The Girl and Her Fortune. Meade L. T.
He always put a sprig of holly with the berries on it in his button-hole, and would not change this symbol of Christmas for any flower that could be presented to him.
As to Susie, she also had one dinner dress which appeared on these auspicious occasions, and only then. It was made of a sort of grey “barège,” and had belonged to her mother. It had been altered to fit her somewhat abundant proportions, and it was lined with silk. That was what Susie admired so much about it. The extravagance of silk lining gave her, as she expressed it, “a sense of aristocracy.” She said she felt much more like a lady with a silk lining in her dress than if she wore a silk dress itself with a cotton lining.
“There is something pompous and ostentatious about the latter,” she said, “whereas the former shows a true lady.”
She constantly moved about the room in order that the rustle of the silk might be heard, and occasionally, in a fit of absence – or apparent absence – she would lift the skirt so as to show the silk lining. The dress itself was exceedingly simple; but that did not matter at all to Susie. She wore it low in the neck and short in the sleeves; and it is true that she sometimes rather shivered with cold; for on no other day in the remaining three hundred and sixty-four did she dream of putting on a low dress. In the front of the dress she wore her mother’s diamond brooch – a treasure from the past, which alone she felt gave her distinction; and round her neck she had a string of old pearls, somewhat yellow with age, but very genuine and very good.
Susie’s hair was turning slightly grey and was somewhat thin, but then she never remembered her hair at all, nor her honest, flushed, reddish face, hardened by exposure to all sorts of weather, but very healthy withal.
From the moment she entered the drawing-room to receive her guests, she never gave Susie Arbuthnot a thought, except in the very rare moments when she rustled her grey barège in order to let her visitors know that the lining was silk. That silk lining was her one vanity. As a rule, we all have one, and that was hers. It was a very innocent one, and did no one any harm.
On this special Christmas Day, the Reids were coming to dinner. Major Reid was an army man who had retired a long time ago. He was always expecting his promotion, but had not got it yet. He was somewhat discontented, but liked to talk over old days with Colonel Arbuthnot. His son Michael had been a favourite with the Heathcote girls as long as they could remember. He was considered to be of their own rank in life, and Mrs Fortescue, in consequence, asked him to dine, and play with them during the holidays. When he was very small, he rather bullied them; but as he grew older, he began to think a great deal of Florence’s beauty, and even to imagine himself in love with her. He was the sort of young man who always kept his father in a state of alarm with regard to money, and spent a great deal more than he had a right to do. He was a good-looking fellow, and popular in his regiment; and as he could make himself very agreeable, was a great favourite.
When Christmas Day dawned on the snowy world, Major Reid spoke to his son.
“Well, Michael,” he said, “it’s a great pleasure to have you with me. I consider myself a particularly lucky fellow to be able to say that I haven’t missed a single Christmas since your birth without having you by my side. But I don’t suppose this state of things will go on. You are sure to accept foreign service between now and next year, and, all things considered, I should like you to marry, my boy.”
“Oh, I’m a great deal too young for that kind of thing,” said Michael, helping himself to some kidneys on toast as he spoke, and eating with great relish and appetite.
“Well, my boy, I don’t know about that, there’s nothing like taking time by the forelock. Why, how old are you, Mike?”
“I shall be twenty-four my next birthday,” said the young man.
“Well,” said the major; “many a man has married before then, and done none the worse.”
“And a great many have ruined their lives by marrying too young,” said Reid. “Besides, I am only a lieutenant, father; I ought not to think of such a thing until I get my captaincy.”
Major Reid looked attentively at his son.
“The fact is, Michael,” he said, “you ought to marry money. Of course, to engage yourself to a girl who has not plenty of money would be sheer madness.”
Michael Reid looked at his father with a twinkle in his grey eye. He had quite a nice face, although it was very worldly. He could read through the old man’s thoughts at the present moment as though they were spread before him on an open page.
“What are you thinking of, dad?” he said. “Out with it, whatever it is.”
“This,” said the Major, colouring as he spoke; “those two girls have come back to Mrs Fortescue’s. Florence is remarkably pretty. They must both be exceedingly well off. I spoke to Mrs Fortescue the other day, and she told me that she doesn’t know the extent of their fortune, but believes it to be something quite considerable. In fact, I should imagine from the way they have been brought up, that they must have something which runs into at least four figures a year. Now, the moment such girls go into society, they will be surrounded by adventurers, men who wish to secure them simply for the sake of their money. You, my dear boy, I understand, have already paid attentions to Florence, and why not carry them on? This is your chance; she is an exceedingly attractive girl: in fact, she is a beauty. She will be rich. At present you are not supposed to know anything about her fortune; but if it comes as a surprise, why, so much the better.”
Lieutenant Reid, of His Majesty’s – th, thought of certain debts he had incurred, debts which if he explained their full significance to his father, would ruin the old man. He sat silent for a time, thinking.
“When last I saw Florence,” he said, after a minute’s pause, “she was just a pretty little hoyden of a girl; but, as you say, we were always good friends. Did you say they were still with Mrs Fortescue?”
“Of course they are,” said Major Reid, tapping his foot impatiently. “Don’t they always spend their holidays with her? But they are leaving school now, in fact, they have left school. Mrs Fortescue quite expects to go to London with them in order to take them into the gay world. If ever you have a chance, it is now; and if I were you, I would make the best of it.”
Michael Reid was silent, but he broke a piece of toast, and ate it reflectively. His father saw that he need say no more, and after a minute’s pause left the room.
As to the young man, he went to church on that Christmas Day although he had no previous idea of doing so. He did not dare even to say to himself that his object was to see the Misses Heathcote. But he looked very hard at both girls as they walked up the aisle of the church, accompanied by Mrs Fortescue. Even in her plain school dress, Florence had an air of distinction, and Brenda looked quiet and charming. Michael Reid felt his heart beating quite agreeably. His father’s advice, after all, was sound. If he could secure a wife who had four, five, six, or seven hundred a year – and, of course, there was a great likelihood that she would have much more – why, his fortune would be made. Florence had seen no other man as yet, but she had a schoolgirl friendship for him. Now was his opportunity. He would strike while the iron was hot.
Accordingly, in the course of the afternoon, as he and his father were pacing up and down in the sheltered corner by the laurel hedge beside the Major’s old house, Michael linked his hand within the old man’s arm, and said —
“If you will allow me to manage things my own way, and will not appear in the very least to interfere; why – I – I will do my best.”
“Thank you, my boy. I knew you would,” said the Major. “God bless you, my son; and God grant you success.”
Michael did not think it necessary to reply to these remarks, which were really uttered as a matter of course; but he went upstairs early to his bedroom, and took great care in selecting the white tie he would wear with his dinner suit that evening. Instead of the morsel of mistletoe, which was considered the correct thing among the young ladies at Langdale for the gentlemen to wear at the Arbuthnots’ dinner parties, he went out and purchased a rose. He paid a shilling for a rose with a bud attached, and put it with care into his button-hole. When he had finished