SIR JOSEPH'S INTENTIONS
In time Sir Joseph Branwin gradually recovered his usual rude health, although there was no doubt that the unexpected and tragic death of his wife had shaken his system severely. But his feeling for her decease was not one of regret. Doubtless he had once loved her in an animal way, which might have had its beginning in a purer affection, when the rustic lovers wandered as boy and girl through the Bleakleigh Woods in Somersetshire. But since the big man had become a prominent personage in the political, social and stockbroking worlds, the uncomely looks of the poor woman had rapidly become offensive to his more cultivated taste. He was annoyed by her unwieldy appearance, by her simple manners; and it irritated him that she was not sufficiently educated to shine in the circles to which his wealth procured him admission. The rich setting of success suited to a diamond was thrown away on a common stone. And Lady Branwin--as Sir Joseph wrathfully told himself on many occasions--was merely an ordinary pebble on the beach.
In his daughter Audrey the millionaire could have found the hostess he required for the gorgeous mansion on Camden Hill. She had been born in the purple of wealth; she had been admirably educated; and, besides being an exceptionally pretty girl, her manners were attractive. But Sir Joseph had never loved this daughter of the wife he disliked, even though he was her father. Audrey was far too frank and honest for him, and did not seem to appreciate her advantages as the only child and heiress of a wealthy man. Her preference was for the simple life, and she found the frivolous doings and trifling chatter of society excessively boring. Also she had set her affections on a young man who, as yet, occupied no position in the world. Branwin did not mind if Audrey married a pauper, so long as that pauper possessed a title; but that she should wish to become the wife of a commoner who had yet to make his way in the world was a heinous sin in the successful parvenu's eyes. Finally, Sir Joseph had always resented the sex of Audrey. He had ardently desired an heir, and it was one of his grievances against the unhappy Lady Branwin that she had not presented him with a son. Now that the stumbling-block of an objectionable wife had been removed Sir Joseph saw a chance of realising his ambition. Before he rose from his sick-bed he determined to marry again as speedily as possible, in the hope that a male child would be born to inherit his wealth and title. Then Audrey could marry her barrister, and he would wash his hands of her once and for all. Branwin would not have admitted his feelings to the world, but in his heart he was thankful that his wife was dead.
Advised by the doctor, the millionaire prepared forthwith to remove to Brighton for a few weeks' fresh air; but when Audrey offered dutifully to accompany him, he refused brusquely. The father and daughter were at breakfast when she made the offer which was so rudely declined, and Sir Joseph, who prided himself on never letting the grass grow under his feet--so he put it--hinted to the girl that some day he would provide her with a stepmother. This point in the conversation he reached by easy stages, and began by advising her to cultivate Mrs. Mellop during his absence.
"Now your poor mother is out of the way," growled Sir Joseph, using the adjective as a grudging concession to the dead, "you can go about with Mrs. Mellop. She's a fool, but amusing and clever in her own way. As she's a widow with a limited income, you can offer her money if you like. She'll jump at the chance of doing the season for nothing. Then you can go to the theatres, garden-parties, and all the rest of the frivolities you like."
"I don't like such things," replied the girl, wearily. "I have been to so many, and they are nearly always the same--just like a stale circus. Besides, how can I go out when poor mother is scarcely cold in her grave?"
"I wish you wouldn't harp on that, Audrey," snapped Branwin, irritably, and rose from his chair. "You're always talking about your mother."
"Isn't it natural, papa? I loved her."
"Oh, it goes without speaking that you loved her; but she had a great many faults, my dear."
"Bury them with her, then," said Audrey, turning white with anger.