeared to courta lack of reverence.
In his ordinary habits of life, and, indeed, in his physicalvivacity, Sir Lionel was very young for his time of life. He neverpleaded his years in bar of any pleasure, and never pleaded them atall except when desirous of an excuse for escaping something thatwas disagreeable. There are subjects on which young men talk freelywith each other, but on which they hesitate to s
peak to their elderswithout restraint. Sir Lionel did his best to banish any such feelingon the part of his son. Of wine and women, of cards and horses,of money comforts and money discomforts, he spoke in a mannerwhich Bertram at first did not like, but which after awhile was notdistasteful to him. There is always some compliment implied when anold man unbends before a young one, and it is this which makes theviciousness of old men so dangerous. I do not say that Sir Lionelpurposely tempted his son to vice; but he plainly showed that heregarded morality in a man to be as thoroughly the peculiar attributeof a clergyman as a black coat; and that there could be no reason forother men even to pretend to it when there were no women by to berespected and deceived.
Bertram certainly liked his father, and was at ease in his company;but, in spite of this, he was ashamed of him, and was sometimes verysorrowful. He was young, full of vivacity, and without that strengthof character which should have withstood the charm of Sir Lionel'smanner; but he knew well that he would fain have had in his fatherfeelings of a very different nature, and he could not but acknowledgethat the severity of his uncle's tone was deserved.
It had been George's intention to stay a week only at Constantinople,but his father had persuaded him to remain four. He had boasted thatwhen he returned to England he would be in a position to give back tohis uncle the three hundred pounds which Pritchett had placed to hisaccount. But he would not now be able to do this: his father livedexpensively; and even here, where Sir Lionel was now at home, Georgepaid more than his own share of the expense.
One of their chief subjects of conversation, that, indeed, whichSir Lionel seemed to prefer to any other, was the ultimate disposalof his brother's money. He perceived that George's thoughts onthis subject were by far too transcendental, that he was childishlyindifferent to his own interests, and that if not brought to a keenersense of his own rights, a stronger feeling as to his position asthe only nephew of a very wealthy man, he might let slip through hisfingers a magnificent fortune which was absolutely within his reach.So thinking, he detained his son near him for awhile, that he might,if possible, imbue him with some spark of worldly wisdom.
He knew how useless it would be to lecture a young man like Georgeas to the best way in which he could play tuft-hunter to his uncle.From such lectures George would have started away in disgust; butsomething, Sir Lionel thought, might be done by tact, by _finesse_,and a daily half-scornful badinage, skilfully directed towards theproper subject. By degrees, too, he thought that George did listen tohim, that he was learning, that he might be taught to set his eyesgreedily on those mountains of wealth. And so Sir Lionel perseveredwith diligence to the end.
"Say everything that is civil from me to my brother," said thecolonel, the day before George left him.
"Uncle George does not care much for civil speeches," said the other,laughing.
"No, I know he does not; he'd think more of it if I could send homea remittance by you to pay the bill; eh, George? But as I can't dothat, I may as well send a few civil words." Uncle George's bill hadgradually become a source of joke between the father and son. SirLionel, at least, was accustomed to mention it in such a way that thejunior George could not help laughing; and though at first this hadgone against the grain of his feelings, by degrees he had become usedto it.
"He expects, I fancy, neither money nor civil words," said George theyounger.
"He will not, on that account, be the less pleased at getting eitherthe one or the other. Don't you believe everything that everybodytells you in his own praise: when a man says that he does not likeflattery, and that he puts no value on soft words, do not on thataccount be deterred from making any civil speeches you may haveready. He will not be a bit stronger than another because he boastsof his strength."
"I really think you would find it difficult to flatter your brother."
"Perhaps so; and therefore I should set about it with the more care.But, were I in your shoes, I should not attempt flattery; I should bevery submissive rather. He always loved to play the tyrant."
"And I do not love to play the slave."
"An only nephew's slavery would probably be of a very milddescription."
"Yes; no harder than sitting on a clerk's stool in a merchant'scounting-house for seven or eight hours a day."
"That would be an unendurable bore as a continuance; but take my wordfor it, George, if you could bring yourself to do it for six months,by the end of that time you would have the game in your own hands."
"At any rate, I shall not try it, sir."
"Well, you are your own master: I can only say that the temptationwould be too strong for most men. I have not the slightest doubt thatif you would give way to him for six months, two years would see youin Parliament." Sir Lionel had already ascertained that to sit in theHouse of Commons was the dearest object of his son's ambition.
On the evening of that day, as they were drinking their coffee andsmoking together, Sir Lionel for the first time spoke to his son onanother matter. "George," said he, "I don't know whether there wasanything in it, but when we were at Jerusalem, I thought you werevery sweet on Caroline Waddington."
George blushed deeply, and affected to laugh.
"She was certainly a very fine girl," continued his father; "I thinkas handsome a girl as I have seen these ten years. What a shoulderand neck she had! When you used to be dragging her up the Mountof Olives, I could not but think there was more in it than merescripture geography--eh, George?"
George merely laughed, and looked rather like a simpleton.
"If you were not in love with her, I can only say that you ought tohave been. I was, I know."
"Well, sir, I believe she is free as yet; you can try your chance ifyou have a mind."
"Ah! I would I could. If I knew Medea's secret, I would have myselfchopped and boiled that I might come out young on her behalf; but,George, I can tell you something about her."
"Well, sir!"
"I would have told you then, when we were at Jerusalem, but we werenot so well acquainted then as we are now, and I did not like tointerfere."
"It could not be interference from you."
"Well, but the matter is this: if my brother ever loved any humanbeing--and I am not quite sure he ever did--but if he did, it wasthat girl's father. Had Waddington lived, he would now have been myage. Your uncle took him early by the hand, and would have made hisfortune for him, but the poor fellow died. In my opinion, it wouldassist your views if your uncle knew that you were going to marryCaroline Waddington."
George said nothing, but sat sucking the mouth-piece of hispipe-stick and blowing out great clouds of smoke. Sir Lionel saidnothing further, but easily changed the conversation. Early on thefollowing morning, Bertram left Constantinople, having received apromise that Sir Lionel would visit him in England as soon as theexigencies of the public service would permit of his doing so.