CHAPTER LXXVI.
HETTA AND HER LOVER.
Lady Carbury was at this time so miserable in regard to her son thatshe found herself unable to be active as she would otherwise havebeen in her endeavours to separate Paul Montague and her daughter.Roger had come up to town and given his opinion, very freely at anyrate with regard to Sir Felix. But Roger had immediately returned toSuffolk, and the poor mother in want of assistance and consolationturned naturally to Mr. Broune, who came to see her for a few minutesalmost every evening. It had now become almost a part of Mr. Broune'slife to see Lady Carbury once in the day. She told him of the twopropositions which Roger had made: first, that she should fix herresidence in some second-rate French or German town, and that SirFelix should be made to go with her; and, secondly, that she shouldtake possession of Carbury manor for six months. "And where would Mr.Carbury go?" asked Mr. Broune.
"He's so good that he doesn't care what he does with himself.There's a cottage on the place, he says, that he would move to." Mr.Broune shook his head. Mr. Broune did not think that an offer soquixotically generous as this should be accepted. As to the German orFrench town, Mr. Broune said that the plan was no doubt feasible, buthe doubted whether the thing to be achieved was worth the terriblesacrifice demanded. He was inclined to think that Sir Felix should goto the colonies. "That he might drink himself to death," said LadyCarbury, who now had no secrets from Mr. Broune. Sir Felix in themean time was still in the doctor's hands up-stairs. He had no doubtbeen very severely thrashed, but there was not in truth very muchailing him beyond the cuts on his face. He was, however, at thepresent moment better satisfied to be an invalid than to have to comeout of his room and to meet the world. "As to Melmotte," said Mr.Broune, "they say now that he is in some terrible mess which willruin him and all who have trusted him."
"And the girl?"
"It is impossible to understand it all. Melmotte was to have beensummoned before the Lord Mayor to-day on some charge of fraud;--butit was postponed. And I was told this morning that Nidderdale stillmeans to marry the girl. I don't think anybody knows the truthabout it. We shall hold our tongue about him till we really do knowsomething." The "we" of whom Mr. Broune spoke was, of course, the"Morning Breakfast Table."
But in all this there was nothing about Hetta. Hetta, however,thought very much of her own condition, and found herself driven totake some special step by the receipt of two letters from her lover,written to her from Liverpool. They had never met since she hadconfessed her love to him. The first letter she did not at onceanswer, as she was at that moment waiting to hear what RogerCarbury would say about Mrs. Hurtle. Roger Carbury had spoken,leaving a conviction on her mind that Mrs. Hurtle was by no meansa fiction,--but indeed a fact very injurious to her happiness. ThenPaul's second love-letter had come, full of joy, and love, andcontentment,--with not a word in it which seemed to have been in theslightest degree influenced by the existence of a Mrs. Hurtle. Hadthere been no Mrs. Hurtle, the letter would have been all that Hettacould have desired; and she could have answered it, unless forbiddenby her mother, with all a girl's usual enthusiastic affection for herchosen lord. But it was impossible that she should now answer it inthat strain;--and it was equally impossible that she should leavesuch letters unanswered. Roger had told her to "ask himself;" andshe now found herself constrained to bid him either come to her andanswer the question, or, if he thought it better, to give her somewritten account of Mrs. Hurtle,--so that she might know who the ladywas, and whether the lady's condition did in any way interfere withher own happiness. So she wrote to Paul, as follows:--
Welbeck Street, 16th July, 18--.
MY DEAR PAUL.
She found that after that which had passed between them she could notcall him "My dear Sir," or "My dear Mr. Montague," and that it musteither be "Sir" or "My dear Paul." He was dear to her,--very dear;and she thought that he had not been as yet convicted of any conductbad enough to force her to treat him as an outcast. Had there been noMrs. Hurtle he would have been her "Dearest Paul,"--but she made herchoice, and so commenced.
MY DEAR PAUL,
A strange report has come round to me about a lady called Mrs. Hurtle. I have been told that she is an American lady living in London, and that she is engaged to be your wife. I cannot believe this. It is too horrid to be true. But I fear,--I fear there is something true that will be very very sad for me to hear. It was from my brother I first heard it,--who was of course bound to tell me anything he knew. I have talked to mamma about it, and to my cousin Roger. I am sure Roger knows it all;--but he will not tell me. He said,--"Ask himself." And so I ask you. Of course I can write about nothing else till I have heard about this. I am sure I need not tell you that it has made me very unhappy. If you cannot come and see me at once, you had better write. I have told mamma about this letter.
