A DISCOVERY AND ITS RESULT.
Reginald Fraser left Park Lane after the last evening of Mary Armstrong's visit full of determination to call upon her father on the following day.
In spite of the effeminate and nil admirari style of the young officer, he had many amiable qualities, and was not quite deserving of the title of a "good-natured fool," which his brother officers applied to him.
Motherless from his birth, an orphan before he had reached the age of four years, the almost neglected child was placed by his grandfather at a preparatory school for little boys. From this he passed to Eton, and after studying at the Woolwich Academy entered the Guards, and at the age of twenty-four obtained his company.
At Woolwich he had formed an acquaintance with Charles Herbert, and this young officer before starting for Canada had said to his mother—
"Mother, I wish you would look after that easy-going young fellow Fraser, he's got more money than he knows what to do with, and the sooner he finds a wife the better, or he'll get fleeced and no mistake."
Mrs. Herbert remembered this request of her son's, and while in Park Lane she encouraged the young officer to make their house his home.
This report of his wealth had already made him a welcome visitor at the houses of scheming mothers, and many well-born but worldly girls were ready to fall in love with his money and his possessions, while secretly despising the owner for the shyness and indifference with which he treated their advances to a better acquaintance. He had, however, been introduced to very few families when Mary Armstrong made her appearance at the house of his oldest friends, the Herberts, and it soon became evident to every one but the young lady herself, that Reginald Fraser, when he had summoned courage enough to do so, would offer himself and his possessions to Mary Armstrong.
Such indeed was his intention, or at least to make known his wishes to her father, when he left Park Lane on that July evening; but on reaching his quarters in St. James's Park, the official notice that his regiment was ordered to Windsor on the morrow upset all his plans.
Strange to say, he felt relieved at the thought of a few days' delay; he dreaded the ordeal, although he had for hours been screwing up his courage to make the venture, so painful to his natural shyness and reserve. A few days would not matter; perhaps it was best to leave Miss Armstrong to prepare the way for his visit by mentioning his name, and so on.
If Reginald Fraser could have foreseen what would happen during these few days he might have recalled the proverb, "Delays are dangerous," in time to escape a new and formidable difficulty.
Mary Armstrong had arranged to return home in time for the commencement of her brother's holidays. Not all the pleasant attractions in Park Lane could have induced her to allow the anxiety and care which their presence would cause, to devolve upon her mother.
For three days, however—days which afterwards were never forgotten, although their memory was rendered painful by contrast—Mary Armstrong enjoyed the loving society of her parents alone. After an early breakfast with her father, during the day till dinner she devoted herself entirely to her mother, relieving her as usual of all domestic supervision; sometimes walking with her, reading to her, or painting, while she worked and talked.
And yet how dissimilar were the causes which made both parents receive their daughter on her return home with a proud affection which almost surprised her!
Not perhaps exactly at the moment of her return, but after the first evening, when she described to them with sparkling eyes and eager delight the scenes she had witnessed, the places she had visited, and the company she had met.
There was no reticence of manner now; persons and conversations were spoken of with ease; and among other names, that of Reginald Fraser, Charles Herbert's friend.
"And what sort of a young man is Captain Fraser?" asked her mother.
"Well, mamma, he is tall and rather handsome, but I am afraid not very wise: he was at uncle's house every day, but he had scarcely ever a word to say for himself, except once, when I happened to speak about horses, and then his talk was far beyond my comprehension. I used to avoid him at first, till aunt told me he had been motherless from his birth, and was an orphan with few acquaintances in London, so I tried to amuse him and make him talk because he was aunt Helen's guest, but I must confess it was not a very pleasant occupation."
"But why did this task fall upon you, Mary?" asked her father; "were no other ladies present?"
"Oh yes, often; but they soon appeared to get tired of his society. I believe Captain Fraser is very amiable and good-tempered, but he is the shyest man I ever met."
"And who is this shy, reticent gentleman?" asked her father. "Is he worth all the trouble he gives to young ladies in society?"
