CHAPTER XVI
A MARRIAGE ARRANGED
Neither Molly nor her father had moved or spoken while Jimmy wascovering the short strip of turf that ended at the stone steps ofthe house. McEachern stood looking down at her in grim silence. Hisgreat body against the dark mass of the castle wall seemed largerthan ever in the uncertain light. To Molly, there was somethingsinister and menacing in his attitude. She found herself longingthat Jimmy would come back. She was frightened. Why, she could nothave said. It was as if some instinct told her that a crisis in heraffairs had been reached, and that she needed him. For the firsttime in her life, she felt nervous in her father's company. Eversince she was a child, she had been accustomed to look upon him asher protector; but, now, she was afraid.
"Father!" she cried.
"What are you doing out here?"
His voice was tense and strained.
"I came out because I wanted to think, father, dear."
She thought she knew his moods, but this was one that she had neverseen. It frightened her.
"Why did he come out here?"
"Mr. Pitt? He brought me a wrap."
"What was he saying to you?"
The rain of questions gave Molly a sensation of being battered. Shefelt dazed, and a little mutinous. What had she done that she shouldbe assailed like this?
"He was saying nothing," she said, rather shortly.
"Nothing? What do you mean? What was he saying? Tell me!"
Molly's voice shook as she replied.
"He was saying nothing," she repeated. "Do you think I'm not tellingthe truth, father? He had not spoken a word for ever so long. Wejust walked up and down. I was thinking, and I suppose he was, too.At any rate, he said nothing. I--I think you might believe me."
She began to cry quietly. Her father had never been like thisbefore. It hurt her.
McEachern's manner changed in a flash. In the shock of finding Jimmyand Molly together on the terrace, he had forgotten himself. He hadhad reason, to be suspicious. Sir Thomas Blunt, from whom he hadjust parted, had told him a certain piece of news which haddisturbed him. The discovery of Jimmy with Molly had lent an addedsignificance to that piece of news. He saw that he had been rough.In a moment, he was by her side, his great arm round her shoulder,petting and comforting her as he had done when she was a child. Hebelieved her word without question and his relief made him verytender. Gradually, the sobs ceased. She leaned against his arm.
"I'm tired, father," she whispered.
"Poor little girl. We'll sit down."
There was a seat at the end of the terrace. McEachern picked Mollyup as if she had been a baby, and carried her to it. She gave alittle cry.
"I didn't mean I was too tired to walk," she said, laughingtremulously. "How strong you are, father! If I was naughty, youcould take me up and shake me till I was good, couldn't you?"
"Of course. And send you to bed, too. So, you, be careful, youngwoman."
He lowered her to the seat. Molly drew the cloak closer round her,and shivered.
"Cold, dear?"
"No."
"You shivered."
"It was nothing. Yes, it was," she went on quickly; "it was. Father,will you promise me something?"
"Of course. What?"
"Don't ever be angry with me like that again, will you? I couldn'tbear it. Really, I couldn't. I know it's stupid of me, but it hurt.You don't know how it hurt."
"But, my dear--"
"Oh, I know it's stupid. But--"
"But, my darling, it wasn't so. I was angry, but it wasn't withyou."
"With--? Were you angry with Mr. Pitt?"
McEachern saw that he had traveled too far. He had intended thatJimmy's existence should be forgotten for the time being. He hadother things to discuss. But it was too late now. He must goforward.
"I didn't like to see you out here alone with Mr. Pitt, dear," hesaid. "I was afraid--"
He saw that he must go still further forward. It was more than,awkward. He wished to hint at the undesirability of an entanglementwith Jimmy without admitting the possibility of it. Not being a man,of nimble brain, he found this somewhat beyond his powers.
"I don't like him," he said, briefly. "He's crooked."
Molly's eyes opened wide. The color had gone from her face.
"Crooked, father?"
