THE MESSAGE OF THE ROSES.
(ENVOI DE ROSES.)
(AFTER VICOMTE DE BORELLI.)
Oh, if the fairest of these roses
With its red lips to thee shall tell
Such things as language knows not of,
As in thy bosom it reposes,
Then keep it well
It is my love!
But if the sweetest of the roses
With its red lips shall silent be,
And only seek instead the bliss
Which thy delightful mouth discloses,
Return it me
It is my kiss!
[LOVE WENT OUT WHEN MONEY WAS INVENTED.]
"You're a very foolish man, John," said my sister Ruth. "You're worse than foolish. A man never gets any happiness by marrying out of his station."
"You may be right," I answered, "but after all I have something to offer. I am rich, and Marie is poor. I admit that she is a patrician and that I am a plebeian. But money, after all, counts for something, especially in these days. I don't see how Marie can spend a very happy existence now, but I am determined to make her life a dream of happiness. You will see, my dear Ruth, that my marriage will be a success."
"I think not," replied my sister, "and I therefore give you my warning before it is too late. If you don't heed it and decide on marrying Miss Dalmayne, I shall naturally do any little thing in my power to endeavour to prove that I have been a false prophetess; but, mark my words, John, I shan't succeed. And, to tell you the truth, my dear brother, I tremble for the future."
"You're a sweet little silly goose," I answered. "You let your affection for me run away with your better judgment. Why in heaven's name should I not be happy with Marie? She is beautiful, and I admit that it was her rare beauty that first commended her to me, and she has a sweet nature and character; and after all, goodness of character outweighs even good looks. Then, too, she is very clever and bright, and altogether she is exactly the sort of girl calculated to make a man happy."
"I hope that I may be wrong, and that you may be right, John," said Ruth; "but I don't think that I am wrong, and, of course, time will only show. At present we need say no more. Your mind is evidently made up, and I shall urge nothing further to prevent you from following your own inclinations. But in the time to come, don't forget that your sister warned you." And with that last shaft Ruth left the room.
My name is John Gardner, my age is thirty-six, and I am what is generally known as "a self-made man." But had I really had the making of myself I should have endeavoured to produce a different being. I recollect at the grammar school in Cambridgeshire, where I received a plain education, hearing one of the masters, Mr. Ruddock, mention a Greek proverb, "Know thyself," and advise the boys in his form to act upon the advice given by the Greek sage who pronounced these words. I was not, as a rule, struck with much that fell from Mr. Ruddock's lips, for he was a dull, stupid, and pompous man, possessing much more force of manner than of character. But I did take this advice to heart and endeavoured to act up to it, with the result that I know as much about my own uninteresting self as most other human beings know about themselves.
Well, this is how I appear in my own eyes. A strong, healthy man with an active disposition, and capable of, and a lover of hard work. A blunt manner, and with an entire absence of tact in anything in which strict business is not concerned. I know that I am truthful, for, in addition to a natural hatred of lying which I must have inherited from my dear parents, I have always recognised the fact that in business and in everything else the truth always pays the best. During the sixteen years that I have devoted to business I have endeavoured to act squarely and fairly with everyone with whom I have been brought in contact, and I may say without conceit that I have earned a good name in addition to the three hundred thousand pounds that I have been able to save.
I have never got on particularly well with the other sex, partly, I suppose, from my manners, which, to say the least, are not attractive, and partly to the fact that up to the time I met Marie Dalmayne I have never cared for a woman. I came across the girl that I have grown to love so well in this fashion. I am interested in a West Australian mine to the extent of about a hundred thousand pounds, and am one of the three partners who control the concern. One of them is a member of the great City house of Bleichopsheim, and the other is Mr. Ross, a wealthy iron-master. It was at the latter's house in St. James's Square that I met my fate.
I took Miss Dalmayne down to dinner, and I think that my heart went out to her from the first. I found her clever and sensible, and with apparently little of the frivolity which characterises most of the young women with whom I have been brought in contact. Her conversation, if not absolutely brilliant, was at any rate bright and amusing, and possessed a considerable amount of shrewdness.
