The Claverings

  CHAPTER XL.

  SHEWING HOW MRS. BURTON FOUGHT HER BATTLE.

  [Illustration.]

  "Florence, I have been to Bolton Street and I have seen Lady Ongar."Those were the first words which Cecilia Burton spoke to hersister-in-law, when she found Florence in the drawing-room on herreturn from the visit which she had made to the countess. Florencehad still before her the desk on which she had been writing; andthe letter in its envelope addressed to Mrs. Clavering, but as yetunclosed, was lying beneath her blotting-paper. Florence, who hadnever dreamed of such an undertaking on Cecilia's part, was astoundedat the tidings which she heard. Of course her first effort was madeto learn from her sister's tone and countenance what had been theresult of this interview;--but she could learn nothing from either.There was no radiance as of joy in Mrs. Burton's face, nor was therewritten there anything of despair. Her voice was serious and almostsolemn, and her manner was very grave;--but that was all. "You haveseen her?" said Florence, rising up from her chair.

  "Yes, dear. I may have done wrong. Theodore, I know, will say so. ButI thought it best to try to learn the truth before you wrote to Mrs.Clavering."

  "And what is the truth? But perhaps you have not learned it?"

  "I think I have learned all that she could tell me. She has been veryfrank."

  "Well;--what is the truth? Do not suppose, dearest, that I cannotbear it. I hope for nothing now. I only want to have this settled,that I may be at rest."

  Upon this Mrs. Burton took the suffering girl in her arms andcaressed her tenderly. "My love," said she, "it is not easy for us tobe at rest. You cannot be at rest as yet."

  "I can. I will be so, when I know that this is settled. I do not wishto interfere with his fortune. There is my letter to his mother, andnow I will go back to Stratton."

  "Not yet, dearest; not yet," said Mrs. Burton, taking the letterin her hand, but refraining from withdrawing it at once from theenvelope. "You must hear what I have heard to-day."

  "Does she say that she loves him?"

  "Ah, yes;--she loves him. We must not doubt that."

  "And he;--what does she say of him?"

  "She says what you also must say, Florence;--though it is hard thatit should be so. It must be as he shall decide."

  "No," said Florence, withdrawing herself from the arm that was stillaround her. "No; it shall not be as he may choose to decide. I willnot so submit myself to him. It is enough as it is. I will never seehim more;--never. To say that I do not love him would be untrue, butI will never see him again."

  "Stop, dear; stop. What if it be no fault of his?"

  "No fault of his that he went to her when we--we--we--he and I--were,as we were, together!"

  "Of course there has been some fault; but, Flo dearest, listen to me.You know that I would ask you to do nothing from which a woman shouldshrink."

  "I know that you would give your heart's blood for me;--but nothingwill be of avail now. Do not look at me with melancholy eyes likethat. Cissy, it will not kill me. It is only the doubt that killsone."

  "I will not look at you with melancholy eyes, but you must listen tome. She does not herself know what his intention is."

  "But I know it,--and I know my own. Read my letter, Cissy. There isnot one word of anger in it, nor will I ever utter a reproach. Heknew her first. If he loved her through it all, it was a pity hecould not be constant to his love, even though she was false to him."

  "But you won't hear me, Flo. As far as I can learn the truth,--asI myself most firmly believe,--when he went to her on her returnto England, he had no other intention than that of visiting an oldfriend."

  "But what sort of friend, Cissy?"

  "He had no idea then of being untrue to you. But when he saw her theold intimacy came back. That was natural. Then he was dazzled by herbeauty."

  "Is she then so beautiful?"

  "She is very beautiful."

  "Let him go to her," said Florence, tearing herself away from hersister's arm, and walking across the room with a quick and almostangry step. "Let her have him. Cissy, there shall be an end of it.I will not condescend to solicit his love. If she is such as you say,and if beauty with him goes for everything,--what chance could therebe for such as me?"

  "I did not say that beauty with him went for everything."

  "Of course it does. I ought to have known that it would be so withsuch a one as him. And then she is rich also,--wonderfully rich! Whatright can I have to think of him?"

