She turned to the door; she could not trust herself to shake hands with composure. Not only was it a nauseous mixture she was forced to gulp from Victor, it burned like a poison.
‘Really Fredi’s doing—chiefly,’ said Victor, as soon as Dartrey and he were alone, comfortably settled in the smoking-room. ‘I played the man of pomp with Marsett—good heavy kind of creature: attached to the woman. She’s the better horse, as far as brains go. Good enough Lady Marsett. I harped on Major Worrell: my daughter insulted. He knew of it—spoke of you properly. The man offered all apologies; he has told the Major he is no gentleman, not a fit associate for gentlemen:—quite so—and has cut him dead. Will marry her, as I said, make her as worthy as he can of the honour of my daughter’s acquaintance. Rather comical grimace, when he vowed he’d fasten the tie. He doesn’t like marriage. But, he can’t give her up. And she’s for patronizing the institution. But she is ready to say good-bye to him “rather than see the truest lady in the world insulted”—her words. And so he swallows his dose for health, and looks a trifle sourish. Antecedents, I suppose: has to stomach them. But if a man’s fond of a woman—if he knows he saves her from slipping lower—and it’s an awful world, for us to let a woman be under its wheels:—I say, a woman who has a man to lean on, unless she’s as downright corrupt as two or three of the men we’ve known:—upon my word, Dartrey, I come round to some of your ideas on these matters. It’s this girl of mine, this wee bit of girl in her little nightshirt with the frill, astonishes me most:—“thinking of the tops of the mountains at night!” She has positively done the whole of this work-main part. I smiled when I left the house, to have to own our little Fredi starting us all on the road. It seems, Marsett had sworn he would; amorous vow, you know; he never came nearer to doing it. I hope it’s his better mind now; I do hope the man won’t have cause to regret it. He speaks of Nesta—sort of rustic tone of awe. Mrs. Marsett has impressed him. He expects the title soon, will leave the army—the poor plucked British army, as you call it!—and lead the life of a country squire: hunting! Well, it’s not only the army, it’s over Great Britain, with this infernal wealth of ours!—and all for pleasure—eh?—or Paradise lost for a sugar plum! Eh, Dartrey? Upon my word, it appears to me, Esau’s the Englishman, Jacob the German, of these times. I wonder old Colney hasn’t said it. If we’re not plucked, as your regiments are of the officers who have learnt their work, we’re emasculated:—the nation’s half made-up of the idle and the servants of the idle.’
‘Ay, and your country squires and your manufacturers contrive to give the army a body of consumptive louts fit for nothing else than to take the shilling—and not worth it,’ said Dartrey.
‘Sounds like old Colney,’ Victor remarked to himself. ‘But, believe me, I’m ashamed of the number of servants who wait on me. It wouldn’t so much matter, as Skepsey says, if they were trained to arms and self-respect. That little fellow Skepsey’s closer to the right notion, and the right practice, too, than any of us. With his Matilda Pridden! He has jumped out of himself to the proper idea of women, too. And there’s a man who has been up three times before the magistrates, and is considered a disorderly subject—one among the best of English citizens, I declare! I never think of Skepsey without the most extraordinary, witless kind of envy—as if he were putting in action an idea I once had and never quite got hold of again. The match for him is Fredi. She threatens to be just as devoted, just as simple, as he. I positively doubt whether any of us could stop her, if she had set herself to do a thing she thought right.’
‘I should not like to think our trying it possible,’ said Dartrey.
‘All very well, but it’s a rock ahead. We shall have to alter our course, my friend. You know, I dined with that couple, after the private twenty minutes with Marsett: he formally propounded the invitation, as we were close on his hour, rather late: and I wanted to make the woman happy, besides putting a seal of cordiality on his good intentions—politic! And subsequently I heard from her, that—you’ll think nothing of it!—Fredi promised to stand by her at the altar.’
Dartrey said, shrugging: ‘She needn’t do that.’
‘So we may say. You’re dealing with Nesta Victoria. Spare me a contest with that girl, I undertake to manage any man or woman living.’
‘When the thing to be done is thought right by her.’
‘But can we always trust her judgement, my dear Dartrey?’