‘Yes, I daresay you are beastly rich,’ said Lord Canterville.
‘I have about seven millions.’
‘Seven millions?’
‘I count in dollars; upwards of a million and a half sterling.’
Lord Canterville looked at him from head to foot, with an air of cheerful resignation to a form of grossness which threatened to become common. Then he said, with a touch of that inconsequence of which he had already given a glimpse: ‘What the deuce, then, possessed you to turn doctor?’
Jackson Lemon coloured a little, hesitated, and then replied, quickly: ‘Because I had the talent for it.’
‘Of course, I don’t for a moment doubt of your ability; but don’t you find it rather a bore?’
‘I don’t practise much. I am rather ashamed to say that.’
‘Ah, well, of course, in your country it’s different. I daresay you’ve got a door-plate, eh?’
‘Oh yes, and a tin sign tied to the balcony!’ said Jackson Lemon, smiling.
‘What did your father say to it?’
‘To my going into medicine? He said he would be hanged if he’d take any of my doses. He didn’t think I should succeed; he wanted me to go into the house.’
‘Into the House – a—’ said Lord Canterville, hesitating a little. ‘Into your Congress – yes, exactly.’
‘Ah, no, not so bad as that. Into the store,’ Jackson Lemon replied, in the candid tone in which he expressed himself when, for reasons of his own, he wished to be perfectly national.
Lord Canterville stared, not venturing, even for the moment, to hazard an interpretation; and before a solution had presented itself Lady Canterville came into the room.
‘My dear, I thought we had better see you. Do you know he wants to marry our second girl?’ It was in these simple terms that her husband acquainted her with the question.
Lady Canterville expressed neither surprise nor elation; she simply stood there, smiling, with her head a little inclined to the side, with all her customary graciousness. Her charming eyes rested on those of Jackson Lemon, and though they seemed to show that she had to think a little of so serious a proposition, his own discovered in them none of the coldness of calculation. ‘Are you talking about Barberina?’ she asked in a moment, as if her thoughts had been far away.
Of course they were talking about Barberina, and Jackson Lemon repeated to her ladyship what he had said to the girl’s father. He had thought it all over, and his mind was quite made up. Moreover, he had spoken to Lady Barb.
‘Did she tell you that, my dear?’ asked Lord Canterville, while he lighted another cigar.
She gave no heed to this inquiry, which had been vague and accidental on his lordship’s part, but simply said to Jackson Lemon that the thing was very serious, and that they had better sit down for a moment. In an instant he was near her on the sofa on which she had placed herself, still smiling and looking up at her husband with an air of general meditation, in which a sweet compassion for every one concerned was apparent.
‘Barberina has told me nothing,’ she said, after a little.
‘That proves she cares for me!’ Jackson Lemon exclaimed eagerly.
Lady Canterville looked as if she thought this almost too ingenious, almost professional; but her husband said cheerfully, jovially: ‘Ah, well, if she cares for you, I don’t object.’
This was a little ambiguous; but before Jackson Lemon had time to look into it, Lady Canterville asked gently: ‘Should you expect her to live in America?’
‘Oh, yes; that’s my home, you know.’
‘Shouldn’t you be living sometimes in England?’
‘Oh, yes, we’ll come over and see you.’ The young man was in love, he wanted to marry, he wanted to be genial, and to commend himself to the parents of Lady Barb; at the same time it was in his nature not to accept conditions, save in so far as they exactly suited him, to tie himself, or, as they said in New York, to give himself away. In any transaction he preferred his own terms to those of any one else. Therefore, the moment Lady Canterville gave signs of wishing to extract a promise, he was on his guard.
‘She’ll find it very different; perhaps she won’t like it,’ her ladyship suggested.
‘If she likes me, she’ll like my country,’ said Jackson Lemon, with decision.
‘He tells me he has got a plate on his door,’ Lord Canterville remarked humorously.
‘We must talk to her, of course; we must understand how she feels,’ said his wife, looking more serious than she had done as yet.
