And then Grindley junior’s guardian angel must surely have slipped into the room, for Miss Appleyard, irritated beyond endurance at the philosophical indifference of the bust of William Shakespeare, turned away from it, and as she did so, caught sight of herself in the looking-glass. Miss Appleyard approached the glass a little nearer. A woman’s hair is never quite as it should be. Miss Appleyard, standing before the glass, began, she knew not why, to find reasons excusing Grindley junior. After all, was not forgiveness an excellent thing in woman? None of us are quite perfect. The guardian angel of Grindley junior seized the opportunity.
That evening Solomon Appleyard sat upright in his chair, feeling confused. So far as he could understand it, a certain young man, a grocer’s assistant, but not a grocer’s assistant—but that, of course, was not his fault, his father being an old brute—had behaved most abominably; but not, on reflection, as badly as he might have done, and had acted on the whole very honourably, taking into consideration the fact that one supposed he could hardly help it. Helvetia was, of course, very indignant with him, but on the other hand, did not quite see what else she could have done, she being not at all sure whether she really cared for him or whether she didn’t; that everything had been quite proper and would not have happened if she had known it; that everything was her fault, except most things, which weren’t; but that of the two she blamed herself entirely, seeing that she could not have guessed anything of the kind. And did he, Solomon Appleyard, think that she ought to be very angry and never marry anybody else, or was she justified in overlooking it and engaging herself to the only man she felt she could ever love?
“You mustn’t think, Dad, that I meant to deceive you. I should have told you at the beginning—you know I would—if it hadn’t all happened so suddenly.”
“Let me see,” said Solomon Appleyard, “did you tell me his name, or didn’t you?”
“Nathaniel,” said Miss Appleyard. “Didn’t I mention it?”
“Don’t happen to know his surname, do you,” inquired her father.
“Grindley,” explained Miss Appleyard—“the son of Grindley, the Sauce man.”
Miss Appleyard experienced one of the surprises of her life. Never before to her recollection had her father thwarted a single wish of her life. A widower for the last twelve years, his chief delight had been to humour her. His voice, as he passionately swore that never with his consent should his daughter marry the son of Hezekiah Grindley, sounded strange to her. Pleadings, even tears, for the first time in her life proved fruitless.
Here was a pretty kettle of fish! That Grindley junior should defy his own parent, risk possibly the loss of his inheritance, had seemed to both a not improper proceeding. When Nathaniel George had said with fine enthusiasm: “Let him keep his money if he will; I’ll make my own way; there isn’t enough money in the world to pay for losing you!” Janet Helvetia, though she had expressed disapproval of such unfilial attitude, had in secret sympathised. But for her to disregard the wishes of her own doting father was not to be thought of. What was to be done?
Perhaps one Peter Hope, residing in Gough Square hard by, might help young folks in sore dilemma with wise counsel. Peter Hope, editor and part proprietor of Good Humour, one penny weekly, was much esteemed by Solomon Appleyard, printer and publisher of aforesaid paper.