"I suppose he is, papa, for aunt told me his great-uncle is a duke, and his grandfather, who died about six months ago, left him a beautiful estate in Westmorland, and twelve thousand a year."
After saying this in a tone of voice that showed how utterly indifferent she felt to the facts she had stated, Mary Armstrong without an effort turned the subject to one more pleasing to herself—the new music and songs she had brought home with her.
While she sat at the piano playing and singing those on which she wished to have her mother's opinion, thoughts were passing through the minds of her parents of a very opposite character.
"That young captain is no doubt the man I one day met riding with Herbert," said her father to himself, "a fine aristocratic-looking fellow. What a splendid match he would be for Mary! but I suppose it is too much to expect such a man as that to marry a corn merchant's daughter. How absurd all this nonsense is about high birth and good connexions! This sprig of nobility, who is lucky enough to possess riches in addition to his other attractions, will easily find a wife among the 'upper ten' in spite of not being very wise."
How different from these were the thoughts of the gentle mother!
"My Mary is not spoilt by this little peep into the world of fashion; and I doubt very much if even twenty thousand a year would tempt her to unite herself to a man who requires to be amused and has nothing to say for himself."
And so for two days Mary had her mother's gentle love and her father's unusually kind attentions all to herself. He had reasoned himself into the conviction that the young officer had been attracted by his daughter, although she was evidently not aware of it.
"I'll get Herbert to introduce me some day," he said to himself, "and then ask the captain down to dinner here. If such a position were offered to Mary, I do not suppose she would be fool enough to refuse, especially if supported by my authority. She seems to have forgotten that sentimental affair with the schoolmaster. I am very glad I settled him so completely in my reply to his letter. Maria tells me they have seen very little of the family since, excepting when the mother came for the character of a servant. And I can trust Mary; and—yes—well, the man himself; they are both above anything dishonourable."
Some such thoughts as these occupied the mind of Mr. Armstrong as he mounted his horse and rode slowly to town on the second morning after Mary's return to Lime Grove. How little he guessed that before they met at dinner his power over his daughter would be weakened by a painful discovery!
Mrs. Armstrong during the warm weather generally put off her walk till about four o'clock. The doctor had recommended walking exercise; and her husband to encourage this had delayed the purchase of an open carriage for his wife. The arrangement suited his purpose, and he was not far wrong in adhering to the old-fashioned opinion that walking is more truly conducive to health than driving.
Mrs. Armstrong enjoyed the country walk with Mary on the afternoon of which we write. The July day had been hot and sultry; but as they turned their steps homeward a pleasant breeze sprung up which was very exhilarating, and seemed to give Mrs. Armstrong additional strength.
As they passed Englefield Grange the schoolroom clock struck five, and almost at the same moment Mary saw coming towards them in an opposite direction an invalid chair, which she knew belonged to Mrs. Halford. More than once Mary and her mother had met the poor lady, now so completely a wreck of her former self, accompanied by Kate Marston, who in the midst of the tenderest care of her aunt could still manage to glance at the fair girl who had so fascinated her cousin Henry with genuine admiration.
Hitherto a kind inquiry respecting Mrs. Halford's health had been replied to by Kate with distant politeness; but to-day both mother and daughter saw with troubled surprise, that instead of her usual lady-friend, Mrs. Halford was accompanied by her son. Mrs. Armstrong intended to bow and pass on, for she had not forgotten her husband's angry remarks respecting the young man, nor her daughter's acknowledged admiration of his acquirements and talents.
To her astonishment, as they drew nearer, she saw the invalid lean forward and speak, and in a few moments the chair stopped, and Mrs. Halford held out her hand to Mrs. Armstrong, but her palsied head shook and her voice trembled as she said, "I am so glad to be able to speak to you again, Mrs. Armstrong; I am better, but I have been terribly shaken, as you can see."
