Chapter Sixteen.
The “Runkle” intervenes.
As little Jack continued to progress towards convalescence, the attention of the household became increasingly absorbed by the astounding fact of Pixie’s projected engagement. Bridgie, detained at home by malapropos ailments on the part of the children, wrote urgent letters by daily posts, contradicting herself on every point saving one alone—the advisability of delay. Geoffrey Hilliard as host, Dick Victor as guardian, Jack, Pat, and Miles as brothers, proposed, seconded, and carried by acclamation the same waiting policy. And no one who has the faintest knowledge of human nature will need to be told that such an attitude had the effect of rousing the youthful lovers to the liveliest impatience.
Stanor in particular was moved to rebellion. His pride was hurt by so lukewarm a reception of his addresses, which was all the more disagreeable for being unexpected. The Hilliards had shown so much friendship and hospitality to him as a friend, that he had taken for granted that they would welcome him in a closer relationship. He was not a great parti it was true, but then by her own confession Pixie had no fortune of her own, and had been accustomed to modest means. Stanor did not say to himself in so many words that he happened to possess an exceptionally handsome and popular personality, he refused even to frame a definite thought to that effect; nevertheless the consciousness was there, and added to his chagrin.
Lounging along the country lanes, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, Stanor told himself that it was a disappointing old world: a fellow always imagined that when he got engaged he would have the time of his life; in books a fellow was represented as walking upon air, in a condition of rapture too intense for belief—it was disappointing to find his own experience fall so short of the ideal!
Sweet little Pixie, of course, was a beguiling creature. Stanor would not admit any shortcomings in his fiancée, but he did allow himself to wonder tentatively if he had spoken too soon: if she were not, perhaps, a trifle young to understand the meaning of the new claim. The daily interviews which he had been vouchsafed had been full of interest and charm, but they had not succeeded in stifling the doubt which had marred the first minutes of acceptance, for alas! it was when Pixie was the most affectionate that her lover was most acutely conscious of the subtle want. And then, as if there was not already enough worry and trouble, there was the Runkle. ... The Runkle would be bound to put in his oar!
Stanor had delayed sending word of his engagement to the man who stood to him in the place of a father, silencing his conscience by the assertion that there was yet nothing to announce. Until Pixie’s guardians came down from their present unnatural position, there might be an understanding, but there could not be said to be a formal engagement.
It was Pixie herself who finally forced him to dispatch the news. It was Stanor’s first experience of arguing a point with a woman, and a most confusing experience he found it. Pixie invariably agreed with every separate argument as he advanced it, saw eye to eye with him on each separate point, sympathised warmly with his scruples, and then at the very moment when she was expected to say “yes” to the final decision, said “no,” and stuck to it with conviction. Questioned as to the reason of such inconsistency, she had only one excuse to plead, and she pled it so often and with such insistence that it seemed easier to give in than to continue the argument. “Yes, but he’s lame!” came back automatically as the answer to every remonstrance, till Stanor shrugged his shoulders and sat down to write his letter.
Pixie was indeed, as the family had it, “the soft-heartedest creature!” He loved her for it, but none the less depression seized him anew. Now there would be the Runkle to tackle! More arguments! More objections! A fellow ought to be jolly happy when he was married, to make up for all the fuss and agitation which went before...
Stanor’s letter of announcement was short and to the point, for he was not in the mood to lapse into sentiment. By return of post came the Runkle’s reply, short also, and non-committal—nothing more, in fact, than the announcement that he preferred to discuss the matter in person, and would the following day arrive at a certain hotel, where he bade his nephew meet him. Stanor therefore made his excuses to his hostess, packed his bag, and dispatched a letter of explanation to his fiancée, unconscious of the fact that she was at that very hour receiving information first hand.