The Beautiful Wretch by William Black (best books to read for self development .txt) 📖

be handy for everything; and you might come up, Nan, and help me to buy things for it. And you shall have a room there too, you shall; and you may decorate it and furnish it just as you like. I know quite well what you would like--the room small; the woodwork all bluey-white; plenty of Venetian embroidery flung about; all the fire-place brass; some of those green Persian plates over the mantelpiece; about thirteen thousand Chinese fans arranged like fireworks on the walls; a fearful quantity of books and a low easy-chair; red candles; and in the middle of the whole thing a nasty, dirty, little beggar-girl to feed and pet----'

'I think, Madge,' her sister said, gravely, 'that you should not set your heart on a town-house at all. Remember, old Mr. King is giving his son Kingscourt at a great sacrifice. As I understand it, it will be a long time before the family estate is what it has been; and you would be very ungrateful if you were extravagant----'

'Oh, I don't see that,' said Madge. 'They are conferring no favour on me. I don't see why I should economise. I am marrying for fun, not for love.'

She blurted out this inadvertently--to Nan's amazement and horror--but instantly retracted it, with the blood rushing to her temples.

'Of course I don't mean that, Nan--how could I have been so stupid! I don't mean _that--exactly_. What I mean is that it doesn't seem to me as if it was supposed to be a very fearfully romantic match, and all that kind of thing. It's a very good arrangement; but it isn't I who ought to be expected to make sacrifices----'

'But surely your husband's interests will be yours!' exclaimed Nan.

'Oh yes, certainly,' her sister said, somewhat indifferently. 'No doubt that's true, in a way. Quite true, in a kind of way. Still, there are limits; and I should not like to be buried alive for ever in the country.'

Then she sighed.

'Poor Jack!' she said.

She went to the window.

'When I marry, I know at least one who will be sorry. I can fancy him walking up and down there--looking at the house as he used to do; and, oh! so grateful if only you went to the window for a moment. He will see it in the papers, I suppose.'

She turned to her sister, and said, triumphantly--

'Well, the Vice-Chancellor was done that time!'

'What time?'

'Valentine's morning. You can send flowers without any kind of writing to be traced. Do you think I don't know who sent me the flowers?'

'At all events, you should not be proud of it. You should be sorry. It is a very great pity----'

'Yes, that's what I think,' said Madge. 'How can I help pitying him? It wouldn't be natural not to pity him, Vice-chancellor or no Vice-chancellor. I hate that man.'

'I say it is a great pity that Mr. Hanbury does not accept his dismissal as inevitable; and as for you, Madge, you ought not even to think of him. Captain King sent you that beautiful card-case on Valentine's morning; that is what you should remember.'

'Captain King could send me a white elephant if he chose,' said Madge, spitefully. 'There's no danger to him in anything he does. It's different with poor Jack.'

'Madge,' said her sister, seriously, 'do you know that you are talking as if you looked forward to this marriage with regret?'

'Oh no, I don't--I'm not such a fool,' said Madge, plainly. 'I know it's stupid to think about Jack Hanbury; but still, one has got a little feeling.'

Then she laughed.

'I will tell you another secret, Nan. If he daren't write to me he can send me things. He sent me a book--a novel--and I know he meant me to think the hero himself. For he was disappointed in love, too, and wrote beautifully about his sufferings, and at last the poor fellow blew his brains out.'

'Well, Mr. Hanbury couldn't do that, at all events--for reasons,' Nan said.

'Now that is a very bad joke,' said Madge, in a sudden outburst of temper; 'an old, stupid, bad joke, that has been made a hundred times. I'm ashamed of you, Nan. They say you have a great sense of humour; that's when you say things they can't understand; and they pretend to have a great sense of humour too. But where's the humour in that?'

'But Madge, dear,' said Nan, gently, 'I didn't mean to say anything against Mr. Hanbury----'

'In any case, there is one in this house who does not despise Mr. Hanbury for being poor,' said Madge, hotly. 'It isn't his fault that his papa and mamma haven't given him money and sent him out into the world to buy a wife!'

And therewith she quickly went to the door and opened it, and went out and shut it again with something very closely resembling a slam.


CHAPTER XXI.


DANGER AHEAD.