Then came the difficulty of the signature, with the declarationwhich must naturally be attached to it. After some hesitation shesubscribed herself,
Your affectionate friend,
HENRIETTA CARBURY.
"Most affectionately your own Hetta" would have been the form inwhich she would have wished to finish the first letter she had everwritten to him.
Paul received it at Liverpool on the Wednesday morning, and on theWednesday evening he was in Welbeck Street. He had been quite awarethat it had been incumbent on him to tell her the whole history ofMrs. Hurtle. He had meant to keep back--almost nothing. But it hadbeen impossible for him to do so on that one occasion on which hehad pleaded his love to her successfully. Let any reader who isintelligent in such matters say whether it would have been possiblefor him then to have commenced the story of Mrs. Hurtle and to havetold it to the bitter end. Such a story must be postponed for asecond or a third interview. Or it may, indeed, be communicatedby letter. When Paul was called away to Liverpool he did considerwhether he should write the story. But there are many reasons strongagainst such written communications. A man may desire that the womanhe loves should hear the record of his folly,--so that, in afterdays, there may be nothing to be detected; so that, should the Mrs.Hurtle of his life at any time intrude upon his happiness, he maywith a clear brow and undaunted heart say to his beloved one,--"Ah,this is the trouble of which I spoke to you." And then he and hisbeloved one will be in one cause together. But he hardly wishes tosupply his beloved one with a written record of his folly. And thenwho does not know how much tenderness a man may show to his ownfaults by the tone of his voice, by half-spoken sentences, and byan admixture of words of love for the lady who has filled up thevacant space once occupied by the Mrs. Hurtle of his romance? But thewritten record must go through from beginning to end, self-accusing,thoroughly perspicuous, with no sweet, soft falsehoods hidden underthe half-expressed truth. The soft falsehoods which would be sweet asthe scent of violets in a personal interview, would stand in dangerof being denounced as deceit added to deceit, if sent in a letter. Ithink therefore that Paul Montague did quite right in hurrying up toLondon.
He asked for Miss Carbury, and when told that Miss Henrietta was withher mother, he sent his name up and said that he would wait in thedining-room. He had thoroughly made up his mind to this course. Theyshould know that he had come at once; but he would not, if it couldbe helped, make his statement in the presence of Lady Carbury. Then,up-stairs, there was a little discussion. Hetta pleaded her right tosee him alone. She had done what Roger had advised, and had done itwith her mother's consent. Her mother might be sure that she wouldnot again accept her lover till this story of Mrs. Hurtle had beensifted to the very bottom. But she must herself hear what her loverhad to say for himself. Felix was at the time in the drawing-roomand suggested that he should go down and see Paul Montague on hissister's behalf;--but his mother looked at him with scorn, and hissister quietly said that she would rather see Mr. Montague herself.Felix had been so cowed by circumstances that he did not say anotherword, and Hetta left the room alone.
When she entered the parlo
ur Paul stept forward to take her in hisarms. That was a matter of course. She knew it would be so, and shehad prepared herself for it. "Paul," she said, "let me hear about allthis--first." She sat down at some distance from him,--and he foundhimself compelled to seat himself at some little distance from her.
"And so you have heard of Mrs. Hurtle," he said, with a faint attemptat a smile.
"Yes;--Felix told me, and Roger evidently had heard about her."
"Oh yes; Roger Carbury has heard about her from the beginning;--knowsthe whole history almost as well as I know it myself. I don't thinkyour brother is as well informed."
"Perhaps not. But--isn't it a story that--concerns me?"
"Certainly it so far concerns you, Hetta, that you ought to know it.And I trust you will believe that it was my intention to tell ityou."
"I will believe anything that you will tell me."
"If so, I don't think that you will quarrel with me when you knowall. I was engaged to marry Mrs. Hurtle."
"Is she a widow?"--He did not answer this at once. "I suppose shemust be a widow if you were going to marry her."
"Yes;--she is a widow. She was divorced."
"Oh, Paul! And she is an American?"
"Yes."
"And you loved her?"
Montague was desirous of telling his own story, and did not wish tobe interrogated. "If you will allow me I will tell it you all frombeginning to end."
"Oh, certainly. But I suppose you loved her. If you meant to marryher you must have loved her." There was a frown upon Hetta's brow anda tone of anger in her voice which made Paul uneasy.
