CHAPTER XX.
Never but once to meet on earth again! She heard me as I fled--her eager tone Sank on my heart, and almost wove a chain Around my will to link it with her own, So that my stern resolve was almost gone. "I can not reach thee! whither dost thou fly? My steps are faint. Come back, thou dearest one! Return, ah me! return!"--The wind passed by On which those accents died, faint, far, and lingeringly.
SHELLEY, _The Revolt of Islam._
After a prolonged visit in Montreal, Nina had been back in Toronto for ashort time, during which she had seen no one except Jack, whose twovisits she had rendered so unpleasant that he felt inclined to doanything from _hara-kari_ to marrying somebody else.
At this time Geoffrey received a note one morning, addressed in Nina'shandwriting. He turned pale as he tore it open:
"DEAR MR. HAMPSTEAD: I wish to see you for a moment this afternoon. If not too much trouble, would you call here at five o'clock?
"Yours sincerely,
"MOSSBANK, _Tuesday._
"NINA LINDON."
There was nothing very exciting on the face of this line, nothing tocreate wrath. Yet Geoffrey tore it into shreds as if it had struck him ablow and was dangerous.
When he was shown into the drawing-room at Mossbank that afternoon, hewas stepping forward with courteous demeanor and a faint "company smile"on his face, ready to look placidly and innocently upon any people whomight be calling at the time. He passed noiselessly over the thickcarpets toward the place where Nina was sitting, seeing quickly thatthere was nobody else in the room, but aware that the servant wasprobably at the door.
"How-de-do, Miss Lindon?" he said aloud, for the benefit of theinquisitive. "So you have come back to Toronto at last?"
"Yes," said Nina, also with an engaging smile. "And how have you beensince I saw you last?" There was a charming inflection in her "companyvoice" as she said these words. Then, raising her tone a little, shesaid "Howard."
The servant outside the door took several steps in a circle on thetesselated pavement of the hall to intimate that he approached from afarand then appeared.
"Shut the door, please, Howard," said Nina softly. The man obliteratedhimself.
As soon as they were alone the heavenly sweetness of the caller and thecalled upon vanished. Geoffrey's face became grave and his eyespenetrating. He went toward her and took her hand in an effort to bekind, while he looked at her searchingly with a pale face. Nina lookedweary and anxious. Neither of them spoke for a while. As Geoffreyregarded her, she turned to him beseechingly with both anxiety andaffection in her expression. What he interpreted from the unhappiness ofher visage was more than sufficient to disturb his equanimity. He got upand walked silently and quickly twice backward and forward. During thismoment his mind apparently made itself up on some point finally, for, ashe sat down as abruptly as he had risen, the tension of his face gaveplace to something more like nonchalance and kindness.
"You have something to tell me?" he said, in tones that endeavored to bekind.
Nina's face--sad, sorrowful, and tearful--bent itself low that she mighthide it from his sight. "Yes," she managed to say at last, almostinaudibly.
Geoffrey endeavored to assist her. "Don't say any more," said he. "Badnews, I suppose?"
"The very worst," cried Nina, starting up, her eyes dilating wildly anddespairingly with a sudden accession of fear.
"Hush, hush!" said Geoffrey, laying his hand soothingly and kindly onher arm. "You must not give way like that. You must control yourself. Wehave both of us too much at stake to tell our story to every one wholikes to listen. Come and let us sit down and talk things oversensibly."
She gave him a quick look, half reproach, as if to say, "It is easy for_you_ to be calm." But she sat down beside him, holding his coat-sleevewith both hands--hardly knowing what she did.
Hampstead leaned back, crossed his long legs in front of him, andcounted the eyelet holes in his boot. Then he took her hand, in order toappear kind and to deal with the matter in an off-hand way.
"As Thackeray says, Nina, 'truly, friend, life is strewn withorange-peel.' Now and then we get a bad tumble; but we always get upagain. And I don't think that we ought to allow ourselves to be countedamong those weak creatures who most complain of the strength of atemptation that takes at least a year to work up. After all, there is nodenying Rochefoucauld's wisdom when he said: 'C'est une espece debonheur de connaitre jusques a quel point on doit etre malheureux.' Ihave been in a good many worries one way or another, and I always gotout of them. We will get out of this one all right, so cheer up and takeheart."
