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Mr. Scarborough's Family, a novel by Anthony Trollope |
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Part 2 - Chapter 61. Harry Annesley Is Accepted |
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_ PART II CHAPTER LXI. HARRY ANNESLEY IS ACCEPTED She knew that Harry Annesley was at the door. He had written to say that he must come again, though he had fixed no day for his coming. She had been delighted to think that he should come, though she had after her fashion, scolded him for the promised visit. But, though his comings had not been frequent, she recognized already the sounds of his advent. When a girl really loves her lover, the very atmosphere tells of his whereabouts. She was expecting him with almost breathless expectation when her cousin Mountjoy was brought to her; and so was her mother, who had been told that Harry Annesley had business on which he intended to call. But now the two foes must meet in her presence. That was the idea which first came upon her. She was sure that Harry would behave well. Why should not a favored lover on such occasions always behave well? But how would Mountjoy conduct himself when brought face to face with his rival? As Florence thought of it, she remembered that when last they met the quarrel between them had been outrageous. And Mountjoy had been the sinner, while Harry had been made to bear the punishment of the sin. Harry, when he was told that Miss Mountjoy was at home, had at once walked in and opened for himself the door of the front room downstairs. There he found Florence and Mountjoy Scarborough. Mrs. Mountjoy was still up-stairs in her bedroom, and was palpitating with fear as she thought of the anger of the two combative lovers. To her belief, Harry was, of the two, the most like to a roaring lion, because she had heard of him that he had roared so dreadfully on that former occasion. But she did not instantly go down, detained in her bedroom by the eagerness of her fear, and by the necessity of resolving how she would behave when she got there. Harry, when he entered, stood a moment at the door, and then, hurrying across the room, offered Scarborough his hand. "I have been so sorry," he said, "to hear of your loss; but your father's health was such that you could not have expected that his life should be prolonged." Mountjoy muttered something, but his mutterings, as Florence had observed, were made in courtesy. And the two men had taken each other by the hand; after that they could hardly fly at each other's throats in her presence. Then Harry crossed to Florence and took her hand. "I never get a line from you," he said, laughing, "but what you scold me. I think I escape better when I am present; so here I am." "You always make wicked propositions, and of course I scold you. A girl has to go on scolding till she's married, and then it's her turn to get it." "No wonder, then, that you talk of three years so glibly. I want to be able to scold you." All this was going on in Mountjoy's presence, while he stood by, silent, black, and scowling. His position was very difficult,--that of hearing the billing and cooing of these lovers. But theirs also was not too easy, which made the billing and cooing necessary in his presence. Each had to seem to be natural, but the billing and cooing were in truth affected. Had he not been there, would they not have been in each other's arms? and would not she have made him the proudest man in England by a loving kiss? "I was asking Miss Mountjoy, when you came in, to be my wife." This Scarborough said with a loud voice, looking Harry full in the face. "It cannot be," said Florence; "I told you that, for his honor,"--and she laid her hand on Harry's arm,--"I could listen to no such request." "The request has to be made again," he said. "It will be made in vain," said Harry. "So, no doubt, you think," said Captain Scarborough. "You can ask herself," said Harry. "Of course it will be made in vain," said Florence. "Does he think that a girl, in such a matter as that of loving a man, can be turned here and there at a moment's notice,--that she can say yes and no alternately to two men? It is impossible. Harry Annesley has chosen me, and I am infinitely happy in his choice." Here Harry made an attempt to get his arm round her waist, in which, however, she prevented him, seeing the angry passion rising in her cousin's eyes. "He is to be my husband, I hope. I have told him that I love him, and I tell you so also. He has my promise, and I cannot take it back without perjury to him, and ruin, absolute ruin, to myself. All my happiness in this world depends on him. He is to me my own one absolute master, to whom I have given myself altogether, as far as this world goes. Even were he to reject me I could not give myself to another." "My Florence! my darling!" Harry exclaimed. "After having told you so much, can you ask your cousin to be untrue to her word and to her heart, and to become your wife when her heart is utterly within his keeping? Mountjoy, it is impossible." "What of me, then?" he said. "Rouse yourself and love some other girl and marry her, and so do well with yourself and with your property." "You talk of your heart," he said, "and you bid me use my own after such fashion as that!" "A man's heart can be changed, but not a woman's. His love is but one thing among many." "It is the one thing," said Harry. Then the door opened, and Mrs. Mountjoy entered the room. "Oh dear! oh dear!" she said, "you, both of you, here together?" "Yes: we are both here together," said Harry. There was an unfortunate smile on his face as he said so, which made Mountjoy Scarborough very angry. The two men were both handsome, two as handsome men as you shall see on a summer's day. Mountjoy was dark-visaged, with coal-black whiskers and mustaches, with sparkling, angry eyes, and every feature of his face well cut and finely formed; but there was absent from him all look of contentment or satisfaction. Harry was light-haired, with long, silken beard, and