“Yes, by Jove, Harry; I believe I behaved but shabbily to you in that affair; but ‘Love and War,’ you know; and besides we had a distinct agreement drawn up between us.”
“All true; and after all you are perhaps less to blame than my own miserable fortune that lies in wait to entrap and disappoint me at every turn in life. Tell me what do you know of the Callonbys?”
“Nothing personally; we have met them at dinner, a visit passed subsequently between us, ‘et voila tout;’ they have been scenery hunting, picture hunting, and all that sort of thing since their arrival; and rarely much in Munich; but how do you stand there? to be or not to be—eh?”
“That is the very question of all others I would fain solve; and yet am in most complete ignorance of all about it; but the time approaches which must decide all. I have neither temper nor patience for further contemplation of it; so here goes; success to the Enterprize.”
“Or,” said Jack, tossing off his glass at the moment, “or, as they would say in Ireland, ‘your health and inclinations, if they be virtuous.’”
“And now, Jack, tell me something of your own fortunes since the day you passed me in the post-chaise and four.”
“The story is soon told. You remember that when I carried off Mary, I had no intention of leaving England whatever: my object was, after making her my wife, to open negociations with the old colonel, and after the approved routine of penitential letters, imploring forgiveness, and setting forth happiness only wanting his sanction to make it heaven itself, to have thrown ourselves at his feet ‘selon les regles,’ sobbed, blubbered, blew our noses, and dressed for dinner, very comfortable inmates of that particularly snug residence, ‘Hydrabad Cottage.’ Now Mary, who behaved with great courage for a couple of days, after that got low-spirited and depressed; the desertion of her father, as she called it, weighed upon her mind, and all my endeavours to rally and comfort her, were fruitless and unavailing. Each day, however, I expected to hear something of, or from, the colonel, that would put an end to this feeling of suspense; but no—three weeks rolled on, and although I took care that he knew of our address, we never received any communication. You are aware that when I married, I knew Mary had, or was to have, a large fortune; and that I myself had not more than enough in the world to pay the common expenses of our wedding tour. My calculation was this—the reconciliation will possibly, what with delays of post—distance—and deliberation, take a month—say five weeks—now, at forty pounds per week, that makes exactly two hundred pounds—such being the precise limit of my exchequer, when blessed with a wife, a man, and a maid, three imperials, a cap-case, and a poodle, I arrived at the Royal Hotel, in Edinburgh. Had I been Lord Francis Egerton, with his hundred thousand a year, looking for a new ‘distraction,’ at any price; or still more—were I a London shopkeeper, spending a Sunday in Boulogne sur Mer, and trying to find out something expensive, as he had only one day to stay, I could not have more industriously sought out opportunities for extravagance, and each day contrived to find out some two or three acquaintances to bring home to dinner. And as I affected to have been married for a long time, Mary felt less genee among strangers, and we got on famously; still the silence of the colonel weighed upon her mind, and although she partook of none of my anxieties from that source, being perfectly ignorant of the state of my finances, she dwelt so constantly upon this subject, that I at length yielded to her repeated solicitations, and permitted her to write to her father. Her letter was a most proper one; combining a dutiful regret for leaving her home, with the hope that her choice had been such as to excuse her rashness, or, at least, palliate her fault. It went to say, that her father’s acknowledgment of her, was all she needed or cared for, to complete her happiness, and asking for his permission to seek it in person. This was the substance of the letter, which upon the whole, satisfied me, and I waited anxiously for the reply. At the end of five days the answer arrived. It was thus:—
“‘Dear Mary,
“‘You have chosen your own path in life, and having done so, I have neither the right nor inclination to interfere with your decision; I shall neither receive you, nor the person you have made your husband; and to prevent any further disappointment, inform you that, as I leave this to-morrow, any future letters you might think proper to address, will not reach me.
“‘Yours very faithful,
C. Kamworth,
Hydrabad Cottage.’