The Quaint Companions. Merrick Leonard
I? Still, if you'll come too——"
"How can I go and leave everything to look after itself? Besides, it wouldn't be right. As to your going alone, that would be worse still. I'm sure I don't see——"
"Don't see what?"
Mrs. Tremlett hesitated. "Don't you think the servants will begin to talk?" she murmured. "You know what I mean, dear; you're up there so much—and he's always sending you things. Of course I shouldn't like him to leave, but it's a pity he doesn't see that he oughtn't to——Well, I'm sure the servants are talking! When I wanted you just now about the deposit on the bottles, Ada said, 'Oh, she's with Mr. Lee, ma'am—I'd better not call her out.' I could see what she thought, though I pretended not to notice anything."
"What did she think?"
"Well, dear, she thought that—that he was paying you attentions. And so he is! The poor fellow. … It's quite natural, I daresay, that he should take to you, but I should make him understand that he mustn't be foolish, before it goes any further, if I were you. Of course, with a man like that, it mayn't be serious, but you can't tell what ideas he may have in his head, can you?"
"You mean he might ask me to marry him?" said Ownie slowly; "is that it?"
"Well, my dear, I suppose that—ridiculous as it sounds, I suppose that is what it might come to; and of course it would make unpleasantness, and we should have the drawing-rooms empty at the worst time of the year. Much better to keep him in his place and to show him that it would be no good."
Ownie's abrupt little laugh sounded. She swung herself to and fro in the rocking-chair rather violently.
"If I did that, I think you'd have the drawing-rooms empty at once. His 'place'? 'His place' is funny! Why, sometimes he's paid as much as a thousand pounds for four nights, and I'm a pauper. … You take it for granted, then, that if he asked me I should say 'No'?"
Mrs. Tremlett looked bewildered. Her gaze fell, and wandered helplessly. Her brow was puckered when she spoke.
"Wouldn't you say 'No'?" she faltered.
"Why should I?"
"Oh, of course if you could care for him——Of course in the sight of Heaven we're all equal; but it isn't as if he were a white man, is it? And you scarcely know him."
"I know who he is—I might do a good deal worse for myself than marry Elisha Lee. I should be a rich woman."
"I don't think you'd be very rich, dear; it seems to me he must spend every penny he makes, even if he does get a thousand pounds for four nights sometimes. Besides, if you mean to marry him just for what he can give you, I'm afraid you'd be very miserable. You're not a girl, I know, and you must judge for yourself in these things, but I don't think any amount of money would make you satisfied with what you'd done if you don't care for him—and I'm sure I don't see how you can! When I married your poor father——"
"When you married father he had nothing, I know. And you've had nothing ever since. The children of people who marry on nothing are seldom as sentimental as their parents were. You were brought up in a comfortable home, and so you were romantic, and said, 'Money's the least thing;' I was brought up in a lodging-house, and so I'm practical, and put money before everything else. I think," she exclaimed, "I think it's wicked that people who make improvident marriages should brag of the folly to their poor children afterwards!"
"I am not bragging, dear. But when a woman has loved her husband, she never admits that their marriage was a folly, even in her own thoughts. A man——" She sighed. "A man, I am afraid, sometimes does. As I say, you're not a girl, and you must know your own mind, but the idea seems awful to me; I would never have believed you could think of doing such a thing."
Ownie flushed, and her shoe tapped the floor irritably. "Just because he is black," she muttered. "Where is your religion? I thought you said just now that in the sight of Heaven all men were equal?"
"In Heaven, no doubt, he will be as white as the rest of us," returned Mrs. Tremlett, after a slight pause. "But in the meantime he's a nigger, and I can't think it would be right."
Her daughter did not reply; nor did the elder woman summon courage to recur to the matter. She was, however, relieved on the morrow and the next day to notice that her remonstrance had borne fruit and that Ownie's visits to the drawing-room were discontinued. Lee, who passed the two days in hourly expectation of them, was first restless, and then enraged. The besetting tendency of the negro in his intercourse with Europeans is to take affront, and he told himself that her neglect was an insult which she would never have dared to put upon an Englishman. He left Brighton this time without any adieu, and he was absent for longer than usual.
There were two reasons for his going back when he did. When women say of another woman—as they are often heard to say—that there is nothing in her to explain infatuation, they babble, for there is no young woman, however commonplace, who may not appear unique to some man. One of Lee's reasons was, that his desire to see Ownie again was fevering him; the other was, that he wanted to know if she meant to occupy the box that he had kept for her.
He returned late, and he had no hope of seeing her that night, but he spent the following morning between the windows—his hat and fur coat on the table—waiting for her to leave the house. She had no sooner done so than he descended the stairs with elaborate carelessness, and manoeuvred until they came face to face.
"Oh, Mr. Lee," she said. "So you are back again!"
His resolve to ignore his grievance succumbed to the temptation to reproach her for it.
"I didn't think you knew I'd been away," he said sulkily.
"Not know you had been away?" The innocent wonder of her tone was unsurpassable.
"I hadn't seen you for a long time when I went. Have you forgotten that?"
"A long time?" she smiled. "Two days, wasn't it?"
"It seemed a week to me."
Now she had trembled during his absence, and though she was as far as ever from knowing whether she wished to marry him, she knew at least that she did not wish to avert his asking her. So she shot a glance at him before her eyes were lowered, and said:
"One can't always do as one likes, you know."
A platitude and a pair of eyes are sometimes potent. He walked on beside her mollified.
"What about the concert?" he inquired. "I've saved the box for you."
"Oh, have you?" she stammered. "I don't quite know. I'm afraid——Have you really saved it?"
"Rather! Don't say you aren't coming—you as good as promised. Have you spoken to your mother?"
"Yes, she can't go—that's to say, she says she can't. There's nothing to prevent her, but she's so funny, you know. I 'don't see how I can go alone."
"Why not? That would be jollier still. Don't be unkind. I should sing so much better if you were there."
"Such nonsense!" she said. "I—I'll see. Of course I should like it awfully. I'll think about it, and tell you to-morrow."
And on the morrow she told him that she was going. She was dogged, though Mrs. Tremlett sighed protests. Her life was dull enough, she insisted; she meant to extract the little amusement that was to be had! Lee went to town again jubilantly. He had arranged to meet her at the station when she arrived, and to travel back with her at night. She was to go up in the afternoon and to take her evening frock in a trunk.
On the day of the concert she found him at Victoria, attended by a gentlemanly person who he explained was his valet. As he greeted her, he tossed away a cigar which he had just lighted for that purpose; he felt it must impress her with his breeding to see him throw away a long cigar. The valet seemed to have little to do but to show that he existed. Lee led her to a brougham, and they were driven to the hotel that was then the most fashionable, and ushered into a sitting-room glorified with roses. A chambermaid conducted her