Nan waited the return of Frank King with the deepest anxiety. She would see nothing in these wild words of Madge's but an ebullition of temper. She could not bring herself to believe that her own sister--a girl with everything around her she could desire in the world--would deliberately enter upon one of those hateful marriages of convenience. It was true, Nan had to confess to herself, that Madge was not very impressionable. There was no great depth in her nature. Then she was a trifle vain, and liked admiration; and she was evidently pleased to have a handsome and certainly eligible suitor. But no--it was impossible that she had really meant what she said. When Captain King came back, then the true state of affairs would be seen. Madge was not going to marry for money or position--or even out of spite.

And when Frank King did come back, matters looked very well at first. Madge received him in a very nice, friendly fashion, and was pleased by certain messages from the old folks at Kingscourt. Nan's fears began to fade away. Nothing more was heard of Jack Hanbury. So far as Madge was concerned everything seemed right.

But Nan, who was very anxious, and on that account unusually sensitive, seemed to detect something strange in Frank King's manner. He had nothing of the gay audacity of an accepted suitor. When he paid Madge any little attention, it appeared almost an effort. He was preoccupied and thoughtful; sometimes, after regarding Madge in silence, he would apparently wake up to the consciousness that he ought to be more attentive to her; but there did not seem to be much joyousness in their relationship. When these two happened to be together--during the morning stroll down the pier, or on the way home from church, or seated at a concert--they did not seem to have many things to speak about Frank King grew more and more grave; and Nan saw it, and wondered, and quite failed to guess at the reason.

The fact was that he had now discovered what terrible mistake he had made. He could blind himself no longer. Madge was not Nan; nor anything approaching to Nan; they were as different as day and night. Face to face with this discovery, he asked himself what he ought to do. Clearly, if he had made a mistake, it was his first duty that no one else should suffer by it. Because he was disappointed in not finding in Madge certain qualities and characteristics he had expected to find, he was not going to withdraw from an engagement he had voluntarily entered into. It was not Madge's fault. If the prospect of this marriage pleased her, he was bound to fulfil his promise. After all, Madge had her own qualities. Might they not wear as well through the rough work of the world, even if they had not for him the fascination he had hoped for? In any case, the disappointment should be his, not hers. She should not suffer any slight. And then he would make another desperate resolve to be very affectionate and attentive to her; resolves which usually ended in his carrying to her some little present of flowers, or something like that, having presented which, he would turn and talk to Nan.

'I say, Beresford,' he suddenly observed, one night at dinner, 'I have an invitation to go salmon-fishing in Ireland. Will you come?'

'Well, but----' Madge interposed with an injured air, as if she ought to have been consulted first.

'I should like it tremendously!' said Mr. Tom, with a rush.

'I am told the scenery in the neighbourhood is very fine,' continued Captain King; 'at all events we are sure to think so half a dozen years hence. That is one of the grand points about one's memory; you forget all the trivial details and discomforts, and only remember the best.'

He quite naturally turned to Nan.

'I am sure, Miss Nan,' he said, 'you have quite a series of beautiful little pictures in your mind about that Splugen excursion. Don't you remember the drive along the Via Mala, in the shut-up carriage--the darkness outside--and the swish of the rain----'

'Well,' said Madge, somewhat spitefully, 'considering you were in a closed carriage and driving through darkness, I don't see much of a beautiful picture to remember!'

He did not seem to heed. It was Nan he was addressing; and there was a pleased light in her eyes. Reminiscences are to some people very delightful things.

'And you recollect the crowded saloon in the Splugen inn, and the snug little corner we got near the stove, and the little table. That's where you discovered the use of stupid people at dinner-parties----'

'What's that?' Mr. Tom demanded to know.

'It's a secret,' Captain King answered, with a laugh. 'And I think you were rather down-hearted next morning--until we began to get up through the clouds. That is a picture to remember at all events--a Christmas picture in summer time. Do you remember how green the pines looked above the snow? And how blue the sky was when the mist got driven over? And how business-like you looked in your ulster--buttoned up to the chin for resolute Alpine work. I fancy I can hear now the very chirp of your boots on the wet snow--it was very silent away up there.'

'I know,' said Nan, somewhat shamefacedly, 'that when I saw "_Ristoratore_" stuck up on the house near the top, I thought it was a place for restoring people found in the snow, until I heard the driver call out "_Du, hole Schnapps_."'

'Wasn't that a wild whirl down the other side!' he continued, delightedly. 'But you should have come into the Customs-house with me when I went to declare my cigars. You see it wouldn't do for me, who might one day get a coastguard appointment, to try on any smuggling. But I did remonstrate. I said I had already paid at Paris and at Basel; and that it was hard to have to pay three import dues on my cigars. Well, they were very civil. They said they couldn't help it. "Why not buy your cigars in