CHAPTER XLVII. A PROPOSAL IN FORM.
When Sir Marcus Cluff was introduced into L'Estrange's study, his first care was to divest himself of his various “wraps,” a process not very unlike that of the Hamlet gravedigger. At length, he arrived at a suit of entire chamois-leather, in which he stood forth like an enormous frog, and sorely pushed the parson's gravity in consequence.
“This is what Hazeldean calls the 'chest-sufferer's true cuticle,' Nothing like leather, my dear sir, in pulmonic affections. If I 'd have known it earlier in life, I 'd have saved half of my left lung, which is now hopelessly hepatized.”
L'Estrange looked compassionate, though not very well knowing what it was he had pity for.
“Not,” added the invalid, hastily, “that even this constitutes a grave constitutional defect. Davies says, in his second volume, that among the robust men of England you would not find one in twenty without some lungular derangement. He percussed me all over, and was some time before he found out the blot.” The air of triumph in which this was said showed L'Estrange that he too might afford to look joyful.
“So that, with this reservation, sir, I do consider I have a right to regard myself, as Boreas pronounced me, sound as a roach.”
“I sincerely hope so.”
“You see, sir, I mean to be frank with you. I descend to no concealments.”
It was not very easy for L'Estrange to understand this speech, or divine what especial necessity there was for his own satisfaction as to the condition of Sir Marcus Cluff's viscera; he, however, assented in general terms to the high esteem he felt for candor and openness.
“No, my dear Mr. L'Estrange,” resumed he, “without this firm conviction—a sentiment based on faith and the stethoscope together—you had not seen me here this day.”
“The weather is certainly trying,” said L'Estrange.
“I do not allude to the weather, sir; the weather is, for the season, remarkably fine weather; there was a mean temperature of 68° Fahrenheit during the last twenty-four hours. I spoke of my pulmonary condition, because I am aware people are in the habit of calling me consumptive. It is the indiscriminating way ignorance treats a very complex question; and when I assured you that without an honest conviction that organic mischief had not proceeded far, I really meant what I said when I told you you would not have seen me here this day.”
Again was the parson mystified, but he only bowed.
“Ah, sir,” sighed the other, “why will not people be always candid and sincere? And when shall we arrive at the practice of what will compel—actually compel sincerity? I tell you, for instance, I have an estate worth so much—house property here, and shares in this or that company—but there are mortgages, I don't say how much against me; I have no need to say it. You drive down to the Registration Office and you learn to a shilling to what extent I am liable. Why not have the same system for physical condition, sir? Why can't you call on the College of Physicians, or whatever the body be, and say, 'How is Sir Marcus Cluff? I'd like to know about that right auricle of his heart. What about his pancreas?' Don't you perceive the inestimable advantage of what I advise?”
“I protest, sir, I scarcely follow you. I do not exactly see how I have the right, or to what extent I am interested, to make this inquiry.”
“You amaze—you actually amaze me!” and Sir Marcus sat for some seconds contemplating the object of his astonishment. “I come here, sir, to make an offer for your sister's hand—”
“Pardon my interrupting, but I learn this intention only now.”
“Then you didn't read my note. You didn't read the 'turn-over.'”
“I 'm afraid not. I only saw what referred to the Church.”
“Then, sir, you missed the most important; had you taken the trouble to turn the page, you would have seen that I ask your permission to pay my formal attentions to Miss L'Estrange. It was with intention I first discussed and dismissed a matter of business; I then proceeded to a question of sentiment, premising that I held myself bound to satisfy you regarding my property, and my pulmonary condition. Mind, body, and estate, sir, are not coupled together ignorantly, nor inharmoniously; as you know far better than me—mind, body, and estate,” repeated he slowly. “I am here to satisfy you on each of them.”
“Don't you think, Sir Marcus, that there are questions which should possibly precede these?”