McEachern perceived that he had traveled very much too far, almostto disaster. He longed to denounce Jimmy, but he was gagged. IfMolly were to ask the question, that Jimmy had asked in thebedroom--that fatal, unanswerable question! The price was too great to pay.
He spoke cautiously, vaguely, feeling his way.
"I couldn't explain to you, my dear. You wouldn't understand. Youmust remember, my dear, that out in New York I was in a position toknow a great many queer characters--crooks, Molly. I was workingamong them."
"But, father, that night at our house you didn't know Mr. Pitt. Hehad to tell you his name."
"I didn't know him--then," said her father slowly, "but--but--" hepaused--"but I made inquiries," he concluded with a rush, "and foundout things."
He permitted himself a long, silent breath of relief. He saw his waynow.
"Inquiries?" said Molly. "Why?"
"Why?"
"Why did you suspect him?"
A moment earlier, the question might have confused McEachern, butnot now. He was equal to it. He took it in his stride.
"It's hard to say, my dear. A man who has had as much to do withcrooks as I have recognizes them when he sees them."
"Did you think Mr. Pitt looked--looked like that?" Her voice wasvery small. There was a drawn, pinched expression on her face. Shewas paler than ever.
He could not divine her thoughts. He could not know what his wordshad done; how they had shown her in a flash what Jimmy was to her,and lighted her mind like a flame, revealing the secret hiddenthere. She knew now. The feeling of comradeship, the instinctivetrust, the sense of dependence--they no longer perplexed her; theywere signs which she could read.
And he was crooked!
McEachern proceeded. Belief made him buoyant.
"I did, my dear. I can read them like a book. I've met scores of hissort. Broadway is full of them. Good clothes and a pleasant mannerdon't make a man honest. I've run up against a mighty high-tonedbunch of crooks in my day. It's a long time since I gave up thinkingthat it was only the ones with the low foreheads and the thick earsthat needed watching. It's the innocent Willies who look as if allthey could do was to lead the cotillon. This man Pitt's one of them.I'm not guessing, mind you. I know. I know his line, and all abouthim. I'm watching him. He's here on some game. How did he get here?Why, he scraped acquaintance with Lord Dreever in a Londonrestaurant. It's the commonest trick on the list. If I hadn'thappened to be here when he came, I suppose he'd have made his haulby now. Why, he came all prepared for it! Have you seen an ugly,grinning, red-headed scoundrel hanging about the place? His valet.So he says. Valet! Do you know who that is? That's one of the mostnotorious yegg-men on the other side. There isn't a policeman in NewYork who doesn't know Spike Mullins. Even if I knew nothing of thisPitt, that would be enough. What's an innocent man going round thecountry with Spike Mullins for, unless they are standing in togetherat some game? That's who Mr. Pitt is, my dear, and that's why maybeI seemed a little put out when I came upon you and him out herealone together. See as little of him as you can. In a large partylike this, it won't be difficult to avoid him."
Molly sat staring out across the garden. At first, every word hadbeen a stab. Several times, she had been on the point of crying outthat she could bear it no longer. But, gradually, a numbnesssucceeded the pain. She found herself listening apathetically.
McEachern talked on. He left the subject of Jimmy, comfortablyconscious that, even if there had ever existed in Molly's heart anybudding feeling of the kind he had suspected, it must now be dead.He steered the conversation away until it ran easily amongcommonplaces. He talked of New York, of the preparations for thetheatricals. M
olly answered composedly. She was still pale, and acertain listlessness in her manner might have been noticed by a moreobservant man than Mr. McEachern. Beyond this, there was nothing toshow that her heart had been born and killed but a few minutesbefore. Women have the Red Indian instinct; and Molly had grown towomanhood in those few minutes.
Presently, Lord Dreever's name came up. It caused a momentary pause,and McEachern took advantage of it. It was the cue for which he hadbeen waiting. He hesitated for a moment, for the conversation wasabout to enter upon a difficult phase, and he was not quite sure ofhimself. Then, he took the plunge.