  "Florence, you are unjust. You do not even suspect that it is hermoney."

  "To me it is the same thing. I suppose that a woman who is sobeautiful has a right to everything. I know that I am plain, and Iwill be--content--in future--to think no more--" Poor Florence, whenshe had got as far as that, broke down, and could go on no furtherwith the declaration which she had been about to make as to herfuture prospects. Mrs. Burton, taking advantage of this, went on withher story, struggling, not altogether unsuccessfully, to assume acalm tone of unimpassioned reason.

  "As I said before, he was dazzled--"

  "Dazzled!--oh!"

  "But even then he had no idea of being untrue to you."

  "No; he was untrue without an idea. That is worse."

  "Florence, you are perverse, and are determined to be unfair. I mustbeg that you will hear me to the end, so that then you may be able tojudge what course you ought to follow." This Mrs. Burton said withthe air of a great authority; after which she continued in a voicesomething less stern--"He thought of doing no injury to you when hewent to see her; but something of the feeling of his old love grewupon him when he was in her company, and he became embarrassed by hisposition before he was aware of his own danger. He might, of course,have been stronger." Here Florence exhibited a gesture of strongimpatience, though she did not speak. "I am not going to defend himaltogether, but I think you must admit that he was hardly tried. Ofcourse I cannot say what passed between them, but I can understandhow easily they might recur to the old scenes;--how naturally shewould wish for a renewal of the love which she had been base enoughto betray! She does not, however, consider herself as at presentengaged to him. That you may know for certain. It may be that she hasasked him for such a promise, and that he has hesitated. If so, hisstaying away from us, and his not writing to you, can be easilyunderstood."

  "And what is it you would have me do?"

  "He is ill now. Wait till he is well. He would have been here beforethis, had not illness prevented him. Wait till he comes."

  "I cannot do that, Cissy. Wait I must, but I cannot wait withoutoffering him, through his mother, the freedom which I have so muchreason to know that he desires."

  "We do not know that he desires it. We do not know that his mothereven suspects him of any fault towards you. Now that he is there,--athome,--away from Bolton Street--"

  "I do not care to trust to such influences as that, Cissy. If hecould not spend this morning with her in her own house, and then ashe left her feel that he preferred me to her, and to all the world,I would rather be as I am than take his hand. He shall not marry mefrom pity, nor yet from a sense of duty. We know the old story,--howthe devil would be a monk when he was sick. I will not accept hissick-bed allegiance, or have to think that I owe my husband to amother's influence over him while he is ill."

  "You will make me think, Flo, that you are less true to him than sheis."

  "Perhaps it is so. Let him have what good such truth as hers can dohim. For me, I feel that it is my duty to be true to myself. I willnot condescend to indulge my heart at the cost of my pride as awoman."

  "Oh, Florence, I hate that word pride."

  "You would not hate it for yourself, in my place."

  "You need take no shame to love him."

  "Have I taken shame to love him?" said Florence, rising again fromher chair. "Have I been missish or coy about my love? From the momentin which I knew that it was a pleasure to myself to regard him as myfuture husband, I have spoken of my love as being always proud of it.I have acknowled
ged it as openly as you can do yours for Theodore. Iacknowledge it still, and will never deny it. Take shame that I haveloved him! No. But I should take to myself great shame should I everbe brought so low as to ask him for his love, when once I had learnedto think that he had transferred it from myself to another woman."Then she walked the length of the room, backwards and forwards, withhasty steps, not looking at her sister-in-law, whose eyes were nowfilled with tears. "Come, Cissy," she then said, "we will make an endof this. Read my letter if you choose to read it,--though indeed itis not worth the reading, and then let me send it to the post."

