Kate Coventry: An Autobiography

by G. J. Whyte-Melville

Sure enough the Molasses party were absent, and there was no Frank Lovell. Then it was true, after all! He had sold himself to that lackadaisical young lady, and had been making a fool of me, Kate Coventry, the whole time. How angry I ought to have been! I was surprised to find I was not. On the contrary, my first feeling was one of inexpressible relief, as I thought there was now no earthly obstacle between myself and that kind face on the other side of the breakfast-table; though too soon a horrid tide of doubts and fears surged up as I reflected on my own unworthiness and caprice.

How I had undervalued that noble, generous character! How often I had wounded and annoyed him in sheer carelessness or petulance, and thought little of inflicting on him days of pain to afford myself the short and doubtful amusement of an hour's flirtation and folly!

What if he should cast me off now? What if he had obtained an insight into my character which had cured him entirely of any regard he might previously have entertained for me? What if I should find that I had all my life been neglecting the gem which I was too ignorant to appreciate, and now, when I knew its real value and would give my life for it, it was beyond my grasp?

At all events, I would never forget him. Come what might now, I would never care for another. I felt quite glad Frank Lovell was as good as married, and out of the way. The instant I had swallowed my breakfast I put my bonnet on and rushed into the garden, for I felt as if fresh air was indispensable to my very existence. The first person I met amongst the flower-beds was dear old Mr. Lumley. He had hobbled out on his crutches purposely to give me an interview. I thanked him, as if he had been my father, for all his kindness; and he talked to me gently and considerately, as a parent would to a child.

"I promised you, my dear, that they should not fight, and I think I have kept my word. Your cousin, Miss Coventry, is a noble fellow," said the old man, his benevolent features kindling into admiration; "but I had more difficulty with him than his antagonist. He would not be satisfied till Captain Lovell had assured him, on his honour, that you had yourself declined his advances in a manner which admitted of no misconstruction; and that then, and not till then, he considered himself free. You were right, my dear—I am an old man, and I take a great interest in you, so do not think me impertinent—you were right to have nothing to say to a roué and a gambler.

"I was not always the old cripple you are so forbearing with now. I lived in the world once, and saw a good deal of life and men. My experience has convinced me that selfishness is the bane of the generality of mankind; but that nowhere is it so thoroughly developed as in those who live what people call 'by their wits,' and enjoy all the luxuries and pleasures of life by dint of imposing on the world. I consider Frank Lovell, though we all vote him such a good fellow, one of that class, and I do not think he would have made a good husband to my young friend Miss Coventry. Your cousin, my dear, is a character of another stamp altogether; and if, as I hear everybody say, he is really to be married to that Welsh girl, I think you will agree with me that she has got a prize such as falls to the lot of few."

Mr. Lumley was by this time out of breath; but I could not have answered him to save my life. Like one of his own favourite house-spiders, I had been unconsciously spinning a web of delightful self-delusion, and here came the ruthless housemaid and swept it all away. How blind I must have been not to see it long ago! John might be very fond of pheasant-shooting, and I believe, when the game is plentiful and the thing well managed, that sport is fascinating enough; but people don't travel night and day into such a country as Wales, where there are no railroads, merely for the purpose of standing in a ride and knocking over a certain quantity of half-tame fowls. No, no; I ought to have seen it long ago. I had lost him now, and now I knew his value when it was too late. Too late!—the knell that tolls over half the hopes and half the visions of life.

Too late!—the one bitter drop that poisons the whole cup of success. Too late! The golden fruit has long hung temptingly just above your grasp; you have laboured and striven and persevered, and you seize it at last and press it to your thirsty lips. Dust and ashes are your reward. The fruit is still the same, but it is too late: your desire for it is gone, or your power of enjoying it has failed you at the very moment of fruition; all that remains to you is the keen pang of disappointment, or, worse still, the apathy of disgust. I might have made John my slave a few weeks ago, and now—it was too provoking, and for that Welsh girl too! How I hated everything Welsh! Not Ancient Pistol, eating his enforced leek with its accompanying sauce, could have entertained a greater aversion for the Principality than I did at that moment.

Presently we were joined by Lady Scapegrace. She too had got something pleasant to say to me.

"I told you so, Kate," she observed, taking my arm, and leading me down one of those secluded walks—"I told you so all along. Your friend Captain Lovell proposed to Miss Molasses yesterday. Don't blame him too much, Kate; if he's not married within three weeks, he'll be in the Bench. Never mind how I know, but I do know. I think he has behaved infamously to you, I confess; but take comfort, my dear—you are not the first by a good many."