bright eyes; but there was usually present to his face a look of infinite joy, which was comfortable to all beholders. If not strong, as was the other man's, it was happy and eloquent of good temper. But in one thing they were alike:--neither of them counted aught on his good looks. Mountjoy had attempted to domineer by his bad temper, and had failed; but Harry, without any attempt at domineering, always doubting of himself till he had been assured of success by her lips, had succeeded. Now he was very proud of his success; but he was proud of her, and not of himself. "You come in here and boast of what you have done in my presence," said Mountjoy Scarborough. "How can I not seem to boast when she tells me that she loves me?" said Harry. "For God's sake, do not quarrel here!" said Mrs. Mountjoy. "They shall not quarrel at all," said Florence, "There is no cause for quarrelling. When a girl has given herself away there should be an end of it. No man who knows that she has done so should speak to her again in the way of love. I will leave you now; but, Harry, you must come again, in order that I may tell you that you must not have it all your own way, just as you please, sir." Then she gave him her hand, and passing on at once to Mountjoy, tendered her hand to him also. "You are my cousin, and the head now of my mother's family. I would fain know that you would say a kind word to me, and bid me 'God speed.'" He looked at her, but did not take her hand. "I cannot do it," he said. "I cannot bid you 'God speed.' You have ruined me, trampled upon me, destroyed me. I am not angry with him," and he pointed across the room to Harry Annesley; "nor with you; but only with myself." Then, without speaking a word to his aunt, he marched out of the room and left the house, closing the front-door after him with a loud noise, which testified to his anger. "He has gone!" said Mrs. Mountjoy, with a tone of deep tragedy. "It is better so," said Florence. "A man must take his chance in such warfare as this," said Harry. "There is something about Mountjoy Scarborough that, after all, I like. I do not love Augustus, but, with certain faults, Mountjoy is a good fellow." "He is the head of our family," said Mrs. Mountjoy, "and is the owner of Tretton." "That is nothing to do with it," said Florence. "It has much to do with it," said her mother, "though you would never listen to me. I had set my heart upon it, but you have determined to thwart me. And yet there was a time when you preferred him to every one else." "Never!" said Florence, with energy. "Yes, you did,--before Mr. Annesley here came in the way." "It was before I came, at any rate," said Harry. "I was young, and I did not wish to be disobedient. But I never loved him, and I never told him so. Now it is out of the question." "He will never come back again," said Mrs. Mountjoy, mournfully. "I should be very glad to see him back when I and Florence are man and wife. I don't care how soon we should see him." "No; he will never come back," said Florence,--"not as he came to-day. That trouble is at last over, mamma." "And my trouble is going to begin." "Why should there be any trouble? Harry will not give you trouble;--will you, Harry?" "Never, I trust," said Harry. "He cannot understand," said Mrs. Mountjoy; "he knows nothing of the desire and ambition of my life. I had promised him my child, and my word to him is now broken." "He will have known, mamma, that you could not promise for me. Now go, Harry, because we are flurried. May I not ask him to come here to-night and to drink tea with us?" This she said, addressing her mother in a tone of sweetest entreaty. To this Mrs. Mountjoy unwillingly yielded, and then Harry also took his departure. Florence was aware that she had gained much by the interview of the morning. Even to her it began to appear unnecessary that she could keep Harry waiting three years. She had spoken of postponing the time of her servitude and of preserving for herself the masterdom of her own condition. But in that respect the truth of her own desires was well understood by them all. She was anxious enough to submit to her new master, and she felt that the time was coming. Her mother had yielded so much, and Mountjoy had yielded. Harry was saying to himself at this very moment that Mountjoy had thrown up the sponge. She, too, was declaring the same thing for her own comfort in less sporting phraseology, and, what was much more to her, her mother had nearly thrown up the sponge also. In the worse days of her troubles any suitor had made himself welcome to her mother who would rescue her child from the fangs of that roaring lion, Harry Annesley. Mr. Anderson had been received with open arms, and even M. Grascour. Mrs. Mountjoy had then got it into her head that of all lions which were about in those days Harry roared the loudest. His sins in regard to leaving poor Mountjoy speechless and motionless on the pavement had filled her with horror. But Florence now felt that all that had come to an end. Not only had Mountjoy gone away, but no mention would probably be ever again made of Anderson or Grascour. When Florence was preparing herself for tea that evening she sung a little song to herself as to the coming of the conquering hero. "A man must take his chance in such warfare as this," she said, repeating to herself her lover's words. "You can't expect me to be very bright," her mother said to her before Harry came. There was a sign of yielding in this also; but Florence in her happiness did not wish to make her mother miserable, "Why not be bright, mamma? Don't you know that Harry is good?" "No. How am I to know anything about him? He may be utterly penniless." "But his uncle has offered to let us live in the house and to give us an income. Mr. Prosper has abandoned all idea of getting married." "He can be married any day. And why do you want to live in another man's house when you may live in your own? Tretton is ready for you,--the finest mansion in the whole county." Here Mrs. Mountjoy exaggerated a little, but some