The Vicissitudes of Evangeline. Glyn Elinor
interpret it! But it galled me so, and yet I had been ready an hour ago to have accepted him as my husband! Why, then, this revolt at the idea of receiving a fair substitute in gold? Really, one is a goose, and I had time to realize, even in this tumult of emotion, that there can be nothing so inconsistent as the feelings of a girl.
“You must not be foolish!” he said, coldly. “I intend to settle the money whether you will or no, so do not make any further trouble about it!”
There was something in his voice so commanding and arrogant, just as I noticed at first, that every obstinate quality in my nature rose to answer him.
“I do not know anything about the law in the matter; you may settle what you choose, but I shall never touch any of it,” I said, as calmly as I could; “so it seems ridiculous to waste the money, does it not? You may not, perhaps, be aware I have enough of my own, and do not in any way require yours.”
He became colder and more exasperated.
“As you please, then,” he said, snappishly, and Mr. Barton, fortunately entering at that moment, the conversation was cut short, and I left them.
They are not going back to London until to-morrow morning, and dinner has yet to be got through. Oh! I do feel in a temper, and I can never tell of the emotions that were throbbing through me as I came up the great stairs just now. A sudden awakening to the humiliation of the situation! How had I ever been able to contemplate marrying a man I did not know, just to secure myself a comfortable home! It seems preposterous now. I suppose it was because I have always been brought up to the idea, and until I came face to face with the man, it did not strike me as odd. Fortunately he can never guess that I had been willing to accept him – my dissimulation has stood me in good stead. Now I am animated by only one idea! To appear as agreeable and charming to Mr. Carruthers as possible. The aim and object of my life shall be to make him regret his decision. When I hear him imploring me to marry him, I shall regain a little of my self-respect! And as for marriage, I shall have nothing to do with the horrid affair! Oh dear no! I shall go away free, and be a happy adventuress – I have read the “Trois Mousquetaires,” and “Vingt Ans Après” – Mademoiselle had them – and I remember milady had only three days to get round her jailer, starting with his hating her, whereas Mr. Carruthers does not hate me, so that counts against my only having one evening. I shall do my best – !
I was down in the library, innocently reading a book when Mr. Carruthers came in. He looked even better in evening dress, but he appeared ill-tempered, and no doubt found the situation unpleasant.
“Is not this a beautiful house?” I said, in a velvet voice, to break the awkward silence, and show him I did not share his unease. “You had not seen it before, for ages, had you?”
“Not since I was a boy,” he answered, trying to be polite. “My aunt quarrelled with my father – she was the direct heiress of all this, and married her cousin, my father’s younger brother – but you know the family history, of course – ”
“Yes.”
“They hated one another, she and my father.”
“Mrs. Carruthers hated all her relations,” I said demurely.
“Myself among them?”
“Yes,” I said slowly, and bent forward, so that the lamplight should fall upon my hair. “She said you were too much like herself in character for you ever to be friends.”
“Is that a compliment?” he asked, and there was a twinkle in his eye.
“We must speak no ill of the dead,” I said, evasively.
He looked slightly annoyed, as much as these diplomats ever let themselves look anything.
“You are right,” he said. “Let her rest in peace.”
There was silence for a moment.
“What are you going to do with your life now?” he asked, presently. It was a bald question.
“I shall become an adventuress,” I answered deliberately.
“A what?” he exclaimed, his black eyebrows contracting.
“An adventuress. Is not that what it is called? A person who sees life, and has to do the best she can for herself.”
He laughed. “You strange little lady?” he said, his irritation with me melting. And when he laughs you can see how even his teeth are, but the two side ones are sharp and pointed like a wolf’s.
“Perhaps after all you had better have married me!”
“No, that would clip my wings,” I said frankly, looking at him straight in the face.
“Mr. Barton tells me you propose leaving here on Saturday. I beg you will not do so – please consider it your home for so long as you wish – until you can make some arrangements for yourself. You look so very young to be going about the world alone!”
He bent down and gazed at me closer – there was an odd tone in his voice.
“I am twenty, and I have been often snubbed,” I said, calmly; “that prepares one for a good deal. I shall enjoy doing what I please.”
“And what are you going to please?”
“I shall go to Claridge’s until I can look about me.”
He moved uneasily.
“But have you no relations? No one who will take care of you?”
“I believe none. My mother was nobody particular you know – a Miss Tonkins by name.”
“But your father?” He sat down now on the sofa beside me; there was a puzzled, amused look in his face – perhaps I was amazing him.
“Papa? Oh! Papa was the last of his family – they were decent people, but there are no more of them.”
He pushed one of the cushions aside.
“It is an impossible position for a girl – completely alone. I cannot allow it. I feel responsible for you. After all, it would do very well if you married me – I am not particularly domestic by nature, and should be very little at home – so you could live here, and have a certain position, and I would come back now and then to see you were getting on all right.”
One could not say if he were mocking, or no.
“It is too good of you,” I said, without any irony, “but I like freedom, and when you were at home it might be such a bore – ”
He leant back, and laughed merrily.
“You are candid, at any rate!” he said.
Mr. Barton came into the room at that moment, full of apologies for being late. Immediately after, with the usual ceremony, the butler entered and pompously announced, “Dinner is served, sir.” How quickly they recognize the new master!
Mr. Carruthers gave me his arm, and we walked slowly down the picture gallery to the banqueting hall, and there sat down at the small round table in the middle, that always looks like an island in a lake.
I talked nicely at dinner. I was dignified and grave, and quite frank. Mr. Carruthers was not bored. The chef had outdone himself, hoping to be kept on. I never felt so excited in my life.
I was apparently asleep under a big lamp, after dinner in the library – a book of silly poetry in my lap – when the door opened and he – Mr. Carruthers – came in alone, and walked up the room. I did not open my eyes. He looked for just a minute – how accurate I am! Then he said, “You are very pretty when asleep!”
His voice was not caressing, or complimentary, merely as if the fact had forced this utterance.
I allowed myself to wake without a start.
“Was the ’47 port as good as you hoped?” I asked, sympathetically.
He sat down. I had arranged my chair so that there was none other in its immediate neighbourhood. Thus he was some way off, and could realize my whole silhouette.
“The