All other emotions were lost in regret and sympathy, as Mrs. Armstrong for the first time saw the painful change which illness had made in the mother of Henry Halford; she pressed the offered hand, and spoke her commiserations in a tearful voice. The invalid, while she retained Mrs. Armstrong's hand, described her sufferings and sorrows, and spoke of her daughter's death; and her listener noticed with pain that not only the physical but the mental powers of Mrs. Halford had received a shock from which it was scarcely possible they could ever recover. Presently, as Mrs. Armstrong withdrew her hand and moved to glance at her daughter, the invalid said—
"I have my son with me now; he came home from Oxford last week. He looks pale, Mrs. Armstrong. Don't you think so?"
Mrs. Armstrong turned and bowed to Henry Halford.
She almost started at his white face and trembling lips as he raised his hat and said—
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Armstrong."
Then she turned and looked at her daughter. Never in her life had she seen her so pale.
Quickly recovering herself for the sake of the young people, she said in a cheering tone—
"Mr. Halford is perhaps studying too closely, so we must expect him to look pale and——"
"Yes, yes," interrupted the invalid, "but that is not all; he has never been well since your husband's reply to his letter about your daughter."
"Mother, mother, hush! you forget.—Forgive her, Mrs. Armstrong," he added, in a lower tone. "Her heart is broken about poor Fanny, she scarcely knows what she is talking about."
"But have any letters passed between you and Mr. Armstrong?" she asked with painful eagerness.
Mary had heard the invalid's words, and her pale cheeks flushed as she listened for Henry Halford's reply.
"One only from me," he said, "and Mr. Armstrong's answer, in which he refuses——" he stopped abruptly, and then said hurriedly, "But it is all past now. Pray excuse us, Mrs. Armstrong, it is time my mother was at home."
"Henry, I am very sorry, I did not mean it," exclaimed the poor broken-hearted mother, as she saw by her son's face and manner that he was painfully annoyed.
Mrs. Armstrong saw it also. She took the trembling hand in hers and said—
"Don't make yourself uneasy, my dear friend, it will all come right in time. We must trust and hope."
"Thank you, Mrs. Armstrong," said Henry, "you have helped me to trust and hope. I will never forget those words."
He took off his hat to the ladies as they turned to continue their walk, while the pallor which had so startled them had given place to the flush of hope which Mrs. Armstrong's words had excited.
For some moments neither mother nor daughter spoke, both were reflecting anxiously on what they had just heard. Mrs. Armstrong, although at first taken by surprise, could quite understand her husband's wish to conceal even from her the correspondence between himself and Henry Halford.
Her indignation at the evident pain it had caused to both mother and son made her utter those cheering words, which, however, she did not wish unsaid. She knew too well how bitterly her husband could write on a subject which irritated him, and she shrunk from the thought of what insults that letter might have contained.
But the daughter's feelings on the matter were far more intense and painful, not because Henry Halford had offered and been refused, not from any fear of what her father's letter might have said to cause pain, but from surprise and distress at the concealment.
Children whose parents are able to support parental authority have generally the greatest faith in their knowledge, their opinions, and their judgment.
"My father says so," "My mamma knows best," are often uttered or thought by young people; and on this account children who live entirely at home grow up narrow-minded, and under the influence of certain opinions which they consider right in contradistinction from all others.
Mary Armstrong had very narrowly escaped from such an influence, still her confidence in her father had been unbounded. He had taught her to be open, candid, straightforward, and truthful; and now she had found that while speaking of the schoolmaster as having forgotten the young lady to whom he had been so polite at Oxford, and now and then indulging in a joke about the impossibility of a student being able to love anything but his books, he had known of this young man's love for his daughter, and refused him without one word of reference to herself.
She had yet to learn the hardening effects produced by a growing love of money and the acquirement of wealth.
They had nearly reached the gate entrance to Lime Grove, when her mother said—
"Mary dear, what passed between you and Mr. Halford, while I was talking to his mother?"
