Lord Lindores was subdued by this calm speech. He was almost cowed by it. It was very different from Carry's tears, and even from Edith's impassioned defiance. Rintoul knew perfectly well what he was about. There was no excitement to speak of in his steady confidence in his own power. And his father knew very well that there was nothing to be done. A family scandal might indeed be made: a breach in their relations,—a quarrel which would amuse the world. He might withdraw Rintoul's allowance, or refuse to increase it, but this, though vexatious, was not in any way final; for the estates were all strictly entailed, and his heir would have little difficulty in procuring what money he needed. It was like fighting against a rock to struggle with Rintoul. When their father worked himself up into a rage, and launched sharp phrases at the girls, bitter cuts and slashes of satire and fierce denunciations, these weapons cut into their tender flesh like knives, and they writhed upon the point of the paternal spear. But Rintoul did not care. A certain amount of vituperation was inevitable, he knew, and he did not mind it. His father might "slang" him as much as he pleased; fierce words break no bones, and he knew exactly how far it could go. Lord Lindores also knew this, and it had the most curious composing and subduing effect upon him. What is the use of being angry, when the object of your anger does not care for it? There is no such conqueror of passion. If nobody cared, the hastiest temper would learn to amend itself. Lord Lindores was aware that Rintoul would hear him out to the end,—that he would never, so to speak, turn a hair,—that he would reply with perfect coolness, and remain entirely unmoved. It would be like kicking against a blank wall,—a child's foolish instinctive paroxysm of passion. Therefore he was not violent with Rintoul, nor sharply satirical, except by moments. He did not appeal to his feelings, nor stand upon his own authority. If indeed he could not keep his exasperation out of his voice, nor conceal his annoyance, he did this only because he could not help it, not with any idea of influencing Rintoul. But it was indeed a very serious blow which he had received,—the most telling of all.
"After this," he said, "why should I go on struggling? What advantage will it be to me to change Lindores into a British peerage? I could not enjoy it long in the course of nature, nor could I afford to enjoy it. And as for my son, he will have enough to do to get bread and butter for his numerous family. A season in town, and a seat in the House of Lords, will after this be perfectly out of the question."
"I suppose it's just as likely as not that the House of Lords will be abolished before my time," said Rintoul calmly,—"at least they say so."
"They say d——d nonsense, sir," cried the earl, touched at his tenderest point. "The House of Lords will outlive you and half a hundred like you. They don't know Englishmen who say so. I had hoped to see my family advancing in power and influence. Here was poor Torrance's death, for instance, coming in providentially to make up for Edith's folly about Millefleurs." Here Lord Lindores made a little pause and looked at his son. He had, beyond expectation, made, he thought, an impression upon him. "Ah," he said, "I see, you forgot the Tinto influence. You thought it was all up with my claims when Millefleurs slipped through our fingers. On the contrary, I never felt so like attaining my point as now."
"That is not what I was thinking, father," said Rintoul in a slightly broken voice. He had risen from his chair and walked to the window, and stood there, keeping his face averted as he spoke. "I cannot tell you," he said more earnestly, "the effect it has upon me when you speak of getting an advantage from—what has happened. Somehow it makes my blood run cold. I'd rather lose everything I have than profit by that—accident. I can't bear the idea. Besides," he added, recovering himself, "I wouldn't build so upon it if I were you. It's all in Carry's hand, and Carry will like to have things her own way."
"This exhibition of sentiment in respect to Pat Torrance takes me altogether by surprise," said Lord Lindores. "I was not aware you had any such friendship for him. And as to Carry. Pooh! Carry has not got a way of her own."
