“Henceforth,” she said, “Uncle Reginald is welcome to my heartiest detestation. I have been waiting ever since I knew him for an excuse to hate him; and now he has given me one. He has taken part — like a true parent — against you with a self-intoxicated fool whom he ought to have put out of the house. He has told me to mind my own business. I shall be even with him for that some day. I am as vindictive as an elephant: I hate people who are not vindictive: they are never grateful either, only incapable of any enduring sentiment. And Douglas! Sholto Douglas! The hero, the Newdigate poet, the handsome man! What a noble fellow he is when a little disappointment rubs his varnish off! I am glad I called him a coward to his face. I am thoroughly well satisfied with myself altogether: at last I have come out of a scene without having forgotten the right thing to say. You never see people in all their selfishness until they pretend to love you. See what you owe to your loving suitor, Sholto Douglas! See what you owe to your loving father, Reginald Lind!”
“I do not think that my father should have told me to leave the room,” said Marian. “It was Sholto’s place to have gone, not mine.”
“Mr. Lind, who has so suddenly and deservedly descended from ‘papa’ to ‘my father,’ judiciously sided with the stronger and richer party.”
“Nelly: I shall be as unhappy after this as even Sholto can desire. I feel very angry with papa; and yet I have no right to be. I suppose it is because I am in the wrong. I deceived him about the engagement.”
“Bosh! You didnt tell him because you knew you couldnt trust him; and now you see how right you were.”
“Even so, Nelly, I must not forget all his past care of me.”
“What care has he ever taken of you? He was very little better acquainted with you than he was with me, when you came to keep house for him and make yourself useful. Of course, he had to pay for your board and lodging and education. The police would not have allowed him to leave you to the parish. Besides, he was proud of having a nice, pretty daughter to dispose of. You were quite welcome to be happy so long as you did not do anything except what he approved of. But the moment you claim your independence as a grown woman, the moment you attempt to dispose of yourself instead of letting him dispose of you! Bah! I might have been my father’s pet, if I had been a nonentity. As it was, he spared no pains to make me miserable; and as I was only a helpless little devil of a girl, he succeeded to his heart’s content. Uncle Reginald will try to do exactly the same tomorrow, he will come and bully you, instead of apologizing as he ought. See if he doesnt!”
“If I had as much reason to complain of my childhood as you have, perhaps I should not feel so shocked and disappointed by his turning on me tonight. Surely, when he saw me attacked as I was, he ought to have come to my assistance.”
“Any stranger would have taken your part. The footman would, if you had asked him. But then, James is not your father.”
“It seems a very small thing to be bidden to leave the room. But I will never expose myself to a repetition of it.”
“Quite right. But what do you mean to do? for, after all, though parental love is an imposition, parental authority is a fact.”
“I will get married.”
“Out of the frying pan into the fire! Certainly, if you are resolved to marry, the present is as good as another time, and more convenient. But there must be some legal formalities to go through. You cannot turn into the first church you meet, and be married offhand.”
“Ned must find out all that. I am sadly disappointed and disilluded,
Nelly.”
“Time will cure you as it does everybody; and you will be the better for being wiser. By the bye, what did Sholto mean about Mrs. Fairfax?”
“I dont know.”
“She has evidently been telling him a parcel of lies. Do you remember her hints about him yesterday at lunch? I have not the least doubt that she has told him you are frantically in love with him. She as good as told you the same about him.”
“Oh! she is not capable of doing such a thing.”
“Isnt she? We shall see.”
“I dont know what to think,” said Marian, despondently. “I used to believe that both you and Ned thought too little of other people; but it seems now that the world is nothing but a morass of wickedness and falsehood. And Sholto, too! Who would have believed that he could break out in that coarse way? Do you remember the day that Fleming, the coachman, lost his temper with Auntie down at the Cottage. Sholto was exactly like that; not a bit more refined or dignified.”
“Rather less so, because Fleming was in the right. Let us go to bed. We can do nothing tonight, but fret, and wish for tomorrow. Better get to sleep. Resentment does not keep me awake, I can vouch for that: I got well broken in to it when I was a child. I heard Uncle Reginald going to his room some time ago. I am getting sleepy, too, though I feel the better for the excitement.”
“Very well. To bed be it,” said Marian. But she did not sleep at all as well as Nelly.
CHAPTER X
Next morning Mr. Lind rose before his daughter was astir, and went to his club, where he breakfasted. He then went to the offices in Queen Victoria Street. Finding the board-room unoccupied, he sat down there, and said to one of the clerks:
“Go and tell Mr. Conolly that I desire to speak to him, if he is disengaged. And if anyone wants to come in, say that I am busy here. I do not wish to be disturbed for half an hour or so.”
“Yes, sir,” said the clerk, departing. A minute later, he returned, and said: “Mr. Conly is disengaged; and he says will you be so good as to come to his room, sir.”
“I told you to ask him to come here,” said Mr. Lind.
“Well, thats what he said, sir,” said the clerk, speaking in official
Board School English. “Shloy gow to him and tell him again?”
“No, no: it does not matter,” said Mr. Lind, and walked out through the office. The clerk held the door open for him, and carefully closed it when he had passed through.
“Ow, oy sy!” cried the clerk. “This is fawn, this is.”
“Wots the row?” said another clerk.
“Woy, owld Lind sends me in to Conly to cam in to him into the board-room. ‘Aw right,’ says Conly, ‘awsk him to cam in eah to me.’ You should ‘a seen the owld josser’s feaches wnoy towld im. ‘Oyd zoyred jou to sy e was to cam in eah to me.’ ‘Shloy gow and tell him again?’ I says, as cool as ennything. ‘Now,’ says he, ‘Oil gow myself.’ Thets wot Aw loike in Conly. He tikes tham fellers dahn wen they troy it on owver im.”
Meanwhile, Mr. Lind went to Conolly’s room; returned his greeting by a dignified inclination of the head; and accepted, with a cold “Thank you,” the chair offered him. Conolly, who had received him cordially, checked himself. There was a pause, during which Mr. Lind lost countenance a little. Then Conolly sat down, and waited.
“Ahem!” said Mr. Lind. “I have to speak to you with — with reference to — to a — a matter which has accidentally come to my knowledge. It would be painful and unnecessary — quite unnecessary, to go into particulars.”
Conolly remained politely attentive, but said nothing. Mr. Lind began to feel very angry, but this helped