“Not hundreds of thousands; but a long voyage that takes months——”
“Months!” Emma uttered a cry. “Too far to have mother if you were ill,” she said, casting her mind over the eventualities of the future; “too far, a deal too far for a trip to see one. I don’t think it would be nice at all. Mr. Law, couldn’t you, oh, couldn’t you stop at home?”
“Perhaps you’d tell me what I should do if I stayed at home,” said Law, not without a touch of contempt. “It’s more than I can tell. No, I can’t stay at home. There is nothing I could do here. It is Australia or nothing, Emma; you must make up your mind to that.”
“Oh, but I don’t see why you shouldn’t stay in London; there are always places to be got there; you might look in the papers and see. Mother used to get the Times from the public-house, a penny an hour, when Willie was out of a place. Did you ever answer any advertisement, or try—really try?”
“All that is nothing to the purpose,” said Law, with some impatience. “The advertisements may be all very well, but I know nothing about them. I am going to Australia whether or not. I’ve quite made up my mind. Now the thing is, will you come too?”
Emma did not know what answer to make. The going away was appalling, but to lose her gentleman-lover, though he was banished from the workroom, was a great humiliation. Then she could not but feel that there was a certain excitement and importance in the idea of preparing for a sudden voyage, and being married at seventeen, the first of the family. But when she thought of the sea and the ship, and the separation from everything, Emma’s strength of mind gave way. She could not do that. The end was that, driven back and forward between the two, she at last faltered forth a desire to consult “Mother” before deciding. Law, though he was contemptuous of this weakness, yet could not say anything against it. Perhaps it was necessary that a girl should own such a subjection. “If you do, I can tell you beforehand what she will say,” he cried. “Then Ellen; I’ll ask Ellen,” said Emma. “Oh, I can’t settle it out of my own head.” And then the girl started, hearing the signal on the window, and fled from him, breathless. “Mother’s come to shut up,” she said. Law walked away, not without satisfaction, when this end had been attained. He was more anxious to have the question settled than he was anxious to have Emma. Indeed, he was not at all blind to the fact that he was too young to marry, and that there were disadvantages in hampering himself even in Australia with such a permanent companion. Then, too, all that he could hope for from Mr. Ashford was enough for his own outfit and passage, and he did not see how hers was to be managed. But, still, Law had been “keeping company” with Emma for some time, and he acknowledged the duties of that condition according to the interpretation put upon it in the order to which Emma belonged. Clearly, when good fortune came to a young man who was keeping company with a young woman, it was right that he should offer her a share of it. If she did not accept it, so much the better; he would have done what honour required without any further trouble. As Law walked up the hill again, he reflected that on the whole it would be much better if he were allowed to go to Australia alone. No one could know how things would turn out. Perhaps the man Mr. Ashford knew might be of little use, perhaps he might have to go from one place to another; or he might not succeed at first; or many things might happen which would make a wife an undesirable burden. He could not but hope that things might so arrange themselves as that Emma should drop back into her natural sphere in the workroom, and he be left free. Poor little Emma! if this were the case, he would buy her a locket as a keepsake off Mr. Ashford’s money, and take leave of her with comfort. But in the other case, if she should make up her mind to go with him, Law was ready to accept the alternative. His good fortune put him doubly on his honour. He would prefer to be free, yet, if he were held to it, he was prepared to do his duty. He would not let her perceive that he did not want her. But, on the whole, he would be much better satisfied if “Mother” interfered. Having disposed of this matter, Law began to think of his outfit, which was very important, wondering, by the way, if Emma went, whether her family would provide hers? but yet keeping this question, as uncertain, quite in the background. He recalled to himself the list he had got in his pocket, with its dozens of shirts and socks, with no small satisfaction. Was it possible that he could become the owner of all that? The thought of becoming the owner of a wife he took calmly, hoping he might still avoid the necessity; but to have such a wardrobe was exciting and delightful. He determined to get Lottie to show him how to mend a hole and sew on a button. To think that Lottie knew nothing about his plans, and had never asked him what he meant, bewildered him when he thought of it. What could be “up” in respect to her? Something like anxiety crossed Law’s mind; at least, it was something as much like anxiety as he was capable of—a mingling of surprise and indignation; for were not his affairs a great deal more important than anything affecting herself could be? This was the idea of both. Law was going to Australia, but Lottie was going to be married, a still more important event! and each felt that in heaven and earth no other such absorbing interest existed. It must be said, however, for Lottie, that Law’s whispered communication counted for nothing with her, since she knew no way in which it could be possible. Wild hopes that came to nothing had gleamed across his firmament before. How could he go to Australia? As easy to say that he was going to the moon; and in this way it took no hold upon her mind; while he, for his part, had no clue whatever to the disturbing influence in Lottie’s thoughts.