"Yes;--I loved her once; but I will tell you all." Then he didtell his story, with a repetition of which the reader need not bedetained. Hetta listened with fair attention,--not interrupting veryoften, though when she did interrupt, the little words which shespoke were bitter enough. But she heard the story of the long journeyacross the American continent, of the ocean journey before the end ofwhich Paul had promised to make this woman his wife. "Had she beendivorced then?" asked Hetta,--"because I believe they get themselvesdivorced just when they like." Simple as the question was he couldnot answer it. "I could only know what she told me," he said, as hewent on with his story. Then Mrs. Hurtle had gone on to Paris, andhe, as soon as he reached Carbury, had revealed everything to Roger."Did you give her up then?" demanded Hetta with stern severity.No,--not then. He had gone back to San Francisco, and,--he had notintended to say that the engagement had been renewed, but he wasforced to acknowledge that it had not been broken off. Then he hadwritten to her on his second return to England,--and then she hadappeared in London at Mrs. Pipkin's lodgings in Islington. "I canhardly tell you how terrible that was to me," he said, "for I had bythat time become quite aware that my happiness must depend upon you."He tried the gentle, soft falsehoods that should have been as sweetas violets. Perhaps they were sweet. It is odd how stern a girl canbe, while her heart is almost breaking with love. Hetta was verystern.
"But Felix says you took her to Lowestoft,--quite the other day."
Montague had intended to tell all,--almost all. There was a somethingabout the journey to Lowestoft which it would be impossible to makeHetta understand, and he thought that that might be omitted. "It wason account of her health."
"Oh;--on account of her health. And did you go to the play with her?"
"I did."
"Was that for her--health?"
"Oh, Hetta, do not speak to me like that! Cannot you understand thatwhen she came here, following me, I could not desert her?"
"I cannot understand why you deserted her at all," said Hetta. "Yousay you loved her, and you promised to marry her. It seems horrid tome to marry a divorced woman,--a woman who just says that she wasdivorced. But that is because I don't understand American ways. And Iam sure you must have loved her when you took her to the theatre, anddown to Lowestoft,--for her health. That was only a week ago."
"It was nearly three weeks," said Paul in despair.
"Oh;--nearly three weeks! That is not such a very long time for agentleman to change his mind on such a matter. You were engaged toher, not three weeks ago."
"No, Hetta, I was not engaged to her then."
"I suppose she thought you were when she went to Lowestoft with you."
"She wanted then to force me to--to--to--. Oh, Hetta, it is so hardto explain, but I am sure that you understand. I do know that you donot, cannot think that I have, even for one moment, been false toyou."
"But why should you be false to her? Why should I step in and crushall her hopes? I can understand that Roger should think badly of herbecause she was--divorced. Of course he would. But an engagement isan engagement. You had better go back to Mrs. Hurtle and tell herthat you are quite ready to keep your promise."
"You had better go back to Mrs. Hurtle."]
"She knows now that it is all over."
"I dare say you will be able to persuade her to reconsider it. Whenshe came all the way here from San Francisco after you, and when sheasked you to take her to the theatre, and to Lowestoft--because ofher health, she must be very much attached to you. And she is waitinghere,--no doubt on purpose for you. She is a very old friend,--veryold,--and you ought not to treat her unkindly. Good bye, Mr.Montague. I think you had better lose no time in going--back to Mrs.Hurtle." All this she said with sundry little impedimentary gurglesin her throat, but without a tear and without any sign of tenderness.
"You don't mean to tell me, Hetta, that you are going to quarrel withme!"
"I don't know about quarrelling. I don't wish to quarrel with anyone. But of course we can't be friends when you have married--Mrs.Hurtle."
"Nothing on earth would induce me to marry her."
"Of course I cannot say anything about that. When they told me thisstory I did not believe them. No; I hardly believed Roger when,--hewould not tell it for he was too kind,--but when he would notcontradict it. It seemed to be almost impossible that you shouldhave come to me just at the very same moment. For, after all, Mr.Montague, nearly three weeks is a very short time. That trip toLowestoft couldn't have been much above a week before you came tome."
"What does it matter?"
"Oh no; of course not;--nothing to you. I think I will go away now,Mr. Montague. It was very good of you to come and tell me all. Itmakes it so much easier."
"Do you mean to say that--you are going to--throw me over?"
"I don't want you to throw Mrs. Hurtle over. Good bye."
"Hetta!"
