The Marriage of Elinor
She turned to him the moment they were out of the church doors with that same look of eager defiance yet demand, and as soon as they left the road, the first step into the copse, putting out her hand to call his attention: "You said I could not put up with it, a girl so well-brought-up as I am. What is it a well-brought-up girl can't put up with? A disorderly house, late hours, and so forth, hateful to the well-brought-up? What is it, what is it, John?"
"Have you been thinking of that all through the morning prayers?" he said.
"Yes, I have been thinking about it. What did you expect me to think about? Is there anything else so important? Mr. Hudson's sermon, perhaps, which I have heard before, which I suppose you listened to," she said, with a troubled laugh.
"I did a little, wondering how a good man like that could go on doing it; and there were other things – " John did not like to say what it was which was still throbbing through the air to him, and through his own being.
"Nothing that is of so much moment to me: come back, John, to the well-brought-up girl."
"You think that's a poor sort of description, Elinor; so it is. You are of course a great deal more than that. Still it's what one can turn to most easily. You don't know what life is in a sort of fast house, where there is nothing thought of but amusement or where it's a constant round of race meetings, yachting, steeplechases – I don't know if men still ride steeplechases – I mean that sort of thing: Monte Carlo in the winter: betting all the year round – if not on one thing then on another; expedients to raise money, for money's always wanted. You don't know – how can you know? – what goes on in a fast life."
"Don't you see, John," she cried, eagerly, "that all that, if put in a different way not to their prejudice, if put in the right way would sound delightful? There is no harm in these things at all. Betting's not a sin in the Bible any more than races are. Don't you see it's only the abuse of them that's wrong? One might ruin one's health, I believe, with tea, which is the most righteous thing! I should like above all things a yacht, say in the Mediterranean, and to go to Monte Carlo, which is a beautiful place, and where there is the best music in the world, besides the gambling. I should like even to see the gambling once in a way, for the fun of the thing. You don't frighten me at all. I have been a fortnight at Lady Mariamne's, and the continual 'go' was delightful; there was never a dull moment. As for expedients to raise money, there– "
"To be sure – old Prestwich is as rich as Crœsus – or was," said John, with significance, "but you are not going to live with Lady Mariamne, I suppose."
"Oh, John!" she cried, "oh, John!" suddenly seizing him by the arm, clasping her hands on it in the pretty way of earnestness she had, though one hand held her parasol, which was inconvenient. The soft face was suffused with rosy colour, so different from the angry red, the flush of love and tenderness – her eyes swam in liquid light, looking up with mingled happiness and entreaty to John's face. "Fancy what he says, that he will not object to come here for half the year to let me be with my mother! Remember what he is, a man of fashion, and fond of the world, and of going out and all that. He has consented to come, nay, he almost offered to come for six months in the year to be with mamma."
"Good heavens," cried John to himself, "he must indeed be down on his luck!" but what he said was, "Does your mother know of this, Elinor?"
"I have not told her yet. I have reserved it to hear first what you had to say: and so far as I can make out you have nothing at all to say, only general things, disapproval in the general. What should you say if I told you that he disapproves too? He said himself that there had been too much of all that – that he had backed something – isn't that what you say? – backed it at odds, and stood to win what he calls a pot of money. But after that was decided – for he said he could not be off bets that were made – never any more. Now that I know you have nothing more to say my heart is free, and I can tell you. He has never really liked that sort of life, but was led into it when he was very young. And now as soon as – we are together, you know" – she looked so bright, so sweet in the happiness of her love, that John could have flung her from his arms, and felt that she insulted him by that clinging hold – "he means to turn entirely to serious things, and to go into politics, John."
"Oh, he is going into politics!"
