“Won’t you sit down?” she asked, more and more impressed that she had not received him very graciously. “Or perhaps you had better come into the drawing room. Chris—I mean mother—may be vexed to know you are here.”
The mere fact of his announced connection with Sir Mark Wentworth made Polly feel it incumbent upon her to show him a great deal of attention. The air of mystery and grandeur with which the name of Mark Wentworth was guarded by Christina warranted this. Indeed she trembled a little as she imagined all Chrissie would say when this interview was faithfully repeated.
“I will stay here, thank you,” Mr. Ambleton answered her, not very amiably. He stood in the same place with his back to the fireplace, and Polly looked at him a little hopelessly.
He was so big, and strong, and he looked so cross. It was a strange thought to come, but she did hope he was not going to worry her little mother. Her heart sank at his demeanor.
“I will get you a newspaper,” she was beginning again, nervously, when the door opened and Chrissie and her mother appeared.
Polly effected an introduction with pretty awkwardness.
“This is Mr. Valentine Ambleton, mother darling. He is a cousin of Sir Mark Wentworth’s, and he wishes to see you very particularly.”
“I will not detain you more than a few moments,” Ambleton broke in curtly, as he glanced half compassionately at Mrs. Pennington, and then turned his eyes in a scathing sort of fashion upon Christina. “I would offer you an apology for coming, only that I consider the circumstances of the case warrant my being here. I may as well state that I have a kind of responsibility in connection with my Cousin Mark, and on this ground I am here to-day to protest against this marriage with your daughter. Stay, hear me out,” the young man continued, half sternly, as Mrs. Pennington uttered a faint exclamation, “for your daughter I can have no feeling of antagonism, since she is a stranger to me; but as a woman whose life may be utterly marred, I have felt it my duty to put plain facts before her and her parents. My cousin, Mark Wentworth, is no fit husband for any young girl, since apart from other and most potent objections, he is a man whose tendencies under the influence of drink are dangerous in the fullest sense of the word. Had I been in England this summer I would have taken proper precautions to prevent Miss Pennington from standing in the position she occupies to-day.”
Polly had turned to leave the room when he had first commenced to speak, but his words held her rooted to the spot, and now she had moved back to her mother’s side and had slipped her hand into Mrs. Pennington’s cold one.
Never had she seen her mother’s face wear such a look as was written on it now.