“Very well, dear Beauchamp; we shall see,” replied his sister, with unwonted meekness, and so they parted.
Gertrude had done one thing by what she had said to her brother—she had hastened the very catastrophe she was most anxious to avert. When Captain Chancellor, a few days after his return from Halswood, went over to Wareborough for a night, it was with the determination to hurry on matters as fast as possible, and to fix the earliest date practicable for his marriage. He hardly understood why he did so, and, if he tried to find a reason for this impetuosity, pretended to himself that it was the proper thing in the circumstances. That he was really influenced by any doubt of himself, any misgivings as to the result, in his case, of a long engagement, the course of which might see events greatly affecting his future, he would not allow even to himself. And there was, perhaps, some excuse for his deliberate self-deception, for no sooner was he in Eugenia’s presence and under the influence of her beauty and sweetness than every shadow of a cloud disappeared from his horizon.
So it was decided that they should be married in June. Eugenia was so completely under her lover’s influence that whatever he proposed seemed to her wisest and best; and though some suggestions were mooted by Mr Laurence as to the advisability of the young people’s “seeing a little more of each other” before entering on that most solemn of bonds, companionship for life, there was no one at hand to support him in such an old-fashioned idea, and Captain Chancellor’s opinion that the deed “were well done quickly” encountered no important opposition. For Sydney and her husband were away on the clerical honeymoon of four weeks barring a Sunday, and only returned home, to begin life in their modest little house in a Wareborough terrace, in time to learn that all was settled, down to the day itself and the number of the bridesmaids.
“As good as married already, you see, Sydney,” said Frank. “Well, I only hope it will not prove a case of ‘repenting at leisure’—that’s all I’ve got to say.”
“Frank,” exclaimed the young wife, in surprise and alarm, “what do you mean? You have always spoken as if you liked Captain Chancellor and thought highly of him. That has been one of my great comforts.”
“So it has wanted comfort, has it, the poor little thing?” said Frank, affecting to pat Sydney consolingly. “Why didn’t it say so before?”
“Don’t, please, dear Frank,” she said, earnestly, gently disengaging herself and smoothing the hair his hand had disarranged; “don’t laugh at me when I am so serious in my anxiety about Eugenia.”
“I am anxious about her too,” returned her husband, “but don’t mistake me. I am far from meaning to infer that I don’t think well of Chancellor. He’s by no means a bad fellow, but neither is he a piece of manly perfection, as I fancy Eugenia imagines. She really is so silly, Sydney, so extreme and exaggerated, I am afraid she is sure to have a grand smash some day. She rushes into things so frantically, and it would be perfect waste of breath to try to make her hear reason. And think how little she and Chancellor really know of each other.”
“You don’t need to remind me of that,” said Sydney, sadly. “Still I hardly see that a longer engagement would have mended matters. They could not have seen much of each other now he is at Bridgenorth, and after all—”
“After all, all marriages are a good deal of a toss-up,” said Frank, lightly, “ours of course excepted. But don’t fret yourself about Eugenia. She and everyone else must learn their own lessons, I suppose, and I don’t see that there is anything to be done to help her.”