"Of course, on the people's side – to do everything for them – Home Rule, and all that is best: to see that they are heard in Parliament, and have their wants attended to, instead of jobs and corruption everywhere. So you will see, John, that if he has been fast, and gone a little too far, and been very much mixed up in the Turf, and all that, it was only in the exuberance of youth, liking the fun of it, as I feel I should myself. But that now, now all that is to be changed when he steps into settled, responsible life. I should not have told you if you had repeated the lies that people say. But as you did not, but only found fault with him for being fast – "
"Then you have heard – what people say?" He shifted his arm a little, so that she instinctively perceived that the affectionate clasp of her hands was no longer agreeable to him, and his face seemed suddenly to have become a blank page, absolutely devoid of all expression. He kicked vigorously at one of the hillocks he had stumbled against, as if he thought he could dislodge it and get it out of his way.
"Mariamne told me there was a lot of lies – that people said – I am so glad, John, oh! so thankful, that you have not repeated any of them; for now I can feel you are my own good John, as you always were, not a slanderer of any one, and we can go on being fond of each other like brother and sister. I have told him you have been the best of brothers to me."
"Oh," said John, without a sign of wonder or admiration in him, with a dead blank in his face.
"And what do you think he said? 'Then I know he must be a capital fellow, Ne – '"
"Not Nelly," said poor John, with a foolish pang that seemed to rend his heart. Oh, if that scamp, that cheat, that low betting, card-playing rascal were but here! he would capital-fellow him. To take not herself only, but the dear pet name that she had said was only John's —
"He says Nell sometimes, John. Oh, not Nelly – Nelly is for you only. I would never let him call me that. But they are all for short names, one syllable – he is Phil, and Mariamne, well at home they call her Jew – horrible, isn't it? – because she was called after some Jewess; but somehow it seems queer when you see her, so fair and frizzy, like anything but a Jew."
"So I have got one letter to myself," said John. "I don't know that I think that worth very much, however. And so far as I can see, you seem to think everything very fine – the bets, perhaps, and the rows and all."
"Well they are, you know," said Elinor, with a laugh, "to a little country mouse like me that has never seen anything. There is always something going on, and their slang way of speaking is certainly very amusing if it is not at all dignified, and they have such droll ways of looking at things. All so entirely different! Don't you know, John, sometimes in one's life one longs for something to be quite different. A complete change, anything new."
"If that is what you long for, no doubt you will get it, Elinor."
"Well!" she cried, "I have had the other for three-and-twenty years, long enough to have exhausted it, don't you think? but I don't mean to throw it over, oh, no! Coming back to mamma makes the arrangement perfect. Probably in the end it is the old life, the life I was brought up in that I shall like best in the long run. That is one thing of being well brought up. Phil will laugh till he cries when I tell him of your description of me as a well-brought-up girl."
John set his teeth as he walked or rather stumbled along by her side, catching in the roots of the trees as he had never done before, and swearing under his breath. Her flutter of talk running on, delighted, full of laughter and softness, as if he had fully declared his satisfaction and was interested in every detail, kept John in a state of suppressed fury which made his countenance dark, and almost took the sight from his eyes. He did not know how to escape from that false position, nor did she give him time, she had so much to say. Mrs. Dennistoun looked anxiously at the pair as they came up through the copse to the level of the cottage. There were no enclosures in that primitive place. From the copse you came straight into the garden with its banks of flowers. She was seated near the cottage door in a corner sheltered from the sun, with a number of books about her. But I don't think she had read anything except some portions of the lessons in the morning service. She had been sitting with her eyes vaguely fixed upon the horizon and her hands clasped in her lap, and a heavy shadow like an overhanging cloud upon her mind. But when she heard Elinor's voice approaching so gay and tuneful her heart rose a little. John evidently could have had nothing very bad to say. Elinor had been satisfied with the morning. Mrs. Dennistoun had expected to see them come back estranged and silent. The conclusion she drew was entirely satisfactory. After all John must have been moved solely by general disapproval, which is so very different from the dreadful hints and warnings that might mean any criminality. Elinor was talking to him as freely as she had done before this spectre rose. It must, Mrs. Dennistoun concluded, be all right.
