“I should like, with Miss Ferrars’ consent—which I have not asked till I should have talked over the matter with you—that the marriage should take place as soon as possible. I can trust to her excellent sense to perceive that we can have no possible reason to wait.”
“Oh, Mr. Rowland!” said Mrs. Stanhope. “Of course it is quite reasonable on your part: but I don’t think that Evelyn would like it to be hurried. It is not as if you might be ordered off at a moment’s notice, like us poor military people. There is no reason to wait of course; but you can afford to take your time.” She said this more from the natural feminine impulse of holding back in such matters, and not allowing her friend to be held cheap, than from any other reason.
“If you mean that you want some time to fill Miss Ferrars’ place——”
“Mr. Rowland!” said Mrs. Stanhope again, this time with great indignation, “what do you mean by Miss Ferrars’ place? I have known Evelyn all my life, and she is my dearest friend. Do you think I could fill up her place if I were to try?—and I certainly don’t mean to try.”
“I meant, of course, in respect to your children,” said Mr. Rowland dryly. “You may do without your dearest friend by making an effort; but you can’t do without a governess. Excuse me, I am a plain man, and call a spade, a spade.”
This brutality of expression reduced Mrs. Stanhope to tears. “I have never treated her like a governess,” she said. “If Evelyn’s good heart made her help me with the children, it was not my asking, it was her own idea. She did it because she liked it. I implored her not to take them out, feeling that you might imagine something of that sort. Men like you, Mr. Rowland, who have made a great deal of money, always, if you will excuse me, impute interested motives. I foresaw as much as that.”
“Yes,” he said cheerfully, “we are given to think of the money value of things. Not of friendship, you know, and all that, but of time and work, and so forth. We needn’t enter into that question, for I’m sure we understand each other. And I don’t want to put you to inconvenience. How much time will it take you to fill Miss Ferrars’ place?”
Mrs. Stanhope was a clever little woman. She thought for a moment, in natural exasperation, of dismissing him summarily, and refusing to have anything to say to a man who had treated her so; and then she thought she would not do that. He was rich—he might be useful some time or other to the children; it would be foolish to make a breach with a friend who would remember nothing but the best of her (she did Evelyn this justice), and who would be kind to the children when they went home, and invite them for their holidays. So she subdued the natural anger that was almost on her lips, and gave vent to a harsh little laugh instead.
“You do always take such a prosaic view, and reduce everything to matter of fact,” she said. “I can’t afford to have any one in Evelyn’s place, if you desire to speak of it so. Evelyn has helped me with the children for love—I must do the best I can for them by myself when you take her away.”
“Ah well,” said Mr. Rowland, “then it is a real sacrifice, and you will suffer. I dare say you have a great deal to do. Would not little Molly Price be a help to you? She is a nice little girl, and she has nobody belonging to her, and I don’t know what the poor little thing is to do.”
Mrs. Stanhope made a pause before she replied, looking all the time keenly in the engineer’s face as if she would have read his meaning in that way. But he was impassible as a wooden image. “Molly Price is a very nice little girl,” she said slowly, trying all the time to make out what he meant, “and she would be of use, though far different from Evelyn. But how could I take up a girl like that, without any means of providing for her. I had thought of it,” Mrs. Stanhope admitted, “but to take up her time just when she might be doing better for herself, and to give her false expectations as to what I could do for her—when it only can be for a few years, till we send the children home.”
“I see,” said Mr. Rowland; “but the fact is that Molly has a little income of her own, and all she wants is a home.”
“A little income of her own!”
“Yes,” he said, meeting with the most impenetrable look the lady’s eager scrutiny. “Did you not know? enough to pay for her board if necessary. She only wants a home.”
“I don’t know what you can think of me,” said Mrs. Stanhope with a little haste. “I should never ask her for any board. She would have her share of whatever was going; and of course if she liked to help me with the children’s lessons—”
“You would allow her to do it, without any compensation? Don’t explain, my dear lady—I know the situation perfectly. And in return for that little arrangement you will help me in getting Evelyn to consent to a speedy marriage. As soon as we understand each other, everything will be perfectly straight.”
“You are such a dreadful man of business. I am not accustomed to such summary ways,” said Mrs. Stanhope, with again a half hysterical laugh. She was very much afraid of him after this experience. No doubt everybody in the station had seen through her actions so far as Evelyn Ferrars was concerned, attributing design and motive where none had existed, and not making any allowances for the unconscious, or only half conscious way in which she was led into taking an advantage of her friend. But nobody had ever ventured to put it into words. She was overawed by clear sight and the courage, and also a little by the practical help of this downright man.
“Yes,” he said, “I’m nothing if not a man of business. Well now, there is another matter. I want it to be a very grand affair.”
She looked at him with eyes more wide open than ever, and with perceptions more fine than his, and a little gasp of restrained horror in the thought—what would Evelyn say?—Evelyn who hoped it would be got over so quietly, that it might not be necessary to let people know: as if everything was not known from one end to another of the station almost before it was fully shaped in the brain from which it came!
“Yes,” he said, “I see you’re horrified—and, probably, so would Miss Ferrars be: so I want you to take the responsibility of everything, and put it on the ground of your gratitude to her, which must take some shape. I need not add, Mrs. Stanhope, if you will do this for me, that a cheque is at once at your disposal—to any amount you may think necessary.”
Anger, humiliation, injured pride, a quick perception of advantage, a rapid gleam of pleasure, the thrill of delightful excitement at the thought of a great deal of money to spend, all darted through Mrs. Stanhope’s mind, and glittered in her eager eyes. The disagreeable sentiments finally died away in the others which were more rational. To have the ordering of a great entertainment regardless of expense, and everybody at her feet, the providers of the same, and the guests, and indeed the whole community eager either for commissions or invitations! This was a temptation more than any woman could resist.
“Mr. Rowland,” she said, “you are a very extraordinary man. But I must