Gerard was in the position of many a modern spendthrift. Steal he could not, to work he was ashamed. Besides, what was he fit for, excepting parade? It is one of the saddest confusions of this muddled society of ours that only the poor can beg and only the rich can steal. Nothing was left, therefore, to our young soldier but to return to his simplified avocations in the endeavor to make both ends meet on starvation pay. All the color and cake went out of his existence, which became drab, like rye-bread.
Adeline was married to her lawyer’s clerk; Helena’s wedding-dress had been ordered. Under these circumstances, in his handsome forlornness, dawdling about dull Drum, Gerard found one motherly bosom on which to rest his curly head. The plump Baroness van Trossart, disgusted by her niece’s perversity, but resolved not to fret over anything, immediately set herself to pay the poor boy what she considered a family debt, and, after a little preliminary reconnoitring, backed by an artillery fire of praises and pushes, she successfully manœuvred the rejected suitor into a fresh flirtation with one of the most charming girls in Holland, Antoinette van Rexelaer. The Freule Antoinette was not an heiress, like Helena, but she had lately, and quite unexpectedly, come into a snug little fortune through her godfather, a relation of her mother’s, and former Minister of State—a windfall, indeed, to the youngest of five children! “A dispensation!” mysteriously ejaculated the young lady’s mother, Mevrouw Elizabeth van Rexelaer, née Borck.
Topsy, as her own circle called her, was a distant connection of Gerard’s; but then in Holland we are all that, and it no longer counts. The two mothers were some sort of cousins.
From the Hague, where the Rexelaers lived, Antoinette came to stay with the Baroness van Trossart, and, under that match-maker’s auspices, she saw a good deal of Gerard. Now, for Gerard to see a nice girl was to be charming to her; he was charming in the most natural, innocent, and infectious way. The Freule Antoinette understood this perfectly, and they lived together in that happy mutual desire to please which may mean everything or nothing, according to Cupid’s caprice. When the guest returned home, Mevrouw van Trossart felt convinced it meant everything, and she had easily persuaded Gerard to think so too, for Gerard had taken a real liking to the frank-faced, bright-witted girl.
“My dear boy,” said the good-natured Baroness, intent on further arrangement, “you are positively too dangerous; I cannot introduce you to any more young ladies. You are irresistible; you have now carried off the heart of my poor little Antoinette!”
“One young lady did not find me irresistible, Mevrouw,” replied Gerard, bitterly. He was angry with Helena, but he had never really cared for her. It was she who now avoided him.
“Ah, dear boy, do not let us speak of that; it is too dreadful. Be thankful that you, at least, did not love your cousin. No, no.” She held up a fat forefinger. “Of course you protest; but an old woman like me sees what she sees. We all make mistakes. As for poor Helena, hers”—She stopped. “This time, at any rate,” she cried, gayly, “there must be no blundering. Go at once and propose to Mevrouw Elizabeth. To know you prosperously settled will be a load off my heart.”
“Propose to Mevrouw Elizabeth!” said Gerard, with a grimace.
“Don’t be stupid, Gerard. Yes, considering the undoubted fact that Antoinette Rexelaer is so much richer than you—there’s no use in ignoring what every one knows—I think it would be in better taste for you to speak first to the father—which means the mother; especially as in this case I feel sure you can safely do so.”