It was not till he was going away that she had an opportunity of talking with him alone. Her satisfaction, it must be allowed, had been a little subdued by John's demeanour during the afternoon and evening. But Mrs. Dennistoun had said to herself that there might be other ways of accounting for this. She had long had a fancy that John was more interested in Elinor than he had confessed himself to be. It had been her conviction that as soon as he felt it warrantable, as soon as he was sufficiently well-established, and his practice secured, he would probably declare himself, with, she feared, no particular issue so far as Elinor was concerned. And perhaps he was disappointed, poor fellow, which was a very natural explanation of his glum looks. But at breakfast on Monday Elinor announced her intention of driving her cousin to the station, and went out to see that the pony was harnessed, an operation which took some time, for the pony was out in the field and had to be caught, and the man of all work, who had a hundred affairs to look after, had to be caught too to perform this duty; which sometimes, however, Elinor performed herself, but always with some expenditure of time. Mrs. Dennistoun seized the opportunity, plunging at once into the all-important subject.
"You seemed to get on all right together yesterday, John, so I suppose you found that after all there was not very much to say."
"I was not allowed to say – anything. You mean – "
"Oh, John, John, do you mean to tell me after all – "
"Aunt Ellen," he said, "stop it if you can; if there is any means in the world by which you can stop it, do so. I can't bring accusations against the man, for I couldn't prove them. I only know what everybody knows. He is not a man fit for Elinor to marry. He is not fit to touch the tie of her shoe."
"Oh, don't trouble me with your superlatives, John. Elinor is a good girl and a clever girl, but not a lady of romance. Is there anything really against him? Tell me, for goodness' sake! Even with these few words you have made me very unhappy," Mrs. Dennistoun said, in a half resentful tone.
"I can't help it," said the unfortunate man, "I can't bring accusations, as I tell you. He is simply a scamp – that is all I know."
"A scamp!" said Mrs. Dennistoun, with a look of alarm. "But then that is a word that has so many meanings. A scamp may be only a careless fellow, nice in his way. That is not enough to break off a marriage for. And, John, as you have said so much, you must say more."
"I have no more to say, that's all I know. Inquire what the Hudsons have heard. Stop it if you can."
"Oh, dear, dear, here is Elinor back already," Mrs. Dennistoun said.
CHAPTER V
The next time that John's presence was required at the cottage was for the signing of the very simple settlements; which, as there was nothing or next to nothing in the power of the man to settle upon his wife, were easy enough. He met Mr. Lynch, who was Mrs. Dennistoun's "man of business," and a sharp London solicitor, who was for the husband. Elinor's fortune was five thousand pounds, no more, not counting her expectations from him, which were left out of the question. It was a very small matter altogether, and one which the smart solicitor who was in Mr. Compton's interest spoke of with a certain contempt, as who should say he was not in the habit of being disturbed and brought to the country for any such trifle. It was now August – not a time when any man was supposed to be available for matters like these. Mr. Lynch was just about starting for his annual holiday, but came, at no small personal inconvenience, to do his duty by the poor girl whom he had known all his life. John and he travelled to the cottage together, and their aspect was not cheerful. "Did you ever hear," said Mr. Lynch, "such a piece of folly as this – a man with no character at all? This is what it is to leave a girl in the sole care of her mother. What does a woman know about such things?"
"I don't think it was her mother's fault," said John, anxious to do justice all round. "Elinor is very head-strong, and when she has made up her mind to a thing – "
"A bit of a girl!" said Mr. Lynch, contemptuously. He was an old bachelor and knew nothing about the subject, as the reader will perceive. "Her mother ought never to have permitted it for a moment. She should have put down her foot: and then Miss Elinor would soon have come to reason. What I wonder is the ruffian's own motives? for it can't be a little bit of money like that. Five thousand's a mere mouthful to such a man as he is. He'll get rid of it all in a week."
"It must be tied up as tight as possible," said John.
Here Mr. Lynch faltered a little. "She has got an idea into her head, with the intention, I don't doubt, of defrauding herself if she can. He has got some investment for it, it appears. He is on the board of some company – a pretty board to take in such a fellow? But the Honourable is always something, I suppose."