“Do you mean Miss L'Estrange's sentiments, sir?” George bowed, and Sir Marcus continued: “I am vain enough to suppose I can make out a good case for myself. I look more, but I'm only forty-eight, forty-eight on the twelfth September. I have twenty-seven thousand pounds in bank stock—stock, mind you—and three thousand four hundred a year in land, Norfolk property. I have a share—we 'll not speak of it now—in a city house; and what 's better than all, sir, not sixpence of debt in the world. I am aware your sister can have no fortune, but I can afford myself, what the French call a caprice, though this ain't a caprice, for I have thought well over the matter, and I see she would suit me perfectly. She has nice gentle ways, she can be soothing without depression, and calm without discouragement. Ah, that is the secret of secrets! She gave me my drops last evening with a tenderness, a graceful sympathy, that went to my heart. I want that, sir—I need it, I yearn for it. Simpson said to me years ago, 'Marry, Sir Marcus, marry! yours is a temperament that requires study and intelligent care. A really clever woman gets to know a pulse to perfection; they have a finer sensibility, a higher organization, too, in the touch.' Simpson laid great stress on that; but I have looked out in vain, sir. I employed agents: I sent people abroad; I advertised in the 'Times'—M. C. was in the second column—for above two years; and with a correspondence that took two clerks to read through and minute. All to no end! All in vain! They tell me that the really competent people never do reply to an advertisement; that one must look out for them oneself, make private personal inquiry. Well, sir, I did that, and I got into some unpleasant scrapes with it, and two actions for breach of promise; two thousand, pounds the last cost me, though I got my verdict, sir; the Chief Baron very needlessly recommending me, for the future, to be cautious in forming the acquaintance of ladies, and to avoid widows as a general rule. These are the pleasantries of the Bench, and doubtless they amuse the junior bar. I declare to you, sir, in all seriousness, I 'd rather that a man should give me a fillip on the nose than take the liberty of a joke with me. It is the one insufferable thing in life.” This sally had so far excited him that it was some minutes ere he recovered his self-possession. “Now, Mr. L'Estrange,” said he, at last, “I bind you in no degree—I pledge you to nothing; I simply ask leave to address myself to your sister. It is what lawyers call a 'motion to show cause why.'”
“I perceive that,” broke in L'Estrange; “but even that much I ought not to concede without consulting my sister and obtaining her consent. You will allow me therefore time.”
“Time, sir! My nerves must not be agitated. There can be no delays. It was not without a great demand on my courage, and a strong dose of chlorodine—Japps's preparation—that I made this effort now. Don't imagine I can sustain it much longer. No, sir, I cannot give time.”
“After all, Sir Marcus, you can scarcely suppose that my sister is prepared for such a proposition.”
“Sir, they are always prepared for it. It never takes them unawares. I have made them my study for years, and I do think I have some knowledge of their way of thinking and acting. I 'll lay my life on it, if you will go and say, 'Maria'—”
“My sister's name is Julia,” said the other, dryly.
“It may be, sir—I said 'Maria' generically, and I repeat it—'Maria, there is in my study at this moment a gentleman, of irreproachable morals and unblemished constitution, whose fortune is sufficiently ample to secure many comforts and all absolute necessaries, who desires to make you his wife;' her first exclamation will be, 'It is Sir Marcus Cluff.'”
“It is not impossible,” said L'Estrange, gravely.
“The rest, sir, is not with you, nor even with me. Do me, then, the great favor to bear my message.”
Although seeing the absurdity of the situation, and vaguely forecasting the way Julia might possibly hear the proposition, L'Estrange was always so much disposed to yield to the earnestness of any one who persisted in a demand, that he bowed and left the room.
“Well, George, he has proposed?” cried Julia, as her brother entered the room, where she sat with Nelly Bramleigh.
He nodded only, and the two girls burst out into a merry laugh.
“Come, come, Julia,” said he, reprovingly. “Absurd as it may seem, the man is in earnest, and must be treated with consideration.”
“But tell us the whole scene. Let us have it all as it occurred.”
“I 'll do nothing of the kind. It 's quite enough to say that he declares he has a good fortune, and wishes to share it with you; and I think the expression of that wish should secure him a certain deference and respect.”
“But who refuses, who thinks of refusing him all the deference and respect he could ask for? Not I, certainly. Come now, like a dear good boy, let us hear all he said, and what you replied. I suspect there never was a better bit of real-life comedy. I only wish I could have had a part in it.”
“Not too late yet, perhaps,” said Nelly, with a dry humor. “The fifth act is only beginning.”
“That is precisely what I am meditating. George will not tell me accurately what took place in his interview, and I think I could not do better than go and learn Sir Marcus' sentiments for myself.”
She arose and appeared about to leave the room, when L'Estrange sprang towards the door, and stood with his back against it.
“You 're not serious, Ju?” cried he, in amazement.
“I should say very serious. If Sir Marcus only makes out his case, as favorably as you, with all your bungling, can't help representing it, why—all things considered, eh, Nelly? you, I know, agree with me—I rather suspect the proposition might be entertained.”
“Oh, this is too monstrous. It is beyond all belief,” cried L'Estrange.
And he rushed from the room in a torrent of passion, while Julia sank back in a chair, and laughed till her eyes ran over with tears of merriment.
“How could you, Julia! Oh, how could you!” said Nelly, as she leaned over her and tried to look reproachful.
“If you mean, how could I help quizzing him, I can understand you; but I could not—no, Nelly, I could not help it! It is my habit to seize on the absurd side of any embarrassment; and you may be sure there is always one if you only look for it; and you 've no idea how much pleasanter—ay, and easier, too—it is to laugh oneself out of difficulties than to grieve over them. You 'll see George, now, will be spirited up, out of pure fright, to do what he ought; to tell this man that his proposal is an absurdity, and that young women, even as destitute of fortune as myself, do not marry as nursetenders. There! I declare that is Sir Marcus driving away already. Only think with what equanimity I can see wealth and title taking leave of me. Never say after that that I have not courage.”