"I don't see how," said Nina, turning her head away and feeling a suddenhope. What was he going to say? Then she recollected that she hadlavished a small income on a dress especially for this interview.Perhaps if he had an idea worth the hearing the dress might help it out.She arose, as if absently, and walked to the side window and rested herelbows against the sash in front of her. The attitude was graceful. Asshe turned half over her shoulder to look back at him she could hardlyhave appeared to better advantage. Her dress was really magnificent, andit fitted a form that was ideal. In spite of his late resolutions,Geoffrey was affected by the cunningly devised snare. A quick thoughtcame through his head, which he banished about as quickly as it came.
"Well, of course, there is only one thing to be done," said hedecisively, in a tone which told her that so far she had failed.
"What is that, dear Geoffrey? Do tell me, for I am very, verymiserable. And say it kindly, Geoffrey. Don't be too hard with me now."
As she said this she swept toward him. She sank down beside him andkissed him, and looked up into his face. Again the thought came to him.Here were riches. Here was a woman whose beauty was talked about inevery city in Canada, who could be his pride, who cared for himdespairingly. If he wished, this mansion and wealth could be his. Thedelicate perfumes about her seemed to steal into his brain and affecthis thought.
An hour ago his resolves for himself had appeared so unchangeable thatthey seemed of themselves to prop him up. And now he found himselftrying, with a brain that refused to assist him, to prop up hisresolutions, trying to remember what their best merits had been. Oneglimmer of an idea was left in him--a purpose to preserve his fealty toMargaret, and he thought that, if he could only get away for a moment tothink quietly, he might remember what the best points of his resolutionshad been. The perfumes, the beauty, the wealth, the liking he felt forher, the duty he owed to her, and perhaps her concentration upon whatshe desired--all conspired against him. But, with this part of an idealeft to him, he succeeded in being able slightly to turn his head away.
When she asked him again what was to be done there was an unrealdecisiveness in his voice as he said:
"Of course, the only thing to be done is for you to immediately marryJack."
She sprang from him as if he had stabbed her. She was furious withdisappointment.
"I will never marry Jack! What a dishonorable thing to propose!"
The idea of dishonor to Jack seemed, for the first time, quite anargument. When the ethics of a matter can be utilized they suddenly seemcogent.
"Very well," said Geoffrey, shrugging his shoulders and rising as if togo away. "My idea was 'any port in a storm'--a poor idea, perhaps, andcertainly, as you say, entirely dishonorable, but still feasible. Ofcourse, if you have made up your mind not to marry him, we may as wellconsider the interview as ended. I'm afraid I have nothing more tosuggest."
He did not intend to go away, but he held out his hand as if about tosay good-by. She stood half turned away trying to think. The idea of hisleaving her to her trouble dazed her. She was terrified to realize thatshe would be without help.
"Oh, how cruel you are!"
She almost groaned as she spoke. She was in despair. She put her handsto her head hopelessly, her eyes dilated with trouble.
"Don't go yet, Geoffrey." Then she tried to nerve herself for what she
had to say. After a pause: "Geoffrey, I can say things to you now, thatI could never have said before. I must speak to you fully before you go.I must leave no stone unturned. There is no one to help me, so I mustlook after myself in what must be said. I went away with you, Geoffrey,because I loved you." She bit her lips to stay her tears and stopped toregain a desperate fortitude. "I cared for you so much that being withyou seemed right--nay more, sacred. Oh, it drags me to the dust to speakin this way! But I must. Does not my ruin give me a right to speak? Thequestion of a girl's reticence must be put away. I am forced to do thebest I can for myself. And now I say, will you stand by me?" Her headdrooped and her hands hung down by her side with shame at the positionshe forced herself to take when she added: "Will you do me justice,Geoffrey? Will you marry me?"