Miss Dalmayne was about twenty-three, tall and fair,' possessing a perfect figure and the most beautiful and expressive hazel eyes. Her hair was nut brown with a warm reddish sun-kissed glint, and her features were regular and aristocratic. Her smile was delightful. In short, I fell in love.
Next morning I ascertained from Adam Ross full particulars in reference to Miss Dalmayne. She is the only daughter of the Honourable George Dalmayne, and is related to many of the highest English families. Mr. Dalmayne and his wife are not well off, and the former is very much in debt and has taxed the generosity of my friend Ross to a very considerable extent. The Dalmaynes live in a small house in Eaton Terrace. They have only one other child, and that is a son who is in the Army and is at present with his regiment in India.
There are some people that one feels one can confide in in matters of a delicate nature, and there are others to whom one could never open one's mouth. Now, Ross and I have been friends for ten years, during which time we have never had the least difference. He is a man absolutely to be trusted. I told him during this interview what a deep impression Miss Dalmayne had made upon me. He said that he did not in the least wonder at it, for she was greatly admired, and added that if it were not for her father she would no doubt have made a brilliant marriage already. I told my friend that I cared nothing about her father, that I was not marrying him but his daughter—that is to say, if I were fortunate enough to induce her to become my wife.
"I don't think that there is much fear of a failure," answered Ross, "old Dalmayne is looking out for a rich husband for Marie. Indeed, in a confidential mood one day recently he told me almost as much himself. And he is not likely in a hurry to find one so rich as yourself."
"Well, I shall call upon him to-morrow," said I, "and ask his permission to speak to his daughter."
"I wish you every success, my dear friend," said Ross, "and I have no doubt as to the result of your interview. And I don't see why you should not be very happy. After all, as you say, you are not marrying the father. You are marrying Marie, who is a very high-principled girl, who is beautiful, who is accomplished, and who would, I am certain, do everything to make her husband happy."
And so it was settled, and next morning I called on Mr. Dalmayne.
Mr. Dalmayne, a tall, aristocratic man of about sixty, received me with great cordiality. Whether Ross, who had dined with him on the previous night, had mentioned anything of my matter to him I don't know, but the old gentleman did not seem to be the least surprised when I told him what the object of my visit was.
"Mr. Dalmayne," said I, "you will doubtless be wondering why I have called to see you"—Mr. Dalmayne's face assumed a sphinx-like expression—I will not keep you waiting for an explanation. The truth is that I have fallen in love with your daughter. Our mutual friend Adam Ross can tell you all about me, and I don't think that his report would be an unfavourable one. My position is this. I have saved three hundred thousand pounds, which produces an income of about twelve thousand a year. And I am making at least another twenty thousand a year from my share of our mine and other sound enterprises. Should you permit me to address Miss Dalmayne, and should I be happy and fortunate enough to induce her to become my wife, I should propose to settle two hundred thousand pounds upon her for her exclusive use."
"Your proposals are most generous," said Mr. Dalmayne, "and do you credit. But in matters of this kind I should never dream of attempting to control my daughter. You have, however, my full permission to speak to her, and if she is willing to marry you, you both have my full consent. My wife shares my views entirely. Marie is out with her mother at the present moment, but she will be in all the afternoon, and if you will call about four I will see that you have the opportunity for which you are seeking."
I thanked Mr. Dalmayne most cordially and promised to return in the afternoon. When I again arrived at Eaton Terrace I was shown into the drawing-room, where I found Mrs. and Miss Dalmayne and a sister of Mrs. Dalmayne's. Tea was brought in, and shortly afterwards the visitor took her departure. A few minutes later Mrs. Dalmayne made some excuse for leaving the room, and I was left alone with Marie. My heart had beaten hard from excitement as I had knocked at the door, but strange to say I felt no nervousness now. I plunged into the matter that brought me without delay. I told Miss Dalmayne of the wonderful effect produced upon me by her beauty and charm, and in the fewest words possible I asked her to be my wife, promising that she would never repent it.
