“Wait one moment! I am free from the 20th of August. I will go to you as soon as you like—you know why I ask. Arden, remember I count upon your good offices—and then if my influence can be of any use to you——”
“Yes, precisely,” said Edgar, swinging himself free. Lord Newmarch looked after him with a little metaphorical lifting up of hands and eyes. How simple the boy must be!—falling a hopeless victim to Gussy Thornleigh, his next door neighbour, when he had, so to speak, all England to choose from; for the suit of Arden of Arden was not one which was likely to fail, unless he fixed his fancy very high indeed. Lord Newmarch could not but reflect that in some things Arden had very greatly the advantage even of himself—there were so many people still who had a prejudice in favour of grandfathers, and his own grandfather, though the first Earl, could not, he was aware, bear discussing. Gussy Thornleigh, he reflected, was a very fortunate woman. She would have nothing, or next to nothing. Her sister Helena was one who, under more favourable circumstances, would have attracted Lord Newmarch himself; but he could not afford to throw himself away upon a girl who had nothing, and whose connections even were not of a kind to bring advancement. Nothing could be better than her family, no doubt; but then she had a quantity of brothers who would have to be pushed on in the world, and no doubt the sisters’ husbands would be called upon for aid and influence. Arden was the very sort of man to suffer himself to be so called on. He would be ready to help them and to get them out of all their scrapes. It was he who would be looked to when anything was the matter. In short, he was just the kind of man to marry a girl who was one of a large family. Lord Newmarch reflected that he himself was not so. He wanted all his influence, all his money, everything his position gave him, for himself or, at least, for his brothers. He even paused to ask himself whether, in case he should marry Clare Arden, he might not be appealed to as a connexion of the family for appointments, &c., for some of those Thornleigh boys. But Clare, he reflected, was not a good-natured fool like Edgar. She was one who knew what was due to a man’s position, and that there were few who had anything to spare. Accordingly, he felt easy in his mind respecting that very far off danger. It was Clare who was the proper match for himself; and with a little shrug of his shoulders Lord Newmarch watched Edgar make his way through the crowd to where Lady Augusta, caught in an eddy, with all her train of girls, was struggling to get in, against the almost irresistible force of the torrent going out. Certainly, to come up to town for the purpose of making love to your next neighbour in the country was a waste of means indeed.
Meanwhile, Lady Augusta had seized on Edgar’s arm with a sense of relief which made her heart glow with grateful warmth. It was another evidence of what a good son he would be, what a help in need. “I am so thankful to see you,” she cried. “We are a little late, I know; but I never dreamt that people would be going so soon. There is a great ball in Eaton Square, I believe, to-night, given by some of those odious nouveaux riches; that is where everybody is flocking to.” This was said loud enough to catch the ear of the crowd which was going out, and which had whirled Lady Augusta with it, and disordered the sweep of her train. She held Edgar fast while she made her way upstairs. She could not have done it without him, she said, and mourned audibly over her unfriended condition in the ear of her future son-in-law. “Harry promised to be looking out for us,” she said; “but I suppose he is dancing, or something else that amuses him; and Mr. Thornleigh is never any use to us socially. He is always at the House.”
“Does he go down to Thorne with you?” asked Edgar, meaning nothing in particular; but at present every word he spoke was marked and noted. No doubt, he wanted to make sure of being able to communicate with Gussy’s father at once.
“No, he stays in town,” said Lady Augusta, “for a few weeks longer;” and then she added, with an attempt at carelessness, “I am the family business-man, Mr. Arden. We have always one mind about the children and their concerns. He says it saves him so much trouble, and that without my help he could never do anything. It is pleasant when one’s husband thinks so, who, of course, knows one’s weaknesses best of all. Oh, what a business it is getting upstairs! Gussy, keep close to me, darling. Ada, I hope you are not feeling faint. Dear, dear, surely there must be bad management somewhere! I think I never saw such a crush in a private house.”
Lady Lowestoft was nearer the top of the stair than usual, and took this criticism, which she had overheard, for a compliment. “A great number of our friends have been so good as to come to us,” she said. “Dear Lady Augusta, how late you are! I fear the dear girls will scarcely get any dancing before supper. Did you meet the Duke as you came in? He is looking so well. It was very kind of him to come so early. I really must scold you for being a little late.”
“What a fool that woman is,” Lady Augusta whispered in Edgar’s ear. “She very nearly compromised herself last season with your cousin Arthur Arden. He was never out of the house. A man without a penny, and whose character is so thoroughly well known! And then for one of those silly women who are really silly, a hundred other women get the blame of it, which is very hard, I think. Helena is always talking of such things, and it makes one think.”
Thus Edgar was appropriated for a long time, until he had found a seat for Lady Augusta, and had placed Ada (who did not dance) by her side. When he had time to disengage himself, he saw both Gussy and Helena whirling about among the dancers; for they were popular girls, and always had partners. Thus the whole evening went past, and he found no opportunity for any explanation. Had he been able to monopolise Gussy’s attention, and lead her away to a moderately-quiet corner, no doubt he would have delivered himself of what he had to say. But then it was not so very urgent. Had it been very urgent, of course he could have found the ways and means. He had one dance with her, but nothing could be said then; and though he proposed a walk into the conservatory, fate, in the shape of another partner, who carried her off triumphantly, interposed. And what could a man do more? He had been perfectly willing to make the full plunge, and in the meantime he watched over the whole family as if he had been their brother, and put Lady Augusta into her carriage afterwards, never really leaving them all the evening. If this was not to affichér himself, it would be hard to tell what more he could do. He held Gussy’s hand after he put her in, and said something about calling next day. “Don’t, please,” Gussy had whispered hurriedly; “come when we are at Thorne. I know we shall all be at sixes and sevens to-morrow, and no time to talk.” She, too, understood now quite calmly and frankly that this next visit must be more important than an afternoon call, and he pressed her hand as he whispered good-bye, feeling disposed to say to her, “What a dear, kind, reasonable girl you are; how well we shall understand each other, even though——” But he did not say this, more especially the “even though——” And he stood on the pavement and watched them drive away with a sensation of relief. He had quite made up his mind by this time, and did not intend to defer the crisis a moment longer than was necessary; but still, on the whole, he was pleased to feel that, whatever might happen afterwards, he was going back to Arden a free man.
CHAPTER XXVI.
“Come into my dressing-room before you go to bed,” Lady Augusta whispered in her daughter’s ear. The sisters were in the habit of holding their own private assemblies at that confidential moment, and the three elder ones were just preparing for a consultation in Ada’s room when Gussy received this summons. Of course she obeyed it dutifully, with her pretty hair hanging about her shoulders, in a pretty white dressing-gown, all gay with ribbons and embroidery. “I know mamma is going to ask me ever so many questions, and I have nothing to tell her,” she said, pouting, as she left Ada and Helena. But Lady Augusta was very gentle in her questioning. “I think your hair is thicker than it used to be, my darling,” she said, taking the golden locks in her hand with fond admiration. “Don’t crêper more than you can help, for I always think it spoils the hair. Yours is more like what mine used to be than any of the others, Gussy. Helena’s is like your papa’s; but my hair used to be just your colour. Alas! it has fallen off sadly now.”