"I have just been talking to Sir Thomas, my dear," he said. He triedto speak casually, and, as a natural result, infused so much meaninginto his voice that Molly looked at him in surprise. McEacherncoughed confusedly. Diplomacy, he concluded, was not his forte. Heabandoned it in favor of directness. "He was telling me that you hadrefused Lord Dreever this evening."
"Yes. I did," said Molly. "How did Sir Thomas know?"
"Lord Dreever told him."
Molly raised her eyebrows.
"I shouldn't have thought it was the sort of thing he would talkabout," she said.
"Sir Thomas is his uncle."
"Of course, so he is," said Molly, dryly. "I forgot. That wouldaccount for it, wouldn't it?"
Mr. McEachern looked at her with some concern. There was a hard ringin her voice which he did not altogether like. His greatest admirerhad never called him an intuitive man, and he was quite at a loss tosee what was wrong. As a schemer, he was perhaps a little naive. Hehad taken it for granted that Molly was ignorant of the maneuverswhich had been going on, and which had culminated that afternoon ina stammering proposal of marriage from Lord Dreever in the rose-garden.This, however, was not the case. The woman incapable ofseeing through the machinations of two men of the mental caliber ofSir Thomas Blunt and Mr. McEachern has yet to be born. For someconsiderable time, Molly had been alive to the well-meant plottingsof that worthy pair, and had derived little pleasure from the fact.It may be that woman loves to be pursued; but she does not love tobe pursued by a crowd.
Mr. McEachern cleared his throat, and began again.
"You shouldn't decide a question like that too hastily, my dear."
"I didn't--not too hastily for Lord Dreever, at any rate, poordear."
"It was in your power," said Mr. McEachern portentously, "to make aman happy--"
"I did," said Molly, bitterly. "You should have seen his face lightup. He could hardly believe it was true for a moment, and then itcame home to him, and I thought he would have fallen on my neck. Hedid his very best to look heart-broken--out of politeness--but itwas no good. He whistled most of the way back to the house--allflat, but very cheerfully."
"My dear! What do you mean?"
Molly had made the discovery earlier in their conversation that herfather had moods whose existence she had not expected. It was histurn now to make a similar discovery regarding herself.
"I mean nothing, father," she said. "I'm just telling you whathappened. He came to me looking like a dog that's going to bewashed--"
"Why, of course, he was nervous, my dear."
"Of course. He couldn't know that I was going to refuse him."
She was breathing quickly. He started to speak, but she went on,looking straight before her. Her face was very white in the moon-light.
"He took me into the rose-garden. Was that Sir Thomas's idea? Therecouldn't have been a better setting, I'm sure. The roses lookedlovely. Presently, I heard him gulp, and I was so sorry for him! Iwould have refused him then, and put him out of his misery, only Icouldn't very well till he had proposed, could I? So, I turned myback, and sniffed at a rose. And, then, he shut his eyes--I couldn'tsee him, but I know he shut his eyes--and began to say his lesson."
"Molly!"
She laughed, hysterically.
"He did. He said his lesson. He gabbled it. When he had got as faras, 'Well, don't you know, what I mean is, that's what I wanted tosay, you know,' I turned round and soothed him. I said I didn't lovehim. He said, 'No, no, of course not.' I said he had paid me a greatcompliment. He said, 'Not at all,' looking very anxious, poordarling, as if even then he was afraid of what might come next. ButI reassured him, and he cheered up, and we walked back to the housetogether, as happy as could be."
McEachern put his hand round her shoulders. She winced, but let itstay. He attempted gruff conciliation.
"My dear, you've been imagining things. Of course, he isn't happy.Why, I saw the young fellow--"
Recollecting that the last time he had seen the young fellow--shortlyafter dinner--the young fellow had been occupied in juggling, withevery appearance of mental peace, two billiard-balls and a box ofmatches, he broke off abruptly.
Molly looked at him.
"Father."
"My dear?"
