Name and Fame: A Novel

by Adeline Sergeant

His wife only shook her head, and said, drily, that she would not undertake to prophesy.

"Prophesy? My dear Selina, I merely want you to exert common caution and foresight. There is but one thing to do with Anna. We must get her married as soon as ever we can, before she is twenty-one, if possible. She must marry a man on our own side, some years older than herself—a man of the world, who will look after her property and teach her common-sense—a man who can restrain her, and guide her, and make her happy. I would give a thousand pounds to find such a man."

But in his own heart the baronet believed that he had found him, for he thought of his friend, Sydney Campion.

Campion had small private means, if any; he knew that; but then he seemed likely to be one of the foremost men of the day, and if he could achieve his present position at his age, what would he not be in ten years' time? Quite a match for Anna Pynsent, in spite of her beauty and her sixty thousand pounds. If Nan had been a little more commonplace, Sir John would have aspired higher for her. But there was a strain of "quixotry," as he called it, in her nature, which made him always uncertain as to her next action. And he felt that it would be a relief to him to have her safely married to a friend of his own, and one whom he could influence, if necessary, in the right direction, like Sydney Campion.

Campion was a handsome fellow, too, and popular, Sir John believed, with the ladies. It was all the more odd and unaccountable that Nan seemed to have taken a dislike to him. She would not talk about his doings; she would go out if she thought that he was likely to call. Sir John could not understand it. And Campion seemed shy of coming to the house in Eaton Square when the Pynsents returned to town; he was pleasant enough with Sir John at the Club, but he did not appear to wish for much social intercourse with Sir John's wife and sister. The worthy baronet would have been a little huffed, but for the preoccupation of his mind with other matters, chiefly political.

But this was in November and December; and he knew that Campion's mother had lately died, and that he was anxious about that clever sister of his, who had lately written a good novel, and then been ill, and had gone to Italy. There was that Walcott affair, too, which had lately come to Sir John's ears, a very awkward affair for Campion to have his sister's name mixed up in. Probably that was the reason why he was holding back. Very nice of Campion, very nice. And Sir John became doubly cordial in his manner, and pressed Sydney to dine with him next week.

With some reluctance, Sydney accepted the invitation. He had been perilously near making a fool of himself with Miss Pynsent, and he knew that she had found it out. It was quite enough to make him feel angry and resentful, and to wish to avoid her. At the same time, he was conscious of a feeling of regret that he had muddled matters so completely—for Miss Pynsent was a lovely girl, her violin-playing was delicious, she had sixty thousand pounds, and Sir John was his friend.

Sydney lost himself for a moment in a reverie.

"Not very likely," he said, waking up with a rather uneasy laugh. "At the best of times, I should never have had much chance. There are a good many reasons against it now." And it was with a slight shade upon his brow that he dismissed the matter from his mind and applied himself to business.

He need not have troubled himself. When he went to dine in Eaton Square, Miss Pynsent was absent. She had gone to spend the evening with a friend. Evidently, thought Sydney, with an odd feeling of discomfiture, because she wanted to avoid him. How ridiculous it was! What a self-conscious little fool she must be to take offense at a compliment, even if it were rather obvious, and not in the best possible taste! He began to feel angry with Miss Pynsent. It did not occur to him for some time that he was expending a great deal of unusual warmth and irritation on a very trifling matter. What were Miss Pynsent and her opinions to him? Other women admired him, if she did not; other women were ready enough to accept his flattery. But just because there was one thing out of his reach, one woman who showed a positive distaste for his society, Sydney, like the spoiled child of the world that he was, was possessed by a secret hankering for that one thing, for the good opinion of the woman who would have none of him. Vanity was chiefly to blame for this condition of things; but Sydney's vanity was a plant of very long and steady growth.