CHAPTER XXXVIII
IN WHICH WE TAKE A STEP TO THE CENTRE OF EGOISM
They met; Vernon soon left them.
"You have not seen Crossjay?" Willoughby inquired.
"No," said Clara. "Once more I beg you to pardon him. He spoke falsely,owing to his poor boy's idea of chivalry."
"The chivalry to the sex which commences in lies ends by creating thewoman's hero, whom we see about the world and in certain courts oflaw."
His ability to silence her was great: she could not reply to speechlike that.
"You have," said he, "made a confidante of Mrs. Mountstuart."
"Yes."
"This is your purse."
"I thank you."
"Professor Crooklyn has managed to make your father acquainted withyour project. That, I suppose, is the railway ticket in the fold of thepurse. He was assured at the station that you had taken a ticket toLondon, and would not want the fly."
"It is true. I was foolish."
"You have had a pleasant walk with Vernon--turning me in and out?"
"We did not speak of you. You allude to what he would never consentto."
"He's an honest fellow, in his old-fashioned way. He's a secret oldfellow. Does he ever talk about his wife to you?"
Clara dropped her purse, and stooped and picked it up.
"I know nothing of Mr. Whitford's affairs," she said, and she openedthe purse and tore to pieces the railway ticket.
"The story's a proof that romantic spirits do not furnish the mostromantic history. You have the word 'chivalry' frequently on your lips.He chivalrously married the daughter of the lodging-house where heresided before I took him. We obtained information of the auspiciousunion in a newspaper report of Mrs. Whitford's drunkenness and riotingat a London railway terminus--probably the one whither your ticketwould have taken you yesterday, for I heard the lady was on her way tous for supplies, the connubial larder being empty."
"I am sorry; I am ignorant; I have heard nothing; I know nothing," saidClara.
"You are disgusted. But half the students and authors you hear of marryin that way. And very few have Vernon's luck."
"She had good qualities?" asked Clara.
Her under lip hung.
It looked like disgust; he begged her not indulge the feeling.
"Literary men, it is notorious, even with the entry to society, have notaste in women. The housewife is their object. Ladies frighten andwould, no doubt, be an annoyance and hindrance to them at home."
"You said he was fortunate."
"You have a kindness for him."
"I respect him."
"He is a friendly old fellow in his awkward fashion; honourable, and soforth. But a disreputable alliance of that sort sticks to a man. Theworld will talk. Yes, he was fortunate so far; he fell into the mireand got out of it. Were he to marry again . . ."
"She . . ."
"Died. Do not be startled; it was a natural death. She responded to thesole wishes left to his family. He buried the woman, and I receivedhim. I took him on my tour. A second marriage might cover the first:there would be a buzz about the old business: the woman's relativeswrite to him still, try to bleed him, I dare say. However, now youunderstand his gloominess. I don't imagine he regrets his loss. Heprobably sentimentalizes, like most men when they are well rid of aburden. You must not think the worse of him."
"I do not," said Clara.
"I defend him whenever the matter's discussed."
"I hope you do."
"Without approving his folly. I can't wash him clean."
They were at the Hall-doors. She waited for any personal communicationshe might be pleased to make, and as there was none, she ran upstairs toher room.
He had tossed her to Vernon in his mind, not only painlessly, but witha keen acid of satisfaction. The heart is the wizard.
Next he bent his deliberate steps to Laetitia.
The mind was guilty of some hesitation; the feet went forward.
She was working at an embroidery by an open window. Colonel De Crayeleaned outside, and Willoughby pardoned her air of demure amusement, onhearing him say: "No, I have had one of the pleasantest half-hours ofmy life, and would rather idle here, if idle you will have it, thanemploy my faculties on horse-back,"
"Time is not lost in conversing with Miss Dale," said Willoughby.
The light was tender to her complexion where she sat in partial shadow.
De Craye asked whether Crossjay had been caught.
Laetitia murmured a kind word for the boy. Willoughby examined herembroidery.
The ladies Eleanor and Isabel appeared.
They invited her to take carriage exercise with them.
Laetitia did not immediately answer, and Willoughby remarked: "MissDale has been reproving Horace for idleness and I recommend you toenlist him to do duty, while I relieve him here."
