Joan Haste by H. Rider Haggard (cat reading book .TXT) 📖

the passions, and the aggressive ignorance of such a

woman? How could you continue to love her when you remembered in what

fashion your affection had begun; when for her sake you found yourself

a social outcast, and when, every time that you beheld her face, you

were constrained to recollect that it was the wrecker’s light which

lured you, and through you all whom you hold dear, to utter and

irretrievable disaster? I tell you that I have seen such cases, and I

have seen their miserable ends; and I implore you, Henry Graves, to

pause before you give another and a signal example of them.”

 

“You speak very feelingly,” said Henry, “and no doubt there is a great

deal of truth in what you say. I had two messmates who made

mésalliances, and certainly it didn’t answer with them, for they

have both gone to the dogs—indeed, one poor fellow committed suicide.

However, it is very difficult to argue on such matters, and still more

difficult to take warning from the fate of others, since the

circumstances are never similar. But I promise you this, Levinger,

that I will do nothing in a hurry—for two or three months,

indeed—and that I will take no step in the matter without informing

you fully of my intentions, for I think that this is due to you.

Meanwhile, if you are good enough to allow me to remain upon friendly

terms with your daughter and yourself, I shall be glad, though I am

sure I do not know how she will receive me. Within a few months I

shall finally have decided upon my course of action, and if I then

come to the conclusion that I am not bound in honour elsewhere,

perhaps I may ask you to allow me to try my fortune with Miss

Levinger, unworthy of her as I am and always shall be.”

 

“I can find no fault with that arrangement, Graves. You have set out

your mind like an honest man, and I respect you for it. It will make

me the more anxious to learn, when the three months are up, that you

have decided to forget all this folly and to begin afresh. Now I have

something to ask you: it is that, so soon as you can get about again,

you will pay us the visit which was so unfortunately postponed. Please

understand I do not mean that I wish you to make advances to my

daughter, but I should like you to grow to know each other better in

an ordinary and friendly fashion. Will you come?”

 

Henry reflected, and answered, “Thank you, yes, I will.”

 

At this moment the door was opened, and the butler, Thomson, announced

that lunch was ready, adding, “Shall I wheel you in, Sir Henry? Her

ladyship bids me say she hopes that you will come.”

 

“Yes, I suppose so,” he answered. “Here, give me a hand into the

chair.”

 

In another minute they were advancing in solemn procession across the

hall, Mr. Levinger walking first, leaning on his stick, and Henry

following after in the invalid chair propelled by Thomson. So agitated

was he at the thought of meeting Emma, and by a secret fear, born of a

guilty conscience that she should know what he and her father had been

employing the last hour in discussing her, that he forgot to guide the

chair properly, and despite Thomson’s warning, “To the right, Sir

Henry,” he contrived to strike the jamb of the door so sharply that he

must have overturned had not Emma, who was standing close by, sprung

forward and seized the wheel.

 

In one way this accident was fortunate, for it lessened the

awkwardness of their meeting. Henry apologised and she laughed; and

presently they were seated side by side at table, discussing the

eccentricities of invalid chairs with somewhat unnecessary persistence

and fervour.

 

After this the lunch went off well enough. It was not an altogether

cheerful meal, indeed; but then nothing at Rosham was ever quite

cheerful, and probably nothing had been for generations. The

atmosphere of the place, like its architecture, was oppressive, even

lugubrious, and the circumstances in which the present company were

assembled did not tend towards unrestrained gaiety. Ellen talked

energetically of matters connected with dress, in which Emma did not

seem to take any vivid interest; Lady Graves threw in an occasional

remark about the drought and the prevalence of blight upon the roses;

while Henry for the most part preserved a discreet, or rather an

embarrassed, silence; and Mr. Levinger discoursed sweetly upon the

remote and impersonal subject of British coins, of a whole potful of

which it appeared that he had recently become the proud possessor.

 

“Sir Henry has promised to come and see them, my dear,” he said to

Emma pointedly, after he had at length succeeded in stirring his

audience into a flabby and intermittent interest in the crown that

Caractacus wore, or was supposed to wear, upon a certain piece of

money.

 

“Indeed,” she answered quickly, bending her head as though to examine

the pattern of her plate.

 

“Your father has been so kind as to ask me for the second time, Miss

Levinger,” Henry remarked uneasily, “and I propose to avail myself of

his invitation so soon as I am well enough not to be a nuisance—that

is, if it is convenient.”

 

“Of course it will always be convenient to see you, Sir Henry Graves,”

Emma replied coldly, “or indeed anybody whom my father likes to ask.”

 

“That’s one for Henry,” reflected Ellen. “Serves him right too.” Then

she added aloud: “A few days at Monk’s Lodge will be a very nice

change for you, dear, and I hope that you may arrive safely this time.

Would you like to take a walk round the garden, Emma, while your

father smokes a cigarette?”

 

Emma rose gladly, for she felt the moral atmosphere of the dining-room

to be in a somewhat volcanic state, and was terribly afraid lest a few

more sparks of Ellen’s sarcastic wit should produce an explosion. For

half an hour or so they sauntered through the old-fashioned

shrubberies and pleasure grounds, the charms of which their overrun

and neglected condition seemed to enhance, at least at this season of

the year. Then it was that Ellen confided to her companion that she

expected to be married about the middle of November, and that she

hoped that Emma would come to town with her some time in October to

assist in completing her trousseau. Emma hesitated for a moment, for

she could not disguise from herself the fact that her friendship for

Ellen, at no time a very deep one, had cooled; indeed, she was not

sure whether she quite trusted her. In the end, however, she assented,

subject to her father’s consent, for she had very rarely been in

London, and she felt that a change of scene and ideas would do her

good. Then they turned back to the house, to find that the dogcart

was standing at the door.

 

“One word, my dear,” said Ellen, halting: “I am so glad that Henry

is going to stop at Monk’s Lodge. He is a most curious creature, and I

hope that you will be patient with him, and forgive him all his

oddities.”

 

“Really, Ellen,” answered Emma, with suppressed irritation, “I have

nothing to forgive Sir Henry, and of course I shall be glad to see him

whenever he chooses to come.”

 

“I am by no means sure,” reflected Ellen, as she watched the Levingers

drive away, “but that this young lady has got more spirit than I gave

her credit for. Henry had better look out, or he will lose his chance,

for I fancy that she will become as difficult to deal with in the

future as he has been in the past.”