“Perhaps you will wonder at my selfishness in wanting you, for my own good, to forfeit your present happy independence among your friends, and involve your fortunes with those of a man whom you have only seen on occasions when ceremony compelled him to observe his best behavior. I can only excuse myself by reminding you that no matter whom you marry, you must do so at the same disadvantages, except as to the approval of your friends, of which the value is for you to consider. That being so, why should I not profit by your hazard as well as another? Besides, there are many other feelings impelling me. I should like to describe them to you, and would if I understood them well enough to do it accurately.
“However, nothing is further from my intention than to indite a love letter; so I will return to graver questions. One, in particular, must be clearly understood between us. You are too earnest to consider an allusion to religious matters out of place here. I do not know exactly what you believe; but I have gathered from stray remarks of yours that you belong to what is called the Broad Church. If so, we must to some extent agree to differ. I should never interfere in any way with your liberty as far as your actions concerned yourself only. But, frankly, I should not permit my wife to teach my children to know Christianity in any other way than that in which an educated Englishman knows Buddhism. I will not go through any ceremony whatever in a church, or enter one except to play the organ. I am prejudiced against religions of all sorts. The Church has made itself the natural enemy of the theatre; and I was brought up in the theatre until I became a poor workman earning wages, when I found the Church always taking part against me and my comrades with the rich who did no work. If the Church had never set itself against me, perhaps I should never have set myself against the Church; but what is done is done: you will find me irreligious, but not, I hope, unreasonable.
“I will be at the Academy tomorrow at about four o’clock, as I do not care to remain longer in suspense than is absolutely necessary; but if you are not prepared to meet me then, I shall faithfully help you in any effort I may perceive you make to avoid me.
”I am, dear Miss Lind,
”Yours sincerely,
”EDWARD CONOLLY.”
This letter conveyed to Marian hardly one of the considerations set forth in it. She thought it a frank, strong, admirable letter, just what she should have hoped from her highest estimate of him. In the quaint earnestness about religion, and the exaggerated estimate (as she thought) of the advantages which she might forfeit by marrying him, there was just enough of the workman to make them characteristic. She wished that she could make some real sacrifice for his sake. She was afraid to realize her situation at first, and, to keep it off, occupied herself during the forenoon with her household duties, with some pianoforte practice, and such other triflings as she could persuade herself were necessary. At last she quite suddenly became impatient of further delay. She sat down in a nook behind the window curtain, and re-read the letter resolutely. It disappointed her a little, so she read it again. The third time she liked it better than the first; and she would have gone through it yet again but for the arrival of Mrs. Leith Fairfax, with whom they had arranged to go to Burlington House.
“It is really a tax on me, this first day at the Academy,” said Mrs. Fairfax, when they were at luncheon. “I have been there at the press view, besides seeing all the pictures long ago in the studios. But, of course, I am expected to be there.”
“If I were in your place,” said Elinor, “I — —”
“Last night,” continued Mrs. Fairfax, deliberately ignoring her, “I was not in bed until half-past two o’clock. On the night before, I was up until five. On Tuesday I did not go to bed at all.”
“Why do you do such things?” said Marian.
“My dear, I must. John Metcalf, the publisher, came to me on Tuesday at three o’clock, and said he must have an article on the mango experiments at Kew ready for the printer before ten next morning. For his paper, the Fortnightly Naturalist, you know. ‘My dear John Metcalf,’ I said, ‘I dont know what a mango is.’ ‘No more do I, Mrs. Leith Fairfax,’ said he: ‘I think it’s something that blooms only once in a hundred years. No matter what it is, you must let me have the article. Nobody else can do it.’ I told him it was impossible. My London letter for the Hari Kari was not even begun; and the last post to catch the mail to Japan was at a quarter-past six in the morning. I had an article to write for your father, too. And, as the sun had been shining all day, I was almost distracted with hay fever. ‘If you were to go down on your knees,’ I said, ‘I could not find time to read up the flora of the West Indies and finish an article before morning.’ He went down on his knees. ‘Now Mrs. Leith Fairfax,’ said he, ‘I am going to stay here until you promise.’ What could I do but promise and get rid of him? I did it, too: how, I dont know; but I did it. John Metcalf told me yesterday that Sir James Hooker, the president of the Society for Naturalizing the Bread Fruit Tree in Britain, and the greatest living authority on the subject, has got the credit of having written my article.”
“How flattered he must feel!” said Elinor.
“What article had you to write for papa?” said Marian.
“On the electro-motor — the Conolly electro-motor. I went down to the City on Wednesday, and saw it working. It is most wonderful, and very interesting. Mr. Conolly explained it to me himself. I was able to follow every step that his mind has made in inventing it. I remember him as a common workman. He fitted the electric bell in my study four years ago with his own hands. You may remember that we met him at a concert once. He is a thorough man of business. The Company is making upward of fifty pounds an hour by the motor at present; and they expect their receipts to be a thousand a day next year. My article will be in the Dynamic Statistician next week. Have you seen Sholto Douglas since he came back from the continent?”
“No.”
“I want to see him. When you meet him next, tell him to call on me. Why has he not been here? Surely you are not keeping up your old quarrel?”
“What old quarrel?”
“I always understood that he went abroad on your account.”
“I never quarreled with him. Perhaps he did with me, as he has not come to see us since his return. It used to be so easy to offend him that his retirement in good temper after a visit was quite exceptional.”
“Come, come, my dear child! that is all nonsense. You must be kind to the poor fellow. Perhaps he will be at the Academy.”
“I hope not,” said Marian, quickly.
“Why?”
“I mean if he cherishes any grudge against me; for he will be very disagreeable.”
“A grudge against you! Ah, Marian, how little you understand him! What perverse creatures all you young people are! I must bring about an éclaircissement.”
“I advise you not to,” said Elinor. “If you succeed, no one will admit that you have done anything; and if you fail, everybody will blame you.”
“But there is nothing to be éclairci,” said Marian. We are talking nonsense, which is silly — —”
“And French,