Hampstead was about to speak, but she knew at once that she hadasked too much, and she continued more quickly and more despairingly:"Nay, I won't ask so much. I only ask you to take me away. I amdistracted. I don't know what to do. I will do anything. I will beyour slave. You need not marry me--only take me away and hideme--somewhere--anywhere--for God's sake, Geoffrey, from my shame--frommy disgrace."
She was on her knees before him as she said these last words. If ourpleasure-loving acquaintance could have changed places with agalley-slave at that moment he would have done so gladly.
The first thing he did was to endeavor to quiet the wildness of herdespair. To be surprised by any person with her on her knees before himin an agony of tears would be a circumstance difficult to explain away.
As soon as he began to talk, it seemed to him a most dastardly thing tosacrifice Margaret's life now to conceal his own wrong-doing. In thelight of this idea, Nina's wealth and beauty suddenly became tawdry.Margaret's nobility and happiness suddenly seemed worth dying for. Theymust not be wrecked in a moment of weakness. As if dispassionately, helaid before Nina the history of their acquaintance, and also his 'otherobligations.' Really, it placed him in a very awkward, not to sayabsurd, position. He wished to do what was right, but did not see hisway at all clear. The only way was to efface himself entirely, andconsider only what was due to others. Before the world he was engaged toMargaret, and had been so all along. She had his word that he wouldmarry her. If it were only "his word" that had to be broken, that mightbe done. But was the happiness of Margaret's life to be cast aside?Which, of the two, was the more innocent--which, of the two, had thebetter right or duty to bear the brunt of the disaster?
The way he effaced his own personality in this discourse was almostpicturesque. Justice blindfold, with impartial scales in her hand, wasnothing to him.
Nina said no word from beginning to end. All she heard in the discoursewas something to show her more and more that what she wished must begiven up. It was something to know that at least she had tried everymeans in her power to move him--feeling that she had a helpless woman'sright to do so. And as the deep, kindly tones went on they calmed herand gradually compelled her tacitly and wearily to accept hissuggestion, while his ingenuity showed her the sinuous path that laybefore her.
At the same time, in spite of all his arguments and her own resolutions,she could not clearly see why she should be the one to suffer instead ofMargaret. Margaret had so much more strength of character to assist her.The ability to bear up under sorrow and trouble was a virtue she wasready to acknowledge to be weaker in herself than in others. Theconfession of this weakness, through self-pity, seemed half a virtue,even though only made to insist upon compensations.
* * * * *
The next day, Jack called by appointment.
"I thought I would just send for you, Jack," said Nina, looking halfangry and half smiling. "I felt as if I wanted to give trouble tosomebody, and I thought you were the most available person."
"Go ahead, then, old lady. I can stand it. There is nothing a fellow maynot become accustomed to."
Jack seated himself in one of Nina's new easy-chairs which yielded tohis weight so luxuriously that he thought he would like to get one likeit. He felt the softness of the long arms of the chair, and then,regaining his feet, turned it round.
"That's a nice chair, Nina. How much did it put the old man back?"
Nina looked at him inquiringly.
"Cost--you know. How much did it spoil the old man?"
"How do I know? He bought it in New York with a lot of things. Do yousuppose I keep an inventory of prices to assist me in conversation?"
"I wish you did. I'd like to get one. But I don't know. When we getmarried you can hand it out the back gate to me, you know, and thenwe'll be one chair ahead--and a good one, too."
"I do wish you would leave off referring to getting married," said Nina.And then, "By the way, that is what I wanted to speak to you about--"
Jack smiled. "Be careful," he said. "Don't set me a bad example byreferring to the subject yourself."
"Well, I will, for a change. I have been making up my mindto end this way of dragging on existence. This sort ofneither-one-thing-nor-the-other has got to end. It wearies me. I am nothalf as strong as I was. I went away to pick up, and now I am nobetter."
"And how do you propose to end it?" Jack was surprised at the decisionin her voice.
"I propose to break it off all together," said she firmly.
"Of course," said Jack, "there is no other alternative for you butmarriage."
Nina was startled at first by these words. But he had only spoken themcasually.
