The Testing of Diana Mallory by Mrs. Humphry Ward (best 7 inch ereader txt) 📖

additional weight in his burden during the long ride home.

No means of escaping it, or the gossip with regard to himself, which must, he knew, be raging among the guests!

That gossip had not troubled him when he had set forth in the early afternoon. Quite the contrary. It had amused him as he rode to Beechcote, full of confident hope, to think of announcing his engagement. What reason would there be for delay or concealment? He looked forward to the congratulations of old friends; the more the better.

The antithesis between "then" and "now" struck him sharply, as he dismounted. But for that last quarter of an hour with Diana, how jubilantly would he have entered the house! Ten minutes with Lady Felton--a dear, chattering woman!--and all would have been known. He pictured instinctively the joyous flutter in the house--the merry dinner--perhaps the toasts.

As it was, he slipped quietly into the house, hoping that his return might pass unnoticed. He was thankful to find no one about--the hall and drawing-room deserted. The women had gone up to rest before dinner; the men had not long before come back muddy from hunting, and were changing clothes.

Where was Sir James Chide?

He looked into the smoking-room. A solitary figure was sitting by the fire. Sir James had a new novel beside him; but he was not reading, and his cigar lay half smoked on the ash-tray beside him.

He was gazing into the blaze, his head on his hand, and his quick start and turn as the door of the smoking-room opened showed him to be not merely thoughtful but expectant.

He sprang up.

"Is that you, Oliver?"

He came forward eagerly. He had known Marsham from a child, had watched his career, and formed a very shrewd opinion of his character. But how this supreme moment would turn--if, indeed, the supreme moment had arrived--Sir James had no idea.

Marsham closed the door behind him, and in the lamplight the two men looked at each other. Marsham's brow was furrowed, his cheeks pale. His eyes, restless and bright, interrogated his old friend. At the first glance Sir James understood. He thrust his hands into his pockets.

"You know?" he said, under his breath.

Marsham nodded.

"And you--have known it all along?"

"From the first moment, almost, that I set eyes on that poor child. Does _she_ know? Have you broken it to her?"

The questions hurried on each other's heels. Marsham shook his head, and Sir James, turning away, made a sound that was almost a groan.

"You have proposed to her?"

"Yes."

"And she has accepted you?"

"Yes." Marsham walked to the mantel-piece, and hung over the fire.

Sir James watched him for a moment, twisting his mouth. Then he walked up to his companion and laid a hand on his arm.

"Stick it out, Oliver!" he said, breathing quick. "Stick it out! You'll have to fight--but she's worth it."

Marsham's hand groped for his. Sir James pressed it, and walked away again, his eyes on the carpet. When he came back, he said, shortly:

"You know your mother will resist it to the last?"

By this, Marsham had collected his forces, and as he turned to the lamplight, Sir James saw a countenance that reassured him.

"I have no hope of persuading her. It will have to be faced."

"No, I fear there is no hope. She sees all such things in a false light. Forgive me--we must both speak plainly. She will shudder at the bare idea of Juliet Sparling's daughter as your wife; she will think it means a serious injury to your career--in reality it does nothing of the sort--and she will regard it as her duty to assert herself."

"You and Ferrier must do all you can for me," said Marsham, slowly.

"We shall do everything we can, but I do not flatter myself it will be of the smallest use. And supposing we make no impression--what then?"

Marsham paused a moment; then looked up.

"You know the terms of my father's will? I am absolutely dependent on my mother. The allowance she makes me at present is quite inadequate for a man in Parliament, and she could stop it to-morrow."

"You might have to give up Parliament?"

"I should very likely have to give up Parliament."

Sir James ruminated, and took up his half-smoked cigar for counsel.

"I can't imagine, Oliver, that your mother would push her opposition to quite that point. But, in any case, you have forgotten Miss Mallory's own fortune."

"It has never entered into my thoughts!" cried Marsham, with an emphasis which Sir James knew to be honest. "But, in any case, I cannot live upon my wife. If I could not find something to do, I should certainly give up politics."

His tone had become a little dry and bitter, his aspect gray.

Sir James surveyed him a moment--pondering.

"You will find plenty of ways out, Oliver--plenty! The sympathy of all the world will be with you. You have won a beautiful and noble creature. She has been brought up under a more than Greek fate. You will rescue her from it. You will show her how to face it--and how to conquer it."

A tremor swept across Marsham's handsome mouth. But the perplexity and depression in the face remained.

Sir James had a slight consciousness of rebuff. But it disappeared in his own emotion. He resumed:

"She ought to be told the story--perhaps with some omissions--at once. Her mother"--he spoke with a slow precision, forcing out the words--"was not a bad woman. If you like, I will break it to Miss Mallory. I am probably more intimately acquainted with the story than any one else now living."