‘Please don’t discourage her, Lady Canterville,’ the young man begged; ‘and give me a chance to talk to her a little more myself. You haven’t given me much chance, you know.’
‘We don’t offer our daughters to people, Mr Lemon.’ Lady Canterville was always gentle, but now she was a little majestic.
‘She isn’t like some women in London, you know,’ said Jackson Lemon’s host, who seemed to remember that to a discussion of such importance he ought from time to time to contribute a word of wisdom. And Jackson Lemon, certainly, if the idea had been presented to him, would have said that, No, decidedly, Lady Barberina had not been thrown at him.
‘Of course not,’ he declared, in answer to her mother’s remark. ‘But, you know, you mustn’t refuse them too much, either; you mustn’t make a poor fellow wait too long. I admire her, I love her, more than I can say; I give you my word of honour for that.’
‘He seems to think that settles it,’ said Lord Canterville, smiling down at the young American, very indulgently, from his place before the cold chimney-piece.
‘Of course that’s what we desire, Philip,’ her ladyship returned, very nobly.
‘Lady Barb believes it; I am sure she does!’ Jackson Lemon exclaimed. ‘Why should I pretend to be in love with her if I am not?’
Lady Canterville received this inquiry in silence, and her husband, with just the least air in the world of repressed impatience, began to walk up and down the room. He was a man of many engagements, and he had been closeted for more than a quarter of an hour with the young American doctor. ‘Do you imagine you should come often to England?’ Lady Canterville demanded, with a certain abruptness, returning to that important point.
‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that; of course we shall do whatever seems best.’ He was prepared to suppose they should cross the Atlantic every summer: that prospect was by no means displeasing to him; but he was not prepared to give any such pledge to Lady Canterville, especially as he did not believe it would really be necessary. It was in his mind, not as an overt pretension, but as a tacit implication, that he should treat with Barberina’s parents on a footing of perfect equality and there would somehow be nothing equal if he should begin to enter into engagements which didn’t belong to the essence of the matter. They were to give their daughter, and he was to take her: in this arrangement there would be as much on one side as on the other. But beyond this he had nothing to ask of them; there was nothing he wished them to promise, and his own pledges, therefore, would have no equivalent. Whenever his wife should wish it, she should come over and see her people. Her home was to be in New York; but he was tacitly conscious that on the question of absences he should be very liberal. Nevertheless, there was something in the very grain of his character which forbade that he should commit himself at present in respect to times and dates.
Lady Canterville looked at her husband, but her husband was not attentive; he was taking a peep at his watch. In a moment, however, he threw out a remark to the effect that he thought it a capital thing that the two countries should become more united, and there was nothing that would bring it about better than a few of the best people on both sides pairing off together. The English, indeed, had begun it; a lot of fellows had brought over a lot of pretty girls, and it was quite fair play that the Americans should take their pick. They were all one race, after all; and why shouldn’t they make one society – the best on both sides, of course? Jackson Lemon smiled as
he recognised Lady Marmaduke’s philosophy, and he was pleased to think that Lady Beauchemin had some influence with her father; for he was sure the old gentleman (as he mentally designated his host) had got all this from her, though he expressed himself less happily than the cleverest of his daughters. Our hero had no objection to make to it, especially if there was anything in it that would really help his case. But it was not in the least on these high grounds that he had sought the hand of Lady Barb. He wanted her not in order that her people and his (the best on both sides!) should make one society; he wanted her simply because he wanted her. Lady Canterville smiled; but she seemed to have another thought.
‘I quite appreciate what my husband says; but I don’t see why poor Barb should be the one to begin.’
‘I daresay she’ll like it,’ said Lord Canterville, as if he were attempting a short cut. ‘They say you spoil your women awfully.’
‘She’s not one of their women yet,’ her ladyship remarked, in the sweetest tone in the world; and then she added, without Jackson Lemon’s knowing exactly what she meant, ‘It seems so strange.’