John did not say the dis-Honourable, though it trembled on the edge of his tongue. "But you will not permit that?" he said.
"No, no; we will not permit it," said Mr. Lynch, with an emphasis on the negative which sounded like failing resolution.
"That would be giving the lamb to the wolf with a vengeance."
"Exactly what I said; exactly what I said. I am very glad, Mr. Tatham, that you take the same view."
"There is but one view to be taken," said John. "He must not have the slightest power over her money. It must be tied up as tight as the law can do it; not that I think it of the least consequence," he added. "Of course, he will get it all from her one way or another. Law's but a poor barrier against a determined man."
"I'm glad you see that too," said Mr. Lynch, "and you might say a determined woman: for she has set her mind on this, and we'll have a nice business with her, I can see."
"A bit of a girl!" said John, with a laugh, echoing the previous sentiment.
"That's very true," said the old lawyer; "and still I think her mother – but I don't put any great confidence in my own power to resist Elinor. Poor little thing, I've known her since she was that high; indeed, I may say I knew her before she was born. And you are a relation, Mr. Tatham?"
"Third or fourth cousin."
"But still, more intimate than a person unconnected with them, and able to speak your mind more freely. I wonder now that you never said anything. But in family matters sometimes one is very reluctant to interfere."
"I said everything I could say, not to offend them mortally; but I could only tell them the common talk of society. I told my aunt he was a scamp: but after the first shock I am not sure that she thought that was any such bad thing. It depended upon the sense you put upon the word, she said."
"Oh, women, women!" said Mr. Lynch. "That's their way – a reformed rake makes the best husband. It's an old-fashioned sentiment, but it's in the background of their minds, a sort of tradition that they can't shake off – or else the poor fellow has had so many disadvantages, and they think they can make it all right. It's partly ignorance and partly vanity. But they are all the same, and their ways in the matter of marriage are not to be made out."
"You have a great deal of experience."
"Experience – oh, don't speak of it!" said the old gentleman. "A man has a certain idea of the value of money, however great a fool he may be, but the women – "
"And yet they are said to stick to money, and to be respectful of it beyond anything but a miser. I have myself remarked – "
"In small matters," said Mr. Lynch, "in detail – sixpences to railway porters and that sort of thing – so people say at least. But a sum of money on paper has no effect on a woman, she will sign it away with a wave of her hand. It doesn't touch their imagination. Five pounds in her pocket is far more than five thousand on paper, to Elinor, for instance. I wish," cried the old gentleman, with a little spitefulness, "that this Married Women's Property Bill would push on and get itself made law. It would save us a great deal of trouble, and perhaps convince the world at the last how little able they are to be trusted with property. A nice mess they will make of it, and plenty of employment for young solicitors," he said, rubbing his hands.
For this was before that important bill was passed, which has not had (like so many other bills) the disastrous consequences which Mr. Lynch foresaw.
They were met at the station by the pony carriage, and at the door by Elinor herself, who came flying out to meet them. She seized Mr. Lynch by both arms, for he was a little old man, and she was bigger than he was.
"Now you will remember what I said," she cried in his ear, yet not so low but that John heard it too.
"You are a little witch; you mustn't insist upon anything so foolish. Leave all that to me, my dear," said Mr. Lynch. "What do you know about business? You must leave it to me and the other gentleman, who I suppose is here, or coming."
"He is here, but I don't care for him. I care only for you. There are such advantages: and I do know a great deal about business; and," she said, with her mouth close to the old lawyer's ear, "it will please Phil so much if I show my confidence in him, and in the things with which he has to do."
"It will not please him so much if the thing bursts, and you are left without a penny, my dear."
Elinor laughed. "I don't suppose he will mind a bit: he cares nothing for money. But I do," she said. "You know you always say women love acquisition. I want good interest, and of course with Phil on it, it must be safe for me."
"Oh, that makes it like the Bank of England, you think! but I don't share your confidence, my pretty Elinor. I'm an old fellow. No Phil in the world has any charm for me. You must trust me to do what I feel is best for you. And Mr. Tatham here is quite of my opinion."