  Mrs. Burton now opened the letter and read it very slowly. It wasstern and almost unfeeling in the calmness of the words chosen;but in those words her proposed marriage with Harry Clavering wasabsolutely abandoned. "I know," she said, "that your son is morewarmly attached to another lady than he is to me, and under thosecircumstances, for his sake as well as for mine, it is necessarythat we should part. Dear Mrs. Clavering, may I ask you to make himunderstand that he and I are never to recur to the past? If he willsend me back any letters of mine,--should any have been kept,--andthe little present which I once gave him, all will have been donewhich need be done, and all have been said which need be said. Hewill receive in a small parcel his own letters and the gifts whichhe has made me." There was in this a tone of completeness,--as ofa business absolutely finished,--of a judgment admitting no appeal,which did not at all suit Mrs. Burton's views. A letter, quite asbecoming on the part of Florence, might, she thought, be written,which would still leave open a door for reconciliation. But Florencewas resolved, and the letter was sent.

  The part which Mrs. Burton had taken in this conversation hadsurprised even herself. She had been full of anger with HarryClavering,--as wrathful with him as her nature permitted her to be;and yet she had pleaded his cause with all her eloquence, goingalmost so far in her defence of him as to declare that he wasblameless. And in truth she was prepared to acquit him of blame,--togive him full absolution without penance,--if only he could bebrought back again into the fold. Her wrath against him would be veryhot should he not so return;--but all should be more than forgivenif he would only come back, and do his duty with affectionate andpatient fidelity. Her desire was, not so much that justice shouldbe done, as that Florence should have the thing coveted, and thatFlorence's rival should not have it. According to the arguments,as arranged by her feminine logic, Harry Clavering would be allright or all wrong according as he might at last bear himself. Shedesired success, and, if she could only be successful, was preparedto forgive everything. And even yet she would not give up thebattle, though she admitted to herself that Florence's letter toMrs. Clavering made the contest more difficult than ever. It might,however, be that Mrs. Clavering would be good enough, just enough,true enough, clever enough, to know that such a letter as this,coming from such a girl and written under such circumstances, shouldbe taken as meaning nothing. Most mothers would wish to see theirsons married to wealth, should wealth throw itself in their way;--butMrs. Clavering, possibly, might not be such a mother as that.

  In the meantime there was before her the terrible necessity ofexplaining to her husband the step which she had taken without hisknowledge, and of which she knew that she must tell him the historybefore she could sit down to dinner with him in comfort. "Theodore,"she said, creeping in out of her own chamber to his dressing-room,while he was washing his hands, "you mustn't be angry with me, butI have done something to-day."

  "And why must I not be angry with you?"

  "You know what I mean. You mustn't be angry--especially aboutthis,--because I don't want you to be."

  "That's conclusive," said he. It was manifest to her that he was in agood humour, which was a great blessing. He had not been tried withhis work as he was often wont to be, and was therefore willing to beplayful.

  "What do you think I've done?" said she. "I have been to BoltonStreet and have seen Lady Ongar."

  "No!"

  "I have, Theodore, indeed."

  Mr. Burton had been rubbing his face vehemently with a rough towel atthe moment in which the communication had been made to him, and sostrongly was he affected by it that he was stopped in his operationand brought to a stand in his movement, looking at his wife over thetowel as he held it in both his hands. "What on earth has made you dosuch a thing as that?" he said.

  "I thought it best. I thought that I might hear the truth,--and soI have. I could not bear that Florence should be sacrificed whilstanything remained undone that was possible."

  "Why didn't you tell me that you were going?"

  "Well, my dear; I thought it better not. Of course I ought to havetold you, but in this instance I thought it best just to go withoutthe fuss of mentioning it."

  "What you really mean is, that if you had told me I should have askedyou not to go."

  "Exactly."

  "And you were determined to have your own way."

  "I don't think, Theodore, I care so much about my own way as somewomen do. I am sure I always think your opinion is better than myown;--that is, in most things."

  "And what did Lady Ongar say to you?" He had now put down the towel,and was seated in his arm-chair, looking up into his wife's face.

  "It would be a long story to tell you all that she said."

  "Was she civil to you?"

  "She was not uncivil. She is a handsome, proud woman, prone tospeak out what she thinks and determined to have her own way whenit is possible; but I think that she intended to be civil to mepersonally."

  "What is her purpose now?"

