An Impossible Person
By W. B. Maxwell
Royal Fusiliers
Using the cant phrase, people often said that General Sir John Beckford was a quite impossible person. A brave soldier, a true gentleman, a splendid creature physically—just so, but rendering himself absurd and futile by notions so old-fashioned that they had been universally exploded before he was born. A man who obstinately refused to move with the times, who in manner, costume, and every idea belonged, and seemed proud to belong, to the past.
Even his own relatives admitted the impossibility of him when, at the age of sixty, he gave effect to the most old-fashioned of all conceivable notions by marrying for love. If an elderly widower with a little son of nine wants somebody to make a home and help to rear the child, he should invite some middle-aged female cousin to come to his assistance; but if he wants a charming, attractive girl to renounce the joys and hopes of youth in order to soothe and gladden his dull remnant of years—well, he oughtn’t to want it, and really it is not quite nice when he does.
Lady Jane Armitage, an ancient aunt, put this thought into very plain words and forced Sir John to listen to them. A mistake—not even a fair bargain. What is Cynthia to get, on her side? A seat in a carriage, a liberal dress allowance, perhaps a few more loose sovereigns than she has been accustomed to carry in that silly little gold purse of hers!
“The idea of money,” said Sir John gruffly, “has never entered Cynthia’s head.”
“Perhaps not. But what else can you offer her? To hold your landing-net while you do your stupid fishing; to perform the duties of a nursery-governess for Jack; to enjoy the privilege of playing hostess when you entertain half a dozen other generals and their frumpish wives.”
Sir John echoed his aunt’s last adjective ironically.
“Yes,” said Lady Jane, “but I’m different. I know I’m a frump, and your friends aren’t aware of their misfortune. No, John, I tell you frankly, it isn’t a fair bargain.”
Sir John bit his grey moustache, ran a strong hand through his shock of grey hair, contracted his heavy brows, and then laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
“Inexplicable to you, eh, Aunt Jane? Well, let’s leave it at that. But be kind to Cynthia all the same, won’t you? Save her from the other frumps,” and, ceasing to laugh, he stared at Lady Jane almost fiercely.