"Certainly. A break off or marriage are the only alternatives. Going onlike this is what I will not stand any longer."
Jack was shaking in his shoes for fear this was the last of him. Hecontrolled his anxiety, though, and shutting his eyes, he leaned back,supinely, as if he knew that what he said did not matter much. She woulddo as she liked--no question about that!
"I have, I think, at some previous time," said he, from the recesses ofthe chair where he was calmly judicial with his eyes shut, "advocatedthe desirability of marriage. I think I have mentioned the subjectbefore. Of course, this is only an opinion, and not entitled, perhaps,to a great deal of weight."
Nina for the first time in her life was annoyed that Jack was notsufficiently ardent. The unfortunate young man had had cold water thrownover him too many times. He was getting wise. To-day he was keeping outof range. Nina had been decidedly eccentric lately and might give himhis _conge_ at any moment. She was evidently in a queer mood still, and,to-day, Jack would give her no chance to gird at him.
This well-trained care on his part bid fair to make things awkward. Shesaw that it had become necessary to draw him out, and with this objectin view she asked carelessly, as if she had been absent-minded and hadnot heard him:
"What did you say then, Jack?"
"I was merely hinting, delicately, as an outsider might, that, of thetwo important alternatives, marriage seems to offer you a greater scopefor breaking up the _ennui_ of a single life that a mere change from oneform of single life to another."
Jack did not see the bait she was holding out. He would not rise to it.Really, it was maddening to have to lead _Jack_ on. He had been "traineddown too fine."
"Well, for my part," she said laughingly, with her cheek laid againstthe soft plush of the sofa, "I don't seem to care now which of thealternatives is adopted."
Jack remained quiet when he heard this. Then he said coolly: "If I werenot a wise man, that speech of yours would unduly excite me. But yousaid you wanted some one to annoy, and I won't give you a chance. If Itook the advantage of the possibilities in your words we would certainlyhave a row. No, old lady, you are setting a trap for me, in order thatyou may scold afterward. You like having a row with me, but you can'thave one to-day. 'Burnt child'--you know."
What could be more provoking than this. Nina, in spite of her troubles,saw the absurdity of her position, and laughed into the plush. But herpatience was at an end. She sat upright again and said vehemently:
"Jack Cresswell, you are a born fool!"
He looked up himself, then, from the chair. There was an expression inNina's face that he had not seen for a long time--a consenting and kindlook in her eyes. He got up, slowly, without any haste, still doubtfulof the situation; and as he came toward her his breath grew shorter. "Ibelieve I am a fool, but I could not believe what I wished. Is it true,Nina, that you will take me at last?"
"Listen! Come and sit down, boy, and behave yourself."
Jack obeyed mechanically.
She turned around to face him, while she commanded his obedience andgave her directions with finger upraised, as if she were teaching a dogto sit up.
"To-morrow you will call upon my father at his office and ask hisconsent to our immediate marriage."
"Tell me to do something hard, Nina. I feel rather cooped up, just now.I could spring over that chandelier. I don't mind tackling the oldman--that's nothing. Haven't you got some lions' dens that want lookingafter?"
"You'll feel tired enough when you come out of father's den, I'llwarrant."
"I dare say. What if he refuses?"
"Jack," said Nina, "I am an heiress. I dictate to every man but myfather. I have always had my own way, and always mean to have it. So,beware! But I don't care, now, whether he refuses or not. I have come tothe conclusion that it was this long engagement that worried me, and Iam going to end it in short order. I am getting as thin as a scarecrow.My bones are coming through my dress." Nina felt the top of one superblyrounded arm and declared she could feel her collar-bone coming throughin that improbable place. "No, I don't care whether he refuses or not. Iam going to marry you, Jack, before the end of the week."
Next day Jack found himself not quite so brave as he thought he would beon entering Mr. Joseph Lindon's office. He was ushered into a rathershabby little room, which the millionaire thought was quite good enoughfor him. He took a pride in its shabbiness. Joseph Lindon, he said, didnot have to impress people with brass and Brussels. There was more solidmonetary credit in his threadbare carpet than in all the plate glass andgilt of any other establishment in the city.