He was a little irritated; and perhaps these simple words added to the feeling. There had been no positive opposition to his suit, and Lord and Lady Canterville were most kind; but he felt that they held back a little, and though he had not expected them to throw themselves on his neck, he was rather disappointed, his pride was touched. Why should they hesitate? He considered himself such a good parti. It was not so much the old gentleman, it was Lady Canterville. As he saw the old gentleman look, covertly, a second time at his watch, he could have believed he would have been glad to settle the matter on the spot. Lady Canterville seemed to wish her daughter’s lover to come forward more, to give certain assurances and guarantees. He felt that he was ready to say or do anything that was a matter of proper form; but he couldn’t take the tone of trying to purchase her ladyship’s consent, penetrated as he was with the conviction that such a man as he could be trusted to care for his wife rather more than an impecunious British peer and his wife could be supposed (with the lights he had acquired in English society) to care even for the handsomest of a dozen children. It was a mistake on Lady Canterville’s part not to recognise that. He humoured her mistake to the extent of saying, just a little drily, ‘My wife shall certainly have everything she wants.’
‘He tells me he is disgustingly rich,’ Lord Canterville added, pausing before their companion with his hands in his pockets.
‘I am glad to hear it; but it isn’t so much that,’ she answered, sinking back a little on her sofa. If it was not that, she did not say what it was, though she had looked for a moment as if she were going to. She only raised her eyes to her husband’s face, as if to ask for inspiration. I know not whether she found it, but in a moment she said to Jackson Lemon, seeming to imply that it was quite another point: ‘Do you expect to continue your profession?’
He had no such intention, so far as his profession meant getting up at three o’clock in the morning to assuage the ills of humanity; but here, as before, the touch of such a question instantly stiffened him. ‘Oh, my profession! I am rather ashamed of that matter. I have neglected my work so much, I don’t know what I shall be able to do, once I am really settled at home.’
Lady Canterville received these remarks in silence; fixing her eyes again upon her husband’s face. But this nobleman was really not helpful; still with his hands in his pockets, save when he needed to remove his cigar from his lips, he went and looked out of the window. ‘Of course we know you don’t practise, and when you’re a married man you will have less time even than now. But I should really like to know if they call you Doctor over there.’
‘Oh yes, universally. We are nearly as fond of titles as your people.’
‘I don’t call that a title.’
‘It’s not so good as duke or marquis, I admit; but we have to take what we have got.’
‘Oh, bother, what does it signify?’ Lord Canterville demanded, from his place at the window. ‘I used to have a horse named Doctor, and a devilish good one too.’
‘You may call me bishop, if you like,’ said Jackson Lemon, laughing.
Lady Canterville looked grave, as if she did not enjoy this pleasantry. ‘I don’t care for any titles,’ she observed; ‘I don’t see why a gentleman shouldn’t be called Mr.’
It suddenly appeared to Jackson Lemon that there was something helpless, confused, and even slightly comical, in the position of this noble and amiable lady. The impression made him feel kindly; he too, like Lord Canterville, had begun to long for a short cut. He relaxed a moment, and leaning toward his hostess, with a smile and his hands on his little knees, he said softly, ‘It seems to me a question of no importance; all I desire is that you should call me your son-in-law.’
Lady Canterville gave him her hand, and he pressed it almost affectionately. Then she got up, remarking that before anything was decided she must see her daughter, she must learn from her own lips the state of her feelings. ‘I don’t like at all her not having spoken to me already,’ she added.
‘Where has she gone – to Roehampton? I daresay she has told it all to her godmother,’ said Lord Canterville.
‘She won’t have much to tell, poor girl!’ Jackson Lemon exclaimed. ‘I must really insist upon seeing with more freedom the person I wish to marry.’
‘You shall have all the freedom you want, in two or three days,’ said Lady Canterville. She smiled with all her sweetness; she appeared to have accepted him, and yet still to be making tacit assumptions. ‘Are there not certain things to be talked of first?’