The ladies had but to look at the colonel. He was at their disposal, ifthey would have him. He was marched to the carriage.
Laetitia plied her threads.
"Colonel De Craye spoke of Crossjay," she said. "May I hope you haveforgiven the poor boy, Sir Willoughby?"
He replied: "Plead for him."
"I wish I had eloquence."
"In my opinion you have it."
"If he offends, it is never from meanness. At school, among comrades,he would shine. He is in too strong a light; his feelings and his moralnature are over-excited."
"That was not the case when he was at home with you."
"I am severe; I am stern."
"A Spartan mother!"
"My system of managing a boy would be after that model: except in this:he should always feet that he could obtain forgiveness."
"Not at the expense of justice?"
"Ah! young creatures are not to be arraigned before the higher Courts.It seems to me perilous to terrify their imaginations. If we do so,are we not likely to produce the very evil we are combating? Thealternations for the young should be school and home: and it should bein their hearts to have confidence that forgiveness alternates withdiscipline. They are of too tender an age for the rigours of the world;we are in danger of hardening them. I prove to you that I am notpossessed of eloquence. You encouraged me to speak, Sir Willoughby."
"You speak wisely, Laetitia."
"I think it true. Will not you reflect on it? You have only to do so toforgive him. I am growing bold indeed, and shall have to begforgiveness for myself."
"You still write? you continue to work with your pen?" said Willoughby.
"A little; a very little."
"I do not like you to squander yourself, waste yourself, on the public.You are too precious to feed the beast. Giving out incessantly must endby attenuating. Reserve yourself for your friends. Why should they berobbed of so much of you? Is it not reasonable to assume that by lyingfallow you would be more enriched for domestic life? Candidly, had Iauthority I would confiscate your pen: I would 'away with that bauble'.You will not often find me quoting Cromwell, but his words apply inthis instance. I would say rather, that lancet. Perhaps it is the morecorrect term. It bleeds you, it wastes you. For what? For a breath offame!"
"I write for money."
"And there--I would say of another--you subject yourself to the risk ofmental degradation. Who knows?--moral! Trafficking the brains for moneymust bring them to the level of the purchasers in time. I confiscateyour pen, Laetitia."
"It will be to confiscate your own gift, Sir Willoughby."
"Then that proves--will you tell me the date?"
"You sent me a gold pen-holder on my sixteenth birthday."
"It proves my utter thoughtlessness then, and later. And later!"
He rested an elbow on his knee, and covered his eyes, murmuring in thatprofound hollow which is haunted by the voice of a contrite past: "Andlater!"
The deed could be done. He had come to the conclusion that it could bedone, though the effort to harmonize the figure sitting near him, withthe artistic figure of his pur
est pigments, had cost him labour and ablinking of the eyelids. That also could be done. Her pleasant tone,sensible talk, and the light favouring her complexion, helped him inhis effort. She was a sober cup; sober and wholesome. Deliriousness isfor adolescence. The men who seek intoxicating cups are men who invitetheir fates.
Curiously, yet as positively as things can be affirmed, the husband ofthis woman would be able to boast of her virtues and treasures abroad,as he could not--impossible to say why not--boast of a beautiful wifeor a blue-stocking wife. One of her merits as a wife would be thisextraordinary neutral merit of a character that demanded colour fromthe marital hand, and would take it.
Laetitia had not to learn that he had much to distress him. Her wonderat his exposure of his grief counteracted a fluttering of vague alarm.She was nervous; she sat in expectation of some burst of regrets or ofpassion.
"I may hope that you have pardoned Crossjay?" she said.
"My friend," said he, uncovering his face, "I am governed byprinciples. Convince me of an error, I shall not obstinately pursue apremeditated course. But you know me. Men who have not principles torule their conduct are--well, they are unworthy of a half hour ofcompanionship with you. I will speak to you to-night. I have letters todispatch. To-night: at twelve: in the room where we spoke last. Orawait me in the drawing-room. I have to attend to my guests till late."
He bowed; he was in a hurry to go.
The deed could be done. It must be done; it was his destiny.