This subject, though it was so painful to Rintoul, brought the conversation to an easier level. But when the young man had left him, Lord Lindores remained for a long time silent, with his head in his hands, and a bitterness of disappointment pervading his mind, which, if it had not a very exalted cause, was still as keen as any tragedy could require. He had let things go much as they would before he came to his kingdom; but when Providence, with that strange sweep of all that stood before him, had cleared his way to greatness, he had sworn to himself that his children should all be made instrumental in bringing the old house out of its humble estate—that they should every one add a new honour to Lindores. Now he said to himself bitterly that it would have been as well if his brothers had lived,—if he had never known the thorns that stud a coronet. What had the family gained? His son would have been quite good enough for Nora Barrington if he had never been more than Robin Lindores; and John Erskine would have been no great match for his daughter, even in the old times. It would have been as well for them if no change had come upon the fortunes of the family,—if all had remained as when they were born. When he thought of it, there was a moment when he could have gnashed his teeth with rage and mortification. To have sworn like a trooper or wept like a woman, would have been some relief to his feelings; or even to clench his hands and his teeth, and stamp about the floor like a baffled villain on the stage. But he did not dare to relieve himself by any of these safety-valves of nature. He was too much afraid of himself to be melodramatic or hysterical. He sat and gnawed his nails, and devoured his own heart. His house seemed to be tumbling about his ears like a house of cards. Why should he take any further trouble about it? Neither money nor importance, nothing but love, save the mark! idiocy—the passing fancy of boys and girls. Probably they would all hate each other in a year or two, and then they would understand what their folly had done for them. He thought of this with a vindictive pleasure; but even of that indifferent satisfaction he could not be sure.
Meanwhile there was, as may easily be supposed, the greatest excitement in the house. Rintoul told his mother and sister, and was half angered by their sympathy. Edith, who was herself in great agitation, received the intimation with delight; but this delight was quite distasteful to her brother, who stopped her by a wrathful request to her not to think this was a nonsensical affair like her own. "I know what I'm about; but as for you, it is just a piece of idiocy," he said: at which poor Edith, aghast, retired into herself, wounded beyond description by this rejection of her sympathy. Having thus snubbed his sister, he defied the alarmed surprise and tempered disapprobation with which his mother heard his story. "I know that you were never a very great friend to Nora," he said. "I suppose when another girl cuts out your own, you can't be expected to be quite just. But my father and I understand each other," said Rintoul. He went out after having thus mowed down the ranks on either side of him, in a not uncomfortable frame of mind, carrying with him, in order to post it with his own hand, the letter to Colonel Barrington, which he had informed his father had been written on the previous day. And this was quite true; but having written it, Rintoul had carefully reserved it till after his interview with his father. Had Lord Lindores been very violent, probably Colonel Barrington would not have had his letter; not that Rintoul would have given Nora up, but that he had, like most wise men, a strong faith in postponement. Wait a little and things will come right, was one of the chief articles of his creed; but as Lord Lindores—kept down by the certainty that there was very little to be made of Rintoul except by giving him his own way—had not been violent, the letter went without delay.
Thus, as it sometimes happens, the worst of the family misfortunes was the one that was condoned most easily; for certainly, in the matrimonial way, Rintoul's failure was the worst. Daughters come and daughters go—sometimes they add to the family prestige, sometimes they do the reverse; but at all events, they go, and add themselves to other families, and cease to be of primary importance as concerns their own. But the eldest son, the heir, is in a very different position. If he does nothing to enrich the race, or add honour to it, the family stock itself must suffer. Nora Barrington would bring some beauty with her to Lindores; but not even beauty of an out-of-the-way kind—honest, innocent, straightforward, simple beauty, but no more,—and no connections to speak of; her uncle, the head of her family, being no more than a Devonshire M.P. This was very sad to think of. Rintoul, in his matter of fact way, felt it as much as any one. There were moments even when he seemed to himself to have been unfairly dealt with by Providence. He had not gone out of his way to seek this girl,—she had been put down before him; and it was hard that it should have so happened that one so little eligible should have been the one to catch his heart. But to do him justice, his heart being caught, he made no material resistance. He was entirely steadfast and faithful to his own happiness, which was involved. But it did not occur to him as it might have done to a feebler mind, that he was in any way disabled from opposing the unambitious match of his sister in consequence of the similar character of his own. He held to his formula with all the solidity of judgment which he had always shown. When his mother pointed out to him his inconsistency, he refused to see any inconsistency in it. "I never would, and never did, say anything as to myself. I never meant to give up my own freedom. The girls—that's quite different. It was your duty and my duty to do the best we could for the girls. I say now, a stop should be put to Edith. Erskine's a gentleman, but that's all you can say. She will never be anybody if she marries him; whereas, if she had not been a fool, what a far better thing for her to have had Millefleurs. I should put a stop to it without thinking twice; and I can't imagine what my father means not to do it." This was Rintoul's opinion upon his sister's affairs.
"And supposing Colonel Barrington had been of the same opinion in respect to Nora?" Lady Lindores said.