Mr. Barkley passed that night in all the torture of self-reproach. More than once, after he returned from the ambassador's, he attempted to write an apology to Colonel de St. Severan, but each time he tore up what he had written, feeling that it would look like a mockery to send an apology after that night's work, as he knew that of course the de St. Severans must hear of his engagement. When he did at last go to bed, he lay tossing on it with sleepless eyes and a racking headache as well as heartache.
The next morning he went into his father's room, about ten o'clock, looking so "seedy" and haggard that the latter exclaimed—
"Why, Edmund, you must have supped after the ball last night. You certainly look as if you had a good bout of it."
"Such an one, sir, as I shall never forget, only it was at the ball and not after it," answered his son; "and I have come to tell you that my happiness is destroyed for life, but your wishes are gratified. Miss Molyneux is my affianced wife. I hope she has money enough for you!"
"My dear Edmund, you amaze me! I should indeed have been delighted to hear of your engagement if you did not speak of it in this extraordinary manner. Surely I did not insist upon your proposing to Miss Molyneux."
"No, but you drove me to desperation by opposing my marriage with the woman I love. I behaved like a scoundrel to her and to Colonel de St. Severan; then to escape from my own thoughts I drank and gambled until I was half mad with excitement, and in that state I proposed to Miss Molyneux."
"Don't flurry yourself about it, my dear boy; under the circumstances, we can explain away anything a little too tender which you may have said to Miss Molyneux. I should be very sorry if you were to marry a girl whom you don't like; and as for the de St. Severan affair, I don't understand what you mean. I saw the colonel yesterday morning and explained everything to him. Why, we parted like the dearest friends in the world!"
"I know it, sir, but I have seen Colonel de St. Severan since, and——, but, no, I cannot speak of it. Now, with regard to Miss Molyneux," he continued, hurriedly; "you are mistaken in supposing that I merely said something too tender to her which could be explained away. I told you expressly that she was my affianced wife. I was not drunk enough—would that I had been—to talk nonsense; only enough to act like a madman. I proposed formally to Miss Molyneux, and she as—no far more—formally accepted me, and marched me up to 'papa.' As to not liking her, why I could no more like or dislike her than I could a beautiful piece of marble, so I may as well marry her as anybody else, since I am not to have the only one whom I love."
"Still, Edmund, it appears to me that you would do well to think a little more about this before you go any further."
"It's all very well for you, sir, to talk in this way now after you have driven me into it. I have twice said that I can't draw back unless I behave in the same manner to Miss Molyneux as I have done to that little angel, Marie Arbi. But let there be an end to all discussion. The die is cast. We must go to old Molyneux this morning, and you may make any arrangements you like with him, but I leave Paris to-morrow. I am not going to stay here to be a lasting insult to my poor lost darling. At what hour will you come with me to my future father-in-law?"