Something in the tone, in the solemnity of the blue eyes, in the carriage of the gray head, touched Marsham to the quick. He laid a hand on his old friend's shoulder--affectionately--in mute thanks.

"Diana mentioned her father's solicitors--"

"I know"--interrupted Sir James--"Riley & Bonner--excellent fellows--both of them still living. They probably have all the records. And I shouldn't wonder if they have a letter--from Sparling. He _must_ have made provision--for the occasion that has now arisen."

"A letter?--for Diana?"

Sir James nodded. "His behavior to her was a piece of moral cowardice, I suppose. I saw a good deal of him during the trial, of course, though it is years now since I lost all trace of him. He was a sensitive, shy fellow, wrapped up in his archaeology, and very ignorant of the world--when it all happened. It tore him up by the roots. His life withered in a day."

Marsham flushed.

"He had no right to bring her up in this complete ignorance! He could not have done anything more cruel!--more fatal! No one knows what the effect may be upon her."

And with a sudden rush of passion through the blood, he seemed to hold her once more in his arms, he felt the warmth of her cheek on his; all her fresh and fragrant youth was present to him, the love in her voice, and in her proud eyes. He turned away, threw himself into a chair, and buried his face in his hands.

Sir James looked down upon him. Instead of sympathy, there was a positive lightening in the elder man's face--a gleam of satisfaction.

"Cheer up, old fellow!" he said, in a low voice. "You'll bring her through. You stand by her, and you'll reap your reward. By Gad, there are many men who would envy you the chance!"

Marsham made no reply. Was it his silence that evoked in the mind of Sir James the figure which already held the mind of his companion?--the figure of Lady Lucy? He paced up and down, with the image before him--the spare form, resolutely erect, the delicate resolution of the face, the prim perfection of the dress, judged by the Quakerish standard of its owner. Lady Lucy almost always wore gloves--white or gray. In Sir James's mind the remembrance of them took a symbolic importance. What use in expecting the wearer of them to handle the blood and mire of Juliet Sparling's story with breadth and pity?

"Look here!" he said, coming to a sudden stop. "Let us decide at once on what is to be done. You said nothing to Miss Mallory?"

"Nothing. But she is already in some trouble and misgiving about the past. She is in the mood to inquire; she has been, I think, for some time. And, naturally, she wishes to hide nothing from me."

"She will write to Riley & Bonner," said Sir James, quietly. "She will probably write to-night. They may take steps to acquaint her with her history--or they may not. It depends. Meanwhile, who else is likely to know anything about the engagement?"

"Diana was to tell Mrs. Colwood--her companion; no one else."

"Nice little woman!--all right there! But"--Sir James gave a slight start--"what about the cousin?"

"Miss Merton? Oh no! There is clearly no sympathy between her and Diana. How could there be?"

"Yes--but my dear fellow!--that girl knows--must know--everything there is to know! And she dislikes Diana; she is jealous of her; that I saw quite plainly this afternoon. And, moreover, she is probably quite well informed about you and your intentions. She gossiped half through lunch with that ill-bred fellow Birch. I heard your name once or twice. Oh!--and by-the-way!"--Sir James turned sharply on his heel--"what was she confabulating about with Miss Drake all that time in the garden? Did they know each other before?"

Marsham replied in the negative. But he, too, was disagreeably arrested by the recollection of the two girls walking together, and of the intimacy and animation of their talk. And he could recall what Sir James had not seen--the strangeness of Alicia's manner, and the peremptoriness with which she had endeavored to carry him home with her. Had she--after hearing the story--tried to interrupt or postpone the crucial scene with Diana? That seemed to him the probable explanation, and the idea roused in him a hot and impotent anger. What business was it of hers?

"H'm!" said Sir James. "You may be sure that Miss Drake is now in the secret. She was very discreet on the way home. But she will take sides; and not, I think, with us. She seems to have a good deal of influence with your mother."

Marsham reluctantly admitted it.

"My sister, too, will be hostile. Don't let's forget that."

Sir James shrugged his shoulders, with the smile of one who is determined to keep his spirits up.

"Well, my dear Marsham, you have your battle cut out for you! Don't delay it. Where is Lady Lucy?"

"In town."

"Can't you devise some excuse that will take you back to her early to-morrow morning?"

Marsham thought over it. Easy enough, if only the engagement were announced! But both agreed that silence was imperative. Whatever chance there might be with Lady Lucy would be entirely destroyed were the matter made public before her son had consulted her.

"Everybody here is on the tiptoe of expectation," said Sir James. "But that you know; you must face it somehow. Invent a letter from Ferrier--some party _contretemps_--anything!--I'll help you through. And if you see your mother in the morning, I will turn up in the afternoon."

The two men paused. They were standing together--in conference; but each was conscious of a background of hurrying thoughts that had so far been hardly expressed at