Cresswell paused on the threshold as he entered, and then, feeling gladthat nobody else was in the room, advanced toward Mr. Lindon. Lindon sawhim out of the corner of his eye as he came in, and a saturnine smilerelaxed his face while he completed a sentence in a letter which he waswriting.
"Good morning, Jack," he said briskly. "Come at last, have you?"
This was rather disconcerting, but Jack replied: "Yes, and you evidentlyknow why." He said this cheerfully and with considerable spirit, but Mr.Lindon's next remark was a little chilling.
"Just so. I was afraid you would come some day. Let us cut it short, myboy. I have a board meeting in ten minutes."
"Well, you know all I've got to say. Now, what do you say?"
This was a happy abruptness on Jack's part, and Lindon rather liked himfor it. It seemed business like. It seemed as if Jack thought too highlyof Mr. Lindon's sagacity to indulge in any persuasion or argument. Helay back in his chair with an amused look.
"Why dammit, boy, she's not in love with you."
Jack shrugged his shoulders and smiled--as if that was point on whichmodesty compelled him to be silent But his individuality asserteditself.
"Is that all the objection?"
Evidently, abruptness and speaking to the point were preferred in thisoffice, and Jack was prepared to give the millionaire all the abruptnesshe wanted.
"No," said Lindon. "Of course, that is not all. But I know, as a matterof fact, that my daughter does not care a pin about you. Don't think Ihave been making money all my life. I can tell when a woman is in loveas well as any man. I have watched Nina myself when you were with her,and I tell you she does not care half enough for you to marry you."
"She says she does," said Jack, determined not to be browbeaten by thisman's force.
"I don't believe a word of it, if she does say so. I was afraid, at onetime, that she was going to make a goose of herself with you, and Iwaltzed her off to the Continent. But after she came back I thoroughlysatisfied myself that she was in no danger, or else, my boy, you wouldnot have had the run of my house as you have had. Under thecircumstances, Jack, I was always glad to see you, since we came backlast, and hope to see you always, just the same. Quite apart, however,from anything she may say or consent to, I have other plans for mydaughter. I have no son to carry on the name, but my daughter's marriagewill be a grand one. With her beauty and my money, she will make thebiggest match of the day. I did not start with much of a family myself,but I can control family. When Nina marries, sir, she marries blood;nothing less than a dook, sir,--nothing less than a dook will satisfyme. And I'll have a dook, sir; mark my words!"
When his ambition was aroused, Mr. Lindon sometimes reverted to the moremarked vulgarity of forty years ago.
Jack arose. The interview was ended as far as he was concerned.
Lindon felt kindly toward him. He was one of the few young men who werenot overawed by his money and obsequious on account of his wine.
"Well, good-by," he said. "Don't let this make any interruption in yourvisits to Mossbank. You'll always find a good glass of wine ready foryou with Joseph Lindon. I rather like you, Jack, and if you ever wantany backing, just let me know. But, my boy"--here Lindon regarded him askindly as his keen, business-loving face would allow, and he laid hishand on his arm--"my lad, you must be careful. Remember what an old mansays--you're too honest to get along all through life without gettingput upon. You must try to see into things a little more. Just try and bea little more suspicious. If you don't, somebody will 'go for you,' sureas a gun."
Jack saw that this was intended kindly, and he took it quietly,wondering if Joseph Lindon, while looking so uncommonly sober, couldhave been indulging in a morning glass of wine. He went out, and Mr.Lindon watched his free, manly bearing as he passed to the front door.
"If I had a son like that," he said warmly, "Nina could marry whom sheliked. That boy would be family enough for me. He would have enough ofthe gentleman about him both for himself and his old father. Lord, if Ihad a son like that I'd make a prince of him! I'd just give him blankchecks signed with my name. Darned if I wouldn't!"
To give a son unfilled signed checks seemed to be a culmination ofparental foolishness which would show his fondness more than anythingelse he could do. Perhaps he was right.