Speaking to Papa.
Meanwhile Trevor was on his way to Tolcarne, where he was shown into the library. He felt flushed and excited, but he had come with the confidence of a conqueror; and, besides, he could feel that he was no ineligible parti for the young lady.
“Poor Franky, I know he’s bitten by that little fairy,” he said, as he waited impatiently—the “directly” of Edward, who had announced that Sir Hampton was in the garden and would come, having extended to ten minutes.
“Hang the formality of these things!” said Trevor. “I could talk to that dear little woman, Lady Rea, by the hour without feeling uncomfortable; but as to pater—well, there; it’s only once in a man’s life. Here he is.”
The door leading into a farther passage opened this moment, and Trevor rose; but instead of encountering fierce Sir Hampton, in skipped petite Fin, to run up to him flushed and excited, but with her eyes sparkling with pleasure.
She placed both her little hands in his, and her words came in hurried jerks, as she exclaimed—
“Tiny told me all about it—last night—Oh, I’m so glad!”
“That’s right, little fairy,” laughed Trevor, smiling down on the pleasant little face.
“But there’s been such a rumpus, and I came to tell you before pa came.”
“Indeed,” said Trevor, retaining the little hands, though there was no effort made to remove them.
“Yes, pa’s been raging and bullying poor Tiny so. Those friends of yours came and proposed for us, and papa said they might come, and he is horribly cross about it. But you won’t give way?”
“Do I look as if I would?” said Trevor.
“No; and I am glad, because I think you do like Tiny.”
“Like?”
“Well, love her, then. Ma likes you, too.”
“And little Fin?”
“There’s little Fin’s answer,” said the girl, with tears in her eyes, and she held up her face and kissed him with quiet gravity. “Oh, let me go,” she cried, and she struggled from his arms and fled, leaving him to turn round and face Sir Hampton and Aunt Matty, who had entered by the other door.
“What does this mean, sir?” exclaimed Sir Hampton, furiously. “Er-rum! I am astounded!”
“Merely, Sir Hampton, that your daughter was willing to accord to me the licence that she would to a brother.”
Aunt Matty was heard to mutter something about vulgar assurance, and Trevor flushed as Sir Hampton motioned him to a chair, took one, and crossed his legs; but he was determined not to be angry, and he went on—
“Our meetings, so far, Sir Hampton, have been unfortunate, and I have come over this morning to try and set myself at one with you. I presume I am to speak before Miss Rea?”
“My sister is in my confidence, and is my adviser,” said Sir Hampton, in the tone he had prepared for the magisterial bench.
“Then, Sir Hampton, speaking as a frank, blunt sailor, I humbly ask your pardon for any lapses of politeness wherein I have been guilty, and also beg of you to forgive me for my conduct last night.”
“A perfect outrage—barbarous,” said Aunt Matty.
“Er-rum!—Matilda, let the young man speak,” said Sir Hampton, magisterially.
“It was, I am aware, very foolish of me, but I was carried away by my feelings. Sir Hampton Rea, I love your daughter, Valentina.”
“Absurd!” exclaimed Miss Matilda, who remained standing.
“I ventured to tell her so last night, in explaining away a little misapprehension that had existed between us.”
“I never heard such assurance!” said Miss Matilda.
“Matty—er-rum! Matilda, I mean, have the goodness not to interrupt the pris—I mean—er-rum—the statement that is being made.”
“If I could feel warrant for such a proceeding,” continued Trevor, calmly, “I intended to speak to you this morning, and ask your consent, even as I spoke to Lady Rea last night, before I addressed your daughter.”
“Just like Fanny—encouraging it!” muttered Aunt Matty.
“Go on, sir, I am listening,” said Sir Hampton, telling himself this was quite a preparation for the bench.
“I came, then, Sir Hampton, to formally propose for your daughter’s hand. Though comparatively a stranger to you, I am well known here—of one of the most ancient county families—and I have eight thousand a year. That, Sir Hampton, is putting the matter in a plain, business-like form. If I am wanting in the proper etiquette, my excuse is my seafaring life.”
“Exactly,” said Aunt Matty, satirically.
The words “prisoner at the bar” were on Sir Hampton’s lips, but he did not utter them; he only rolled his words nice and round, and infused as much dignity as was possible into his tones. “The young man” had insulted him, but he could afford to treat him with dignified composure.
“Mr Trevor,” he began, “I have listened to your remarks with patience”—magisterial here, very—“I have, er-rum I heard your application. For your friends’ sake, I was willing to condone”—capital magisterial word, and he liked it so much that he said it again—“er-rum! to condone that which was past. Er-rum! but under the circumstances, near neighbours as we are, I think it better that all communication”—the clearest magisterial tone here, and repeated—“er-rum! communication between us should cease.”
“Decidedly!” put in Aunt Matty, arranging her mittens.
“Er-rum—hear me out, sir”—a magisterial wave of the hand here, and a quiet settling down into the chair, as of one about to pass sentence—“Er-rum—as to your formal matrimonial proposals, they are quite out of the question. Captain Vanleigh has honoured me by proposing for my daughter Valentina’s hand, and he is accepted.”
“By the young lady?” exclaimed Trevor.
“Er-rum! there is no occasion for us to enter upon that point, Mr Trevor, for—tut! tut! what do you want here, Lady Rea?—this is business.”
“Fanny!” exclaimed Miss Matilda, as her sister-in-law entered the room, walked up to Trevor, shook hands very warmly, and then accepted the chair he vacated on her behalf.
“Thank you, Mr Trevor. Matty, I think any of my husband’s affairs that are business for you, are business for me,” said Lady Rea, firmly; “and as I know why Mr Trevor has visited us this morning, I came down.”
