Volume Two—Chapter Fourteen.
Marrying and Giving in Marriage.
“And would you say Yes, aunt dear, if he should ask me?”
“Before I answer that question, Naomi, my dear, let me ask you one. Is this little heart still sore about Arthur Prayle?”
“Indeed, no, aunt,” cried the girl indignantly; “pray, don’t mention his name. I am angry with myself for ever thinking of him as I did.”
“Under those circumstances, my dear, it may be as well to ask you whether you would like to be married.”
“Like to be married, aunt?—I—I—I think I should.”
“When, then—when a man, who is perhaps rather too bluff and tradesman-like in his ways, but who loves very dearly, and is a thoroughly true honest gentleman at heart, asked me to be his wife, I think I should say Yes.”
She was a good obedient girl, this Naomi, and most ready to obey her aunt and take her advice. So thoroughly did she act upon it, that the very next day, Saxby charged into the room where Aunt Sophia was writing a letter, caught her hands in his and kissed them, crying in the most exultant manner: “She’s said it—she’s said it!”
“What! has she refused you, Saxby?” said Aunt Sophia quietly.
“Refused me? No. Said Yes, my dear madam. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Well, I don’t know,” replied Aunt Sophia. “Do you think so?”
“That I do,” said Saxby. “Oh, I am proud, Miss Raleigh, I am indeed; for though I’m an awfully big man on ’Change—away from Capel Court and my office, no one knows better than I do what a humbug I am.”
“Don’t be a goose, Saxby,” said Aunt Sophia severely. “There; you see you make use of such bad language that it is catching. Humbug, indeed! Look here, don’t you say such nasty things again. If I had not known you to be a very good true gentleman at heart, do you think I should have encouraged your attentions as I have? Don’t, say any more. She’s a dear girl, Saxby; and I am very glad for both your sakes that it is to be a match.”
“Oh, thank you!” he cried. “But mind this, Saxby; if ever you neglect or ill-use her—”
“If ever I neglect or ill-use her!” cried Saxby. “Well, well, I know you will not. And now, listen, Saxby. I mean to give Naomi for her dowry—”
“Nothing at all, my dear madam,” cried the stockbroker, interrupting her. “I’ve plenty of money for both of us—heaps; and as for yours,” he said, with a merry twinkle in his eye, “keep it for making investments, so that we can have a few squabbles now and then about shares.”
“Now,” said Aunt Sophia, “I daresay it is very wicked; but if I could see my dear Doctor Scales made as happy as Saxby, I should like it very much indeed.—What do you think, Kate? Can I do anything about him and Lady Martlett?”
“No, aunt; I think not,” said Lady Scarlett. “And yet it seems to be a pity, for I am sure they are very fond of each other.”
“It’s their nasty unpleasant pride keeps them apart,” said Aunt Sophia. “Anna Martlett is as proud as Lucifer; and Scales is as proud as—as—as the box.” For Aunt Sophia was at a loss for a simile, and this was the only word that suggested itself.
“Let them alone,” said Lady Scarlett. “Matters may come right after all.”
“But it’s so stupid of him,” cried Aunt Sophia. “Hang the man! What does he want? She can’t help having a title and being rich. Why, she’s dying for him.”
“But she sets a barrier between them, every time they meet,” said Lady Scarlett.
“Yes; they’re both eaten up with pride,” cried Aunt Sophia. “Oh, if I were Scales, I’d give her such a dose!”
“Would you, aunt?”
“That I would. And if I were Anna Martlett, I’d box his ears till he went down on his knees and asked me to marry him.”
“Begging your pardon, ma’am, you haven’t seen master about, have you?” said John Monnick.
“He went up to the house just now, Monnick.”
“Because, if you please ’m, I’ve got him a splendid lot o’ wums, and a box full o’ gentles for the doctor.”
“Ugh! the nasty creatures!” cried Aunt Sophia, with a shudder. “I hope they are not going fishing up by that weir.”
“They are, aunt dear—for the barbel.”
But they were not, for a messenger was already at the gate.
Just then, James Scarlett and the doctor came along the path, laden with fishing-tackle, on their way to the punt; but they were stopped by Fanny, who came up with a letter in her hand, the poor girl looking very subdued and pale, and a great deal changed in manner since the events of a certain night—events that had, by Sir James’s orders, been buried for ever.
“Lady Martlett’s groom with the dogcart, and a letter for Doctor Scales, sir.”
“Ha-ha-ha!” cried the doctor, with a harsh scornful laugh, which told tales to the thoughtful, as Aunt Sophia and Lady Scarlett came up. “Here, Miss Raleigh, you see how I am getting on in my profession. Lady Martlett’s pet dog has a fit, and I am honoured by her instructions. Here: read the note, Scarlett.”
“No, thanks; it is addressed to you.”
The doctor frowned, and opened the note as he stood with his rod resting in the hollow of his arm, and his friends watched the change in his countenance. “Good heavens!” he exclaimed, with quite a groan. “Here, Miss Raleigh—read!” he thrust the letter into her hand, dropped the rod, and ran swiftly to the house, taking off his white flannel jacket as he ran; and a minute later they saw him in more professional guise beside the groom, who was urging the horse into a brisk canter as they passed along the lane beyond the meadow.
Meanwhile Aunt Sophia had read the letter. It was very brief, containing merely these words: “I am very ill. I do not feel confidence in my medical man. Pray, come and see me.—Anna Martlett.”
“Had we not better go over at once?” said Lady Scarlett eagerly; and the tears rose in her eyes.—“You will come, aunt?”
“Yes, of course, if it is necessary,” said Aunt Sophia. “But had we not better wait till the doctor returns?”
Kate Scarlett looked up at her husband, who nodded. “Yes,” he said; “I think aunt is right.”
So they waited.