CHAPTER XLI.
THE EFFECT OF GOOD FORTUNE: ROLLO.
The night after that decisive talk upon the Slopes was a trying one for Rollo Ridsdale. He went home with the fumes of his resolution in his mind. Now the die was cast. Whatever prudence might say against it, the decision was made, and his life settled for him, partly by circumstances, but much more by his personal will and deed. And he did not regret what he had done. It was a tremendous risk to run; but he had confidence that Lottie’s voice was as good as a fortune, and that in the long run there would be nothing really imprudent in it. Of course it must be kept entirely “quiet.” No indiscreet announcements in the newspapers, no unnecessary publicity must be given to the marriage. Whosoever was absolutely concerned should know; but for the general public, what did it matter to them whether the bond which bound a man of fashion to a celebrated singer was legitimate or not? Lottie would not wish for society, she would not feel the want of society, and particularly in the interval, while she was still not a celebrated singer, it was specially necessary that all should be kept “quiet.” He would take her to Italy, and it would be not at all needful to introduce any stray acquaintance who might happen to turn up, to his wife. In short, there was no occasion for introducing anyone to her. Lottie would not want anything. She would be content with himself. Poor darling! what wonderful trust there was in her! By this time he was able to half-laugh at his own guilty intention, which she had so completely extinguished by her inability to understand it, her perfect acceptance of it as all that was honourable and tender. He was going to do the right thing now—certainly the right thing, without any mistake about it; but still that it should be made to look like the wrong thing, was the idea in Rollo’s mind. He would take her to Italy and train her for her future career; but neither at the present time nor in the future would it be necessary to put the dots upon the i’s in respect to her position. As for Lottie, he knew very well that she, having no doubt about her position, would not insist upon any publication of it. It would never once occur to her that there was any possibility of being misconstrued.
With these thoughts in his mind, Rollo dressed very hastily for dinner, as he had lingered with Lottie to the last moment. And as it happened, this was the very evening which Augusta chose for discussing openly the subject to which she had, without speaking of it, already devoted all her powers of research since she had arrived at home. In the evening after dinner Rollo was the only one of the gentlemen who came into the drawing-room. Augusta’s husband was an inoffensive and silent man, with what are called “refined tastes.” For one thing he was in a mild way an antiquary. He did not enter very much into his wife’s life, nor she into his. She was fashionable, he had refined tastes; they were perfectly good friends; and though not yet married six months, followed each their own way. Spencer Daventry had gone to his father-in-law’s study accordingly, to investigate some rare books, and his wife was in the drawing-room alone—that is, not exactly alone, for Lady Caroline was “on the sofa.” When Lady Caroline was on the sofa she did not trouble anybody much, and even the coming in of the lamps had not disturbed her. She had “just closed her eyes.” Her dress was carefully drawn over her feet by Mrs. Daventry’s care, and a wadded couvre-pied in crimson satin laid over them. Augusta liked to see to every little decorum, and would have thought the toe of her mother’s innocent shoe an improper revelation. Perhaps it was by her orders that Mr. Daventry had not come in. There was no company that evening, and when Rollo entered the drawing-room, he saw at once that he had fallen into a trap. Augusta sat on a comfortable chair by the fire, with a small table near her and a lamp upon it. The other lights were far away, candles twinkling in the distance on the piano, and here and there against the walls: but only this one spot by the fire in warm and full light; and a vacant chair stood invitingly on the other side of Augusta’s table. No more snug arrangement for a tête-à-tête could have been, for Lady Caroline was nothing but a bit of still life—more still almost than the rest of the furniture. Augusta looked up as her cousin came in, with a smile.
“Alone?” she said; “then come here, Rollo, and let us have a talk.”