"You have done me a great honour," said Miss Dalmayne, "but I must have a little time to think over what you have said and to consult my parents. You shall hear from me at latest the day after tomorrow."
I shortly afterwards took my leave, and departed buoyed up by the strong hope that the desire of my heart would be obtained.
Nor was I disappointed. On the day she had promised I received a letter from Miss Dalmayne saying that she was willing to accept me, but frankly confessing that she had no love for me as yet, though admitting that she liked me. "If," she continued, "you are willing to take me on this understanding, I am ready to be your wife."
Needless to say I was willing to accept these terms, and three months afterwards we were man and wife.
It was in the month of July that we were married, and we went to Aix-les-Bains for the honeymoon. A few days previously Mr. Dalmayne asked me to lend him a thousand pounds, which I did cheerfully, for after what my friend Ross had told me I was fully prepared for such a request.
My wife had never been to Aix before, and seemed to amuse herself very much. She played a little at the tables, and with a considerable amount of success. I must admit that she was very kind to me, and though of course I easily saw that I did not at present possess her real affection, I was not discontented, and hoped for the time to come when we should be all in all to each other. We had met very few acquaintances at Aix, for it was not a good season as far as English visitors were concerned, owing to attacks on our country and Government by the French papers. But when we had been there about three weeks a Captain Morland came upon the scene. Captain Morland, who was an officer in the Grenadier Guards, had known my wife since she was a child. They seemed very pleased to see each other again, but there was a certain sadness that I noticed in the young officer's manner. He had just been invalided home from South Africa, where he had been on active service during the time with which my narrative deals. He was a handsome young man, tall and well built, and with kind and expressive blue eyes. He was singularly reticent as to his exploits during the war, though I heard from a friend of his who was with him at Aix that he had been mentioned in despatches and had been recommended for the D.S.O. He was a man to whom the merest chance acquaintance was certain to take a fancy. I am bound to say that I did so myself, and I hope that in what I am calmly relating I shall not be considered to have intentionally failed to do him justice.
It was the second week in August, and as the weather was very hot, my wife and I had determined to leave Aix and go to Trouville for a little sea air and bathing. Three days before our departure I returned to the hotel to dress for dinner. I was just going through the corridor when I heard voices in our sitting-room. They were the voices of my wife and Captain Morland.
I don't think that I am naturally a mean man, but I was mean enough to listen on this occasion.
"You mustn't blame me, Hubert," said my wife, "we were all on the verge of ruin, and I was bound to marry him."
"How could you consent to do such a thing? You don't care for him in the least."
"No," said my wife; "nor shall I ever do so if I live for fifty years. I care for no one but you. But I shall always do my duty to my husband, who is a kind and good man and lives entirely for me."
"If he died, you would marry me?" asked Captain Morland.
"Of course I would, and, as the children's storybooks say, 'live happily ever afterwards.' But don't let us discuss deplorable futurities."
This was enough for me. I saw, now that it was too late, how wise my sister Ruth had been, and how foolishly I had acted. There was nothing to be done, however, to remedy matters, in view of the words spoken by my wife, and words which breathed of truth. I went out quietly into the garden of the hotel and came back a few minutes later. I asked Captain Morland to dine with us, and he accepted my invitation. I carefully watched him and my wife during the evening, and clearly saw that the case was hopeless from my point of view.
On the morrow I made my will, and left everything to my wife with the exception of fifty thousand pounds for my sister Ruth. I then wrote the little history of my mistake, and am posting it from the top of Mont Revard to my friend Ross, and have asked him to act as he thinks best. It is hard to die, but, in my position, it is still harder to live.
Having set my entire affections in one direction, and having been hopelessly unsuccessful, there is only one thing to be done, and that is to end matters. And I shall end them to-night.
Extract from an Aix-les-Bains newspaper:—
"The body of a rich Englishman, named Gardner, who was staying at the Hotel de l'Europe, was found lying at the bottom of the precipice between Aix and Mont Revard. It is, of course, pure conjecture how the unfortunate gentleman met his fate, but no foul play is suspected, as his money and valuables were found upon his body. We anxiously await developments. The police are maintaining a strict reserve."