exaggeration may be allowed to a lady in her circumstances. "Mamma, you know that I cannot live at Tretton." "It is the house in which I was born." "How can that signify? When such things happen they are used as additional grounds for satisfaction. But I cannot marry your nephew because you were born in a certain house. And all that is over now: you know that Mountjoy will not come back again." "He would," exclaimed the mother, as though with new hopes. "Oh, mamma! how can you talk like that? I mean to marry Harry Annesley;--you know that I do. Why not make your own girl happy by accepting him?" Then Mrs. Mountjoy left the room and went to her own chamber and cried there, not bitterly, I think, but copiously. Her girl would be the wife of the squire of Buston, who, after all, was not a bad sort of fellow. At any rate he would not gamble. There had always been that terrible drawback. And he was a fellow of his college, in which she would look for, and probably would find, some compensation as to Tretton. When, therefore, she came down to tea, she was able to receive Harry not with joy but at least without rebuke. Conversation was at first somewhat flat between the two. If the old lady could have been induced to remain up-stairs, Harry felt that the evening would have been much more satisfactory. But, as it was, he found himself enabled to make some progress. He at once began to address Florence as his undoubted future spouse, very slyly using words adapted for that purpose: and she, without any outburst of her intention,--as she had made when discussing the matter with her cousin,--answered him in the same spirit, and by degrees came so to talk as though the matter were entirely settled. And then, at last, that future day was absolutely brought on the tapis as though now to be named. "Three years!" ejaculated Mrs. Mountjoy, as though not even yet surrendering her last hope. Florence, from the nature of the circumstances, received this in silence. Had it been ten years she might have expostulated. But a young lady's bashfulness was bound to appear satisfied with an assurance of marriage within three years. But it was otherwise with Harry. "Good God, Mrs. Mountjoy, we shall all be dead!" he cried out. Mrs. Mountjoy showed by her countenance that she was extremely shocked. "Oh, Harry!" said Florence, "none of us, I hope, will be dead in three years." "I shall be a great deal too old to be married if I am left alive. Three months, you mean. It will be just the proper time of year, which does go for something. And three months is always supposed to be long enough to allow a girl to get her new frocks." "You know nothing about it, Harry," said Florence. And so the matter was discussed--in such a manner that when Harry took his departure that evening he was half inclined to sing a song of himself about the conquering hero. "Dear mamma!" said Florence, kissing her mother with all the warm, clinging affection of former years. It was very pleasant,--but still Mrs. Mountjoy went to her room with a sad heart. When there she sat for a while over the fire, and then drew out her desk. She had been beaten,--absolutely beaten,--and it was necessary that she should own so much in writing to one person. So she wrote her letter, which was as follows: "Dear Mountjoy,--After all it cannot be as I would have had it. As they say, 'Man proposes, but God disposes.' I would have given her to you now, and would even yet have trusted that you would have treated her well, had it not been that Mr. Annesley has gained such a hold upon her affections. She is wilful, as you are, and I cannot bend her. It has been the longing of my heart that you two should live together at Tretton. But such longings are, I think, wicked, and are seldom realized. "I write now just this one line to tell you that it is all settled. I have not been strong enough to prevent such settling. He talks of three months! But what does it matter? Three months or three years will be the same to you, and nearly the same to me. "Your affectionate aunt, "SARAH MOUNTJOY. "P.S.--May I as your loving aunt add one word of passionate entreaty? All Tretton is yours now, and the honor of Tretton is within your keeping. Do not go back to those wretched tables!" Mountjoy Scarborough when he received this letter cannot be said to have been made unhappy by it, because he had already known all his unhappiness. But he turned it in his mind as though to think what would now be the best course of life open to him. And he did think that he had better go back to those tables against which his aunt had warned him, and there remain till he had made the acres of Tretton utterly disappear. There was nothing for him which seemed to be better. And here at home in England even that would at present be impossible to him. He could not enter the clubs, and elsewhere Samuel Hart would be ever at his heels. And there was his brother with his lawsuit, though on that matter a compromise had already been offered to him. Augustus had proposed to him by his lawyer to share Tretton. He would never share Tretton. His brother should have an income secured to him, but he would keep Tretton in his own hands,--as long as the gambling-tables would allow him. He was, in truth, a wretched man, as on that night he did make up his mind, and ringing his bell called his servant out of his bed to bid him prepare everything for a sudden start. He would leave Tretton on the following day, or on the day after, and intended at once to go abroad. "He is off for that place nigh to Italy where they have the gambling-tables," said the butler, on the following morning, to the valet who declared his master's intentions. "I shouldn't wonder, Mr. Stokes," said the valet. "I'm told it's a beauteous country and I should like to see a little of that sort of life myself." Alas, alas! Within a week from that time Captain Scarborough might have been seen seated in the Monte Carlo room, without any friendly Samuel Hart to stand over him and guard him. _ |
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