“Good-morning,” said Conolly, gravely. When the door closed, he sprang up and walked to and fro, chuckling, rubbing his hands, and occasionally uttering a short laugh. When he had sufficiently relieved himself by this exercise, he sat down at his desk, and wrote a note.
”The Conolly Electro-Motor Company of London, Limited. Queen
Victoria Street, E.C.
“This is to let your ever-radiant ladyship know that I am fresh from an encounter with your father, who has retired in great wrath, defeated, but of opinion that he deserved no better for arguing with a Radical. I thought it better to put forth my strength at once so as to save future trouble. I send this post haste in order that you may be warned in case he should go straight home and scold you. I hope he will not annoy you much. — E.C.”
Having despatched the office boy to Westbourne Terrace with this letter, Conolly went off to lunch. Mr. Lind went back to his club, and then to Westbourne Terrace, where he was informed that the young ladies were together in the drawingroom. Some minutes later, Marian, discussing Conolly’s letter with Elinor, was interrupted by a servant, who informed her that her father desired to see her in his study.
“Now for it, Marian!” said Nelly, when the servant was gone. “Remember that you have to meet the most unreasonable of adversaries, a parent asserting his proprietary rights in his child. Dont be sentimental. Leave that to him: he will be full of a father’s anguish on discovering that his cherished daughter has feelings and interests of her own. Besides, Conolly has crushed him; and he will try to crush you in revenge.”
“I wish I were not so nervous,” said Marian. “I am not really afraid, but for all that, my heart is beating very unpleasantly.”
“I wish I were in your place,” said Elinor. “I feel like a charger at the sound of the trumpet.”
“I am glad, for poor papa’s sake, that you are not,” said Marian, going out.
She knocked at the study door; and her father’s voice, as he bade her come in, impressed her more than ever before. He was seated behind the writing-table, in front of which a chair was set for his daughter. She, unaccustomed from her childhood to submit to any constraint but that which the position of a guest, which she so often occupied, had trained her to impose on herself, was rather roused than awed by this magisterial arrangement. She sat down with less than her usual grace of manner, and looked at him with her brows knitted. It was one of the rare moments in which she reminded him of her mother. An angry impulse to bid her not dare look so at him almost got the better of him. However, he began prudently with a carefully premeditated speech.
“It is my duty, Marian,” he said gravely, “to speak of the statement you made last night. We need not allude to the painful scene which took place then: better let that rest and be forgotten as soon as possible. But the discovery of what you have been doing without my knowledge has cost me a sleepless night and a great deal of anxiety. I wish to reason with you now quite calmly and dispassionately; and I trust you will remember that I am older and have far more experience of the world than you, and that I am a better judge of your interests than you yourself can possibly be. Ahem! I have been this morning to the City, where I saw Mr. Conolly, and endeavored to make him understand the true nature of his conduct toward me — and, I may add, toward you — in working his way clandestinely into an intimacy with you. I shall not describe to you what passed; but I may say that I have found him to be a person with whom you could not hope for a day’s happiness. Even apart from his habits and tastes, which are those of a mere workman, his social (and, I fear, his religious) views are such as no lady, no properly-minded woman of any class, could sympathize with. You will be better able to judge of his character when I tell you that he informed me of his having taken care, before making any advances to you, to ascertain how much money you had. He boasted in the coarsest terms of his complete influence over you, evidently without a suspicion of the impression of venality and indelicacy which his words were calculated to make on me. Besides, Marian, I am sure you would not like to contract a marriage which would give me the greatest pain; which would offend my family; and which would have the effect of shutting you out from all good society.”
“You are mistaken in him, papa.”
“I beg you will allow me to finish, Marian. [He had to think for a moment before he could substantiate this pretence of having something more to say.] I have quite made up my mind, from personal observation of Mr. Conolly, that even an ordinary acquaintance between you is out of the question. I, in short, refuse to allow anything of the kind to proceed; and I must ask you to respect my wishes in the matter. There is another subject which I will take this opportunity of mentioning; but as I have no desire to force your inclinations, I shall not press you for a declaration of your feelings at present. Sholto Douglas — —”
“I do not want to hear anything about Sholto Douglas,” said Marian, rising.
“I expect you, Marian, to listen to what I have to say.”
“On that subject I will not listen. I have felt very sore and angry ever since you told me last night to leave the room when Sholto insulted me, as if I were the aggressor.”
“Angry! I am sorry to hear you say so to me.”
“It is better to say so than to think so. There is no use in going on with this conversation, papa. It will only lead to more bitterness between us; and I had enough of that when I tasted it for the first time last night. We shall never agree about Mr. Conolly. I have promised to marry him; and therefore I am not free to withdraw, even if I wished to.”
“A promise made by you without my sanction is not binding. And — listen to me, if you please — I have obtained Mr. Conolly’s express assurance that if you wish to withdraw, he is perfectly willing that you should.”
“Of course, he would not marry me if I did not wish it.”
“But he is willing that you should withdraw. He leaves you quite free.”
“Yes; and, as you told me, he is quite confident that I will keep faith with him; and so I will. I have had a letter from him since you saw him.”
“What!” said Mr. Lind, rising also.
“Dont let us quarrel, papa,” said Marian, appealingly. “Why may I not marry whom I please?”
“Who wants to prevent you, pray? I have most carefully abstained from influencing you with regard to Sholto Douglas. But this is a totally different question. It is my duty to save you from disgracing yourself.”
“Where is the disgrace? Mr. Conolly is an eminent man. I am not poor, and can afford to marry anyone I can respect. I can respect him. What objection have you to him? I am sure he is far superior to Sholto.”
“Mr. Douglas is a gentleman, Marian: Mr. Conolly is not; and it is out of the question for you to ally yourself with a — a member of the proletariat, however skilful he may be in his handicraft.”
“What is a gentleman, papa?”
“A gentleman, Marian, is one who is well born and well bred, and who has that peculiar tone and culture which can only be acquired by intercourse with the best society. I think you should know that as well as I. I hope you do not put these questions from a desire to argue with me.”
“I only wish to do what is right. Surely there is no harm in arguing when one is not convinced.”
“Humph! Well, I have said all that is necessary. I am sure that you will not take any step calculated to inflict pain on me — at least an act of selfishness on your part would be a new and shocking experience for me.
“That is a very unfair way of putting it, papa. You give me no good reason for breaking my word, and making myself unhappy; and yet you accuse me of selfishness in not being ready to do both.”
“I think I have already given you my assurance, weighted as it is by my age, my experience, my regard for your welfare, and, I hope,