"No; I will not have you lay your hand upon me. Good night, Mr.Montague." And so she left him.
Paul Montague was beside himself with dismay as he left the house. Hehad never allowed himself for a moment to believe that this affairof Mrs. Hurtle would really separate him from Hetta Carbury. If shecould only really know it all, there could be no such result. Hehad been true to her from the first moment in which he had seen her,never swerving from his love. It was to be supposed that he had lovedsome woman before; but, as the world goes, that would not, couldnot, affect her. But her anger was founded on the presence of Mrs.Hurtle in London,--which he would have given half his possessions tohave prevented. But when she did come, was he to have refused to seeher? Would Hetta have wished him to be cold and cruel like that? Nodoubt he had behaved badly to Mrs. Hurtle;--but that trouble he hadovercome. And now Hetta was quarrelling with him, though he certainlyhad never behaved badly to her.
He was almost angry with Hetta as he walked home. Everything that hecould do he had done for her. For her sake he had quarrelled withRoger Carbury. For her sake,--in order that he might be effectuallyfree from Mrs. Hurtle,--he had determined to endure the spring of thewild cat. For her sake,--so he told himself,--he had been contentto abide by that odious railway company, in order that he might ifpossible preserve an income on which to support her. And now shetold him that they must part,--and that only because he had not beencruelly indifferent to the unfortunate woman who had followed himfrom America. There was no logic in i
t, no reason,--and, as hethought, very little heart. "I don't want you to throw Mrs. Hurtleover," she had said. Why should Mrs. Hurtle be anything to her?Surely she might have left Mrs. Hurtle to fight her own battles.But they were all against him. Roger Carbury, Lady Carbury, and SirFelix; and the end of it would be that she would be forced intomarriage with a man almost old enough to be her father! She could notever really have loved him. That was the truth. She must be incapableof such love as was his own for her. True love always forgives.And here there was really so very little to forgive! Such were histhoughts as he went to bed that night. But he probably omitted toask himself whether he would have forgiven her very readily had hefound that she had been living "nearly three weeks ago" in closeintercourse with another lover of whom he had hitherto never evenheard the name. But then,--as all the world knows,--there is a widedifference between young men and young women!
Hetta, as soon as she had dismissed her lover, went up at once toher own room. Thither she was soon followed by her mother, whoseanxious ear had heard the closing of the front door. "Well; whathas he said?" asked Lady Carbury. Hetta was in tears,--or verynigh to tears,--struggling to repress them, and struggling almostsuccessfully. "You have found that what we told you about that womanwas all true."
"Enough of it was true," said Hetta, who, angry as she was withher lover, was not on that account less angry with her mother fordisturbing her bliss.
"What do you mean by that, Hetta? Had you not better speak to meopenly?"
"I say, mamma, that enough was true. I do not know how to speak moreopenly. I need not go into all the miserable story of the woman. Heis like other men, I suppose. He has entangled himself with someabominable creature and then when he is tired of her thinks that hehas nothing to do but to say so,--and to begin with somebody else."
"Roger Carbury is very different."
"Oh, mamma, you will make me ill if you go on like that. It seems tome that you do not understand in the least."
"I say he is not like that."
"Not in the least. Of course I know that he is not in the least likethat."
"I say that he can be trusted."
"Of course he can be trusted. Who doubts it?"
"And that if you would give yourself to him, there would be no causefor any alarm."
"Mamma," said Hetta jumping up, "how can you talk to me in that way?As soon as one man doesn't suit, I am to give myself to another! Oh,mamma, how can you propose it? Nothing on earth will ever induce meto be more to Roger Carbury than I am now."
"You have told Mr. Montague that he is not to come here again?"
"I don't know what I told him, but he knows very well what I mean."
"That it is all over?" Hetta made no reply. "Hetta, I have a right toask that, and I have a right to expect a reply. I do not say that youhave hitherto behaved badly about Mr. Montague."
"I have not behaved badly. I have told you everything. I have donenothing that I am ashamed of."
"But we have now found out that he has behaved very badly. He hascome here to you,--with unexampled treachery to your cousin Roger--"
"I deny that," exclaimed Hetta.
"And at the very time was almost living with this woman who says thatshe is divorced from her husband in America! Have you told him thatyou will see him no more?"
"He understood that."
"If you have not told him so plainly, I must tell him."
"Mamma, you need not trouble yourself. I have told him very plainly."Then Lady Carbury expressed herself satisfied for the moment, andleft her daughter to her solitude.