"Only a few polite inquiries after my health, and remarks on the weather; indeed, I could scarcely make a commonplace reply, for his white face frightened me; but I understand it all now. Oh, mamma, I cannot tell you how distressed I feel at the discovery we have made, because it lowers my father in my estimation. Oh, if he had only told me!"
Mrs. Armstrong sighed as they entered the gate; she had tried for years to believe that her husband was the soul of honour; and though she could account for the concealment of Mr. Halford's letter from his daughter, yet she knew too well that he was not the strictly honourable man in many matters which he wished to appear.
Mother and daughter entered the dining-room on that memorable evening totally unprepared for the scene which was about to take place.
Mr. Armstrong appeared in the most exuberant spirits; he joked with his daughter, complimented his wife, and during dinner made himself altogether so very agreeable, that Mary's anger against him was fast fading from her heart, in which filial love had so long found a place.
The cloth had been removed, and the wine and dessert of summer fruit placed on the table in the style of olden times, before Mr. Armstrong ventured to refer to the subject which had so raised his spirits.
"I had a visitor in Dover Street to-day, Maria," he said, addressing his wife, "and I have asked him to dine with us to-morrow."
"Uncle Herbert, papa?" said Mary.
"No, my dear, but a friend of his who inquired very kindly after you."
"After me, papa? Who can it be? a lady or a gentleman?"
"Is there any gentleman friend of your uncle's who you think would be likely to inquire after you?"
"Well, papa, yes; several I met at Park Lane would ask for me, I daresay." Then suddenly she added, "Oh, perhaps it was Captain Fraser; he told me he should pay you a visit some day."
"Why did you not mention, this, Mary?"
"I forgot it, papa, till your remark reminded me of it. I never cared to remember Captain Fraser's sayings."
"You are not kind then, Mary, for he speaks of you in the highest terms. He has not forgotten you, most certainly."
"I am very sorry, papa," she replied, "but I cannot appreciate his praise as it deserves; he is so very effeminate and weak-minded, that had he not been the guest of uncle and aunt Herbert I should scarcely have been even civil to him."
There was a bitterness in Mary's manner and speech, occasioned by the discovery of the afternoon; for while her father spoke she could not help comparing the two young men, with very great loss to the subject of their present conversation.
All at once to Mary's memory arose the teachings of her dear grandfather. "I have no right to despise this young captain," she said to herself; "it is not his fault that he is so inferior to others in intellect;" and she was just about to speak kindly of his temper and disposition, when her father said, in a tone that startled her—
"You will have to be more than civil to Captain Fraser to-morrow, Mary, for he has asked me for the hand of my daughter, and I expect you to accept him."
"Father! What do you mean?"
The tone of voice, the calm yet determined utterance, startled Mr. Armstrong, yet he said firmly—
"I mean what I say, Mary. Here is a man connected with some of the highest of England's aristocracy, and in addition to personal advantages he possesses a noble estate and a rent-roll of 12,000l. a year. He comes forward honourably, and offers to marry my daughter, and make her mistress of all these honours and possessions, and she asks me what I mean!"
Mary did not reply, but with a will unbending as her father's she resolved that nothing should induce her to marry Reginald Fraser.
"Why do you not speak, Mary?" said her father at last, in a tone of voice that Mrs. Armstrong knew betokened an outburst of passion.
"Do not oblige Mary to decide to-night, Edward," said the gentle voice of his wife; "give her a few hours to think over the advantages of such a marriage, and——"
"No, mamma," interrupted Mary; and while she spoke her face was pale and her lips white, but her voice was clear and firm, "I do not require even a few minutes to decide. I have been associated with Captain Fraser daily for a month, and I could not marry him if he were fifty times more rich or more well connected than he is."
Mr. Armstrong rose from his chair, his face livid with passion.
"Do you dare to oppose my wishes? Am I to be defied by my own daughter? If you do not accept this gentleman who honours you by his preference, I swear——"
"Stop! stop, Edward!" and his wife's hand was placed on his arm, "why should you wish to force your child in a matter so important as marriage? Do not say anything now that you may afterwards regret."