‘Certain things, dear lady?’
Lady Canterville looked at her husband, and though he was still at his window, this time he felt it in her silence, and had to come away and speak. ‘Oh, she means settlements, and that kind of thing.’ This was an allusion which came with a much better grace from him.
Jackson Lemon looked from one of his companions to the other; he coloured a little, and gave a smile that was perhaps a trifle fixed. ‘Settlements? We don’t make them in the United States. You may be sure I shall make a proper provision for my wife.’
‘My dear fellow, over here – in our class, you know, it’s the custom,’ said Lord Canterville, with a richer brightness in his face at the thought that the discussion was over.
‘I have my own ideas,’ Jackson answered, smiling.
‘It seems to me it’s a question for the solicitors to discuss,’ Lady Canterville suggested.
‘They may discuss it as much as they please,’ said Jackson Lemon, with a laugh. He thought he saw his solicitors discussing it! He had indeed his own ideas. He opened the door for Lady Canterville, and the three passed out of the room together, walking into the hall in a silence in which there was just a tinge of awkwardness. A note had been struck which grated and scratched a little. A pair of brilliant footmen, at their approach, rose from a bench to a great altitude, and stood there like sentinels presenting arms. Jackson Lemon stopped, looking for a moment into the interior of his hat, which he had in his hand. Then, raising his keen eyes, he fixed them a moment on those of Lady Canterville, addressing her, instinctively, rather than her husband. ‘I guess you and Lord Canterville had better leave it to me!’
‘We have our traditions, Mr Lemon,’ said her ladyship, with nobleness. ‘I imagine you don’t know—’ she murmured.
Lord Canterville laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder. ‘My dear boy, those fellows will settle it in three minutes.’
‘Very likely they will!’ said Jackson Lemon. Then he asked of Lady Canterville when he might see Lady Barb.
She hesitated a moment, in her gracious way. ‘I will write you a note.’
One of the tall footmen, at the end of the impressive vista, had opened wide the portals, as if even he were aware of the dignity to which the little visitor had virtually been raised. But Jackson lingered a moment; he was visibly unsatisfied, though apparently so little unconscious that he
was unsatisfying. ‘I don’t think you understand me.’
‘Your ideas are certainly different,’ said Lady Canterville.
‘If the girl understands you, that’s enough!’ Lord Canterville exclaimed in a jovial, detached, irrelevant way.
‘May not she write to me?’ Jackson asked of her mother. ‘I certainly must write to her, you know, if you won’t let me see her.’
‘Oh yes, you may write to her, Mr Lemon.’
There was a point for a moment in the look that he gave Lady Canterville, while he said to himself that if it were necessary he would transmit his notes through the old lady at Roehampton. ‘All right, good-bye; you know what I want, at any rate.’ Then, as he was going, he turned and added: ‘You needn’t be afraid that I won’t bring her over in the hot weather!’
‘In the hot weather?’ Lady Canterville murmured, with vague visions of the torrid zone, while the young American quitted the house with the sense that he had made great concessions.
His host and hostess passed into a small morning-room, and (Lord Canterville having taken up his hat and stick to go out again) stood there a moment, face to face.
‘It’s clear enough he wants her,’ said his lordship, in a summary manner.
‘There’s something so odd about him,’ Lady Canterville answered. ‘Fancy his speaking so about settlements!’
‘You had better give him his head; he’ll go much quieter.’
‘He’s so obstinate – very obstinate; it’s easy to see that. And he seems to think a girl in your daughter’s position can be married from one day to the other – with a ring and a new frock – like a housemaid.’
‘Well, of course, over there, that’s the kind of thing. But he seems really to have a most extraordinary fortune; and every one does say their women have carte blanche.’
‘Carte blanche is not what Barb wishes; she wishes a settlement. She wants a definite income; she wants to be safe.’
Lord Canterville stared a moment. ‘Has she told you so? I thought you said—’ And then he stopped. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he added.