"Why do you want me to marry Lord Dreever?"
He met the attack stoutly.
"I think he's a fine young fellow," he said, avoiding her eyes.
"He's quite nice," said Molly, quietly.
McEachern had been trying not to say it. He did not wish to say it.If it could have been hinted at, he would have done it. But he wasnot good at hinting. A lifetime passed in surroundings where thesubtlest hint is a drive in the ribs with a truncheon does not leavea man an adept at the art. He had to be blunt or silent.
"He's the Earl of Dreever, my dear."
He rushed on, desperately anxious to cover the nakedness of thestatement in a comfortable garment of words.
"Why, you see, you're young, Molly. It's only natural you shouldn'tlook on these things sensibly. You expect too much of a man. Youexpect this young fellow to be like the heroes of the novels youread. When you've lived a little longer, my dear, you'll see thatthere's nothing in it. It isn't the hero of the novel you want tomarry. It's the man who'll make you a good husband."
This remark struck Mr. McEachern as so pithy and profound that herepeated it.
He went on. Molly was sitting quite still, looking into theshrubbery. He assumed she was listening; but whether she was or not,he must go on talking. The situation was difficult. Silence wouldmake it more difficult.
"Now, look at Lord Dreever," he said. "There's a young man with oneof the oldest titles in England. He could go anywhere and do what heliked, and be excused for whatever he did because of his name. Buthe doesn't. He's got the right stuff in him. He doesn't go racketingaround--"
"His uncle doesn't allow him enough pocket-money," said Molly, witha jarring little laugh. "Perhaps, that's why."
There was a pause. McEachern required a few moments in which tomarshal his arguments once more. He had been thrown out of hisstride.
Molly turned to him. The hardness had gone from her face. She lookedup at him wistfully.
"Father, dear, listen," she said. "We always used to understand eachother so well!" He patted her shoulder affectionately. "You can'tmean what you say? You know I don't love Lord Dreever. You know he'sonly a boy. Don't you want me to marry a man? I love this old place,but surely you can't think that it can really matter in a thing likethis? You don't really mean, that about the hero of the novel? I'mnot stupid, like that. I only want--oh, I can't put it into words,but don't you see?"
Her eyes were fixed appealingly on him. It only needed a word fromhim--perhaps not even a word--to close the gulf that had openedbetween them.
He missed the chance. He had had time to think, and his argumentswere ready again. With stolid good-humor, he marched along the linehe had mapped out. He was kindly and shrewd and practical; and thegulf gaped wider with every word.
"You mustn't be rash, my dear. You mustn't act without thinking inthese things. Lord Dreever is only a boy, as you say, but he willgrow. You say you don't love him. Nonsense! You like him. You wouldgo on liking him more and more. And why? Because you could make whatyou pleased of him. You've got character, my dear. With a girl likeyou to look after him, he would go a long way, a very long way. It'sall the
re. It only wants bringing out. And think of it, Molly!Countess of Dreever! There's hardly a better title in England. Itwould make me very happy, my dear. It's been my one hope all theseyears to see you in the place where you ought to be. And now thechance has come. Molly, dear, don't throw it away."
She had leaned back with closed eyes. A wave of exhaustion had sweptover her. She listened in a dull dream. She felt beaten. They weretoo strong for her. There were too many of them. What did it matter?Why not give in, and end it all and win peace? That was all shewanted--peace now. What did it all matter?
"Very well, father," she said, listlessly.
McEachern stopped short.
"You'll do it, dear?" he cried. "You will?"
"Very well, father."
He stooped and kissed her.
"My own dear little girl," he said.
She got up.
"I'm rather tired, father," she said. "I think I'll go in."
Two minutes later, Mr. McEachern was in Sir Thomas Blunt's study.Five minutes later, Sir Thomas pressed the bell.
Saunders appeared.
"Tell his lordship," said Sir Thomas, "that I wish to see him amoment. He is in the billiard-room, I think."