The effort caused the gentle wife to sink back in her chair, faint with excitement.
Mary flew to her mother, and standing by her, she turned to her father, who said in a slightly subdued tone—
"I have a right to expect my own daughter to obey me when it is for her future good."
"No, my father," said Mary, who though deathly white was still calm, "you have lost that right. If you had told me of Henry Halford's letter to you openly and candidly, instead of concealing it and sending a refusal without one word of reference to me, I would then have given way to your wishes without a murmur, but now you cannot expect me to do so."
She assisted her mother to rise as she ceased speaking, and they left the room together in silence, Mr. Armstrong being too completely stunned by Mary's speech to utter a word in reply.
Surprise, not only at Mary's manner, but also at the discovery that she had by some means heard of Mr. Henry Halford's letter respecting herself, subdued for a time his rising anger, and presently he threw himself into an easy-chair and began to reflect.
Not for long, however, for Mary, after soothing her mother, and placing her on the sofa near the window, that the sweet calm of the summer evening might bring repose to her startled nerves, returned to the dining-room.
Mr. Armstrong scarcely noticed her approach till she threw herself on her knees by his chair, and exclaimed—
"Forgive me, my father, I forgot myself just now; I ought not to have spoken to you as I did; but why, oh! why did you not tell me of Mr. Henry Halford's letter?"
The words, the pleading tones for pardon, softened for a time the violent passions of the father; he placed his arm round his daughter, and said—
"My child, how could I consent to such a marriage for you, with nothing but poverty to look forward to, whether as the wife of a schoolmaster or a curate? The young man's letter proved that; and now you are mad enough to refuse an offer that even a duke's daughter might envy; why is this?"
"Papa, I could not marry to be ashamed of my husband; how could I honour and respect him if I found him inferior in knowledge to myself? Papa, if you intended me to marry only for money and position, why did you give me such a superior education? How do you suppose I could be satisfied with a man less clever than my own father? I know," she continued, changing her tone, "that Captain Fraser is good, and gentle; and amiable, but if you have seen him, and talked with him, you must know how far inferior he is in every way mentally to Mr. Henry Halford."
"And I suppose, then, you want me to consent to your marrying a man who expects me to advance sufficient money as your marriage portion to enable him to support his wife?"
"No, my father, I will never marry without your consent, and I do not expect you to give that consent to a man whom you treat as you would a beggar; but I want you to understand how impossible it is for me to accept any one else, even if he were as rich as Crœsus. Ah, papa," she continued, clinging to his arm, "suppose mamma's relations had treated you as you have treated Mr. Henry Halford!"
"But I had money, child."
"And can money make amends for the absence of everything else? are rich people always happy? Oh, papa," continued the young girl, who knew not with what a firm grasp the demon of gold had seized upon her father's heart, "you were not always like this; only promise me that I shall not be asked to marry a man just for money and position, and I shall not care about being married at all. I would rather live at home with you and dear mamma, for I am sure I shall never be happier anywhere else."
The pleading voice, the consciousness that he had not acted rightly respecting Henry Halford's letter, and that in many points his daughter's remarks were correct, softened the father. He drew her closely to his heart, and said—
"Mary, my child, although I cannot consent to your marriage with Mr. Henry Halford, yet I promise you that you shall not be troubled with any other suitors till you choose one for yourself of whom I can approve. And now," he continued, rising, "let us go to your mother."
But at this kindness on her father's part Mary felt her firmness giving way. Hastily returning his proffered kiss, she rushed upstairs to her room, and gave vent to her long-controlled feelings in a burst of tears.
Meanwhile Mr. Armstrong was cheering his wife's heart by relating what he had promised to Mary; and when she appeared on the announcement that tea was ready, there was a look of calm happiness on her face in spite of the reddened eyelids, which alone remained to bear testimony to the tears which had relieved her over-charged heart.