Toilers of Babylon. B. L. Farjeon
you insist upon my holding it as a sacred confidence, father?"
"I insist upon it," said Mr. Manners, coldly.
"I will hold it so."
"On your honor as a man? Not as a gentleman, for our views differ there."
"On my honor as a man."
"You were right," said Mr. Manners. "I received the information from your cousin, Mark Inglefield."
"As I expected. I must now relate to you, father, the circumstances of my acquaintance with Mr. Loveday and his daughter, and the manner in which my cousin Mark comes into connection with it."
"I will listen to you, Kingsley," said Mr. Manners. "Our conversation has assumed a complexion which may be productive of the most serious results to you and myself. I do not hold this out as a threat; I state a fact. I am, in my convictions, inflexible. Once I am resolved, no power on earth can move me. And do not lose sight of another thing. Mark Inglefield is your mother's nephew, and therefore your cousin. That I have given him the advantage of a university education, and that I sent you both to college at the same time, is my affair. I should have done the same by you had you been my nephew and he my son. It was always my intention to advance him in life, and it is my intention still. He is worthy of it. He is your equal in birth and attainments. Therefore speak of him with becoming respect. I shall know the exact value to place upon intemperate language in a case like this, where the passions are involved."
"I will do my best to obey you, father," said Kingsley, "but a pure reputation is at stake, and I may fail in my endeavor. It was my cousin, Mark Inglefield, who first introduced me to Miss Loveday. He spoke to me of her, as he spoke to others, in a light tone, and I do not know what it was that induced me to give ear to his boastings, although I entertained a contempt for him and a doubt of his truth. One day, while we were walking together and he was indulging with greater freedom and boisterousness than usual--though his ordinary habit was bad enough--of his acquaintanceship with Miss Loveday, it happened that we met her. He could do no less than introduce me, and I had not been in her company five minutes before I suspected that his vaporings about her were those of a base man, of one who was dead to honor. A true man is respectful and modest when he makes reference to a lady for whom he entertains an affection, and the doubts I had previously entertained of my cousin when he indulged in the outpourings of his coarse vanity were now confirmed. I followed up the introduction by courting Miss Loveday's intimacy, and she grew to respect me, to rely upon me. The more I saw of her the more I esteemed her. Never had I met a lady so pure and gentle, and it was a proud moment in my life when she asked me to protect her from my cousin's insolent advances. I spoke to him, in a manner not too gentle, I own, for my indignation was aroused, and from that time he and I were enemies. I know it now; I did not know it then. He was far too subtle for me, and I, perhaps too much in the habit of wearing my heart upon my sleeve, was, as I now discover, sadly at a disadvantage with him. He showed no anger at my supplanting him, and this should have warned me; your cold-blooded man is a dangerous animal when he becomes your enemy; but I suppose I was too deeply in love and too happy to harbor suspicion against one who had no real cause for enmity against me. Nor did I consider the consequences--not to myself but to the lady I loved--of my frequent visits and meetings with her. There is no doubt that she was compromised by them, but she was as guileless and innocent as myself, and it was not till it was forced upon me that her reputation was in my hands that I prevailed upon her to take the step which gave the lie to malicious rumor."
"And that step, Kingsley?" asked Mr. Manners.
"I married her. She is my wife."
"You think so?"
"Think so, father! What do you mean? Am I a man with reason, gifted with some standard of intelligence, that I should think--which implies a doubt--where I am sure?"
"You are a man deluded, Kingsley, as other men have been by other women. This woman has deceived you."
"No, sir, truly as I live."
"The farce would not be complete unless you protested. It is the least you can do. All that you have said confirms your cousin's story. He has not erred in one particular, except in what is excusable in him, and perhaps in you. Mischief is done, but it can be remedied. An impulsive man like yourself is no match for an artful woman."
"I will not hear the lady I love and esteem so spoken of," said Kingsley, with warmth.
To this remark Mr. Manners was about to reply with equal warmth, but he checked himself, and did not speak for a few moments. When he resumed the conversation he spoke in his usual calm tone, a tone which never failed in impressing upon his hearers a conviction of the speaker's absolute sincerity and indomitable will.
"It has happened--fortunately for others--but rarely in my life, Kingsley, that such a crisis as this has occurred; and I regret this difference in our ideas all the more because its consequences may be fatal to you and may shatter hopes upon which I have set great store. When you say to me that you will not hear me speak in such or such a manner, because it displeases you, you behave in a manner to which I am not accustomed. When you place yourself in opposition to my wishes you treat me to a new experience which I do not welcome. Were I holding this interview with any other than yourself I should have put an end to it some time since; after that there would be nothing more to be said on either side. I am not used to disappointments, but I should be able to bear them; I am rather fond of difficulties because it is a pleasure to overcome them. I am inclined to regard this difference of opinion between us as a difficulty which may be overcome without much trouble, if you are reasonable."
"It is not a difference of opinion, father," said Kingsley, moderating his tone; the interests at stake were too serious to allow him to give his indignation free play, "it is a difference as to facts, of which I, and not you, am cognizant."
"I hold to what I say, Kingsley," replied Mr. Manners. "I have received a certain statement of particulars which I choose to accept as true; you have imparted to me certain information which I do not choose to accept in the manner you wish. Setting aside for a moment all question of the young woman of whose character we have formed different estimates, I ask you, supposing you to be legally married, what is the kind of respect you have shown me, a father who has never crossed your wishes, by contracting a lifelong obligation without consulting me?"
"It was wrong, father," said Kingsley, with contrition. "I have only the excuse to make that I loved her and was eager to defend her reputation."
"It is an excuse I cannot accept. And the deliberate committal of a fault so fatally grave as this, with a full knowledge of the consequences, cannot be condoned by the weak confession, when it is too late to repair the fault, that you were wrong. There is a repentance which comes too late, Kingsley. But even that I might have forgiven had I reason to approve of your choice."
"You have but to see her, father," said Kingsley, eagerly. "Let me bring her to you! You will be as proud of her as I am; you will know then that I have not chosen unworthily."
"No," said Mr. Manners, "if I see her at all I must see her alone."
"Give me a minute or two to consider, father."
"Certainly, Kingsley."
The young man turned aside, and allowed his thoughts to travel to Nansie, and to dwell upon the beauty of her character. He knew her to be patient and long-suffering, and that she would not shrink from making a sacrifice for one she loved as she loved him; he knew also that these qualities were allied to a spirit of independence which, while it would enable her to bear up outwardly under the pressure of a great wrong, would rather intensify than abate the anguish which would wring her soul were such a wrong forced upon her. It would be a lifelong anguish, and would rack her till her dying day. His father, with his iron will, was just the man to force the sacrifice upon her, was just the man to so prevail upon her that she might, at his persuasion, remove herself forever not only from the presence but from the knowledge of the man she loved and had vowed to love while life remained. Poor, helpless, dependent, and alone in the world--for Kingsley had an inward conviction that her father's days were numbered--to what a future would he, the man who had sworn to love and cherish