"Oh, John! he is sure to be against me," said Elinor, with an angry glimmer in her eyes. She had not as yet taken any notice of him while she welcomed with such warmth his old companion. And John had stood by offering no greeting, with his bag in his hand. But when she said this the quick feeling girl was seized with compunction. She turned from Mr. Lynch and held out both her hands to her cousin. "John, I didn't mean that; it is only that I am excited and cross. And don't, oh, don't go against me," she cried.
"I never did, and never will, Elinor," he said gravely. Then he asked, after a moment, "Is Mr. Compton here?"
"No; how could he be here? Three gentlemen in the cottage is enough to overwhelm us already. Mr. Sharp, fortunately, can't stay," she added, lowering her voice; "he has to be driven back to the station to catch the last express. And it is August," she said with a laugh; "you forget the 15th. Now, could Phil be anywhere but where there is grouse? You shall have some to dinner to-night that fell by his gun. That should mollify you, for I am sure you never got grouse at the cottage before in August. Mamma would as soon think of buying manna for you to eat."
"I think it would have been more respectful, Elinor, if he had been here. What is grouse to you?"
"Then I don't think anything of the kind," cried Elinor. "He is much better away. And I assure you, John, I never mean to put myself in competition with the grouse."
The old lawyer had gone into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Dennistoun was holding parley with Mr. Sharp. Elinor and John were standing alone in the half light of the summer evening, the sun down, the depths of the combe below falling into faint mist, but the sunset-tinted clouds still floating like a vapour made of roses upon the clearness of the blue above. "Come and take a turn through the copse," said John. "They don't want either of us indoors."
She went with a momentary reluctance and a glance back at the bow-window of the drawing-room, from which the sound of voices issued. "Don't you think I should be there to keep them up to the mark?" she said, half laughing. And then, "Well, yes – as you are going to Switzerland too. I think you might have stayed and seen me married after all, and made acquaintance with Phil."
"I thought I should have met him here to-day, Elinor."
"Now, how could you? You know the accommodation of the cottage just as well as I do. We have two spare rooms, and no more."
"You could have sent me out somewhere to sleep. That has been done before now."
"Oh, John, how persistent you are, and worrying! When I tell you that Phil is shooting, as everybody of his kind is – do you think I want him to give up all the habits of his life? He is not like us: we adapt ourselves: but these people parcel out their time as if they were in a trade, don't you know? So long in London, so long abroad, and in the Highlands for the grouse, and somewhere else for the partridges, or they would die."
"I think he might have departed from that routine once in a way, Elinor, for you."
"I tell you again, John, I shall never put myself in competition" – Elinor stopped abruptly, with perhaps, he thought, a little glimmer of indignation in her eyes. "I hate women who do that sort of thing," she cried. "'Give up your cigar – or me,' as I've heard girls say. Such an unworthy thing! When one accepts a man one accepts him as he stands, with all his habits. What should I think of him if he said, 'Give up your tea – or me!' I should laugh in his face and throw him overboard without a pause."
"You would never look at tea again as long as you lived if he did not like it; I suppose that is what you mean, Elinor?"
"Perhaps if I found that out, afterwards; but to be given the choice beforehand, never! After all, you don't half know me, John."
"Perhaps not," he said, gravely. They had left the garden behind in its blaze of flowers, and strayed off into the subdued twilight of the copse, where everything was in a half tone of greenness and shadow and waning light. "There are always new lights arising on a many-sided creature like you – and that makes one think. Do you know you are not at all the person to take a great disappointment quietly, if that should happen to come to you in your life?"
"A great disappointment?" she said, looking up at him with a wondering glance. Then he thought the colour paled a little in her face. "No," she said, "I don't suppose I should take it quietly. Who does?"
"Oh, many people – people with less determination and more patience than you. You are not very patient by nature, Elinor."
"I never said I was."
"And though no one would give up more generously, as a voluntary matter, you could not bear being made a nonentity of, or put in a secondary place."