Joan Haste. Генри Райдер Хаггард
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have quite realised the position.”
“Oh, yes, I have – thoroughly. I am expected to marry this lady, that is, if she is foolish enough to take me in payment of what my father owes to hers. But I tell you, Ellen, that I do not see my way to it at present.”
“Please don’t get angry, dear,” said Ellen, more gently; “I dare say that such a notion is unpleasant enough, and in a way – well, degrading to a proud man. Of course no one can force you to marry her if you don’t wish to, and the whole business will probably fall through. All I beg is that you will cultivate the Levingers a little, and give the matter fair consideration. For my part I think that it would be much more degrading to allow our father to become bankrupt at his age than for you to marry a good and clever girl like Emma Levinger. However, of course I am only a woman, and have no ‘sense of honour,’ or at least one that is not strong enough to send my family to the workhouse when by a little self-sacrifice I could keep them out of it.”
And with this sarcasm Ellen left the room before Henry could find words to reply to her.
That morning Henry walked with his mother to the church in order to inspect his brother’s grave – a melancholy and dispiriting duty – the more so, indeed, because his sense of justice would not allow him to acquit the dead man of conduct that, to his strict integrity, seemed culpable to the verge of dishonour. On their homeward way Lady Graves also began to talk about the Levingers.
“I suppose you have heard, Henry, that Mr. Levinger and his daughter are coming here this afternoon?”
“Yes, mother; Ellen told me.”
“Indeed. You will remember Miss Levinger, no doubt. She is a nice girl in every sense; your dear brother used to admire her very much.”
“Yes, I remember her a little; but Reginald’s tastes and mine were not always similar.”
“Well, Henry, I hope that you will like her. It is a delicate matter to speak about, even for a mother to a son, but you know now how terribly indebted we are to the Levingers, and of course if a way could be found out of our difficulties it would be a great relief to me and to your dear father. Believe me, my boy, I do not care so much about myself; but I wish, if possible, to save him from further sorrow. I think that very little would kill him now.”
“See here, mother,” said Henry bluntly: “Ellen tells me that you wish me to marry Miss Levinger for family reasons. Well, in this matter, as in every other, I will try to oblige you if I can; but I cannot understand what grounds you have for supposing that the young lady wishes to marry me. So far as I can judge, she might take her fortune to a much better market.”
“I don’t quite know about it, Henry,” answered Lady Graves, with some hesitation. “I gathered, however, that, when he came here after you had gone to join your ship about eighteen months ago, Mr. Levinger told your father, with whom you know he has been intimate since they were both young, that you were a fine fellow, and had taken his fancy as well as his daughter’s. Also I believe he said that if only he could see her married to such a man as you are he should die happy, or words to that effect.”
“Rather a slight foundation to build all these plans on, isn’t it, mother? In eighteen months her father may have changed his mind, and Miss Levinger may have seen a dozen men whom she likes better. Here comes Ellen to meet us, so let us drop the subject.”
About six o’clock that afternoon Henry, returning from a walk on the estate, saw a strange dogcart being run into the coach-house, from which he inferred that Mr. and Miss Levinger had arrived. Wishing to avoid the appearance of curiosity, he went straight to his room, and did not return downstairs till within a few minutes of the dinner-hour. The large and rather ill-lighted drawing-room seemed to be empty when he entered, and Henry was about to seat himself with an expression of relief, for his temper was none of the best this evening, when a rustling in a distant corner attracted his attention. Glancing in the direction of the noise, he perceived a female figure seated in a big arm-chair reading.
“Why don’t you come to the light, Ellen?” he said. “You will ruin your eyes.”
Again the figure rustled, and the book was shut up; then it rose and advanced towards him timidly – a delicate figure dressed with admirable taste in pale blue, having flaxen hair, a white face, large and beseeching grey eyes, and tiny hands with tapering fingers. At the edge of the circle of lamp- light the lady halted, overcome apparently by shyness, and stood still, while her pale face grew gradually from white to pink and from pink to red. Henry also stood still, being seized with a sudden and most unaccountable nervousness. He guessed that this must be Miss Levinger – in fact, he remembered her face – but not one single word could he utter; indeed, he seemed unable to do anything except regret that he had not waited upstairs till the dinner-bell rang. There is this to be said in excuse of his conduct, that it is somewhat paralysing to a modest man unexpectedly to find himself confronted by the young woman whom his family desire him to marry.
“How do you do?” he ejaculated at last: “I think that we have met before.” And he held out his hand.
“Yes, we have met before,” she answered shyly and in a low voice, touching his sun-browned palm with her delicate fingers, “when you were at home last Christmas year.”
“It seems much longer ago than that,” said Henry – ”so long that I wonder you remember me.”
“I do not see so many people that I am likely to forget one of them,” she answered, with a curious little smile. “I dare say that the time seemed long to you, abroad in new countries; but to me, who have not stirred from Monk’s Lodge, it is like yesterday.”
“Well, of course that does make a difference;” then, hastening to change the subject, he added, “I am afraid I was very rude; I thought that you were my sister. I can’t imagine how you can read in this light, and it always vexes me to see people trying their eyes. If you had ever kept a night watch at sea you would understand why.”
“I am accustomed to reading in all sorts of lights,” Emma answered.
“Do you read much, then?”
“I have nothing else to do. You see I have no brothers or sisters, no one at all except my father, who keeps very much to himself; and we have few neighbours round Monk’s Lodge – at least, few that I care to be with,” she added, blushing again.
Henry remembered hearing that the Levingers were considered to be outside the pale of what is called society, and did not pursue this branch of the subject.
“What do you read?” he asked.
“Oh, anything and everything. We have a good library, and sometimes I take up one class of reading, sometimes another; though perhaps I get through more history than anything else, especially in the winter, when it is too wretched to go out much. You see,” she added in explanation, “I like to know about human nature and other things, and books teach me in a second-hand kind of way,” and she stopped suddenly, for just then Ellen entered the room, looking very handsome in a low-cut black dress that showed off the whiteness of her neck and arms.
“What, are you down already, Miss Levinger!” she said, “and with all your things to unpack too. You do dress quickly,” – and she looked critically at her visitor’s costume. “Let me see: do you and Henry know each other, or must I introduce you?”
“No, we have met before,” said Emma.
“Oh yes! I remember now. Surely you were here when my brother was on leave last time.” At this point Henry smiled grimly and turned away to hide his face. “There’s not going to be any dinner-party, you know. Of course we couldn’t have one even if we wished at present, and there is no one to ask if we could. Everybody is in London at this time of the year. Mr. Milward is positively the only creature left in these parts, and I believe mother has asked him. Ah! here he is.”
As she spoke the butler opened the door and announced – ”Mr. Milward.”
Mr. Milward was a tall and good-looking young man, with bold prominent eyes and a receding forehead, as elaborately dressed as the plain evening attire of Englishmen will allow. His