Aunt Matty looked yellow with anger, and for a few moments Sir Hampton’s magisterial dignity was so upset that he could only ejaculate “Er-rum” three times at a few seconds’ interval. It was awful, this manifestation of firmness on his wife’s part, and he could only glare fiercely.
“What have you been saying to Mr Trevor?” said Lady Rea, earnestly.
“Sir Hampton informs me that the young lady is irrevocably engaged to Captain Vanleigh,” said Trevor, quietly. “May I appeal to Miss Rea?”
“My daughters will leave us to discriminate as to—er-rum—what is good for them,” said Sir Hampton, stiffly. “Mr Trevor, we must bring this very unpleasant interview to an end. Sir—er-rum!—you have heard my—er-rum—ultimatum!”
Aunt Matty bowed, and smiled a wintry smile, that was as cold as her steely eyes.
Trevor directed a piteous look at Lady Rea, and without a moment’s hesitation she exclaimed—
“It’s all stuff and nonsense, Hampy! I won’t stand by and see either of my darlings made miserable!”
“Frances!” exclaimed Aunt Matty.
“Er-rum!” exclaimed Sir Hampton, and he sent at his wife a withering look.
“You can say what you like,” cried the little lady, ruffling up like a very bantam hen in defence of her chicks; and now, for the first time, Trevor saw a trace of Fin. “I say I won’t stand by and see my darlings made miserable. Tiny told me not ten minutes ago, crying up in her own room as if her heart would break, that she would sooner die than listen to Captain Vandells.”
“Vanleigh,” said Aunt Matilda, contemptuously.
“Vandells, or Vanleigh, or Vandunk, I don’t care a button what his ugly Dutch name is!” cried Lady Rea, angrily; “and I say it shan’t go on!”
“Hampton!” began Aunt Matty, “do you intend—”
“Didn’t I tell you not to interfere, Matilda?” exclaimed Sir Hampton, pettishly.
Aunt Matty darted an indignant glance at him, gathered up her skirts, and sailed out of the room, Sir Hampton wiping his perspiring brow.
“I thank you for your kindness, Lady Rea,” said Trevor. “I will go now; perhaps another time Sir Hampton will accord me an interview.”
“No; don’t you go, my dear boy,” said Lady Rea, earnestly, and she took his hand. “I give way in nearly everything, but I’m not going to give way in this.”
“Fanny, this is foolishness,” said Sir Hampton, who looked as if in a state of collapse.
“It’s such foolishness as this that makes people happy,” said Lady Rea; “and if Mr Trevor loves my darling, as I know she loves him, no one shall stand in their way.”
“But, Fanny,” said Sir Hampton, “I...”
“Look here, Hampy, you used to be very fond of me. Now, how would you have liked my father to make me marry some one else?”
“May I come in?” said a little voice; and Fin peeped in, entered, and closed the door. “I saw Aunt Matty go, so I came. Oh, pa, dear, Tiny is in such trouble—how could you?”
She seated herself on his knee, nestled up to him, and the knight began to stroke her hair.
“There now,” said Fin, “I knew pa would be a dear kind old dad, as soon as he knew about Tiny. There now, I may fetch her down.”
“No, no, Finetta, certainly not, I...”
Fin was gone.
“There, Hampy,” said Lady Rea, going up to him, “you do love your children.”
“I don’t like it—I—I protest against it!” exclaimed Sir Hampton, struggling against the bonds his woman folk had wreathed around him.
“Sir Hampton,” said Trevor, holding out his hand, “say you relent.”
“And—er-rum!—how the deuce—devil am I to face those gentlemen?” exclaimed Sir Hampton.
“I’ll see them,” said Lady Rea, firmly. “Here’s Tiny.”
In effect that young lady entered, red-eyed, wet-cheeked, and blushing, to throw herself on her father’s breast, and cling there sobbing violently, while Fin took the precaution to lock the door.
“I don’t like it, Tiny, I—er-rum!—I...”
“Oh, dear papa, I could not marry him,” sobbed Tiny—and her emotion was so excessive that Sir Hampton grew frightened, and soothed and petted her till her sobs grew less violent, when Trevor approached and took her hand, and unresistingly drew her to him, till she hid her face in his breast.
Then there was a fine scene. Poor Lady Rea ran up to them, kissed Tiny, and tried to kiss Trevor, but could not reach, till he bent lower. After which she broke into a violent fit of sobbing, and plumped herself down in the nearest chair, Fin tending her for a moment, and then fetching Sir Hampton to her side, to ask forgiveness.
Next there was a general display of pocket-handkerchiefs. Fin gave a hysterical hurrah, and kissed everybody in turn, ending by exclaiming, as she sobbed aloud—
“And now we’re all happy!”
In fact there were smiles upon every face but Sir Hampton’s, and he, feebly saying he did not like it, was left alone as the party adjourned to the drawing-room.
“Lady Rea, I have you to thank for this,” said Trevor, affectionately. “How am I ever to show it?”
“By being very, very, very kind to my darling there,” said Lady Rea, pitifully; “for you’re a bad, cruel man to come and win away her love.”
Then, of course, there was a great deal more kissing, ending in a burst of merriment; for Fin dashed, wet-eyed, to the piano, and rattled off, “Haste to the Wedding,” running into Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March,” till Tiny went and closed the instrument.
At that moment Edward, the footman, knocked at the door, and entered, saying to Lady Rea—
“If you please, m’lady, Miss Matilda’s took bad, and wants the doctor. Who shall I send?”
“Gracious, Edward! what is it?” said Lady Rea.
“Please, m’lady, they think it’s spasms,” said the footman.
Lady Rea ran out, and the doctor was sent for from St Kitt’s; but, by the time he arrived, Aunt Matty’s spasms were better.
And so Richard Trevor, master of Penreife, became engaged to Valentina Rea, of Tolcarne.