"Yes, it's quite true. We've decided that we don't wish to marry one another. I want to ask you not to think badly of Jamie. He's very--cut up about it. He's not to blame."
"We're thinking of you, my dear."
"Oh, I shall be all right. I can bear it."
"It's not honourable what he's done, Mary," said the Colonel.
"Oh, don't say that, please! That is why I came round to you quickly. I want you to think that Jamie did what he considered right. For my sake, don't think ill of him. He can't help it if he doesn't love me. I'm not very attractive; he must have known in India girls far nicer than I. How could I hope to keep him all these years? I was a fool to expect it."
"I am so sorry, Mary!" cried Mrs. Parsons. "We've looked forward to your marriage with all our hearts. You know Jamie's been a good son to us; he's never given us any worry. We did want him to marry you. We're so fond of you, and we know how really good you are. We felt that whatever happened after that--if we died--Jamie would be safe and happy."
"It can't be helped. Things never turn out in this world as one wants them. Don't be too distressed about it, and, above all things, don't let Jamie see that you think he hasn't acted--as he might have done."
"How can you think of him now, when your heart must be almost breaking?"
"You see, I've thought of him for years," answered Mary, smiling sadly. "I can't help it now. Oh, I don't want him to suffer! His worrying can do no good, I should like him to be completely happy."
Colonel Parsons sighed.
"He's my son, and he's behaved dishonourably."
"Don't say that. It's not fair to him. He did not ask me for his release. But I couldn't marry him when I knew he no longer cared for me."
"He might have learned to love you, Mary," said Mrs. Parsons.
"No, no! I could see, as he pressed me to marry him notwithstanding, he was hoping with all his might that I would refuse. He would have hated me. No; it's the end. We have separated for ever, and I will do my best to get over it."
They fell into silence, and presently Mary got up. "I must go home now, and tell mamma."
"She'll probably have hysterics," said Mrs. Parsons, with a little sniff of contempt.
"No, she'll be delighted," returned Mary. "I know her so well."
"Oh, how much you will have to suffer, dearest!"
"It'll do me good. I was too happy."
"Don't you think you could wait a little before telling anyone else?" asked the Colonel. "Major Forsyth is coming down. He may be able to arrange it; he's a man of the world."
"Can he make Jamie love me? Ah, no, it's no good waiting. Let me get it over quickly while I have the courage. And it helps me to think I have something to do. It only means a few sneers and a little false sympathy."
"A great deal of real sympathy."
"People are always rather glad when some unhappiness befalls their friends! Oh, I didn't mean that! I don't want to be bitter. Don't think badly of me either. I shall be different to-morrow."
"We can never think of you without the sincerest, fondest love."
At that moment James, who did not know that Mary was there, came into the room. He started when he saw her and turned red; but Mary, with a woman's self-possession, braced herself together.
"Oh, Jamie, I've just been having a little chat with your people."
"I'm sorry I interrupted you," he answered, awkwardly. "I didn't know you were here."
"You need not avoid me because we've broken off our engagement. At all events, you have no reason to be afraid of me now. Good-bye! I'm just going home."
She went out, and James looked uncertainly at his parents. His father did not speak, staring at the ground, but Mrs. Parsons said:
"Mary has been asking us not to be angry with you, Jamie. She says it's not your fault."
"It's very kind of her."
"Oh, how could you? How could you?"
XI
Not till luncheon was nearly finished did Mary brace herself for the further ordeal, and in a steady, unmoved voice tell Colonel and Mrs. Clibborn what had happened. The faded beauty merely smiled, and lifted her eyes to the chandelier with the expression that had melted the hearts of a thousand and one impressionable subalterns.
"I knew it," she murmured; "I knew it! You can't deceive a woman and a mother."
But the Colonel for a moment was speechless. His face grew red, and his dyed eyebrows stood up in a fury of indignation.
"Impossible!" he spluttered at last.
"You'd better drink a little water, Reggie dear," said his wife. "You look as if you were going to have a fit."
"I won't have it," he shouted, bringing his fist down on the table so that the cheese-plates clattered and the biscuits danced a rapid jig. "I'll make him marry you. He forgets he has me to deal with! I disapproved of the match from the beginning, didn't I, Clara? I said I would never allow my daughter to marry beneath her."
"Papa!"
"Don't talk to me, Mary! Do you mean to deny that James Parsons is infantry, or that his father was infantry before him? But he shall marry you now. By George! he shall marry you if I have to lead him to the altar by the scruff of his neck!"
Neglecting his cheese, the Colonel sprang to his feet and walked to and fro, vehemently giving his opinion of James, his father, and all his ancestors; of the regiments to which they had belonged, and all else that was theirs. He traced their origin from a pork butcher's shop, and prophesied their end, ignominiously, in hell. Every now and then he assured Mary that she need have no fear; the rascal should marry her, or die a violent death.
"But there's nothing more to be said now, papa. We've agreed quite amicably to separate. All I want you to do is to treat him as if nothing had happened."
"I'll horsewhip him," said Colonel Clibborn. "He's insulted you, and I'll make him beg your pardon on his bended knees. Clara, where's my horsewhip?"
"Papa, do be reasonable!"
"I am reasonable, Mary," roared the gallant soldier, becoming a rich purple. "I know my duty, thank God! and I'm going to do it. When a man insults my daughter, it's my duty, as a gentleman and an officer, to give him a jolly good thrashing. When that twopenny sawbones of a doctor was rude to you, I licked him within an inch of his life. I kicked him till he begged for mercy; and if more men had the courage to take the law into their own hands, there'd be fewer damned blackguards in the world."
As a matter of fact, the Colonel had neither thrashed nor kicked the doctor, but it pleased him to think he had. Moralists teach us that the intention is praiseworthy, rather than the brutal act; consequently, there could be no objection if the fearless cavalryman took credit for things which he had thought of doing, but, from circumstances beyond his control, had not actually done.
Mary felt no great alarm at her father's horrid threats, for she knew him well, but still was doubtful about her mother.
"You will treat James as you did before, won't you, mamma?"
Mrs. Clibborn smiled, a portly seraph.
"My dear, I trust I am a gentlewoman."
"He shall never darken my doors again!" cried the Colonel. "I tell