  "Her purpose is clear enough. She means to marry Harry Clavering ifshe can get him. She said so. She made no secret of what her wishesare."

  "Then, Cissy, let her marry him, and do not let us trouble ourselvesfurther in the matter."

  "But Florence, Theodore! Think of Florence!"

  "I am thinking of her, and I think that Harry Clavering is not worthher acceptance. She is as the traveller that fell among thieves.She is hurt and wounded, but not dead. It is for you to be the GoodSamaritan, but the oil which you should pour into her wounds is nota renewed hope as to that worthless man. Let Lady Ongar have him. Asfar as I can see, they are fit for each other."

  Then she went through with him, diligently, all the argumentswhich she had used with Florence, palliating Harry's conduct, andexplaining the circumstances of his disloyalty, almost as thosecircumstances had in truth occurred. "I think you are too hard onhim," she said. "You can't be too hard on falsehood," he replied."No, not while it exists. But you would not be angry with a man forever, because he should once have been false? But we do not know thathe is false." "Do we not?" said he. "But never mind; we must go todinner now. Does Florence know of your visit?" Then, before she wouldallow him to leave his room, she explained to him what had takenplace between herself and Florence, and told him of the letter thathad been written to Mrs. Clavering. "She is right," said he. "Thatway out of her difficulty is the best that is left to her." But,nevertheless, Mrs. Burton was resolved that she would not as yetsurrender.

  Theodore Burton, when he reached the drawing-room, went up to hissister and kissed her. Such a sign of the tenderness of love wasnot common with him, for he was one of those who are not usuallydemonstrative in their affection. At the present moment he saidnothing of what was passing in his mind, nor did she. She simplyraised her face to meet his lips, and pressed his hand as she heldit. What need was there of any further sign between them than this?Then they went to dinner, and their meal was eaten almost in silence.Almost every moment Cecilia's eye was on her sister-in-law. A carefulobserver, had there been one there, might have seen this; but, whilethey remained together downstairs, there occurred among them nothingelse to mark that all was not well with them.

  Nor would the brother have spoken a word during the evening on thesubject that was so near to all their hearts had not Florence led theway. When they were at tea, and when Cecilia had already made up hermind that there was to be no further discuss
ion that night, Florencesuddenly broke forth.

  "Theodore," she said, "I have been thinking much about it, and Ibelieve I had better go home, to Stratton, to-morrow."

  "Oh, no," said Cecilia, eagerly.

  "I believe it will be better that I should," continued Florence. "Isuppose it is very weak in me to own it; but I am unhappy, and, likethe wounded bird, I feel that it will be well that I should hidemyself."

  Cecilia was at her feet in a moment. "Dearest Flo," she said. "Is notthis your home as well as Stratton?"

  "When I am able to be happy it is. Those who have light hearts mayhave more homes than one; but it is not so with those whose heartsare heavy. I think it will be best for me to go."

  "You shall do exactly as you please," said her brother. "In such amatter I will not try to persuade you. I only wish that we could tendto comfort you."

  "You do comfort me. If I know that you think I am doing right, thatwill comfort me more than anything. Absolute and immediate comfort isnot to be had when one is sorrowful."

  "No, indeed," said her brother. "Sorrow should not be killed tooquickly. I always think that those who are impervious to grief mustbe impervious also to happiness. If you have feelings capable of theone, you must have them capable also of the other!"

  "You should wait, at any rate, till you get an answer from Mrs.Clavering," said Cecilia.

  "I do not know that she has any answer to send to me."

  "Oh, yes; she must answer you, if you will think of it. If sheaccepts what you have said--"

  "She cannot but accept it."

  "Then she must reply to you. There is something which you have askedher to send to you; and I think you should wait, at any rate, tillit reaches you here. Mind I do not think her answer will be of thatnature; but it is clear that you should wait for it whatever it maybe." Then Florence, with the concurrence of her brother's opinion,consented to remain in London for a few days, expecting the answerwhich would be sent by Mrs. Clavering;--and after that no furtherdiscussion took place as to her trouble.